coffee / break.
27 November 2015 02:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
daemon_angeluswas going through old notes on my phone and (re-)discovered this piece!! omg I used to write like this hahhhh
She serves him coffee in a paper takeaway mug from his favourite Seattle coffee chain. Sometimes it's just a venti latte, sometimes it's the monthly promotion with double espresso shots, soy milk, another shot of cinnamon, and finished off with a sprinkle of chocolate powder. Mr. Jones is many things (she thinks there should be some professionalism at work, especially in the highest establishment of the land, no matter how casual her boss is, so she still can't bring herself to address him by his first name), but no matter what kind of coffee she brings him, it's always received with a brilliant and friendly smile.
"Morning, Mr. Jones."
"Morning, Abby!" His expression turns into one of mock-resignation. "Still aren't gonna call me 'Alfred', huh?"
Abby's lips quirk a little at the side, honest and open. "You know I have my reasons, sir."
"Whoa! Busting out the big guns, huh." Alfred holds up his hands, pleading surrender. "As if 'Mr. Jones' isn't stuffy enough." His gaze flicks to the paper mug Abby just placed on the mahogany table, already straightening to take her rightful place on the other side of his desk. "What'd ya have for me today?" Alfred waggles his eyebrows playfully. "What's behindddd lid number twoooo?" He exclaims in his best variety show host voice.
Abby lets loose a soft chuckle. "Exactly what you ordered, Mr. Jones. Just a venti latte."
"Aw! Where's the surprise in that..." Alfred mumbles, the mug already halfway to his lips.
(I bet Boston must have been a real shocker then, huh, Arthur.
...
Why am I even thinking about this.)
Alfred takes a sip of the latte, scalding his tongue a little but he hides it. "Thanks again, Abby! If there's anything else, I know who I'm gonna call!" He flashes her a thumbs up with his free hand.
Abby's green eyes soften as she gives a small wave before exiting Alfred's office, the wooden door clicking audibly as it shut.
(Who could you have called, Arthur.
...Guess there wasn't really anyone.)
She serves him coffee in a paper takeaway mug from his favourite Seattle coffee chain. Sometimes it's just a venti latte, sometimes it's the monthly promotion with double espresso shots, soy milk, another shot of cinnamon, and finished off with a sprinkle of chocolate powder. Mr. Jones is many things (she thinks there should be some professionalism at work, especially in the highest establishment of the land, no matter how casual her boss is, so she still can't bring herself to address him by his first name), but no matter what kind of coffee she brings him, it's always received with a brilliant and friendly smile.
"Morning, Mr. Jones."
"Morning, Abby!" His expression turns into one of mock-resignation. "Still aren't gonna call me 'Alfred', huh?"
Abby's lips quirk a little at the side, honest and open. "You know I have my reasons, sir."
"Whoa! Busting out the big guns, huh." Alfred holds up his hands, pleading surrender. "As if 'Mr. Jones' isn't stuffy enough." His gaze flicks to the paper mug Abby just placed on the mahogany table, already straightening to take her rightful place on the other side of his desk. "What'd ya have for me today?" Alfred waggles his eyebrows playfully. "What's behindddd lid number twoooo?" He exclaims in his best variety show host voice.
Abby lets loose a soft chuckle. "Exactly what you ordered, Mr. Jones. Just a venti latte."
"Aw! Where's the surprise in that..." Alfred mumbles, the mug already halfway to his lips.
(I bet Boston must have been a real shocker then, huh, Arthur.
...
Why am I even thinking about this.)
Alfred takes a sip of the latte, scalding his tongue a little but he hides it. "Thanks again, Abby! If there's anything else, I know who I'm gonna call!" He flashes her a thumbs up with his free hand.
Abby's green eyes soften as she gives a small wave before exiting Alfred's office, the wooden door clicking audibly as it shut.
(Who could you have called, Arthur.
...Guess there wasn't really anyone.)
