It was Friday night – or Saturday morning, depending on how you looked at time. The large metropolis was silent in the wee hours, the occasional car driving through and disturbing the hushing blanket. Street lights hummed with their fluorescent bulbs as mosquitoes flew in spheres around their light. It was the dead of summer – the middle of June, no less – which more than accounted for the inactivity.
One narrow side street held the exception of this haze of night. The building, a modest four stories in height, still let its neon sign glow, laying proclamation that the business was known as The Writers Bloc. Contained within the O was a coffee cup, an attempt to clear up the fact that the building was, in fact, a café.
The bells on the door jingled softly as it slowly creaked open. Inside was the complete opposite of the outer world, as warm and rich yellow walls cast a relaxing aura on the polished cheery-red wood floors. Paper lanterns hung from the ceiling, their blue shades cooling off the areas they touched.
“Still open?” Katana asked curiously, adjusting the strap of the black messenger bag slung around her torso. She stifled a yawn before wobbling towards the counter on the opposite side of the room.
“Maybe we still are,” SomeGuy, the proprietor, replied. Without missing a beat, he swiveled on his heel and grabbed a coffee mug from a rack of freshly cleaned cups. “What’s up Katakana?” he asked, an amused smile crawling on his face. It was the signature look of the renowned city Staffer.
“Buh, that name,” she replied in a murmur, swooping her arm out in an attempt to snatch the mug from the counter. She missed, instead sending it flying and careening into the wall, where it made an impressive clonk noise before settling (on its side) back on the counter.
“May I suggest actual sleep and not sleep substitution?” SomeGuy half-chided, half-joked. “You’re still a kid.”
“Bah, I’m not a kid…I think.” Katana looked up, flicking a wavy strand of brown hair away from her eyes. “What’s the age of consent in Canada?”
“What the hell do you need to know that for?”
“I’m…not sure. But it does sound all neat and official.”
“Do you even…never mind. To answer your question, sixteen.” He handed her the mug as she motioned for it.
“Then there ya go. I’m legal. …In Canada.” She crab-stepped to the row of coffee pots before locating the decaf and adjusting the spigot to give her a free flow of the dark amber liquid. Normally, she and decaffeinated coffee weren’t on speaking terms, but there were times (such as this) wherein she agreed to a peace treaty.
“So, what went on today?” SomeGuy asked, wiping the counter-top with a haggard towel.
“Nothin’ much…scoped out the entries for that contest and then wandered to the suburbs.” Katana looked up from the accessory station, a pink packet of artificial sweetener in her hands. “What went down here? It looks kinda like…”
“Kinda like nothing,” he responded with a sigh, his fingers nimbly untying the knot on the black apron he wore. “Been a little dead the past week. Though I guess that’s to be expected, what with the season and all.”
“Summer,” Katana mused, lapping up the milky concoction while gazing out the front wall of windows. For all she knew, they were the only two souls awake at the hour.
Rattle clang clunk. “Oi! Hey guys!”
She stood corrected. Opening her eyes in mild annoyance, Katana’s vision revealed a man who looked as if he had crawled out of a washing machine mid-spin cycle.
“Hey hey, TC,” SomeGuy said with an encouraging smile. “What’s up? If you want something, I’ll make an exception for you and –”
“No – no thanks, but I appreciate the offer.” TC - Timechaser – ran an apprehensive hand through his hair. “Something’s up down at the Forum. Perhaps you –"(he pointed at SomeGuy) “- with your…um…”
“Magic,” Katana whispered.
“…Sure, with your magic, can explain something.”
There was silence.
“…Yes?”
“Oh. Right.” Timechaser reached his hand into his pocket before pulling out a digital camera, turning it on, and flicking through his pictures. Suddenly, he swiveled it outwards, pointing dramatically at the screen.
“…Bloody hell?” Katana wondered, suddenly becoming British at the same time.
“Cupcake,” he said dramatically. “What do you make of it?”
SomeGuy rubbed the back of his neck, perplexed. He studied the screen intently before a spark ignited somewhere in the labyrinth of his brain. “...I say…it’s a story scoop.”
“Really now…” TC thought aloud, craning his neck to look at the camera (being polite and allowing the other two to continue studying it). “Well…what do you think it means?”
“It means I should’ve taken the Columbian…” Katana sighed, swigging down the remains of the decaffeinated coffee.
