Pelipper mail! A nightmare, maybe? Or just a dream...
It is a normal shift at the Yharnam Coffee Shop, in your home town in the suburbs of Portland, Oregon. You have lived here all your life, and have been satisfied enough.
The owner, Gehrman, hardly ever comes into the shop to manage things. He prefers to sit in the chair out front and greet customers, all day long, and he swears this is critical to Yharnam Coffee's successful operation. When he's not present, it's up to you as most senior employee to make sure things run smoothly.
Not that there's ever much difficulty or tension, here. The shop's only competition was your former employer, the Cainhurst Brewery, and it burned to the ground three months ago. Your coworker Alfred seems unusually happy about that and you have your suspicions, no matter how many times you've tried to tell him that companies don't deserve his loyalty or outside-work efforts.
Eileen is here, as usual, sitting in the corner with her black coffee and blacker clothing. You don't know what she used to do, but she's retired now. She likes to people-watch, and will comment briefly to people who make the effort to sit beside her, but she always pushes visitors away eventually.
At the front of the line now is Djura, who used to work here but quit in favor of a better job last year. He is polite but curt, asking for his latte to go as he always does, because you know he doesn't like to spend time in here any more than he needs to. You take his payment and write his name on the cup, spelled correctly as so few people can. Behind you, Gascoigne begins making the drink for him.
It is an uneventful day. After a while, Eileen gets up to leave. Another one of your regulars, Gilbert, enters wearing a face mask, but he assures you what he has is not serious. At the end of your shift, Gascoigne's daughters show up with an order for four hot chocolates. Laurence and Amelia are already here to replace you, making this as their first order of the day, and you help Gascoigne carry everything out to his wife waiting in the car.
Then you head home yourself, and Reina meets you at the door with a smile and a hug, and all is well.
I. That.
What.
I have so many questions and I am, in fact, just confused enough to actually begin asking them.
Where is Portland? Where is Oregon? Why a coffee shop? I'll admit I'm rather amused by how thoroughly useless Gehrman was, given how thoroughly useless I am led to believe he became in his old age. Yet—
Cainhurst? A brewery? If anything, they would be a winery, they were always all too pretentious about their particular vintages—on a related note, do not drink the wine there, it is not wine and it is not sanitary—and I don't know who this 'Alfred' is but if he burned Cainhurst to the ground he cannot be entirely terrible.
I do know Eileen, and she would be the sort to drink entirely black coffee. She would... also be the sort to push people away. Especially after being retired.
...I can scarcely imagine her retiring. Not willingly, at least. She was... she was younger than me. She was an old woman in that dream.
I have... never met a Djura, or a Gascoigne, or a Gilbert. I suppose that they, like Alfred, must have been after my time... and like whoever Amelia must be.
Laurence is... familiar. I would not trust him in food service. For several reasons.
Still, I...
How can I feel nostalgic for something that never was, and never could be? For people I have never met, only heard of, in many cases?
Why do I miss something that I never experienced?
...Enough of that, I suppose. Victory Road is close, and I'm told that the Pokémon League is just beyond it.
Perhaps...
...Perhaps I'll consider coffee further, the next time I am in civilization. I always preferred tea, though that was more out of familiarity rather than anything else. It certainly smells nice, or did in that... dream? Nightmare?
I don't know what to categorize that as, in complete honesty.
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