I’m tempted to join this, but will probably post less frequently than the last RP I joined. Also, I’ll try to be less verbose, if that’s a problem.
David Mortimore was a tall, thin man with dark, shoulder-length hair and a penchant for dark clothing. He didn’t have looks, or talent, and not much discernable skill. He was a pretty hopeless, pathetic creature in some ways. He wasn’t stupid, he just wasn’t smart either. He couldn’t stand pressure, or being ordered, or being given deadlines. He was lazy and rather clumbsy at times, and in the real world of work and employment, he would have been drowning in the deep end. Luckily for him, his aunt had died when he was sixteen, leaving him an amount of money too vast for him to spend, and in the six years since then he’d been all over the world, or at least England. He was hopeless at languages as well, and knew his strengths. He had none. So he stuck to what he knew, and toured the country, or at least the parts of the country where he wouldn’t be stabbed. Which is how he ended up in the middle of Middlington Street.
He walked down the street, clearly lost. You could tell by the way he looked around fretfully, and the undecided pacing, and the large colourful tourist map was another big clue. Tourists are always lost. And David was practically a professional at it, he’d been in town for almost a week now and could barely find the way out of the hotel he was staying in. Something on the map drew his attention as he realised it was half-past two and he still hadn’t eaten anything. He looked around, and walked down the high street. A minute later, he wandered back and went the other direction, holding the map the right way up this time.
He stopped, looked at the map, then at the shop. According to the tourist map David had been given, it was apparently a coffee shop, but the front seemed like little more than a glorified closet. It had been wedged between a clothing store and a supermarket when the street was refurbished, and thanks to an architectural mishap the frontage of the building was only four feet wide. It had an ornate ebony doorframe around the tall, dark door, and almost nothing else. The sign above the door said in plain, unassuming letters “Joey’s!”. That exclamation mark was the only thing remotely enthusiastic about the place.
People in this town must really hate coffee, he thought to himself as he pushed the door open. His next thought was one of extreme confusion, mixed with a large dose of bewilderment and a dash of worry. Wha- but- how-
“Come in, sir! Take a seat, welcome to Joey’s!” said the barista. The barista was a light grey cat. Sat on the shop counter. Which was apparently glued to the ceiling.
“Wha- but- how…” he murmured, looking around. The shop was bigger inside, far bigger than it should have been, and most of it was on the ceiling, along with the bar. People above him were happily enjoying their drinks, listening to the pleasant violin music in the background, and chatting among friends. Nobody looked his way. Was he really here? The cat seemed to think so.
“So, sir, can I get you anything? A drink? Some food? We have a particularly nice selection of sandwiches today!” Joey said as he pounced off the counter onto the cieling. Or the floor. Or whatever it was David was standing on. “Or maybe one of our new toffee muffins?”
“Bu-bu-but you’re a- but- wha- how…”
“How do you get down? Easily. You might want to close your eyes though, because it tends to mess with your head.” David clenched his eyes shut, and felt a bizzare rushing sensation. When the nausea and the dizziness had passed, he opened his eyes again. Everyone was the right way up now, apart from the door.
“But- wha- huh- how-”
“Oh, it does that every now and again. I wish it would just stay put, mopping the ceiling isn’t my cup of tea.”
“But- But you’re a cat?”
“A cat who makes a damn fine cup of coffee. So, while you’re figuring out which questions you want to ask first, go sit down. I’ll make you a latte, on the house.”
David sat down, head spinning with confusion. He still wasn’t sure which way was up, or what had just happened, or how a cat was supposed to make a cup of coffee anyway.