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fullgrimdark · 2 years

Text

The Caffeine Heresy - Part 1

(click here for Part 2)

Unwelcome News.

Midnight Arrival.

Dark Magic to Heal the Pain.

The Pride.

The Fall.

"I have heard whispers that the Emperor will be paying us his visit soon," Fulgrim said, a delicately painted porcelain cup lifted to his mouth. He took a sip of the dark black coffee, and eyed his friend's reaction to the news.

Ferrus coughed in surprise, quickly setting down a silver mug of his own. He anxiously wiped his face, pale hands contrasting sharply with his dark skin - years of vitiligo at work. With eyes wide he examined Fulgrim's beautiful features for any hint of humor. "Well, I suppose you'd know wouldn't you?" Ferrus said, and reclaimed his mug of bitter black. He took a sip, his craggy face warming from the steam.

The pair sat opposite, in the second floor of Ferrus's esteemed café - Iron Hands. Weapon racks adorned the warm wooden walls, gleaming silver in the firelight. Fulgrim took his gaze from his cup to the crackling fire, and sighed. He set his cup on its saucer and placed it neatly on the iron side table.

Fulgrim, the Phoenician, the most beautiful face in the coffee industry, looked to his dear friend Ferrus with a knowing eye. "Perhaps you'll win this year, my dear?"

"I'll win alright, I'll show the critic a real cuppa joe," Ferrus downed the rest of his fresh cup, caring not for the temperature. He pointed the mug at Fulgrim, "I'll even beat you at your own game, I will."

Fulgrim folded and unfolded his hands, "There's nearly infinite competition in this city, who's to say which cafes he will even visit?"

"My shop was in the bloody papers this year, if he don't come here it's proof of his favoritism. He came here once, damn once, and didn't even care to make comment 'cept that there's 'room for improvement,' I'll show him a damn fine cup of coffee, I will, you'll see Phoenician." Ferrus leaned forward in his chair and took a poker for the fire. As he stoked it, he continued, "You shouldn't even be in the running, everybody knows the stories, how before he started traveling the world, when he was just a young man, he owned the first shop, which," he rolled his pale eyes to Fulgrim, "is now yours. Emperor's Children, he called it, and you'd not a thought to change it."

"I think the name is funny," Fulgrim sat back in his chair, trying not to take insult at his dear friend's lashing. "And has a sort of pretty ring to it."

"Pretty's right," Ferrus set the stoker back in its holder with an iron clang. He sat back and looked to Fulgrim, realizing when he saw the look on his friend's face the compliment he'd paid. He huffed and scratched at his short hair, looking away from the elegantly painted face which gazed on him without a care for how Ferrus saw himself.

Fulgrim took a steadying breath, trying to will away the pounding of his heart. Fulgrim had trouble when with his stubborn friend, he wanted him to know how much he cared for him, how highly he thought of him, but Ferrus was blind to his affection. The owner of the Iron Hands was thick, and Fulgrim loved him for it. He loved him for his iron will, for the quiet care he put into everything he did. He looked to his friend, whose scarred face was twisted in thought, yellows and oranges from the fire caressing his skin with light. "You don't have anything to prove to the Emperor, dear," Fulgrim sighed. "Your café is perfect, if he can't see it he's a fool."

Ferrus kept his gaze to the fire and said quietly, "Fool or not he's got the industry wrapped around his little finger. A bad review again might do me in."

☕☕☕

The moon pierced through the black sky above Union Station. He was on the last bus in from the States, with little more than a suitcase at his side. He didn't need much, he'd everything in himself, from the muscle memory of his fingers, to the endless well of know-how he'd learned. He was certified by the American Specialty Coffee Association, but he didn't need the certificate to prove that he was the best in the game.

Lucius breathed in the cool night air, and began his hunt for the finest cup of coffee in Toronto.

He came across a Circle K, a patch of yellow Illumination at the corner of the dark city streets. He stepped inside, smoothing a hand over his long white braid to catch any loose hairs. The man at the counter glowered at him, and Lucius met the gaze and held it.

"Sign on the door said you have coffee here," Lucius said, "or did that just mean you've got Starbucks in the fridge."

The man behind the counter looked at him through long, oily black hair. Lucius thought he looked like a wraith, some undead ghoul, and it didn't help the image when the man replied only by raising a boney finger and pointing to the back wall. Lucius followed the point, and saw behind shelves of candy and snacks, that in the back there was a small cafe. Lucius didn't expect much, and he didn't bother to thank the ghoul behind the counter. He wove past the isles gracefully until he found himself at the half-counter. The barista, if you could call him that, was just as dour and goth as the cashier.

"You have espresso?" Lucius asked, one brow raised.

The guy jerked his thumb to a little menu sign, and leaned back in his stool until he was on the two hind legs of it.

Lucius put a hand on his hip, seeing that the menu read as follows:

Night Lords Coffee

Dark roast $2

Light roast $2

Coffee moka $3

Hot chocolate $2

Espresso $3

Hot Apple Cider $2

"So you do have espresso?" Lucius looked back to the... barista.

He shrugged and slammed his stool back down, "No, machines broken, so no mocha's either," the guy reached behind him and took a piece of chalk to cross out espresso and coffee moka.

Lucius's mouth gaped a moment, "Then just a cup of your light will serve," he said finally, appalled. This could well have just been a stand, a K-Cup machine, better yet, Lucius thought, just have a line of self-serve roasts, same as the soda.

The guy took one of the glass pots and a styrofoam cup, and poured a too-hot cup before giving it to Lucius over the half counter. Lucius handed him a five, and the guy opened the drawer and handed him back two coins. Lucius took the coins curiously, "No tax?"

"Tax is for plastic," he leaned forward, putting his elbows on the counter, "Anyway, mister. Lottery'll be drawn in the morning so if you want your tickets you'd better get them tonight." The barista nodded his head towards the front, where Lucius saw a woman standing, brightly colored papers in her hand, waiting expectantly as the wraith-cashier began to work at a machine. A tinny sang out a cheer, winner! would you like to play again?

Lucius pocketed the coins and muttered, "I think I'm alright," before he pulled his suitcase out of the odd little 24 hour convenience.

The coffee was fine, surprisingly so, and it warmed him in the chill night air. It was late summer, but Lucius found himself cold in the dark with not much more than his long, thin leather jacket for warmth. It was a favorite of his, cut neatly and embellished with golden thread which stood out against the dark purple hide. It didn't provide much protection from the cold, however, he knew he'd need a new one before winter fell in Toronto.

He caught a night bus through the city to his AirB&B. He'd find a place to live soon, he'd get it all sorted out. For now, his savings and funding would get him where he needed to go, and once he found an appropriate job he'd be set. On the bus, he saw the city pass, even saw a couple of darkened café windows. None looked too impressive to him. Particularly the repetitive Roubute Guilliman's, which appeared to be on nearly every street, blue cups littered on the sidewalk, and to Lucius's dismay, slurped loudly by the fellow on the bus seat adjacent to him. Lucius slumped in his seat, downed the rest of the styrofoam coffee, and waited for his stop to be called.

☕☕☕

The golden sun was peeking through the red curtains, and Khârn knew he was going to be late for work, but he couldn't bring himself to move from the couch. The migraine was too much this morning. So he laid still, hands on his forehead, willing away the tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

The footsteps coming from the bedroom were like gunshots to his skull, and Khârn groaned, distracting from the pain only momentarily.

The footstep-gunshots stopped suddenly, before they became quick tip toes accompanied by a worried voice. "Oh no, love, is it very bad this morning?" Argel Tal asked, his deep voice husky with sleep. He gingerly placed his hands on Khârn's thick biceps, but pulled them away when Khârn jerked beneath him.

Khârn peeked at his partner through his fingers, and nodded. Argel Tal was annoyingly there for him, his partner's worry only making the migraine worse.

Argel Tal spoke softly, needing to clear his throat but not wanting to make any loud noises, "Waiting for the medicine to kick in?"

Khârn nodded again, and closed his fingers, aching for darkness. His partner's presence didn't go away, and he could hear him muttering quietly. He was praying, Khârn knew, which annoyed him even more, though he didn't have the strength to protest. Especially so, since the damn prayers usually seemed to work. After a few quiet minutes together, the migraine began to recede into the back of Khârn's mind, and he could open his eyes again. He met Argel Tal's gaze, and his partner unclasped his hands with a bright smile, and put them down on Khârn's hand. Khârn threaded his fingers through his partner's, and leaned up to close the gap between them. They kissed briefly, lips warm against each other, before a wave of nausea passed through Khârn and he needed to lay back down. He groaned and put a hand over his ear.

Argel Tal put his hand over Khârn's a moment, before he pushed his hand back and gently threaded his fingers through the long dreadlocks trailing from Khârn's fevered skull.

"I'll make us breakfast," Argel Tal said, and unlaced his fingers from his partner to make way for the kitchen.

Khârn protested, "You'll be late too."

"Lorgar won't mind," Argel Tal ran the faucet for water, and drank deeply. "The Word Bearers will go on without me."

Khârn grumbled, but was thankful for his partner. He watched him work from the couch, strong, inked muscles rippling as he went through the simple tasks of breakfast. Khârn liked Argel Tal's tattoos, the delicate black lines so beautifully etched onto the toned stretches of skin. Goat horns, skulls, runes, insect wings, and other things decorated his once-God-fearing partner. Though, Khârn had not known Argel Tal when he worshiped the morning sun, that was before his time. Khârn suspected he wouldn't have liked Argel very much back then, and he grinned a bit from the couch, thinking that black magic suited the man much better.

"You're smiling," Argel Tal sang, knowing, and glanced over his shoulder. "You must be feeling much better."

"I love you," Khârn mumbled, and turned on the couch to clutch a pillow to his chest.

Argel Tal grinned to himself, and lifted and poured coffee from their French press. It steamed and bubbled, and he gave a silent prayer for health over the black liquid. He set the press down gently and took the coffee mug to his partner, who sat up to accept the mug. Argel Tal leaned down and kissed Khârn's forehead, and said, "I love you too."

He straightened up and said, "Now, let's get some food in you and get you to World Eaters. I fear for the boxing ring without you there."

☕☕☕

"It's time to open," Marius Variosean called from the back of the flag store, The Pride. The first and finest café belonging to the Emperor's Children was manned usually by Fulgrim's select few. When Marius heard no call back from his partner in the front, he called again, louder, "It's 6:30, turn on the sign, Jules."

"Hold on," Julius Kaesoron called back. He was on a ladder, adjusting the label of the newly purchased painting.

"What, and open at 6:31? My hands are in dough right now, you're right there," Marius yelled. "Fulgrim wouldn't have it!"

Julius pursed his lips and left the placard as it was, "No one's even here," he sang, and climbed down from the ladder to go turn on their vibrant purple neon sign. The letters sprung to life, illuminating the entire window in cursive script. Emperor's Children Café, it sang with electricity. Julius looked upon it with a swell of pride, before he stepped back to observe the store front.

If he was to describe the café in one word, it would be regal. The walls were lined with ornate paintings, landscapes, portraits, abstracts, local modern art and historical art higher up, each piece decorated with the most detailed, hand carved frame that money - or favors - could buy. The ceiling was painted as well, commissioned by a somewhat infamous Torontonian, Serena D'Angelus. Snakes, bodies, clouds, and angels swirled above, supported by gilded crown molding along the walls.

And yet through all the refinery, there was an underlying neon glow of the modern era. Purple lighting illuminated the multi-leveled café at just the right places to offset the overall warm glow of the hanging yellow orbs of light. White, curving stairs led to the second floor where there were more sleek, white tables and chairs. A red rope hung over the stairs now, as they only opened the second floor for rush times - the stairs were hell for carrying drinks, for new and tenured employees alike, so they only opened it when more seating was required.

Julius moved with a quiet grace to the espresso machines, they had a twin set, and only expert hands were allowed to touch. He polished them carefully, before he checked the fridges and syrup stocks. He concentrated until a rich, warm smell emanated from the back, and Julius let his eyes roll in pleasure at the scent. A small groan escaped his lips as he imagined the delights his husband was making in the back, and he let his feet carry him to the kitchen.

Marius was at the sinks, washing up the baker's tools. He let a smile crack at the sight of Julius, his lip rings clicking gently against his teeth. "What are you doing back here, get out there and get some music going for God's sake, Fulgrim hates a silent café."

Julius approached Marius carefully, poised with hands raised so he could wrap his hands around Marius's thick waist, "Fulgrim this, Fulgrim that," Julius complained, "you'd think you were his husband, not mine." He trailed kisses from Marius's neck to his heavily pierced ear.

Marius squirmed in Julius's arms, "Do you want dish water on you?" He asked, "Because you're going to get sprayed if you don't go take out the biscotti." There was a humor to his voice, despite his protests.

With a final squeeze of his soft, perfect husband, Julius turned to the industrial sized ovens and went to work on the biscotti.

There was a chiming of bells, and Julius quickly finished plating the biscotti before he brought it up front to join with the other morning-baked treats. Julius raised his eyebrows as standing in the door was no customer nor employee, but Fulgrim himself.

Tall as he was, he stood with an easy grace, and filled the entryway with his presence. Julius sighed wistfully, enjoying the beautiful sight of the man. Today he wore a long silk wrap of shimmering lavender, edged with white feathers at the neck and sleeves, which bounced and breathed as he stepped. His long white hair was piled up in bound plaits, and held together with a golden hair pin. He wore a thin white shirt, which flaunted his pale collarbones, and black leather pants. His shoes were black velvet, and heeled, adding to his near godly presence. Julius blushed at himself for thinking this simple man as godly, and set down the biscotti so as to tear away his eyes.

"Pheonician," he called, "my dear, good to see you so early. Looking splendid today if I may say," Julius looked over the counter, making sure everything was in place.

"Julius," Fulgrim said, and moved to the counter. "Goodmorning darling, sorry to surprise you. It smells delicious today," he called louder, leaning over the counter, "is that Marius in the back?"

There was a quick clatter as Marius dropped the wet pan in the sink, "Fulgrim?" His pierced face peered out from the kitchen, "Good morning sir," he waved before going back to his chores.

Fulgrim smiled towards the kitchen, before he took a seat on the barstool, and waved his ringed fingers at Julius, "It's so quiet in here, why don't we get something playing."

"Of course, sir, any preferences today?" Julius asked, moving to the sound system.

Fulgrim had a faraway look in his eyes, "Anything will do."

The look, in addition to his early presence, began to worry Julius. He set about making some music before he went to work at the espresso machine. With nimble, expert fingers, he crafted a beautiful latte, and passed the cup to Fulgrim.

Fulgrim had busied himself with his phone, and looked to Julius with a humble gaze of thanks when he was offered the latte. A beautifully intricate design of trees was patterned on top, each swirl of milk in its perfect place. He took the cup to his mouth and graciously sipped the warm drink. A perfect balance of milk and bean, the flavors washed over his tongue and through his senses. Earthy in his nose, bright in the mouth, and warm in his hands. It was the perfect latte, and Fulgrim was eternally grateful for the love and care that Julius put into his work.

"You look troubled my friend," Julius said quietly, once Fulgrim had set down the cup.

Fulgrim looked up, painted eyes shining in the illumination of the café. "It's the Emperor, he's coming to Toronto."

"Already? Are his visits becoming more frequent?" Julius asked quietly.

Fulgrim shook his head, "I don't know. All I know is Horus sent me word that he would be coming soon, and we all ought to get prepared for the visit. He said this time would be different, but wouldn't elaborate. Ferrus Manus has already twisted himself in knots over it."

Julius sighed, "No doubt he's whipping the Iron Hands into some frenzy, trying to craft a new recipe for the man. What do you want us to do?"

Fulgrim twirled his fingers, "Nothing, really. I don't care what the man says about our café anymore. I know we are operating within the parameters of perfection, and I don't need him to tell me how to run my shop. This doesn't belong to him anymore." Fulgrim gestured to the building, "I've taken what he started and made it better. He only gave me such glowing reviews the first few times because I kept the café the same as he ran it. As soon as we displayed an ounce of creativity he turned his nose towards Dorn, hell, he's even gone and given it to Guill's for fuck's sake. We," Fulgrim gestured between himself and Julius, "are not in the same league as Guilliman's."

Julius nodded, and caught Fulgrim's ringed hand in his own, "Well, we'll be here for you. We'll keep the ship sailing."

Fulgrim kissed Julius's fingers, leaving a slight pink stain, "Of course you will." He unlaced his hand and leaned back, "Though I fear we may need a war council of the stores to prepare for this visit. And worse yet, we've lost Demeter, so we are down a man. Though I care not for the Emperor's review, I'd still like to be operating as normal, so I'm going to have to seek a replacement."

"I don't envy that," Julius sneered, "having to wade through the muck for a barista of our standards? Luck be with you, captain."

Fulgrim took the mug to his lips once more, "Luck indeed."

☕☕☕

Saul Tarvitz was not enjoying the rush this morning. As a proud assistant manager of one of the Emperor's Children Coffee shops, he indeed liked to run a tight ship. He didn't fancy himself an expert barista, and knew he didn't excell with his customer service skills, but he could keep a tight, clean, orderly ship moving forward. If he had the proper tools that is. But Saul Tarvitz was down a barista, a damn fine barista at that, and so this rush hour he had to do twice what was normally expected of him and then some.

Saul managed The Fall, the second cafe bearing the name of Emperor’s Children. This one was smaller than the flag store, located in a neat row of shops with apartments overhead. The walls were lined with art just the same as the other cafe’s bearing the name, but overall this store was a touch more modern and minimalist.

He concentrated, on mug after mug of steaming black and freezing brown coffee. It was a blur of sensation that day, overlapping voices, laughter, music, the grinding of beans, the tamping of the grounds, the click and drag of the cash box. Beads of sweat formed at his shaved temples, and he kept a rag in his violet apron to wipe away the damp periodically.

To make matters worse, Eidolon, senior manager, was in a right sour mood. Saul hardly understood why Fulgrim tolerated the bastard.

"If I see you with that filthy rag against your face again, you'll be on dishes," Eidolon hissed at Saul.

"And leave all the fun of the front to yourself? I think not," Saul spat back.

"I could manage," Eidolon turned to smile at a customer.

The clock ticked away, song after song passed on the speakers, and eventually the crowd thinned to tolerable levels.

Saul took the opportunity of quiet to scroll through applications on their work computer. There were a handful of neat applications that displayed some level of coffee competency, and some even a level of creativity, but nothing stood out to him as overwhelmingly promising. He examined resume after resume until a customer came to the counter, and Saul stood from the computer to help them. Glancing back, he saw Eidolon was thankfully occupied in the office, and their floor team was busy in the kitchen.

This customer just wanted an Americano, and to be on their way, thankfully.

As Saul stood to clean the espresso machine, movement caught his eye by the front door. As the customer left with their Americano, a man brushed past them through the still open door. Saul was at first surprised to see Fulgrim, but the light shifted, and Saul realized this was a stranger who approached. His mouth went dry, and he quickly finished his cleaning of the machine and replaced the heavy portafilter.

Saul stepped to the front of the counter, "Good afternoon, need a moment on the menu?"

The man's pale eyes scanned the overhead menu quickly, Saul had only a moment to take in his presence before the stranger said, "I'll have a latte. Pull the espresso a little long."

Saul felt a challenge in his tone. "Here or to go?" His hand hovered near the cups.

The man met his eyes, and Saul realized he must be wearing contacts, for they blazed a vivid and unnatural purple. "For here,” he said, and swayed his shoulders to look around before glancing at Saul, “what designs can you do?" He raised a slender hand to pull his terribly long braid over his shoulder.

Taking a heavy white mug, glazed with their logo, Saul said, "I could make you something special. What's the name?"

He smiled easily, "Lucius," he said.

“Lucius,” Saul echoed, tasting the name in his mouth. He smiled, then went to work at the espresso machine. Lucius followed his movements along the counter. He maintained a casual air, but Saul saw the curious, examining eyes of a food critic. Saul attempted conversation, "Very fine jacket. Where did you get threads like that?"

"New York," Lucius supplied.

"Oh, you travel much?"

"I've just arrived in fact."

"Well," Saul pinched the handle of the white mug of espresso, pulled a little long, and swirled the frothy brown liquid. "Picked a fine café to visit," he caught Lucius's eye and braved a wink before he went to work frothing the milk. He knew this was an important step, one he'd done a hundred times over, and the challenge still lingered thick in the air. The metal of the milk cup became warm in his hand - the signal to turn off the steam. In a place Lucius could watch, Saul carefully took the curved white mug of espresso, and without hesitation, produced the signature aquilla, the double headed eagle, in the froth of milk. He breathed only when he was done, and glanced up to see a moment of genuine emotion pass across Lucius's face. The handsome traveler was impressed, and Saul felt immense satisfaction in that knowledge.

They stepped to the cash register, Lucius pulled the mug towards him, examining the design as he pulled out his wallet. Saul rang him up on the Square, and Lucius quickly taped away on the device for tip and interac.

"Staying in Toronto long?" Saul asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

There was a playful look in Lucius's eyes as he replied, "Yes, I am." He continued, "I hear this isn't the only Emperor's Children Café?"

"Right," Saul nodded, eyes trailing along Lucius's frame. He clearly worked out, his waist was tight, his shoulders broad, and the way he dressed spoke volumes that he knew he was attractive. Saul lifted his eyes, "We have three shops in the GTA. If you're interested, you should visit our original store." Saul leaned forward over the marble counter, and plucked a card from the basket, "Address is here," he handed the card to Lucius. The traveller took it, and for the briefest moment their fingertips met, and their eyes flickered to meet each other's. Saul pulled away quickly, while Lucius held the card aloft a moment, examining it before he eventually pocketed it.

Saul chastised himself. Lucius gave his thanks and stepped away with his latte, and Saul was left thinking, you see a hundred handsome men come through here every week, you're not here to fall in love with them. They're just here for coffee. Forget him, you'll never see him again. Saul hoped he was right, for as much as a part of him longed for this mysterious stranger, another part of him sensed some darkness about him, some cockiness in his smile and step. Saul cleaned the espresso machine, tapping out the used grounds, and watched the stranger a moment, only long enough to see his reaction to the taste of the latte. Lucius closed his eyes, sipped the cup - he was really tasting it - Saul knew from his expression, from the pause in his movement. He opened his eyes, looked deeply into the cup, and drank again without further pause. So he liked it, Saul knew, and finished wiping out the grounds. He replaced the machine, and ignored the next customer that stepped in. Saul moved to the back, spent from the rush, and sent the floor lead out front.

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fullgrimdark · 2 years

Text

The Caffeine Heresy - Part 2

(click here for part 1)

Sickly Sweet

A Tall Concern

Roasting

War Council

Too Easy

The lining of his leather jacket stuck to his skin as he waited for the bus. Lucius had half a mind to just call for an uber, and be out of the sudden heatwave, but a glance at the electric orange clock displayed on the stop told him patience would be rewarded. His mouth felt dry, steamed milk and acidic coffee tastes lingered in his mouth, and he knew he was becoming dehydrated. His day was busy, visiting café after café.

The Emperor’s Children showed promise with their surprising barista. Lucius could see himself there, alongside the blonde barista. Closing his eyes, he could imagine other things done with the handsome guy who blushed and startled when their fingers met. Lucius grinned to himself, and opened his eyes to see blue lights high above the other cars, and red and white lettering of the Toronto Transit Commision. His bus was here, so Lucius stepped on and was off to the next café.

No less than three people on the bus were drinking from blue Rob Guilliman's cups. Lucius watched a trail of condensation on the side of what appeared to be a frozen pink lemonade with the name emblazoned on the clear plastic. He wondered at the marvel of market saturation, before the bus became too crowded to even think, and he just hung tightly to his yellow bus pole.

There was a building coming into view, a church, Lucius realized while peering through the window, with a wide roof and the most remarkable solar panel cross laid out upon it baking in the sun. He almost missed when his street was called on the overhead and Lucius quickly pressed the stop request button, and made his way through the crowd.

Stepping out in front of the church, he scrutinized the solar panels a moment before looking around the neighborhood for signs of the café he was aiming for.

His eyes found it across the street. Two empty little round tables sat on the sidewalk, wire chairs tucked neatly beneath. It was a humble café, exterior brick painted a pale, sandy yellow. Crimson lace curtains hung in the windows, and a delicately painted driftwood sign read Word Bearers.

Lucius crossed the street, licking his teeth to try to get the previous cafés' flavors out of his mouth. The door jingled with a quiet bell, and cool air washed over him as he entered. Tapestries hung from clean white molding on the sand colored walls, and fans worked to filter cool air through the building. A group of elderly people sat in a round nook by the entrance, their benches lush with ancient, embroidered pillows. Greenery hung from the corners above them, and Lucius took note that succulents, cacti, and pots of vines creeped throughout the café.

This was not a place Lucius could work, he knew that immediately, but he wouldn't write off their coffee just yet. He approached the unfinished wooden counter, stepping around tables busy with patrons.

A deep voice greeted him, and Lucius saw a tall, fit, bald man come from behind a curtain. He wore long sleeves and a high collar under his grey apron. His face was kind as he said, "Welcome, what can I get for you?"

The quirky menu almost didn't match the setting of the café. Lucius read through it with growing dread as he realized they used a single coffee blend for each drink, that the only difference was how they prepared the coffee. Their menu was filled with mixed drinks of varying types - coffees, an extensive tea list, iced beverages and hot, each drink named something increasingly ridiculous in Lucius's opinion. 'Peace' for the iced matcha, 'Desire' for a frozen peach-strawberry icee. Lucius turned his eyes away from the menu, he wasn't here for the frills. "An ice water and an espresso," he told the barista.

"Sure," the bald man rang him up and moved to prepare the drinks. Lucius hung by the counter as he waited for his order, taking stock of open seats to find where he'd like to hang.

There was something of a hallway towards the back, with a set of lonely little single person tables. Lucius took his drinks with a small thanks, and maneuvered to the back. Curiously, the plate holding the espresso shot was decorated with a side of drizzled chocolate, and a tuft of whipped cream. A tiny silver spoon indicated he could scoop the sweets into the espresso if he wanted.

There was a door cracked open across from his table, and a light creeping out. Lucius noticed people inside, and assumed employees milling about. He paid it little mind as he took his seat, and pulled his notebook out. Lucius took stock of the notable cafes, having already visited a number of them since his rising this morning. He quickly drank the ice water, finding himself all too thirsty, as he flipped through the pages.

Since dawn, Lucius had visited four cafes. He began with the one near his bnb, The Imperial Fist. An odd name for a cafe, and though the reviews were generally positive, the cafe lacked the style and creativity that Lucius was looking for. He’d taken a nitro cold brew, having gotten a taste for the clean sharpness produced by the nitrous brewing method back when it first rose to popularity in 2012. While he was there he took breakfast as well, for the croissant cinnamon rolls sitting on display looked too fine and rare a treat to pass up. When it came down to it, the rustic shop was more of a patisserie than a cafe. After finishing up there, Lucius soon learned that the next closest coffee shop was a second Imperial Fist - this brick and mortar being where they based their catering from.

Leaving the neighborhood with the sickly sweet taste of caramelized sugar on his tongue, Lucius then set about looking for something fresher. He’d taken note of a vegan cafe, which seemed promising, and was able to catch a street car there. Their sign was a welcoming green, Salamanders, it read. Geckos, lizards, and little drakes decorated the cafe, and Lucius found he wasn’t entirely against the aesthetic. Their menu had the obtuse personality of a speciality store, however, and though the barista was likely the kindest person he’d met yet in the city, he couldn’t really see himself making a living there. Lucius enjoyed his wheatgrass shot - it had been too long since he’d cleansed with one of those - and his dark roast, which had a warm nutty taste and was absent of the burnt aroma that came from an unkempt brew pot.

Lucius then had taken a shot in the dark, and visited a cafe called Space Wolves. On the name alone, Lucius already knew he couldn’t, with dignity and honor, work there. Good to know the competition at least, and so he went, just to try. The cafe had less of a space theme, and more of a hunter/wolf theme, to the point that it made Lucius question why bother to name the place Space Wolves? The menu was indecipherable, and the place honestly just reeked of masculinity. Lucius got a coffee with a shot of whiskey in it, downed it, and was on his way.

That’s when he found himself at the door of the Emperor’s Children. Lucius crossed his legs, leaning heavily on the table at the Word Bearer cafe. Something pinched in the pocket of his jeans as he shifted, and he remembered the little card he’d been given. He pulled it out, running his thumb along the thick cardstock. Emperor’s Children, he thought, there was something innocent about the name, loved, and regal. The card had the cursive, glowing script that matched the neon sign in the window, and the purple glaze on their mugs. Lucius wasn’t sure if that had been the best latte he’d ever tasted, but when he thought about it, it definitely ranked top ten. Maybe it was just the eyes he felt on his neck as he drank it that made it all the sweeter.

A tense voice raised in Lucius’s ear, and he turned his eyes towards the cracked door to his left. A stern reply, “Erebus, I have warned you before … .” The first voice spoke again, “You have to know … this is the best … make the decision.” The voices came in and out as the people inside tried to keep their voices quiet, and in their passions, failed. “... is already prepared.”

Lucius could only imagine what drama they were getting up to in the office of a cafe, and was left to his imagination as the door to his left suddenly snapped closed. The voices were more muffled, but Lucius could still hear the passion in their discussion.

“So, what? What would you have me do?” This question came clear through the door.

Lucius looked from his empty water glass, to his little espresso cup, and decided the ambiance of this cafe wasn’t for him. He finished the last thick sip of espresso, and made on with his day.

☕☕☕

Khârn could not hear what Esca was saying over the noise of the blender and the thumping music and shouts from the floor above. He saw his mouth moving, chatting away, but with his hand on the lid of the blender, Khârn couldn’t hear a thing. Finally, the cycle stopped, the protein shake was done, and he could cup the liquid and pass it to the hunk waiting on the other side of the counter.

“What were you saying, Esca?” Khârn asked while spraying the chocolate remains out of the used blender.

“Oh,” Esca began, “you couldn’t hear me,” he realized, and fiddled with a pen by the counter. “I was saying who do you think would win in a fight, Kargos or Delvarus? Like, I think Kargos might have the upper hand, but Delvarus has that strength of mind and body thing going on, so odds are he could outlast him. Not like I’m taking bets on their match, I’m just curious what you think?”

Khârn glanced up from the sink and saw past Esca to the stairs leading down to their basement cafe, and smiled to himself as he saw two figures approach. He went back to his work, “I think speak of the devil and he will appear.”

“Is it break already?” Esca asked, and turned to wave at the pair.

“Not for us,” Khârn supplied quietly.

Delvarus, heavy with the weight of celebrity, put his hand down on the counter, “Ring me up for lunch,” he told Esca at the register.

Khârn ignored the trio at the counter, and went about making their lunches. It wasn’t so much that they always got the same thing, rather more that they trusted Khârn to give them what they wanted. Khârn knew his boxers well, he’d made this three tiered cement building his own over the years. He he mixed sweet smelling frozen fruit with juice, protein powder and nutritional seeds. In a little grill, he placed small pre-made sandwiches, and then waited with hands on hips for everything to finish.

It wasn’t the most glamorous job, but Khârn liked his living, and being close to something he loved.

The toaster dinged, and Khârn wrapped the sandwiches in thick paper, and set everything out on the counter for Kargos and Delvarus.

Kargos nodded to Khârn in thanks, and Delvarus tore his teeth into the sandwich with nothing more than an appreciative glance before they took a seat at one of the tables.

"Don't you want to go talk with them?" Esca asked, helping Khârn with the clean up.

Khârn looked sidelong at Esca before glancing to the two diners. "I'm on the clock," he offered.

"You don't talk to them anymore when you're off the clock either though," Esca pushed.

"Esca," Khârn clenched the handle of the blender, as a sharp pain flashed through his skull. "It doesn't matter very much," he said once it passed.

"They're kind of mean anyway, I guess," Esca seemed to have let it go, and Khârn was left with some peace. It lasted only a moment before Esca pressed on, "Do you think you'll ever come out of retirement?"

Khârn sighed, "Not until I'm given the all clear. And who knows how old I'll be by then, so to put it simply, no."

"I wish I'd been there to see it," Esca mused. "The stories are nothing compared to what it must have been like to really be there and see you go off against The Butcher's Nails. Everyone says they fought dirty, I believe it."

Esca, at the best of times, was conversational. At the worst of times, he prattled endlessly. The café floor was empty save for the two boxers having lunch, and a glance at his phone told Khârn that he could take his afternoon break any time now.

"I fought dirty that night too, Esca. By the end it was all fair."

"Not the way Angron tells it."

Khârn looked with surprise at Esca, "Been talking to Angron?"

Esca laughed, "Oh, no, but he's loud enough to be overheard." Esca touched his nose, as if remembering the pain from the day Angron had broken it on accident. The kid still had nosebleeds from it.

Khârn sometimes wondered why he stuck around, but with a glance towards Kargos and Delvarus, remembered that his care for Esca didn't extend that far. The pair were standing to leave, and Khârn took it as his opportunity for break. He waved to Esca, taking off his apron before he joined up with Kargos and Delvarus at the bottom of the stairs.

They smiled brightly at him, Kargos slinging an arm over his shoulders and practically dragging him to the ring. The three watched some young duo practicing for a while, complaining about their form the whole while.

Until a buzzing came from his pocket, and Khârn reached down to press the power button and decline the call. The buzzing stopped, and Khârn turned his attention back to the fight. Only a moment passed before the buzzing resumed, feeling more insistent this time. Khârn stepped back and away from the fight, and pulled out his phone to see that Argel Tal was calling him. He pushed out into the hallway to answer, "Hello? Tal?"

"Khâr, hey," there was an anxious tremor in his voice, "Hey I'm actually downstairs, are you here?"

"Yes, stay there, I'll see you in a moment," Khârn shoved away his phone, and sped down the concrete stairs. The dim café lights cast Argel in shadow. He moved forward when he noticed Khârn's approach. Khârn stepped to him quickly, and their fingers met as Khârn pushed his hands up Argel's sleeves to make sure he was alright. "What's the matter?"

"They're brewing something nasty," frown lines etched into Argel skin.

Khârn, wanting it to be a joke, said, "Yes, their coffee's terrible, come sit, I'll make you something nice."

Argel Tal gripped Khârn's forearms, "No, I don't have time," he paused, "Lorgar has sent me on errands."

"What kind of errands?" Khârn asked before his partner could brush it off.

"Just," Argel searched for the words, "just stuff for work, he's got us all running around the city."

Khârn smelled the deceit, and pulled Argel close to him, "Don't," he emphasized gently, "keep things from me," he looked around the empty floor, Esca apparently on a break of his own, and walked Argel Tal to a corner. "You came all this way, tell me what's happening so I can help you." He searched his partner's face, "Don't tell me they're involving you in another one of their rituals," he hissed the word, knowing what past rites and practices had done to Argel.

Argel Tal shook his head, "No, well," he paused and looked into Khârn's sincere eyes. "I guess, sort of a ritual, let me explain."

They moved to sit at the closest table, and Argel reached across the ridged plastic to hold Khârn's hand. "Horus is planning something," he began, then continued slowly, "he's been talking to Erebus-"

"-There's his mistake-" Khârn grimaced.

"-The Emperor is coming, he may already be here. Erebus, Lorgar even, they have plans for the café. Horus seems to have similar plans, if not for just his café, then perhaps for everyone in the industry. That would include you," Argel squeezed Khârn's hand.

"What do they want with us, we're not a café," Khârn said and ignored the plain white sign above the coffee machine behind them which defied him by reading 'café.' He'd bought it as a joke at the time. He thought now it might be better to take it down.

"You cater to people, to their bodies, their bellies, and to their wallets, and you qualify for an Imperial visit like it or not."

"'Imperial visit'?" Khârn leaned back, pulling his hand away from Argel, "He's not really an Emperor, I wish you all wouldn't act like this is war every time he comes."

"Khârn, it is war," Argel assured, and leaned forward, "shops get closed when he comes to visit. You've got the ring here, so you think yourself safe, but, think of the popularity. Even your boxers wouldn't want to come somewhere, somewhere D list. What if your boss runs into the Emperor while he's here, shows his famous temper? World Eaters could go from 4.6 stars to 3.4."

Khârn didn't want to admit it, but he knew his partner was right. He also knew this wasn't the full story, "So where does Erebus come into all this? And Horus? Horus is safe from the Emperor, he makes coffee for the damn mayor."

"I couldn't tell you what Horus wants, he's a marvel, a mystery. But Lorgar and Erebus want what's best for the Word Bearers, what's best for Toronto. Beloved shops closing, another Rob Guilliman's opening, these are not the workings of a city run by its people."

Khârn soaked it all in, hating how this ate at Argel Tal. He leaned forward and captured his partner's hand again. "We'll weather this. Don't listen to Erebus."

"You know I don't listen to that weasel," Argel leaned forward, pressed his knuckles into Khârn's. "If I took any stock in what he said we wouldn't be together."

"He ought to come here, let's get him in the ring, and I'll come out of retirement for a night."

They shared relieved smiles, and a round of I love you's. The tension dissipated, as quickly as it had risen, and the pair were back to an easy harmony.

"I really do have to go, I am on the way to the bank," Argel Tal stood away from the table. "Be careful," he implored.

"Don't be ridiculous," Khârn protested, "you're the one running around with Satanists." He stood to lead Argel to the front door, but stopped at the base of the stairs when he realized they weren't alone.

A hulking figure stood at the top of the stairs, and blocked their exit path, someone whose body was somewhat dehydrated, and overworked for optimum muscle tone. Angron, owner of the World Eaters, whose face twitched when he saw Khârn and Argel Tal.

"Creature, is that you?" Angron asked gleefully, thinking himself funny. He took two quick steps down, letting his feet fall and land with jerky movements. He loomed over them, scarred, meaty face peering with wild eyes.

Khârn steeled himself, and stepped up to meet his boss. Angron turned, an innocent, amused look on his face as he let go of the railing to gesture that they could pass - if only they could walk past his threatening aura.

Khârn stepped up again, and lingered when he was at level with Angron, saying, "Nobody likes it when you call him that."

Angron's face immediately went dark, and tongue thick with disappointment, he said to Khârn, "He makes you soft." He spoke like Argel Tal wasn't even there, and Khârn ventured a glance back to see Argel quietly seething.

Khârn let out a sigh, and clasped Angron's shoulder, "I'll be back. Word is the big E will be paying a visit soon."

Angron grinned, too wide, giving the impression he could, and maybe would if given the chance, eat the world. "Is that what's got your faces so damn serious?" Angron looked between them, Argel still keeping his distance. To Khârn he said, "Fuck that guy, he can't say shit about the World Eaters."

"You know he's boxed here before," Khârn warned.

"Sure," Angron gripped the railing, "twenty years ago, back when this place was called the damn War Hounds. Ancient history, who cares?"

"Unfortunately, we all have to care," Argel Tal supplied, finally climbing the stairs. He put his hands gently on Khârn's shoulder, "And that's the truth of it. I am sorry to cut this short, but I really have to go. Good evening, Angron." He pushed on Khârn, who took his elbow to lead him to the front.

"Evening, creature." Angron called after them.

Khârn snapped back to his boss, "I'll be back."

☕☕☕

There was an odd pinching behind his eyes, which Desaan had been ignoring, or rather hoping it was just nothing, for weeks. But today, standing before his boss Ferrus Manus, he couldn't disregard the fact that there may be something seriously wrong. Burnt, misshapen croissants lay like a tray of dead beetles on the counter, offending the dignity of the café with their presence.

"I'm sorry sir, we can make them again," Desaan tried.

Ferrus was furious, he pointed to the tray, "No, we can't make these again," he demanded. He continued, laying into Desaan, but the baker was having trouble listening. Blood rushed in his body, and he felt very light headed. His vision went blurry, and he reached up to rub his eyes as the pinching returned. "What's the matter with you, Desaan?" Ferrus asked.

"I think I need to sit down," Desaan admitted, trying and failing to bring things into focus around him.

"Gabriel," Ferrus called for his manager, who appeared in the doorway. "Take Desaan into the office, and then go see if anybody else here knows how to bake."

Gabriel nodded curtly, and carefully took the baker away, leaving Ferrus alone in the kitchen. The burnt smell lingered, sharp in his nose. He reached down to a croissant, they weren't black, but they were not golden brown either. They had an evenly ugly brown crisp to them, and Ferrus searched for any reason why Desaan might let him down now of all times. The croissant crumbled in his fist.

He stormed out of the kitchen, past the office, down the little hallway, and into the testing space. He locked the door behind him, turning on the lights in his miniature roastery. A neat row of silver sample roasters lined the far wall, a set of barstools tucked under the counter, and a pile of green bean varieties in rough cloth bags occupied the space by the door.

The real Iron Hands roastery was in a different building near the outskirts of the city, but Ferrus liked to have this set up in the cafe as well. Sometimes they had classes here, explaining the science of the perfect roast. Ferrus stepped to the bags of beans, taking a fistfull to inspect the sharp little nuggets. He held Mexican Organic beans, a favorite of his. This one was known to produce a softly nutty flavor, and a crisp, clean beverage. He roasted them well into the second crack, making the flavors deep and dark. Ferrus let the beans drop back into the bag, knowing they wouldn’t impress the Emperor. He would be looking for something fresh and new from Ferrus, a Kenyan roast, a Colombia even. Ferrus knew an Ethiopian blend, with its favored floral notes of Jasmine and Bergamot, would impress nearly anyone - but he didn’t need to impress anyone, he needed to prove it only to the Emperor. Ethiopia was too obvious a choice for origin, being the fertile land where coffee first grew. Ferrus let his mind wander as he looked up to a painting on the wall depicting the legend of Kaldi and the Dancing Goats. The tale told of a goat herder, whose animals danced when they ate the coffee cherry. When Kaldi tried to share his findings with the world, monks cast his beans into the fire, only to find that they produced a beautiful aroma.

Ferrus laughed to himself, and wondered what flavorful beans those must have been. He was lucky if his green beans smelled of popcorn or wheatgrass as they roasted.

Ferrus set about preparing a series of test roasts, pulling just enough beans from each bag to fill the little machines. He had on hand coffee from three origins, Mexico, Peru, and Brazil. Measuring them out, and taking notes in a silver journal, Ferrus felt that singular purpose of perfection flowing through him. It reminded him of the day he’d met Fulgrim.

They were at a conference, where coffee growers came to meet the industry leads in the city and lay out their needs for fair trade. After a long day of connection making, debates, and bitter espresso washed down with ice water that set your teeth on edge, Ferrus was nearly spent. He shuffled the pamphlets in his bag as he walked, distracted until he nearly walked into a tall man.

“You,” Fulgrim had said, an accusation in his voice. Ferrus stopped short, looking down into a pale face, painted with thin black eyeliner that twisted and curled. “You’re the one who said single-origin roasts produced a superior flavor to blends.”

Ferrus had straightened himself, seeing clearly the challenge this pretty boy was laying out. “I did say that,” he affirmed, “on account of it’s the truth. You get a purer taste.”

“Pure and dull,” Fulgrim sulked. “I’d like to prove you wrong.”

A wild grin lifted Ferrus’s face, and he offered his hand to Fulgrim. Their handshake was firm, the first touch of a coming friendship…

Ferrus was jolted from his work and his fond memories by the jostle of the door handle, followed by a knock when they found it locked. Ferrus sighed and stepped away from the counter to unlock the door. Gabriel stood awkwardly, “Someone’s got to take Desaan to the hospital.”

“What?” Ferrus snapped, shocked.

His manager stood straight, “We could call an ambulance, an Uber, or I could just go run him if you’d let me.”

Ferrus was straining to hear Gabriel over the sound of the roasting machines, so he stepped out into the hallway and closed the door to say, “Yes, yes, go take him.” He hurried with Gabriel towards the front, “But what’s going on?”

“It’s the strangest thing,” Gabriel said, “he’s gone blind.”

☕☕☕

“First,” Fulgrim began, sweeping his arms to gesture to everyone in the room, “I want to thank each of you for making the effort to come here tonight.” Long, violet fabric swayed as he moved his elegant hands. His eyes shone with sincerity in the warm light of The Pride where the managerial staff of his three cafes were assembled. “We’ve had a beautiful summer season, and I couldn’t have done it without you. We look forward to a busy fall ahead, and I’m sure you will all continue to impress me with your passion and creativity.”

Fulgrim’s pink lips softened into a frown, “But I’m afraid tonight is not all about accolades and happy fall planning.” He reached for his bag, and pulled out a black magazine, to lay it on the table. “There is a certain necessity at hand,” he flipped through the pages, “I need each of you to be aware that he is coming again.” Fulgrim pressed his thin fingers against the pages to flatten them, so all present could see the photo printed. The Emperor’s strong hands, gesturing to display several cups of coffee before him.

Saul Tarvitz felt his skin crawl, his heart suddenly racing in excitement. He steadied his expression, and said, “Is there word which of us he’ll visit this year?” Saul felt the eyes in the room dart to him with a mix of expressions.

Leaving the magazine on the table, Fulgrim shook his head and crossed his arms, “I’m afraid not, Saul.”

“He’ll be visiting us, though,” Marius told him, almost apologetically.

“And by us, he means us here,” Julius gestured to the bar behind them.

“If only to see what new mockery you’ve made of the place,” came the raspy voice of Fabius Bile. When the table looked to him with daggers, he raised his hands innocently, “I say that with all the fondness in my heart.”

“Please,” said Fulgrim gently, “we can discuss everything in detail, but what I want to make clear is that I want business as normal this year. Nothing more. I warn you all of this simply because there may be a dramatic energy about the cafes at this time. We may get unusual customers, or calls from the other shops. I didn’t want this to catch you all at a surprise.” Fulgrim took in the expressions of his team. Fabius was nonplussed, his associate Narvo Quinn similarly disinterested. Managing the third café under his name was a removed task, they were out of the city core, and Fulgrim largely let Fabius hold the reins after all these years. So the fuss about the Emperor didn't stir them. Julius and Marius were at ease, Fulgrim knew them eager to please - if he commanded them not to worry, they simply wouldn’t. Eidolon held himself steady, but Saul looked like he had something to say.

Dread washed over Saul, as he worried at Fulgrim’s warning of unusual customers. He wanted to tell them about Lucius, but wondered if it was even related.

“Your face speaks for you, Saul,” Fulgrim said, “what is on your mind?”

Once again, the eyes at the table turned to him, and Saul felt alone in the room. “Probably nothing, just an eccentric traveller. He struck me as a critic, but he seemed to enjoy what I made for him.”

“What was it about him that made you think of him now?” Fulgrim asked.

“He was,” Saul began, searching himself for the reason Lucius lingered in his mind beyond just the rush of his blood, “challenging me, to make him a good latte, without actually posing it as a challenge. And he asked me about the other cafés as well, so I gave him our card. He said he’d be staying in Toronto for some time, too.”

“We will expect his visit then,” Fulgrim nodded to the sets of managers. “What did he look like?”

Saul eyed Fulgrim, “He looked like you to be honest. A long white braid, nice clothes.” Saul hesitated before saying, “His name is Lucius.”

“He may be an early scout,” Fabius thought aloud, “or he may be a curious traveller. There’s no way to know until the Emperor and his companions arrive in full force.” He swept his long grey hair behind his ears with gnarled fingers. "My question, Fulgrim," Fabius continued, "is why have us gathered for this? The announcement could have been an email, a text."

Julius scoffed audibly. Fulgrim raised a peace-keeping hand. "A fair question, Fabius, for I know it is a trek here." He put his hands together, "I'd like to go over our seasonal transition planning, and discuss employment strategies in just a moment, and for this I want your attentions and opinions. But particularly regarding the Emperor's visit, I have something of a bad feeling about it, I must confess." His voice turned dark, "The timing is off, firstly. The Emperor always comes in spring, the nicest time of year. He announces his visits through his journals, or some publication, but this year I have been told of his visit from a phone call with my friend, and fellow coffee entrepreneur, Horus Lupercal. You would be familiar with his café, Luna Wolves, which if you've ever attended jury duty, or otherwise had business at the state offices, you may have even gone to." Fulgrim eyed a painting on the wall, a silky portrait of a warrior, "Horus and I had been talking some recently, before this announcement. He drew my opinions about the Emperor to light, and in the end, agreed with me - that the Emperor is an unwelcome traveller." Fulgrim looked back to his gathered team, meeting each of their eyes. "That he himself let me know of his arrival, means he knows something I don't. Has connections I don't. I think he's been planning for the Emperor's arrival. Some part of me," Fulgrim relented, "fears what he has in store."

☕☕☕

The curving twin towers of Toronto’s City Hall were a place many visited, but few ever went in past the pale wooden doors. The cafe inside, catering to the member’s lounge, gave the polite impression of expert, professional skill. A generously sized office was nestled within, a wall of glass window overlooking the parkspace and reflection pool of the square below.

Three figures spoke inside, grins on their bright faces, laughs in their honeyed throats. Sitting at a desk was a large, happy man, standing to either side were his handsomely reflected protegees. The first, Ezekyle, was tall, and wore his dark red hair in a pony tail, bound up high with silver rings. The second, Aximand, was short and stout, head shaved clean, an uncanny resemblance to the man at the desk. Sitting between them was Horus Lupercal, a broad man, broad chest, broad smile, and dressed well, but humble.

A knock at the door interrupted them. Ezekyle moved away from the desk, taking a long sip of his frozen coffee, and opened the door.

Ezekyle was faced with one of his employees, who with a gentle nod, announced a visitor.

"Horus," Ezekyle opened the door wider, and looked back, "your friend Erebus is back."

"Ah," Horus rose from his desk, "then leave us if you would." His expression was measured, but the loyal pair could see the fierce excitement in his eyes.

Ezekyle called, "That's our cue Aximand." The two stepped out, taking the employee with them, and leaving Horus and Erebus alone.

Once the door shut, Horus put on the face of a proper business man. "It is good to see you today," he said.

"The same to you, sir." The pair moved to sit at the desk, and Erebus began, "Every piece is set, we wait only for you to begin the game."

Horus smiled gently, "Very good, Erebus, I admire your work ethic. Now," he pulled from his desk a leather bound calendar, "I would just like to go over the details once more." He flipped through the pages, taking out a ballpoint pen and poking it at certain days. "Today is Friday, the 8th of August." He flipped forward, "The Emperor will arrive from Italy on the 16th, giving us a total of seven days to begin the process. It is known that he will be expected in Moscow by mid-September, and so we shall have at least three weeks to encourage the man never to come back."

Erebus nodded, thin skin tightening at his jaws, "Precisely, all evidence agrees. By September all his contacts will be yours, and you shall be the one to hold the influence of the industry in your hands."

Horus smiled, "And there will be no more threat to the Word Bearers." He crossed his fingers over his calendar. "Tell me again how we will proceed."

"The plan has three phases, sir," Erebus leaned forward, "Rumors, proof, and defamation. We will begin where he began, and strike nearest to his heart. My contacts are very eager for this story to release, and have agreed to publish all our," he paused, "anonymous findings." Erebus continued, "They will take his interviews, and sprinkle them with the salt of our sweat. When all is done he'll have no more credit to give."

"It feels too simple," Horus leaned back in his chair. "How can you be so sure this will work?"

Erebus tapped his fingers together, "In times of uncertainty, I think it's important to have faith. I'll spare you the sermon, but there are forces far beyond us, and fate can be taken as putty in your hands." He let a smile crease his dry lips, "And I am confident in you. You will make this work, and others will follow your lead to rid themselves of the yoke tying them to the faraway Emperor of Caffeine."

☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕

(A/N: Hiya, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed the drama laid out in part 2 of the caffeine heresy. I named it the caffeine heresy on a whim, cause it sounded silly. I fear this chapter may make this whole thing seem very dramatic and serious.

Part 3 may take some time, the expectation is it will come around February. I also will be moving from chapters with 5 subsections, to chapters with 3 subsections. I've been in quarantine, and so have had ample time to work on my hobbies, but soon I'll be back to my 40 hour work weeks and bumper to bumper traffic. I'm also getting a dog.

also, Satanists aren't actually like this :P I'm dramaticizing them lol feel free to hmu if u wanna talk about our good lord the devil. See ya around!)

#warhammer 40k #emperors children #julius kaesoron #40k au #the caffeine heresy #coffee shop au #iron hands #word bearers #luna wolves #lucius the eternal #saul tarvitz #marius variosean #fulgrim #ferrus manus

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