“Last call! Last call!” Becky waved a towel in the air from behind the cash register. There were only three people in the café, none of which responded to the heralding.
“Alright, we’re closed,” SomeGuy slipped in, triumphantly switching off the register. “Today was a good day, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, it was pretty good today. Steady pace, good people, minimal mess. I liked it.”
“’cause you didn’t have to clean,” Nehszriah said, taking off her apron and placing it on a hook. “Well, see you later. I’ve got stuff to do…people to see…food to eat…”
“Sounds good to me,” SomeGuy said. “Damn, I could go for…an omelet.”
“It’s nine o’clock. Why would you want an omelet?”
“A man can always go for three plus eggs folded together with various food items. Besides, this is Otaku City.” SomeGuy added a flourish to his words with a hand wave. “I can get a burger when I wake up and waffles in the evening. I love this place.”
“Right.” Becky untied her apron, withdrawing straws and napkins and loose change from the pockets. “Anyways, we need to clean up tonight. We’re closed tomorrow.”
“Closed? When did this happen?”
“Tomorrow is when we go out and sell the paper. I really want us to focus our efforts into that.”
“Yeah, good point.” SomeGuy picked up a bucket, turning to the sink and waiting for the water to heat up. “Eh, we’ve done it before…people don’t mind that much…”
“Nah, people are pretty cool.” Becky sighed, leaning on the counter, perched on her elbows. “Man. I…really love this place.”
From upstairs, there came a shout, a laugh, and then a loud but hollow bang. There was more laughter before three sets of feet ripped down the stairs. First around the corner was Wayward, second, Timechaser, and third, Sangome. Becky and SomeGuy watched as they tore through the café, ripped the door open, and ran down the street – all without exchanging a word.
“…What the hell was that?”
“We’re out of paper!” came Ace’s voice from above.
“Okay, but that didn’t make it any less weird!”
“Someone’s using my charger!”
“Hey! Be nice and share!”
“…Can we get some coffee?!”
“No Kat, you’ve reached your quota!”
There was a faint ‘damn’ before feet hurried about again. Becky sighed before a towel was tossed her way, which she caught without missing a beat.
---
“Wake up! Waaaake up!”
“…I can’t believe I’ve slept here for two days…” Sangome scratched behind her ear before glancing around the room. It was still dark outside, though a faint glow of light was coming through the windows – was it the moon? No, wait, it was the streetlight.
Becky stood at the front of the room, hands on her hips, a stern look on her face. “Alright! Today we’re going out and selling this paper! Do whatever it takes – just short of being a creepy stalker – to get it in the hands of the populace.”
SomeGuy ran a hand through his hair, momentarily pausing to sniff it, before joining in the rallying speech. “Beck’s right. You guys know what it’s been like for us recently. If we don’t do well today…well, it could be the end of this.” He paused, looking at the floor and sighing. “All of this.”
“…You mean, the café as well?” Katana poked her head out from under a computer desk, her laptop perched on folded legs. “But...you can’t go out of business! Where – where will I get my special blend coffee that only your loving hands can make?!” She threw out her empty mug as if panhandling, sincere despair on her face.
“Look at that, you’re making Kat-Person sad,” Timechaser said, scooting out from his desk. “But…yeah I get your point…”
Silence covered the room as nobody had any idea what to say. And really, what could be said? Words of encouragement would be met by cynicism, while negativity would be recoiled with attacks. Something, however, needed to be said.
“Get your bags,” SomeGuy said, his voice neither bitter nor cheery. “We gotta go out and get these compressed wads of tree pulp outta here.”
Someone made a light giggle. But nobody knew who it was.
---
“Writers Bloc! Writers Bloc! Issue 12, fresh off the press, come and get it!”
“What’s up with these mysterious cupcake sighting?! Who are they and why don’t we know more about them? Come find out!”
“Special article on trolling by Kaydirt! Expand your vocabulary with SomeGuy! Learn to speak with NightBeck! All this and much much more in Writers Bloc number twelve!”
Good luck seemed to be coming their way, though it all depended on what they were doing. Katana had seized a crosswalk and demanded people to buy the paper lest they wanted to skip across (increasing male readership). Sangome was holding a trivia contest, in which people would get a free paper and the cost of another if they won (most, however, didn’t). SomeGuy took the semi-stalker route, following people and smooth-talking his way into getting his victims to buy. Becky had accepted the challenge of patrolling the art hub, doing surprisingly well by saying people could get free drinks for a year at the café (which wasn’t a total lie – they could, they just didn’t).
Ace glanced at a clock that hung on a corner building. It was noon, the check-in time. He fished a cell phone-like device from his pocket. Upon meeting the light, the screen flashed on, momentarily pausing to read “Hi there Aceburner!”. His thumb got to work, tapping through a short series of icons before a momentum-filled rectangle hovered over the name ‘SomeGuy’. There was another tap before Ace held it up to his cheek.
“Hey Ace,” SomeGuy’s voice said. “What’s up?”
“Nothing really, it’s just the check-in time.”
“Really? Wow. I’ve been doing too much stalking. So how you doing?”
“I was able to sell off my entire load. I’m going to head over to the café and get my stuff.”
“Alright. You know the drill. Thanks for your time.”
“Bye.” Beep. Ace pocketed the device, looking up to re-establish his bearings. He was about ten blocks from the café – an easy walk, nothing to complain about. After shaking his hair out, he began his trek through the neighborhood, giving a nod to people he saw carrying a paper with them. It was fulfilling to see, especially with the recent gloom that had been choking the journalists.
The sun was relentless in its smackdown on the city. Many people were walking about with hats and sunglasses on, and the dress code seemed to be stripped to its boundaries as people scuttled about. Ace stopped at a corner and noticed a beverage cart, to which he maneuvered his way towards and ordered a bottle of water.
The vendor looked at him as she handed him the bottle. “Hey, you’re...a part of that paper, right? Writers Bloc?”
Ace was slightly taken aback by the comment. Writing wasn’t the easiest way to get noticed in the city, so any call-outs on it were surprising. “Y-yeah. My name’s Ace. I’m just a contributor and a lackey.” Then he paused, staring at the girl. Something was off…
A series of images shot into his head. The cupcake at the Forum. The flash of a blurred purple on the street. A glimpse of a cherry stem outside the café’s window. Ace looked at her face, which had contained little emotion.
And there. Just for a second – but long enough to truly register – her eyes. The right was blue, hardly unusual, but the left was red, something definitely unusual. Ace’s grip on the bottle slackened before completely letting go of it, calmly walking backwards, and melting into the crowd at the crosswalk.
Upon reaching the other side of the street, his hand shot into his pocket and whipped out the cell. But the instant the main screen appeared, an envelope icon popped on. It was from Wayward.
“Beck’s not responding. Has anyone been able to get ahold of her?” His voice echoed over the text.
Ace stared at the message. It was more than odd that Becky wasn’t responding to messages. She was efficient in her work and always answered quickly.
Another envelope appeared. This time, SomeGuy’s voice spoke over the text on the screen. “She’s not answering. Who’s by her spot? Go check it out now.”
---
Timechaser handed off the last of his papers before jogging towards the art hub. It was unusual for SomeGuy to sound as panicked as he did, and especially odd for him to demand instantaneous action. To try and calm his nerves, he kept sending Becky messages, but no responses came.
“Bad…very bad…”
Suddenly, he stopped. This was where Becky had been stationed. Sweeping his gaze up and down the street, his heart began to pound when her familiar guise wasn’t seen.
Defeated, Timechaser lifted the cell to his lips, held a side button, and spoke. “She’s not here.”
But a cupcake was.
