#cursedmaestro

“That lady on the internet better not steer me wrong,” Isidore murmured under his breath as he waited in line at Just Coffee. They were not kidding about it being just coffee. There were different blends and flavors, but… man, this was killing him. As a muse, this was his worst nightmare. There wasn’t a thread of inspiration to be pulled from anywhere in this place. It hurt; it physically and mentally wounded him. 

There was a customer in front of him, and another behind him. He tapped a finger against his thigh as he waited; the lack of music was absolutely jarring. The only sound to comfort him was the sound of the espresso machine as they poured a shot and steamed some milk. He was seriously starting to doubt this Jade person’s claim that this place would be worthwhile. So far, it was disconcerting at best.

Finally, it was his turn. He ordered a medium mocha, hot. Straight to the point. At least he didn’t have to humiliate himself by ordering something with a silly name, so there was a god after all. He waited off to the side as they prepared to drink, gaze flitting to the window to look at the setting sun outside. He was planning on pulling a painting all-nighter, so he needed the fuel to get him there. The sooner he got this commission done, the sooner he received the rest of his payment. Rent, or whatever the humans called it, was due soon. 

As the drink was handed to him, Isidore headed toward the back counter to add creamer to his drink, when the employees suddenly shuffled out the door without so much as a word. “What…” He trailed off as he looked over to the other customer, unfortunate enough to be stuck in there with him. “Where…?” His brows furrowed together as he popped the lid onto his coffee to follow after them. But the door wouldn’t open. It was stuck shut. 

“You’ve got to be kidding,” the muse snarled out as he yanked on the door once more. “What the fuck? No warning? Just locking us in here?” He watched as the employees got in their cars, not paying the two stuck customers a second glance. “Hello?!” He shouted as he banged on the glass, but it was no use. They were gone. And he and this stranger? They were stuck.

__

The coffee shop was not Baz’s scene. It was dreadfully boring, in fact; all white walls and colorless countertops, the sort of thing that might see the doppelganger pulling their hair out if they were the sort for dramatics. Fortunately, though, they were an incredibly reasonable individual and settled instead for loud, intermittent groans. It wasn’t enough that the coffee shop was utterly uninspired — there was a line, too! Baz couldn’t fathom how that could be. Who would want to be here at all, much less stand in line for the offerings? 

And yet, here they stood, firmly in the back of the line. It was their own fault, really, for deciding that part of their journey of self discovery ought to involve trying out every cafe in Wicked’s Rest. Baz had learned that the only way for them to definitively know whether or not they liked something was to try it themself, and while the decor of this cafe was uninspired and boring, the coffee itself might be decent. (Even if it was, Baz knew they’d likely never come back. They tended to choose restaurants and cafes based on vibes more than edible offerings, after all.)

The line moved quickly enough, at least. The man in front of him (who was fae, given the tingling in the doppelganger’s stomach) got his boring coffee drink, and Baz ordered one of their own at random. They preferred tea to coffee, but this place didn’t seem to offer anything like that. Much like the name suggested, they sold just coffee. How did they live through the boredom? 

Coffee in hand, Baz prepared to march out of the cafe in protest. They would have done it, too, had they not been deterred by the locked door and disappearing employees. Recalling their encounter with Luc in the paint shop, they groaned, glancing around dubiously to ensure that the man hadn’t somehow slipped in when they weren’t looking. But there was no Luc here; there was only Baz and the fae who had been in front of them in line. “Oh, not this again!” They exclaimed, rapping their knuckles against the door. “Hello, yes, very funny! Let’s go ahead and open the door, yeah? I’m not in the mood for this sort of game!”

—

Unable to ignore the tingling, Isidore finally admitted to himself that he was stuck in this place with another fae. Not the worst thing in the world, but not the best either. He knew his kind, and he knew that his control only extended to those within his own Aos Sí. The other fae in question was yelling to no one in particular, but something caught his attention. “Again?” The muse questioned, looking over to the stranger with an incredulous expression. “You’ve been locked in a business after hours before?” 

That… wasn’t important. Well, unless they had a solution to getting out, it wasn’t. Izzy wasted no time, beginning to search up and down for some kind of exit. They walked to the back door in the kitchen. Shut tight. “This doesn’t feel very up to fire safety standards.” He remarked as he kicked the door hard in frustration. He walked back out to the main area. “What do we do, can we break the windows?” He questioned as his eyes darted around, looking at the uncomfortable looking chairs that he could easily fling through the glass. 

“Do we call someone?” He then asked as a follow up. What would they do, though? Stare helplessly from the other side with a look of longing in their eyes? Unlikely it would do any good. Smashing the glass was a much better option. And a much more cathartic option at that. 

__

“Well, I’m not sure after hours is quite the right term,” Baz admitted, spinning on their heel to turn towards the fae they were sharing the room with. They wondered what sort he was. Probably not a nymph — he didn’t have the earthy look to him. Nix didn’t seem quite right, either. Maybe another doppelganger? That could be fun! “It was the middle of the day, and they changed up the outside a bit. Made it all dark and ominous, the whole nine yards. The bloke I was locked in with was a right mess, he’s lucky I was there.” The lie twisted their gut, but they’d gotten good at ignoring that sort of thing.

They were a bit less skilled in problem solving, unfortunately. They nodded enthusiastically as the man mentioned fire safety, pointing at him with a quiet excitement. “That’s what I said last time!” They exclaimed. “It’s as if no one in this town cares about fire safety. Or food safety, for that matter! Probably not any sort of safety at all.” They clicked their tongue, looking to the windows. It was probably possible to shatter them, but it’d be messy. Baz wasn’t sure it was the best option available to them.

“Not sure breaking the window’s our best bet,” they admitted. “Might cut ourselves on the glass. And they’d probably make us pay for repairs. Don’t know about you, but I don’t have that sort of cash laying around.” Not anymore, at least. It wasn’t the sort of thing they’d have had to worry about at all back when their father cleaned up their messes. (Of course, back when their father cleaned up their messes, they’d had much worse things to worry about.) “We should check the other doors, at least. Maybe they’ve left something unlocked in the back. Or a window! Last time, I got out through a window.”

—

Unlike Baz, Isidore had no desire to know what kind of fae Baz was. Knowing such things could only become a liability, and the last thing he wanted was to be responsible for someone else’s identity. No. Not knowing was the best course of action. Knowing that the other was fae, he took their word at face value as well, not knowing that what they said was a lie. “This town’s weird. It lets us get away with things more easily, but it also makes the things that happen to us in turn equally as, if not more so, annoying.” Izzy spoke, shaking his head at the idea of getting locked into a store in the middle of the day. No fun.

“I think there are a lot of things that people in this town should pay better attention to, but… It’s also what’s kept a lot of safe this long, so… I suppose I should take what I get and leave the questionable bits behind, right?” Izzy shrugged his shoulders before trying the front door one more time, just in case the door magically changed its mind at the last minute to let them out (It didn’t, but it was worth a shot). “Wicked’s Rest’s motto might as well be ‘Good Luck,’ with a big thumbs up.” He muttered in annoyance before beginning to look around for something, anything that would get them out of there. A key, a secret code, anything. 

“Yeah, well. They shouldn’t have locked us in here in the first place. I hardly care about getting charged for damages. They’re the ones who didn’t let us out.” He also didn’t trust anyone who would show up if they were to call 911, but didn’t say that part out loud. That part felt implied. “Alright, so smashing the glass is the last option, seeing as how neither of us are made of money,” Izzy grumbles as he begins opening cabinets to look for a key or button or something that made sense that would lead to their escape. Still nothing. “I checked the back door and the front door, and I’m currently looking for a key if you want to keep trying different doors and windows,” he called out as he continued rooting around the place.

__

“Weird’s one word for it,” Baz agreed, looking a bit more unbothered by the predicament than their companion seemed to be. Being trapped with Luc had been bad because they had had little desire to be around Luc, afraid of the questions he might ask. Being trapped with a stranger felt like much lower stakes, especially with the added bonus of knowing the stranger was fae. Plenty of things could be said about fae — and Baz themself had been the one saying those things, from time to time — but most of them weren’t particularly interested in hurting one another at random. They figured that meant they were safe enough with this bloke, even if they’d never met him before today. 

They hummed in acknowledgement to the statement, because there was some truth to it. People in this town ought to be more observant, but the fact that they weren’t observant made it far easier for fae (and other supernatural beings) to go undetected. “Do towns have mottos? I always thought that sort of thing was reserved for sitcoms.” They were immediately distracted by the thought, trying to determine if they’d ever heard of London having its own motto. (It must have, mustn’t it? It was a major city. World famous, and all that.) “Not sure a thumbs up can be part of a motto, anyway. It’s a verbal thing, innit? Thumbs aren’t verbal.” 

As the other fae began searching around the room, Baz wandered aimlessly and continued to consider the motto question of it all. They’d never been particularly helpful in situations like this one; it was only the desire to be away from Luc that had driven them towards anything resembling useful when it was him they’d been trapped with. The motivation to get away from this stranger simply wasn’t there. “Well, if you don’t care about the money, you can be the one paying it. I’ve got bills, mate.” They lazily lifted some papers, looking underneath them and finding nothing but dust. “You think they’d leave a key just laying around? Feels like a bit of a stretch.” Still looking aimless, Baz wandered over to a window and knocked their knuckles against it. Solid glass, and not the sort that opened. They hummed, walking along the wall and tapping their knuckles against it occasionally. “They’ll have to come back sooner or later, you know. Because of capitalism. Can’t leave a cafe empty when there’s money to be made!”

—

Izzy kept himself busy by continuing to look around, only to grow increasingly frustrated as he came up empty-handed each time. He paid little mind to what Baz was doing, hyper-focused on looking for a way out. With each failure, he found himself growing increasingly frustrated. So much so that he barely registered Baz’s question about town mottos. “Huh? Oh yeah, town mottos are definitely a thing. They’re usually in Latin. Like London’s is Domine Dirige Nos, which translates to ‘O Lord, Guide Us.’ Or D.C.’s motto is Justitia Omnibus, which means ‘Justice for All.’” The fae shrugged, losing more and more steam as he continued to come up with nothing. 

They were truly locked in this place until someone showed up in the morning for their shit, weren’t they? The fae walked to the middle of the room and sat down, looking completely defeated. “There’s no way I’m sleeping in one of those chairs. I’ll hurt myself trying. I’m better off on the ground.” Izzy looked over to Baz, who was wandering rather aimlessly. “Nah, I’d rather not have to pay for damages and further need to explain myself to someone I don’t want to interact with.” He decided with a long, deep sigh. “I never thought I’d ever rely on capitalism to save me, but here we are.” He flopped onto his back, staring up at the ceiling with a frown. “I was going to pull an all-nighter working on a commission, but I’m stuck here instead? This is awful.” 

He pulled out his phone, which he thankfully charged before going out, meaning he had a full battery to distract himself with. “I’m stealing all their toilet paper,” he decided as he mindlessly scrolled on his phone before putting the phone down beside him. “That’s the least they could do after locking me in this place overnight.”

—

“Ah, never was much a fan of Latin,” Baz replied, wrinkling their nose distastefully. Their father, of course, had been a big fan of Latin, which was part of why they disliked it. Most things they did were done with the intention of disappointing Franklin Virk, in one way or another, even if he was on another continent. “Not sure the Lord’s done much guiding in London, though. And I don’t think D.C. has ever been interested in justice for all, have they? So it doesn’t seem the mottos matter much. Might as well not have one at all!” Notably, the doppelganger had entirely given up even the illusion of helpfulness.

No longer bound by an expectation to look for an escape, Baz took to sitting cross-legged on the floor not far from the other fae, glancing to the chairs with a shrug. “Push a few of them together, and they wouldn’t be that bad. Not much different than a bus bench, at that point!” Baz had certainly slept on worse, in the time between their departure from their father’s house and their move into Sebastian’s flat. Sleeping on concrete was much less comfortable than sleeping in a chair. They perked up a bit as their companion mentioned a commission, looking interested. “Are you an artist?” 

Their own phone was mostly dead — an occurrence which wasn’t entirely unusual, given how often they scrolled through random sites and games on it — but they took it from their pocket all the same to check their messages. “Place like this will have the shoddy single-ply type,” they commented, making a face. “Not worth it, mate, trust me. If you’re going to steal something, steal something worth having.”

—

“Latin is an acquired taste I’ve never really had, yeah.” Izzy mused in response as he stared up blankly at the ceiling. “But I did have a phase of learning weird facts about random capitals of countries when I was a kid, and for some reason, town mottos became a strange fixation of mine. I’m full of useless facts that no one will ever need in that regard.” He shrugged his shoulders as he looked over to the other fae with a curious expression. “Yeah, they are terribly ironic, aren’t they?” He quipped back as Baz questioned the logic of the city’s chosen mottos. “I think it’s more sad than it is funny, though. Oh well, I choose not to dwell on it.” 

“Eh, I’m already on the floor. I’d just be awkward in the chairs shifting around all night,” Izzy responded with a sigh as he picked his phone back up and idly started scrolling. The floor would suffice, even if his back ended up screaming for mercy come morning. He’d deal with it then. “Hm?” He raised his head to look at the other, then nodded his head. “Yeah, I’m a hyperrealistic portrait artist. I specialize in oil paints and charcoal.” He explained, pulling up a portrait he’d recently finished of a young woman. True to his word, it looked almost as if it were alive. “Recent piece I finished.” He explained before putting his phone back onto the floor. 

“Hm. Good point, two-ply doesn’t fit their no-nonsense policy they seem to have going on,” he murmured with a frown as he looked over to the espresso machine behind the counter. “See, I’d steal the espresso machine if I could get away with it, but they’d most definitely notice my scrawny ass trying to make away with something that bulky and heavy.” He grumbled, then went back to staring up at the ceiling. “Besides, it’s probably cursed somehow anyway.”

__

“No such thing as useless information,” Baz replied with a shrug. It was something they believed wholeheartedly, because didn’t everything come in handy sooner or later? Sure, some things might only come in handy at bar trivia nights, but that didn’t mean there was no value in knowing them. Baz happened to like knowing things, especially if they were things most might consider useless. Nothing had pissed their father off more than the way they were capable of memorizing information that had no real value, but unable to focus on the things that did. “Maybe you’re right,” they shrugged again, though they didn’t really consider it sad. It was the way of the world, wasn’t it? No use being sad about that.

The fae on the floor could suit himself, really; if Baz decided to lay down for the night, they’d do so on the chairs rather than the dirty floor. They had some standards, despite what people might think of them. Of course, odds were good that Baz would never lie down at all. They’d much prefer to wander, letting the energy buzzing through them keep them awake into the night. “Yeah?” Their interest was piqued as the man clarified his artistic style, and they leaned in to look at the portrait. It was good, and Baz let out a low whistle. “Impressive. I’m an artist, too. Bit of everything — painting, sketching, sculpting, poetry. Never got the hang of needlework, though. Tried knitting for a beat, but never got much further than making the little squares. Never knew what to do with them after!” 

Following the other’s gaze to the espresso machine, Baz hummed. “Maybe try making off with a few mugs or something instead. They’re a bit boring with the plain white, but you could always paint designs on them yourself. Or a coffee grinder! Those are fun.” Maybe Baz would grab one of those, actually. It’d make a nice enough holiday gift for Joel. “Nobody’d bother cursing cafe equipment. Not with magic in the state it’s in. Why waste it, right? People are bound to be saving that sort of thing for ancient tombs and the like right now. No better time to start swiping.”

—

Isidore stared at his phone blankly for a long moment after showing off his art, questioning how he was going to get through the night. Man, this place was the worst place to be stuck. After a moment, he finally sat back up and looked over to Baz, who was busy rattling off different art mediums he liked to use. It brought a smile to the muse’s face. “Really? That’s awesome!” He explained, genuinely excited to meet someone who enjoyed art. “I also do ceramics at the local cave place, go every Saturday.” He spoke. “It’s how I have bowls and plates. I made them instead of paid for them.” He wiggled his brows conspiratorially as he shoved his phone back into his pocket. 

He thought for a moment before jumping back up onto his feet and making for the register, taking some of the receipt paper and a pen from his pocket. “Might as well doodle for entertainment,” he grumbled as he walked over to a table and sat down to start his mini masterpieces. “I can’t get into needlework either. Too delicate and precise for my liking. While I’m sure I could do it, I just don’t like it. It’s slow. At least with painting I can slap a paintbrush around with wild abandon, you know?” The fae shrugged as he began sketching the grumpy employee that walked out on them and locked them inside. 

“Do you know what’s causing the blackouts?” He asked as Baz brought up the goings on. Might as well pick a fellow fae’s brain for information, right? “I wish I knew literally anything. Makes it impossible to keep safe.” He continued his hatch marks on the paper, grumbling to himself. “Maybe I’ll take a mug. For the inconvenience I’ve been caused.” He spoke with a shrug, seriously considering making off with this stupid shop’s equipment. They don’t deserve it. 

—

“Don’t you still have to pay to do the ceramics?” Baz questioned, tilting their head to the side curiously. It was possible that the answer was no, but that was the sort of thing that only really served to make them suspicious in this town. There were all sorts of businesses with ‘alternative’ payment methods, but Baz knew enough to know that most times, you’d likely end up wishing cash had been an accepted method of payment. As fae, they knew exactly what a thing could cost you if you didn’t know what you were paying.

Lazily, Baz watched their companion get back to his feet and head for the register. “Stealing the cash is a nice idea, too,” they offered, grinning a little. It’d serve the employees right for locking them in here, really. But rather than force the register open, the man grabbed some paper, and Baz found that just as nice. “I don’t mind delicate. I like delicate, really. I just don’t have the patience for it, I suppose. Feels like there’s ants under my skin, sometimes. Makes it hard to sit still long enough for needlework. Painting’s easier. You can change the whole piece partway through, if you like. Harder to do that with needlework.”

The question saw Baz pursing their lips thoughtfully, shrugging a shoulder. “No idea,” they admitted. “Only been in town six months or so myself, and I think this started happening before I arrived. Right pain in the ass, but I suppose it could be worse.” It seemed far worse for Joel, who’d found himself stuck in bear form the last time one of the major blackouts took place. Baz imagined it was a headache for spellcasters, too, or for nymphs who relied more heavily on glamours. “Yeah!” Baz cheered with a grin. “Might as well grab something for our troubles, hm?”

—

As Baz asked him a question, Izzy distractedly nodded his head. “Yeah, you pay a few bucks per pound of clay, and it also covers the cost of glaze. At least, that’s what she does for me anyway. I’ve been going there long enough she knows my name and all that.” He continued sketching, gaze focused on what was in front of him. This was more than just an idle doodle, he had something to prove here. “Nothing nefarious in terms of payment, by the way. You don’t have to sell a portion of your soul off or anything. It’s just money.” Once he finished the quick sketch of the employee, he drew an arrow with the words ‘This is their fault’ written in bold letters before he got up from his seat and slammed the receipt down onto the counter by the register. 

Looking over to Baz, Izzy’s eyes flashed with a crazy look in them before nodding his head slowly. He kept nodding his head as he looked around for the heaviest object at his disposal, and settled on picking up the coffee urn. This would do just fine, he decided as he looked over to Baz one last time before nodding again. His mind was made up; he was getting the fuck out of here. “If they come after us, I’ll pay for it myself.” He reassured the other as he hoisted the urn over his shoulder, then flung it against the window with all his might, shattering the glass instantly. “Beautiful,” he murmured as the glass rained down onto the ground around him. He kept hitting the urn against the window, so there was a safe way to get out without glass shards to cut them.

He whirled his head around toward Baz and grinned wickedly. “I’ll see around, yeah? I’d love to have an in-depth conversation about art sometime, or whatever else you want to talk about. You seem like a cool person. But I desperately need to get this commissioned piece done, so you’ll have to excuse my willingness to break a fucking window to get out of here.” He stepped out of the window and onto the pavement outside and threw his arms out. Free at last! 

Thus begins Izzy’s coffee shop reign of terror.

—

“Just money’s not the sort of thing all of us can afford,” Baz responded with a chuckle, shaking their head. They’d never once missed their father, but they certainly missed his money. It wasn’t worth even considering going back to him, of course — Baz would much rather live on the streets than under their father’s roof, and had done just that until Sebastian took pity on them in London — but it had been nice to know everything they needed was easily paid for. Their current financial situation was far more dire. “Suppose I’ll have to stick to thrift stores for that sort of thing. All well and good, though — they’ve got great mugs for less than a quarter!” Great was, perhaps, something of an overstatement, but Baz had learned to appreciate the things they could afford in order to keep from being too upset about what they couldn’t.

They watched their companion move back towards the counter curiously, tilting their head to the side as he picked something up. “That seems a bit heavy to swipe, but who am I to —” They cut themself off as he hoisted the thing over his shoulder and tossed it through the window. The noise elicited a small wince from Baz, but at least the other fae agreed to pay for the damage. This was something the doppelganger certainly couldn’t afford, after all.