Yvette sells her soul for a cup of coffee
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It has become terribly clear to a certain young lady in college that, perhaps, taking that 7:30 AM class was something of a mistake. She hadn't thought it would be fun, but she had liked the ideas of having her afternoons free, and it's not like she was incapable of getting up early. If anything, she kind of preferred it, for the aforementioned ability to free up the rest of her day.

She had not, however, expected the loud neighbors that thought Saturday nights were the time to have loud, obnoxious parties that kept her up until 2 AM and ruined her sleep schedule. She'd hoped she could fix it on Sunday with an early bedtime, but as several hours staring at her ceiling the night before has just proven: nope. Nope, that is not how that works.

So here she is. Submitting with bleary eyes and a fraying temper to the addiction to the greatest sanctioned drug of them all: sweet, sweet caffeine. She stares at the board, trying to figure out if she'll have to disentangle some insane sizing or flavoring system. Sizing looks sane, which is good, because she cannot be bothered to remember the difference between a venti and a grande, especially when grande means big, but then isn't. Flavoring... eh. She doesn't have the energy to care, everything tastes like death at this time in the morning anyway. Might as well skip the fluff and just go straight for her drug of choice like the hopeless junkie she is.

"One double espresso, please. I desperately need enough caffeine to convince me that murder is wrong again."

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"Should I be afraid?" the man behind the counter inquires. "Coming right up. What name do I call when your reminder about ethics is ready?"

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"Yvette. Fear not my wrath, humble ambrosia peddler. You have not earned my ire."

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"Oh good."

He steps out of sight to begin producing her drink. Another bleary-eyed student comes up to buy a bottle of iced tea and a danish, and then he reappears at the other end of the counter. "Yvette! Your ambrosia arrives!"

The cup bears the message: YVETTE – Murders committed today: 0 (good job!)

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She smiles at him, and takes her cup of socially acceptable drugs. Then she sees the message. Fortunately, she has enough presence of mind to carefully sets her coffee back down on the counter before she spills it cracking up.

"Thank you," she huffs between giggles, delighted.

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He beams. "You're welcome! Enjoy your coffee!"

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"Thanks." She aborts the automatic polite reply of you too for being factually incorrect, then tips him, and...

...

... well, he's cute, he's funny, she likes him, and if she doesn't make it awkward, it's surely not very rude for her to write her number down on a nearby napkin and slide it over to him when he's not busy. Right? That doesn't seem rude. He's being paid to be friendly, with how tipping works, but giving him her number instead of trying to flirt with him lets him have the power to completely ignore her if he'd like to do that.

"Have a good day," she says, sliding the aforementioned napkin towards the ambrosia peddler in question, before immediately fleeing, all of her social graces for the morning used up.

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...well then.

 

She gets a text that evening: Kill count still 0, I hope?

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A little later, she replies: Kill count still 0! The coffee was just in time.

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Glad to hear it.

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Me too! I would be so bored in prison.

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Common complaint about prison, the boredom.

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Is it? Well now I'll have to think of a new one!

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That would only be relevant if you went there, and you've been doing so well on the murder front.

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It's technically also relevant to keep me out, I like weighing incentive structures in favor of things I like.

Also, oh hey, guess who forgot to read your nametag. It's me. Help?

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Ha. My name's Eden.

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Pretty! Rejoice and/or despair, you are no longer named Cute Coffee Guy in my contacts list.

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Awwwwwwww.

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I will probably end up buying a coffee maker jsyk. I apologize for this presumed blasphemy against the coffee chain gods.

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I promise we won't go out of business for lack of your esteemed patronage.

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And I probably would've run out of cute jokes about murder to write on the cups. Eventually.

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Aww, now I'll never know what they would be!!

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You could come by for a coffee once in a while and find out.

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This is all part of your nefarious coffee plot, isn't it. I'm onto you.

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Yes. Definitely. Nefarious coffee plot. You have uncovered my secret.

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