Southern Belle Coffee Co.

[theycalledmeacurse]

Three years. It was hard to believe sometimes, those years having flown by as she adjusted to the new universe and being among people who went about their normal, everyday lives with no concept of how easily it could all end. She'd had a hard first few months, coming to grips with everything she'd been through, grieving for all she'd lost, but after a while she'd started trying to live again. After six months of simply working at a coffee shop, she'd decided to begin the process of opening her own. Drawing on the advice of people she'd met in this world and her own, she put her full energy into getting everything sorted out for the new business. It had taken time, of course, but eventually the long months of finding the best location, the best equipment, and the best suppliers, she'd opened the shop with a soft, understated flourish.

They were a hit with the neighborhood. It was better than she could have hoped, customers gushing about the open, airy space that was full of bright yellows and light greens, decorated with framed photos of iconic southern images - big houses with wrap-around porches, blooming magnolia trees, overflowing baskets of peaches... Patrons loved the in-house roasted coffee, praising the smoothness of their pour-over and the flavor combinations of their lattes. Their baked goods weren't bad, either, the cupcakes and miniature pies almost always selling out by closing time.

Rogue was so involved in her work that she could almost forget that there were superheroes in this world, too. They weren't as plentiful here as in her universe, not yet anyway, but the city always seemed to be abuzz with the latest exploits of Iron Man whenever he came to town. Tony Stark had even stopped in once for a cupcake; she'd been off that day, and the employees still talked about it, the group photo they'd taken posted on the wall back behind the counter.

That photo was nestled among all the others they'd taken in the months since the shop had opened. Everyone learning how to operate the roaster, tasting espresso during training, snapshots of the most intricate latte art, and everyone just generally goofing off and having fun. She'd been lucky to find a lovely group of people to join her on this adventure, from college students to off-off-Broadway actors to mothers just looking for a way to earn a little extra money for the family. Everyone gave 110%, in part because they saw how hard Rogue herself worked - she practically lived at the shop, and she genuinely cared about each of her employees. They'd been open for a little over a year now and not a single person had quit, which she liked to think said something.

The days were getting warmer, that deliciously cool weather of spring letting the shop open its windows to let in the breeze and entice customers inside with the scent of fresh coffee in the air. Rogue was back behind the counter, taking orders and preparing drinks just like her employees, her nametag reading "Marie" affixed to the uniform shirt they all wore - a mossy green color with Southern Belle Coffee Co scrawling across the chest, a pink and white magnolia blossom beside the words. She greeted the next customer with a bright smile and an enthusiastic, "Hi there, sugar, what can I get for you?"

Comments

[on_ur_left]

Learning wasn't anything new to Steve. He'd always been a sponge for knowledge, and although it hadn't been tested, he was pretty sure the serum had boosted his mental capacity, at least a little, as well as his physical abilities. He remembered things more easily, picked them up more quickly even than he had before, and he hadn't been a slouch even when he was younger.

Still, having almost seventy years' worth of knowledge that he needed to learn meant even his considerable mental faculties had a hard time cramming everything he needed into his head and retaining said knowledge. He would quickly get overwhelmed as he went deeper down the rabbit hole (a reference he actually understood, although he'd learned that there were several adaptations to the classic children's story in the intervening years), and it made him frustrated, which wasn't conducive to learning. It might not be so bad, except he knew everything he was trying to learn was second-nature to those around him, who had either been there at the start of all the technology and advancements, or had grown up taking it all for granted. He'd been dropped in the middle of the sea, and some days - a lot of days, truthfully - it felt like all he could do just to keep his head above water.

He kept reminding himself it had only been a month since he'd crashed a plane into the ocean and thought he was going to die in the beginning of 1945. He'd closed his eyes to the cold, and when he'd - miraculously - opened them again, he quickly learned that it was the spring of 2011, the whole world had continued on, and he didn't have a place in it anymore. As a legend, maybe even an icon, but not as a flesh-and-blood person. SHIELD had had to get him new ID just to make him "legitimate." They even gave him a stipend of spending money, ostensibly as "backpay" from the military, but he wasn't stupid; soldiers MIA didn't get paid, it was probably Fury's way of lengthening Steve's leash while simultaneously making it even tighter.

All in all, he was not in a great headspace a lot of the time. But he was trying. There wasn't much else he could do. So he studied, and when that got to be too much, he went out and wandered. The city was still the same New York he'd grown up in, but also vastly different. Some days he hated all the changes, but sometimes, like today, he almost relished them. If the city could move forward and still retain a core piece of itself, then so could he.

That was the mindset he was in when he stumbled across a coffee shop during a walk. The awning and sign outside were simple but bright and inviting. Deciding on a whim why the hell not?, Steve went in, looking around curiously at the decor as he moved into the line. It was a really nice cafe, and Steve hoped their aliments matched.

When the barista greeted him cheerfully in what sounded like a genuine Southern accent, Steve didn't even try to suppress a smile in return. "I'll tell ya what. I'll take two blueberry pies, and..." he shrugged with an 'aww, shucks' grin, as Bucky used to call it. "I'm not well-versed in coffees, so maybe just a recommendation for what goes good with the pie?"

[theycalledmeacurse]

When he'd first stepped up to the counter, the blond-haired man was just another customer - a very nice looking one, but just another person who was going to get the best service possible. But when he asked her a question like that? That's when it became a little more personal.

"Well, I think that's gonna depend on a few things," she explained, her expression turning just a tiny bit serious while still being entirely charming and friendly. "What's your experience with coffee been so far, sugar? Black and bitter? Too watery? Overly sweet?"

[on_ur_left]

Steve rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "Well... percolated coffee at home, and for a while I was in the Army, so - if you've ever heard jokes about how bad the food tastes - the coffee's probably worse. 'Black and bitter' is probably as good a description as any."

[theycalledmeacurse]

Percolated? Oh hell no. And from what she'd heard of Army coffee, you could usually chew the stuff. Coffee like that was a crime against humanity. Nope, this travesty definitely had to be rectified.

"That sounds absolutely awful," she told him with a laugh that was entirely at his answer and not at the man himself. "Everything here is better than that, I swear. To go with the pies, though? I'd probably recommend a pour-over coffee, or maybe a regular cappuccino if you'd like something with milk. They're simple, so it won't overpower the flavor of the pie."

[on_ur_left]

She wasn't wrong about having to chew it. He'd known several men who'd forgone water altogether and just eaten the coffee grounds, claiming it tasted basically the same.

"I think I'll take a pour-over coffee, and leave the cappuccino for another day." Not that he even knew what 'pour-over coffee' meant, except deductive reasoning had him thinking it was when hot water was poured over the coffee, a lot like brewing tea. But it sounded simple, and the gal - Marie, by her nametag - had suggested it, which was good enough for him.

[theycalledmeacurse]

It was one thing to eat a roasted espresso bean, and another entirely to eat coffee grounds. If Rogue had heard about that, she would have been absolutely appalled. Luckily, she was none the wiser and could keep on smiling at the adorable customer.

"Excellent choice. Angie will get you settled," she gestured to the young woman who was already totaling up the order at the register, "and I'll get to work on that coffee." She flashed him another smile before moving back to another section behind the counter, where there was a row of glass objects that looked almost like science beakers. It was with easy, practiced movements that she measured out the freshly roasted and ground coffee and set the water to heat up. The pour-over method took a good deal more time that simply brewing a large pot to always have on hand, but if done right, it made for a stronger but smoother coffee, with none of the bitterness thanks to the fresh beans and water at the perfect temperature.

In the meantime, Angie would ring him up and ask, "Would you like your pies warmed up, sir?" And once she had her answer, she'd let him know he could sit anywhere and they'd bring it out all to him.

[on_ur_left]

Steve did in fact want his pies warmed up, thank you Angie. His wallet took a bit of a hit, and his 20th century sense of economics cringed inside at the price for two small pies and a cup of coffee, but he kept it to himself. From what he'd seen so far, inflation meant everything was going to shock him by how much it cost, and the prices here were reasonable, for the amount of work put into making them. He kept an eye on Marie as she made the coffee, intrigued at the - to his mind - fussiness of it all, just for a cup of joe.

Settling down at a small table in a corner by the windows, Steve alternated watching the people passing by, and the other customers in line or already seated. Ordinary people going about their every day lives had always fascinated him, and he started tapping his index finger on the table, wishing he had a sketchbook and pencil on hand. He hadn't bought any yet, but maybe he should. He could come back here, try to capture... something. Contemporary American life.

[theycalledmeacurse]

The pies were popped into the toaster oven they kept behind the counter for just such requests, gently warming the little things that had been baked fresh that morning. By the time Rogue had finished preparing the coffee, both small pies were nestled on a square plate on a tray with a roll of silverware, ready for her to take over.

It was second nature for her to weave between the tables, greeting the regular customers she knew by name and smiling at all the others until she reached his table. "Your pie and coffee, sir," she announced as she carefully set everything down on the table. "Can I get you anything else?"

[on_ur_left]

Steve smiled in pleasure at the service. "No thanks, I think this'll be all. Oh, no, wait," he contradicted himself, pulling his wallet back out. He made a face at the bills, squinting one eye nearly closed. Christ, he had no idea what a good amount for a tip should be, anymore. He was positive it should be more than fifty cents, but no idea how much more.

"Umm..." He finally pulled out two $2 bills, and two $1s, and handed them to her. "Split that with Angie, would you? I really appreciate the service."

No, he hadn't tried the coffee or the pie yet, but he believed in supporting customer service, and he'd watched them work, not just for him, but bustling around to help several others as well, and they deserved an extra tip. Hopefully it was enough, and not considered small enough to be insulting.

[theycalledmeacurse]

Rogue kept her smile in place while she watched the man retrieve his wallet, his expression seeming a bit odd to her, like he didn't quite know what he was doing. It was clear what his intention was, but he didn't seem to know how to put it into action. Perhaps he hadn't grown up in the US, despite that New York accent - not everywhere in the world had the practice of tipping, after all.

Accepting the money, she spread them out so she could see what he'd given her, then selected a $2 bill and a $1 bill, holding them out for him to take back. "20% is usually considered pretty standard," she explained, making sure her tone wasn't even the slightest bit condescending, but instead trying to sound as helpful as she hoped she was being. "And you don't tip the proprietor of an establishment, sugar, but Angie sure will be grateful for this. She's saving up to pay for her classes next semester."

[on_ur_left]

Wow, 20%. That was a lot better than what he remembered as standard tips. He mulled over her words, realizing this was the owner of the café, working the counter and serving customers. Reaching out, Steve curled his fingers over the money she was trying to hand back, his fingers folding over her own and curling the money over as well. His tone was sincere, with an undercurrent of polite firmness as he explained, "I'm tipping the two people who helped me, were cheerful and polite, and didn't rush me, even though I clearly needed help, which you provided."

He gently pushed her hand back toward her chest, before leaning back and picking up his coffee to take a sip. His eyes closed involuntarily as the flavor burst over his tongue and lingered, full and rich, and unlike anything he expected from a plain black coffee. "...definitely undertipped you," he muttered.