Open Chronicles Syrenia's Cafe

[Lustry]

The sprawling streets of Alliria were confusing to many, and only the adept would be able to get to where Syrenia was standing. The dingy room was not much, but to her it was the most beautiful thing in the world. The cafe was something she had worked towards for a large part of 5 years. It wasn't in the most desirable area, but to her it was enough to get her dream off the ground and into the world. Syrenia did leave flyers around the community, and on other boards littered throughout the city, and with the first day finally here, she was holding her breathe about her first day. She double checked the mugs and plates. then the kitchen where some baked goods were sitting in wooden boxes, ready to be served. The hot water in a pot was simmering beautifully, and tea leaves in tiny cups lined the small prep area. The room only have about 10 seats, and could be considered a very friendly cafe where personal space was naught.

With one last look around her, she nodded and walked towards the front of her store. Her hands were shaking as she walked to the door to flip a small sign that sat in the alove of her storefront. The words "Open! Welcome" proudly faced the few faces that walked past her street.

I can't believe this is actually happening. Syernia took a deep breathe and couldn't help but to let a squeal escape her lips. She tied her reddish hair back into a bun and stood behind the counter, excitedly waiting for the door to open.

​

 

[Garrod Arlette]

The door came open with a slight creak, and through the frame stepped a tall man, one eyed, a strange right arm, and disheveled of hair. His lone green eye peered about, and he smiled faintly as he could smell the fragrant scent of his favorite drink.

"Nice little place,' he said and stepped toward the counter with steady knocks of his boots. His eye met the woman's gaze, and he gave a little nod. "How's it goin," he spoke easy.

 

[Syrenia]

Syrenia's face lit up at the sound of a customer, and she was a bit disheartened it was a strange man as her first order.

"It looks like you have an interesting story to tell." She gave him a patient smile as she tied a white apron to the front of her body, "Today we have some fresh baked bread with a dash of cinnamon as an opening gift. Would you like some as you mull over what you'd like to order?"

She handed him a piece of freshly made paper with her menu. Basic teas like earl grey, and green, as well as some more flavourful ones like apple spice were also listed. Scones of multiple flavours, and biscuits could also be found, as well as some light lunch items such as bread and soup had their place on her menu.

"If it is too hot or cold in here, please let me know. This is the first day of opening, and surprisingly you are my very first customer, so... Woohoo." Syernia gave a little arm pump, her excitement bubbling up. She turned on her heel and headed back to the counter to wait.​

 

[Garrod Arlette]

A grin. "Don't we all," he listened to her pitch. "Woohoo," he said with small enthusiasm, and wiggled his fingers.

He took the bread from the counter. "Smells nice," he added, and looked over the paper without picking it up. "A cup of grey sounds good," he said, and pushed the menu back across the counter. Took the little snack, and began to munch on the cinnamon bread. Thought it over. "It's pretty good," he said absently, glanced over to the empty chairs. "Can sit wherever I'd like?" he asked.

 

[Syrenia]

Syrenia laughed as he joined her 'woohoo'. She took the basket of cinnamon bread and placed it back on the counter, but not before she grabbed one for herself with a napkin, taking a bite and savouring the taste. Cinnamon had to be her favourite flavour, with peppermint coming at a close second. Finishing the slice of bread, she gave an affirmative sound, motioning him to sit wherever he'd like and headed to the back to grab the earl grey the man wished for.

"So, tell me where you come from!" she called from the backroom as she began to place a teapot and a cup on the tray to bring out for him. "Me, I've never been outside these walls. Not that I've never desired to, I suppose."



​

 

[Lukrozub]

The door opened for its next patron. That made the second. This one was also tall. An orc. He stepped into the establishment with weapons and instrument, a mask with a skull image wrapped around the lower half of his face, from nose’s bridge to chin. His clothing was simple; worn pants and shirt but not dirty, a tribal necklace over his chest, a pair of leather boots that gently tapped across the floor.

The orc looked from the man who sat to the woman who stood, though he did not immediately speak. Instead, the orc found a seat at an adjacent table. The newly opened place, called a ‘cafe’, was a plain enough establishment. He took a moment to appreciate this.

An axe on one hip, a sword on the other, a lute on his back, he took it off, propped it against the table, and sat down. “Greetings,” he offered simply, in a response if he had already been greeted. His voice wasn’t so muffled amid his mask, his tone emotionless, as he rested his gaze onto the cafe’s hostess. “I will take an oolong tea.” He blinked, remembering what someone had mentioned in a previous conversation. “Please.”

Syrenia
Garrod Arlette

 

[Syrenia]

Being born in Alliria, Syrenia was accustomed to all manners of creatures, though didn't have much interaction with Orcs. They could be fairly intimidating, and she could count a few times she saw an Orc's rage. A little apphrensively, she finished dealing with the disheveled man and went to the counter to grab the basket of complementary bread. She offered the cinnamon bread to the Orc with fully outstretched arms.

"Um, here we are. This is free, so don't be concerned about taking one piece. I'll get started on that tea."​

 

[Garrod Arlette]

Garrod found his seat, and nodded his thanks when the tea came around, a quiet word of gratitude at the hand off. Before he could respond to the friendly inquiry, a fully armed and masked patron strolled in. Garrod smirked as he laxed back into his chair, and sipped his tea, green eye watching the blades that hung by belts.

A wince. His eye went to his drink. The tea was still too hot against his lips. He blew across the surface, and let it back down to its plate. Took up the buttery morsel of cinnimon sprinkled bread, and dunked it into the fresh, still steaming cup. Popped it into his mouth, and enjoyed the flavors come together.

Cinnamon with the citrussy floral notes of the tea.

"Could use a bit of cream and honey," he said unbothered, and calm.

A clatter of business, a word to continue.

Garrod smirked anew, and bowed his head. "Local myself, from the shallows," he replied when things felt, natural. "The kaliti's serve a fine drink, called, coffee," he said with a dark and toothy delight. "Might be worth a business trip?" he sipped from his tea.

 

[Lukrozub]

Spoiler: Music Optionally IC (Inside cafe or coming from outside. You'll get used to this nonsense. Trust me.)

The orc stared carefully at the basket of bread, not in the way one searches for contamination or poisonous contraptions amid cuisine, but as someone who had never yet seen bread of cinnamon. Free. That meant something in a city with most folk working for currency, buying and selling with currency. Free…

So he gratefully seized three pieces, set two aside, studied the one in his hand. He turned it this way, that way, gave it a sniff amid his mask. The cafe’s owner leaves to make her customer’s tea. The other man speaks. The orc lowers his mask past his chin and spreads his lips to eat.

Bread wedged between teeth, he pauses, taking a moment to experience the sensation. “Mm…” By sun and moon! Just as soon, he promptly finishes the sweet and tasty cinnamon bread in an instant. He was glad he had selected three from the basket but otherwise did not show his gladness.

His face, now all but naked, was plain as day, if different from some of his species, for he had no tusks to claim. At his age, he looked like a young human man in comparison, albeit with greener skin. “Cof…fee…” He repeats after the other man speaks.

The orc turned to him, quietly observing his appearance, the eyepatch on his countenance, and none of this in judgment. “Me think coffee sweet like cream and honey?” He lifted his second piece. “Like cimmanon bread? If coffee not on menu, we take business trip. We go after tea, yes?”

‘I will take an oolong tea, please’ was a phrase he had nearly perfected during his travels, but the majority of his speech was comparatively broken. It is what it is.

Syrenia Garrod Arlette

 

[Syrenia]

She was stunned as he grabbed three pieces from her basket, opening her mouth to protest, though closing it without more than a sigh escaping her lips. She turned either way, and headed for the backroom once more. I did say just one piece right? Must not have heard me. No matter, he probably needs more food to fill that body of his... She began to search for her largest tea-cup, then settled on a rather large mug that may have fit his hand like a delicate tea-cup would fit hers. She laid it on the tray, and placed another teacup with the desired tealeaves steeping inside, before bringing it out and placing it gingerly on the orc's table.

'Here we are!' She slid a menu to him as well, before returning to her place behind the counter.
--
[Last post of the night here, depending on when you two get through the list. Is 7pm, and I'm usually in bed at 9pm, like the old lady I am on the inside lol.]​

 

[Garrod Arlette]

Garrod quirked a brow at the unmasked ork. "No," he corrected, laughed a little. "Not like honey, sweet like," he took a moment to think. "Like flowers and dry berries, ," for there was a sweetness to those fine roasts too. "Only, complicated, like a dark chocolate," he went on.

He shook his head. Sipped from his tea again, and smiled as the sounds of the outside world filtered through the quaint little cafe.

Pleasured in the aroma of the brew, before he set it down and pulled a small leather folio from a pocket in his pants. A bundle of coal stained suede next.

 

[Lukrozub]

Spoiler: Music (Recurring)

In retrospect, had he misinterpreted words yet again? When she had said “don’t be concerned about taking one piece” he had presumed that to mean don’t just take one but please take three, by all means. Then again, language did so often get the better of him.

Music, on the other hand, was a bit different. Distracted for a moment, the flutes and lutes, violins and drums, must have been close enough to be heard from his position. The orc returned attention to the other man’s answer to his question about coffee.

Not sweet like honey. Sweet like flowers and dry berries. The orc had tasted both before and had some sweet ones for sure. Only, complicated, like dark chocolate. Complicated. Yes. He could not adjust his tastebuds to such an imagination just yet. “What chocolate is?”

The hostess arrived just then to set a tray on the table beside the orc. It was a tall mug. This was pleasing to see. The oolong tea especially. “Thank me,” he responded with sustained glee. Cleared his throat. “No, no. I mean, thank you. Yes.” As she stepped away, he lifted his tea from the tray and took a sip. Tasty.

The orc looked down at the menu while chewing more cinnamon bread. He made up his mind the next moment. His dish included grated carrot, chopped onion, parsley flakes, celery seed and chicken broth and was named simply. “Potato soup,” he called over simply. “Garlic bread. Thank you.”

He looked back at that other man with his parchment and pen as far as the orc had witnessed with his eyes. “What you write?”

Syrenia Garrod Arlette

 

[Syrenia]

Syrenia let a giggle escape her lips at the orc's mix up of words."No worrieses, I understand what you mean."

She brought the tray back to the counter and after listening to his request, she gave a nod and vanished behind the back doors of the kitchen. Setting a clean pot onto the heated stove, she began to chop up the onions, grate the peeled and washed carrots, and added dashes of herbs and spices to her own taste. The potatoes were added with a soft splash into the bubbling water and soon the fresh scent of soup wafted from the backroom. She added a prepared loaf of garlic bread to the oven in good time to warm up with the arrival of the soup. She was just waiting now on the potatoes to soften enough to serve.
​

 

[Garrod Arlette]

"Whatever whim finds its way to the page," Garrod said, his eye still on his paper, as he scratched a little something here, paused, and wrote a little something there. He looked back up to the orc, a pleased curl across his lips as his fingers set down the tools, and he took another sip from the cup.

 

[Lukrozub]

Spoiler: Music (Recurring)

The scent of his lunch went his way, and he could already taste the notes of potatoes and the hints of onions. Food was much like music to him. Smell was like sound, taste was like the way an instrument permeated the brain, the art of cooking like plucking a lute’s string at heart.

The orc listened for the other man’s answer yet again. He spoke like someone who wasn’t absent of mind so much as one who would let the pen guide his mind. Writing, that was much like cooking and making music, the orc reckoned.

He, too, took another sip from his cup, licked his lips. “You write. I play.” He encouraged less than commanded, taking up his instrument, the tovshuur, or lute in basic speech. He began to pluck the strings gently, but he did not sing.

“Words like water. Do tell.” He offered. “Music like smell of garlic, onion, potatoes.” His fingers stroked strings. “It is known.”

Syrenia Garrod Arlette

 

[Syrenia]

Syrenia walked out of the backrooms a rather generous bowl of soup sitting on the tray in her hands, and an entire loaf of garlic bread complimenting the potato soup. Steam rolled off the bun and broth as she whisked her way towards the orc's table.

"Found you the biggest one I could find. You're much smaller of an orc than I ever saw, so hopefully, er... Well, eat up as much as you'd like, here." She placed the tray on his table, lifting the soup first down in front of him, then the bread on a separate plate before stepping back to appraise his reaction.

She quickly glanced over his lute, and sweetly hoped that she would hear it be played. The plucking of the strings from the orc made her smile, and she dipped back behind the counter, propping her head up with her shoulder and watching the two of them hopefully. This was a good first day.

​

 

[Garrod Arlette]

Garrod's brow quirked, and his smile widened. "Forward is, as forward does," he said with a laugh, and let the steam of his cup play about his face like a silver veil. Closed his eye and took another drink as the man diddled his strings and fiddled his words.

It was the little shop's first day.

Not his first time penning for a bard.

"Why not," he said as the cup came free from his lips.

A soft tink as the clay clinked gentle against the table.

With quick hand, the folio came open gain, and his left, still made of flesh, picked up the stick of coal, and scribed across the pages in quick darts.

Come cross the streets, one bright morning fair
To find warm vitation stir cross the air,
Come crow's cheery crook, a blackgone feathered song
For me, for me, the time is not long

A tap tap tap of the stick. A smirk and a shrug. He pulled the sheet free, and gave it to the man.

"Here then, your turn," he said with friendly challenge.

 

[Lukrozub]

The orc stopped playing his lute the moment the hostess set down that big bowl of soup. His fingers frozen on strings, he could only blink. He tilted his head, studying his served meal with both eyes peeled as though he was not looking at food but at treasure.

The comment on his being small was not lost on him. There were of course different breeds of orcs. Different types of potato soups too. That which sits before him? Delicious. And he hadn’t even eaten it yet.

His instrument positioned in his lap, he took a spoon and dipped it into his soup, scooping up both broth and vegetable. He lifted it to his nose, took a whiff, and the next moment the soup is between his lips and swallowed.

“Good.” More soup down his throat. “Good!” He echoed. Garlic bread dunked in, he took the moment to listen to the other man, sheet extended. He could read and write common language better than he could speak thanks to the sage back in his homeland. However, speech had been harder for him to master.

“Feathered song…” That painted a vivid image for the musician within him. “You want me write too?” He thought for a moment. “Okay. I do.”

Lute, spoon and soup set aside, a stick of coal fit his grip. He began to write. Paused to sip his tea. Finally he finished and lifted the paper in a gesture for the man to read.

Within wind, hear birds sing
In the breeze, come see
Blades of grass dance
On the steppe so vast
The sky stretches wide
That land of a lost song
Bound on mountain rock
Calling that nomad home

The orc didn’t wait for a response or reaction. Rather, he picked up his lute, and fiddled a new tune.

Syrenia Garrod Arlette

 

[Syrenia]

Syrenia beamed on the inside at the Orc's approval of her soup and his curious, treasured stare of her food made her feel all warm and fuzzy. She covered her mouth, not trying to laugh too hard at the unusalness of this man, though couldn't help but to let one escape her lips.

"If you want more, let me know and I'll dish you up another serving. Just let me know and it'll be on your table faster than you can say 'more soup Syrenia.'"

The warmth from the cafe was easing her own first day jitters, and the music that lofted from her two occupants filled her with pride. If every day could be like this, Syrenia could die happy and fulfilled. She said a quick prayer to her gods, thanking them for her success, and leaned once more against the counter of her cafe to listen.

​

 

[Garrod Arlette]

Garrod quirked a brow as the bard passed along his own note and went on with his music. A smile crooked his lip. "A writer as well," he leaned back in his seet. "Aren't we full of surprises,"

He let the paper sit as his table a moment. Took another sip of his tea and pondered for a

"Miss," he called out. "I'm curious," his eye flit up to her. "How'd you come about the shop?" not everyday a quant little shop opened up in Alliria. Least, not in the shopkeeper's eyes.

And wasn't she the one that'd asked for stories?

He took the last bit of cinnamon bread and popped it into his mouth, too glad for it as music plicked, plucked, and plung from strings beside.

 

[Lukrozub]

Spoiler: Music IC

A better writer than a speaker, at least. A poet? No, not really. But a lyricist and a musician both. Yet the orc’s fellow patron didn’t know those words that were written were not necessarily his own as he began to sing them low from the throat.

He spoke in his own language; an orcish tongue from his village in the mountains. The strums of his strings were just as steady; a rhythmic one-two pluck.

In between the lyrics, the lutist hummed, his soup untouched, his tea unfinished. Though he would return to both in moments.

At present, he just sat, sang and played away, quietly in a way so as not to interrupt the other two’s conversation. He was content to listen to them.

Syrenia Garrod Arlette

 

[Syrenia]

Syrenia was slightly taken aback by the strange fellow's request to hear her story.

"The shop? Oh. Well, um." She paused for a moment, somewhat hesitant to share the woes of her childhood and hard work to a complete stranger, but something deep inside her wanted to share it with the world.

"Well." She began, her voice more firm and sound, "When you grow up in this city with nary a thing to your name, and three other siblings who needed to be taken care of you often wish for things that may be beyond your grasp. My dad always told me that I could do anything, as I'm sure lots of parents told their kids. But unlike some, I guess I took that to heart. Six years ago there was a fire. It took my dad. And Alice, and Fenra."

She let the air hang on her words, finding something on the counter to pick at. She gathered her thoughts and contiunued to speak.

"Jacob, the oldest, couldn't handle all the lost and told me to not do what he will, and I never saw him again. Assume what you will, but it's my belief that he is just in another town, hopefully with a woman who loves him. Anyway, with nothing holding me back, I decided that I would do what I always wanted to do. Make a cafe like the ones I see in the inner city, and after hard work and begging the landlord for this space, I managed to snag this spot and here we are."

Despite her tale there was a look of happiness in her eyes. "No need for condolences. What's done is done, and the gods will do what they do, and I am grateful for what they have given me, despite what they may have taken."​

 

[Garrod Arlette]

A few scratches of the charcoal stick across a paper in his folio. A nod. "And I'm grateful for the telling," he said as he let down the stick, and took up the cup.

Raised it to her in dainty cheers, and wistful smile. "And the tea," he added with some brightness.

The door came open, and in came a pair of young women.

"Well isn't this just," the one with flaxen hair said.

"Precious," the one with woody brown tresses added. Liked the sound of the music.

 

[Lukrozub]

Spoiler: Music IC (Recurring)

Strumming and plucking strings. Humming and whistling. Singing with lyrics amid throat-singing. Modulating pitch amid his performance, chanting from the recesses of his neck.

He doubted that his contemporaries could understand his language, but he sang aloud anyway, listening to their conversation more than his own lyrics.

"On paths paved, with siblings named
In fire were they claimed, O my brave
To distract from the past, this I pick at
String melody, cafe serenity, I’m happy"

Hard to tell if his lyrics were already written or made up on the spot, especially if you cannot understand his language, but that much was to be expected.

The gods will always do what they do. Any member from any tribe or settlement might express the same sentiment under whatever religion. This woman was wise. Despite what they may have taken. So was the other guy.

A man grateful for the simplicity in life. So was the orc, really. Just then, other patrons came in: two women. One of them, with a brown-haired head, approached his table and faced him, her eyes hazel.

“An orc musician?” She grinned. “Last orc I met was a bandit who tried to steal more than my money.”

The orc looked at her for a moment, pausing to sip from his tea, returning to his fiddling.

“What’s your name, mate?”

The same one-two stringing rhythm of his lute. “Luke.” The green-skinned guy replied simply.

Syrenia Garrod Arlette

 

[Syrenia]

"A-Are... Are you writing my tale down?: she apprehensively asked him, then tilted her head in thought. "If you are, my name is Syrenia."

The sound of the door being pushed open caught her attention, and she gave them a warm smile, then brought over her cinnamon buns. "Welcome! If you'd like, I have some celebretory cinnamon bread that's on the house."

The two woman returned her smile and both took a piece of bread. Syrenia was relieved when she saw their first bites bring pleasure to their face, and motioned to a table for them to rest at. "I currently have some potato soup that is fresh, but if you'd like anything else, please let me know." She handed off the menus.

"Apple spice tea? I'd like some of that, if you will, please." The blonde spoke up, handing her menu back to Syrenia, and she nodded eagerly.

"Absolutely, miss. Anything for your companion?"

The other lady shook her head, and motioned to the door, "Just finished my own food back at our home, so no worries. A cup of water would be appreciated though, thank you."

Syrenia gave them both another patient smile, and returned to the kitchen to begin her prep work.

​