A loud crack startled the few Baristas still in Brewed Awakenings as the door was kicked open, Kyle sweeping inside with Brent slung over his shoulder like a fire fighter rescuing some idiot playing with matches. The other baristas scurried out of their way and went back to their minor tasks as if nothing had disturbed them in the first place.
Kyle dropped the younger Barista down in one of the chairs near the front counter, grasping Brent by the shoulders as he stared into his eyes.
âStay.â Kyle ordered.
âStay.â Kyle repeated firmly, releasing Brent and disappearing into the back of the shop.
Brent wanted to protest, to defy, but something about Kyleâs tone made him stay put. He was still learning a lot of what humans called emotions and he was pretty sure, if he had them and understood him, heâd be afraid. Or concerned.
Either way, he knew for sure that he was discontent with Kyle just grabbing him up and hauling him back to Night Vale when they reunited. Brent was relieved to have finally found out what had happened to his fellow Barista but after that he wasnât so sure.
Kyle had been missing for a week, but he had said he had been in Desert Bluff Too for much longer than that. Brent did remember someone saying that time was even weirder there than it was here in Night Vale. Kyle did not seem to have enjoyed his time in the Bluffs as much as Brent had, maybe if he had gotten to seen with Kevin he would have liked it more.
After a little while, Kyle came back from whatever he had been doing in the back. He put a non-wheat muffin on a plate down in front of Brent and a cup of coffee.
âEat, drink.â Kyle said, again with that tone that reminded Brent so much of the Manager, so cold and distant.
Brent tried to speak again but Kyle only shoved the muffin into his open mouth, gargling any words that would have come out. He relented and decided to just do as he was told. Brent was good at that.
They sat there, eating and sipping their coffee silently for several minutes. It wasnât that unusual for Barista to do this together, but it /felt/ different.
Kyle was a 3rd Level Sentient Barista, he was so different than the rest of them. He was practically human in his behavior, it was why Brent had been pestering him with all his questions. It what 2nd Levels were supposed to do to help them transition to the 3rd Level themselves.
Brent took in a minor breath, bracing to finally get a word in and not be shut down again. He was disappointed once more as Kyle stood up abruptly, taking their dishes and going back behind the counter.
âKyle!â Brent snapped, not something he had ever done before, his voice had never raised before like that. It startled him into forgetting the rest of what he had wanted to say. He held his hands to his chest, feeling strange inside his branches and beans. Wondering frantically if there was something wrong with him.
âBrent relax.â Brent flinched back in his seat as Kyle reappeared in front of him with a white towel in his hands. âYou are just feeling frustrated, its normal. Actions and emotions tend to come hand in hand.â He explained, a puff of air escaping his lips. âLet me see your handsâŠyouâreâŠgetting /that/ all over your clothes.â Kyleâs face twisted in something unpleasant, Brent had seen it on humans before when they were told what exactly was in the non-wheat baked goods.
Brent held out his hands, fidgeting when Kyle touched him. Brent didnât know enough to compare it to human touch, they were both just Baristas after all, but touch was certainly something he found fascinating if not startling. Kyle would never do anything bad, Brent reminded himself and allowed the older Barista to wipe his hands and arms with the towel. It soon stained red along with a few other colors.
Kevinâs studio and most of Desert Bluffs Too was decorated with the most interesting colors and things. Some things that were vaguely familiar, but nonetheless pleasant to look at. Nothing like Night Vale, but it was also veryâŠwet.
Kyle was right, it was all over his clothes and shoes, they had both tracked it in to the shop. Other 1st Levels were mopping up the shoe prints they had left behind.
âAre you mad at me?â Kyle asked, not looking at Brent but at his task of trying to get as much blood off the naĂŻve Barista.
âMad?â Brent sighed. âIâm not sureâŠI didnât want to leave yet.â
âI know. Iâm sorry, but that place wasâŠit wasnât good for us to be there.â Kyle looked him in the eye.
âThat is something everyone keeps saying, but I have no evidence of that being true.â Brent felt the slight ever present smile on his face straining, almost turning into a frown. It almost hurt his face, if he had any understanding of pain.
âYou are still learning things, Brent. So until you do, other people like me need to let you know whatâs majority seen as good or bad.â Kyle explained. Kyle focused on wiping down Brentâs palms and between his fingers.
Brent leaned back in his seat, wanting nothing more than to argue but he knew that Kyle was right. Kyle had been through all of this too with some other 3rd Level telling him the same thing. Maybe someday Brent would be a 3rd Level and be telling this to someone just as confused and lost as him.
An emptiness laid inside his chest at the thought of that.
âI donât want to be a Barista anymore.â Brent spoke before he could think.
Kyleâs eyes snapped up from his task, covering Brentâs mouth with his hand in a flash. He looked around quickly to see if the others had heard or if there were too close to the secret policeâs microphones.
âBrent.â Kyle dropped his voice to a whisper, sounding nearly terrified. âDo not say thatâŠnot here. PleaseâŠwe can talk later, but not here.â
Brent nodded slowly, lightly placing one of his hands over Kyles.
Touch. It was so strange, mysterious, but Brent felt like he enjoyed it. It always felt like an espresso shot to his insides.
Kyle gave him an odd look, almost like he was worried, but about something other than what the younger Barista had said. He removed his hand and wiped Brentâs face with the towel.
âSorryâŠI still have it on my hands to.â
âWhat is /it/?â Brent asked, he wanted to know why other people didnât like it so much.
âBlood.â Kyle said, blanching. He helped Brent up, dropping the towel on the table for one of the Baristas cleaning to take. âLetâs get back to the Apartments.â
Brent nodded. He allowed Kyle to lead him out of the shop, back to the place most people would call home. Something Baristas just called their apartments, it was just few rooms. No life there, just existing. There had to be more.
In the morning, heâd be back in the shop. Heâd made coffee, tea, non-wheat baked goods. Brent would smile all day and all night. He would greet every person with some kind of learned cheer. He would understand nothing outside of this Barista life and he would end up in his apartment again.
There had to be more. He wanted to find out what more there could be. He /would/ find more.
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