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Astarion always bristled at the thought of having to order his coffee. It was a delicate balance of avoiding socialization while trying to avoid drawing so much ire that his morning source of energy was tampered with. The chain he frequented seemed to impart upon its employees a certain… personality, and while he understood how that personality was effective at drawing customers, he didn’t exactly enjoy being subjected to it. He would attach a swift 'hello' to the start of his order just to prevent a 'how are you' from drawing the conversation further, and whether at the register or at the bar he would never return the barista’s thank you. Still, they always insisted on saying it to him, seemingly with increasing emphasis each day. It had become somewhat of a game for the baristas - a maliciously compliant power trip that he refused to acknowledge.
There was no measuring his relief when it became possible to order by phone, and this stressful interaction was relegated to him grabbing his coffee and walking away as an overly enthusiastic “Thank you!” was shouted over his head.
His job was located in a tall office building, a gleaming tower of glass that loomed over the city (and wasn’t without its phallic nicknames). The interior of the skyscraper was an impersonal sort of lavish - designed to keep employees fed, fit, comfortable, and working. The next block down from the office building there were two coffee shops, two large competing brands each with its own clientele. The smaller brand with stronger coffee was on Astarion's corner, while larger chain was on the other end of the block, across the street from the local university. Astarion had simply elected to stick with the more common and familiar brand.
Every morning before work he would walk to the other end of the block to retrieve his morning cup of social skills, and as he did so he began to recognize the faces of those with similar schedules. Some would stop at the café he frequented, and some he would pass by on their way to the other chain. However, once the his store's competitor went under renovation, everyone was suddenly at the same restaurant.
It was hellish. If it hadn't been for mobile ordering, Astarion would likely have relegated himself to the Keurig at work, but he did enjoy the stronger, higher quality coffees that came out of the magical little single service machine next to the bar.
It was as he waited for this machine that someone he had passed by many times appeared next to him. The man looked slightly younger than him in appearance, and held himself with a calm chipper attitude that dripped with ego. He wore his hair shoulder length, and was deeply overdue for a shave. Their silhouettes were similar, but their appearances could not be more different. Astarion wore a crisp white collared shirt that fit him perfectly, with slim high quality slacks and a slim fitted blazer draped lackadaisically over his shoulder. The other man wore a neutral collared shirt with a subtle brown plaid pattern, his slacks and blazer a similar dark brown, and the entire outfit was slightly baggier on him when compared to Astarion's custom tailored suit.
The barista announced the man’s drink, a strong specialty coffee of the same type that Astarion typically ordered, only the man, apparently named ‘Gale’ seemed to insist on ruining it with honey. To make matters worse, he also managed to complain about it.
“You know, the other café uses squeeze bottles, rather than these small packets. They use honey bears actually - they’re quite cute. You might find a similar mechanism of delivery much more welcoming to your customers.”
The poker faced barista couldn’t roll her eyes in his face, but Astarion was under no such pressure, “Really. You’re going to bitch about the honey.”
“Excuse me?” Gale looked perturbed at the man next to him. “I’m not bitching I assure you, merely imparting a little wisdom for our dear coffee artisans. You look like you work in business. I’m sure you understand how even the finest detail can support a stronger customer base.”
“Coffee arti-“ Astarion scoffed, “Well I’m sure your coffee artisans will be more than happy to impart your wisdom to the next corporate meeting they attend, which, by the way, will be never. The only place your wisdom is going to go is through some ridiculous game of telephone that dies the moment someone has higher and more urgent priorities.” Astarion’s expression pulled into a sarcastic grin, “And - if you’re wondering at what level that’s going to happen - the answer is right here - where the line is out the door and your artisans are running around like madmen to keep up.”
A barely contained giggle emerged from the baristas, who were trying their very best to stay neutral to the conversation and focus on their work.
Astarion shook his head at the dumbfounded professor in disbelief, “God, complaining about the honey. I bet they can’t wait until your little hippie café opens back up again and the entire lot of you can take your sad brown plaids back to your honey bears.”
The barista at the bar handed over his coffee with pointed silence and a subtle smile. In recognition of the favor he offered a sly smile back as he turned away, leaving the dumbfounded professor to ponder his verbal lashing.