Two coffee-themed ficlets

[john_amend_all]

lost_spook introduced me to the curious idea of an AU where the characters from a show run a coffee bar. Two ficlets resulted:

Dorothy 'Ace' McShane shuffled her feet and coughed, not finding it in her to meet her employer's gaze.

"Professor?"

Professor Smith looked up. "Yes?"

"Um..." Ace briefly weighed up which topic to open with. "Um. It's about my friend."

"Which one?"

"Gwendoline. She's in trouble with her mum again, so I wondered if... maybe..."

The Professor leant his head against one hand. "Ace. This is a Whole Earth organic coffee bar. It is not a rrrefuge for trrroubled young women."

"I'll make her up a bed in the attic. She wouldn't be any trouble..."

"That's what you said last time."

"It wasn't Ange's fault!" Ace protested. "She didn't know she'd be allergic to the coffee. And the biscuits. And," she added reluctantly, "the wallpaper."

"And your friend Gwendoline has no... unusual dietary requirements? You know what happened with Margaret."

"Mags," Ace said firmly. "She hates being called Margaret. And no, Gwendoline can eat anything. Except she can't stand soup, that's all. Go on, Professor, please?"

He sighed, looking more like an aging hippy than ever. "Yes, she may sleep in the attic. Was that all?"

Ace shuffled her feet again. "Um... You know that woman out the front? Posh bird with a horrible yappy dog?"

"I believe the words you require, Ace, are 'valued customer.'"

"Yeah, her. Well, I..."

He sighed again. "You didn't?"

Ace nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"Now, Ace, what did I tell you?"

"'Our commercial situation is a precarious one,'" Ace recited. "'We need every customer we can get, however objectionable they may be.'"

"So...?"

"'So,'" Ace reluctantly repeated, "'it is never appropriate to empty milkshakes over their heads.' Um. It was a loganberry squash this time. Does that make a difference?"

And, inevitably:

Isobel Watkins picked up the Trimphone and dialled, using a pencil to avoid risking the finish on her nails.

"Hi, Gia," she said. "Only me. Sorry to bother you, but do you think you could look at our cash register again?"

"What's wrong with it now?" the voice at the other end of the line asked.

"It was coming up with the wrong totals yesterday. At least, Zoe said so. And she said if it contradicted her again she'd throw it out of the window and use a pencil and paper."

"I'll be round."

"Thanks ever so." Isobel set the receiver back on its cradle. Not only did Gia Kelly have impeccable feminist credentials, she could coax any recalcitrant piece of equipment back into full working order. The downside was that she did not come cheap.

Time to see how the staff were getting on, Isobel supposed. She emerged from her tiny office, in time to see Samantha handing over a steaming mug of coffee with a cheery "Here you go, mate."

"Sam!" she said, once the customer was out of earshot. "How many times do I have to tell you? You're not behind the bar of the King's Head any more. This is a high-class establishment. You should say 'Your coffee, sir.' And why aren't you using my dolly cups?" She gestured at her recent haul from the Portobello Road market. "I went to a lot of trouble to find them."

"You can't get anything in them," Samantha retorted. "Couple of spoons of sugar and they'd be full. Anyway, they don't go with the saucers."

"They're not supposed to. They're supposed to be quirky and different." Isobel looked around, vainly searching for her other waitress. "Where's Victoria?"

"In the kitchen. Jamie came round to see her, and he reckoned he could fix the cappucino machine."

Isobel groaned. She didn't have anything against her staff flirting with the customers or vice versa, but Jamie's well-meant offers of assistance never turned out the way he intended them.

"Does he have a clue what he's doing?" she asked, hoping against hope.

"He said he was watching last time. You know. When Doctor Smith mended it." From Samantha's expression, it was obvious that she thought the slur on Jamie's character unwarranted. "You should lay off him, Iz. He's only trying to help."

There was an ominous detonation, followed by a scream. The kitchen door flew open and Victoria staggered out, covered from head to toe in pale, coffee-scented foam and waving her hands wildly. Of Jamie there was no sign — if he had any sense, he'd have sneaked out the back way — but it was all too clear that, as usual, he'd made a bad situation far worse. Even as she watched, a river of foam followed Victoria out of the kitchen door and rolled across the floor, sweeping all before it.

Isobel put her head in her hands. Truly, the path to running the most fashionable coffee shop in Chelsea was not a smooth one.