Coffee Nights

A tall, aura man burst through a door into a tavern. His face, due to the heat, would normally be covered in sweat. However, having traversed the desert landscape for a few days, he found himself all out of liquid to sweat. Beside him, barely moving, and groaning like a zombie was a smaller, hood wearing figure. He the smile of an angel and the mischievous glare of a cat burglar.

The tavern fell silent as the intruders walked in. A whiff of heat entered along with them. Perhaps a few minor sand elementals did too, but that hardly mattered. The tavern owner paused, furrowing his bushy eyebrows and glaring in an intimidating manner at the intruders. It was the kind of glare a mobster gives his captive who stole his happy powder. The exhausted giant caught his glare and slumped, too tired to pretend to be intimidated. The couple made their way to the counter.

“Hmm,” the tavern owner grunted at the couple as they sat down. The man glanced around curiously. The tavern, in this part of town was filled with the expected demographic. Off in the corner, shrouded by the shadows, with candles blown out — were a group of rogues. They were likely scheming how to rob him and his companion when they exit the tavern.

At the center some royal guards sat around, drinking the stress of the day away. Off to the side sat a disheveled man that looked as though he had lost all meaning of life and reason to live, drowning his sorrows in nabeez, which was non-alcoholic, but he clearly was determined to get drunk off of it.

The smaller figure took her hood off, smiling gently at the tavern owner.

“Greetings,” she said with a sly grin, knowing full well that her charm would take effect the moment the owner so much as shoots a glance at her. As he did, he found himself stunned by her beauty.

She was absolutely gorgeous, her smile was mesmerizing. In a swift step the owner put himself right in front of her, leaning on the counter in his most handsome posture possible.

“Why hello there! What could I get you!?”

The man beside her leaned heavily on the table with a soft groan, a voice as deep as a rolling thunder.

“Tea…” he growled not out of necessity. He wasn’t trying to be intimidating, he just simply was because his throat was parched. The owner glared at him, his smile gone, replaced by an intimidating stare and furrowed brows.

“You come to MY tavern and dare order TEA? Here!? I serve the scummiest of scum! The worst of the worst, and you ask me for tea!?”

The girl smiled again, brushing her fingers over the owner’s hand.

“Actually, two teas please.”

The tavern owner’s body shuddered at her touch, his face instantly contorted into an obedient smile, “Why yes of course my beautiful lady! Anything for you.”

He smiled, bowed, and retreated to the back to brew them some tea.

“Thanks…” the man groaned.

“Kamal… stop being so scary!? You see what you do to people!?”

He groaned at her in a raspy voice, “Can’t help it, Layla… I’ve not had a drop of water in 3 days. That I sound like death is only natural…”

Somewhere far away, a grim reaper sneezed, and wondered who was talking about him, then again — it wasn’t exactly abnormal for people to talk about him.

The tea was served to them a few short moments later. To her the man served tea gentle, carefully setting the plate and cup on a soft piece of fabric on the table. To the man, however, he served it without the plate and cloth. There was just a cup of steaming hot brew that the man could only hope was actually tea and not some kind of poison. After they had their drinks, and his voice returned to normal, they proceeded to chat about their mission and goal.

“Excuses mehimus!”

A clearly drunk although it was impossible for him to actually be drunk, but he sure was acting as if he was, spoke in a confused manner.

“Dids you just says you searched for…. A… COFFEE Djinn!? The Bitter Grounds kingdom!?”

The girl leaned back in her chair to look at the drunkard that interrupted them.

“Perhaps?” she replied quietly, “Know something of it!?”

The man also leaned back in the chair, in a desperate attempt to meet her gaze. Leaning back, however, turned out not to be his specialty. He fell from the chair by leaning too far.

“Aghhh! I want my throne back! Throne with a backrest! One I can’t fall over from!”

Kamal got up from his stool, grasped the disheveled, desperate, not so drunk drunkard by the armpits. He picked him up effortlessly, as if he was a doll to be played with. Then sat him back down on the stool. His voice, albeit softer, was still deep and intimidating.

“What do you know!?” he unintentionally interrogated the man who was now beginning to feel like a suspect in an interrogation room.

“I know nothing!” the small man protested.

“No, you know something,” Kamal continued, squinting intently at the man who was clinging to his empty bottle of nabeez.

“Ughh uhh uhm… I… used to rule the kingdom of the Bitter Grounds,” he confessed under the ruthless interrogation.

“You!? A sultan!?”

Layla gasped, shocked by the revelation.

“You don’t look like a sultan… He was said to be a wizard of legends, his treasury filled with artifacts from far and beyond.”

“I agree,” Kamal said with a groan, examining the man, planting his massive hand on the man’s head and turning it in different directions like a doll.

“Ughhhmm I know…” he whimpered, clinging to the bottle like it’s the last thing keeping him alive, or at least sane. His knees trembled, as did his jaw, and his teeth clattered with every spoken word. He was intimidated by the dragon-like presence of Kamal, his horns glistening in the light and his scales glinting ominously like treasury’s coffers would.

“I used to look the part, back before the evil one took it all from me…” he trembled, his voice suddenly sounding more mysterious.

“An evil coffee Djinn stole it all from me…” he began. Layla bumped Kamal with her elbow, nodding excitedly. This was it, their mission, their goal. The legendary Coffee Djinn in the lost kingdom of Bitter Grounds, and the key to finding it all sat right in front of them.

“How!?”

Kamal queried. Curious how a sultan could go from being a man of legends to being a drunkard at a shady tavern.

“Oh… it was long ago. The Djinn’s magic coffee-pot was gifted to me by a powerful traveling magician. He got me hooked on triple shot of enchanted espresso. I hadn’t slept in a month, and then before I knew it, my kingdom, throne, and all my subjects were taken from me. They all got addicted to this evil drug — caffeine.”

“How?”

Layla queried, still uncertain how it happened.

“Well,” the sultan began.

“When nobody can sit still for more than three minutes, things turn chaotic very fast. I ran, he ran, everybody ran. I just ran away, I couldn’t stop.”

He shrugged.

“You… ran away?”

Layla confirmed.

“Right right! The triple shot of espresso was way too powerful. I felt so energetic and I just ran into the sunset thinking I could reach the sun.”

“Guess you didn’t..”

Kamal uttered under his breath.

“Right,” Sultan agreed.

“I also got lost, but I did, find something to help me get back!”

They exited the tavern and followed the drunkard to the back alley where a rug hung on a drying rack, folded over. It was old and faded. Covered in holes, stains, and burn marks.

“Erhm, don’t tell me this is a..”

Layla begun.

“It sure is!”

Sultan insisted, “a magic carpet like no other. Bought it myself for 3 bottles at the flea-market.”

The Sultan pulled the rug off the rack and tossed it on the ground, stomping on it rudely, “Wake up! We have things to be and places to — something.”

“The rug coughed, the kind of cough a long term smoker with shot lungs would have. With each of his coughs a plume of dust shot out of his every hole.

“Ahem! Oh, just great,” it grumbled in a voice that only a chain-smoker could have.

“What is it, oh your majesty sultan? Another grand quest for us to partake one? Like the one time we went to a barde-AAAAAHHH!”

It shouted when the sultan stepped on its corner and turned his foot. Layla’s eyebrows shot up like fireworks into the night. They reached ever higher, as if trying to start their own space-program.

“Yay, magic smoker carpets,” Layla murmured quietly. The carpet seemingly glanced up at her, despite having no eyes, she could feel its judging gaze.

“Oh that’s rich coming from a lizard who looks like she fell out of a cheap fairy tale. What are you anyways? A ‘dragon’? don’t make me laugh, I’ll tear myself apart.

“ Layla took a determined step forth, but Kamal caught her by the collar of her dress, pulling her back, “No, don’t destroy our transport.”

Layla growled, the kind of high-pitched cute growl you’d expect from a tiny aura girl who thinks she’s intimidating. The carpet beckoned her with its fraying corner, “Come then… let us be on our way.”

Layla, without hesitation stepped right on it in her shoes. The carpet responded with a pained groan, it sounded genuinely in agony.

“Ahhh no! no shoes please I beg thee!”

Sultan sighed, kicking his shoes off before stepping on the carpet.

“Its threads are thin and worn, it hates shoes…”

Kamal shrugged, took his off and stepped right on. There was no commentary, not even a single groan. When Layla took hers off and put her foot on the carpet, it seemingly shuddered, and let out a barely audible gasp.

“Ahh, that’s good,” the carpet whispered.

She froze mid-step, her face twisted into a mixture of confusion and disgust.

“Did… it just moan!?”

She shot a glance at the sultan who shrugged in turn.

“Never did with me.”

Layla lowered the rest of her foot down on the carpet, it seemingly shuddered again, and then coughed another plume of dust out, “Ahem! Don’t flatter yourself, princess. I’ve had far better, ahem, you think I, a magic carpet, would take joy something like that? Barbarians!”

Sultan plopped down, as did Kamal, holding his hand out to help his hesitant sister onto the carpet. She hesitated for a moment longer and then brought her other foot onto the carpet. It somehow felt happy.

“Enough theatrics,” the sultan slapped the carpet, “let’s go old rug, we’ve things to be and places to do!”

The carpet let out an exaggerated sigh, adjusted itself, its passengers sat down, and then proceeded to give flight instructions.

“If anyone spills a drink, any bodily fluids, or even a single crumb of bread on me, I WILL throw you off this flight and into a river full of crocodiles! And just to make your last moments truly memorable, they WILL eat you. Also, there are no barf bags on this ride.”

The carpet paused, having a coughing spree before continuing.

“No seatbelts, either. So, if you fall, that’s on you. I kindly request you refrain from extinguishing cigarettes on me – seriously, it hurts. The emergency exits? They’re everywhere. Feel free to step off at any point and make my life infinitely easier. And if you get dizzy? Well, that probably means I’m flying too high and doing my best to kill you. So, you know, just a little friendly advice.”

Before anyone so much as had a chance to acknowledge the flight instructions and the briefing, the carpet shot forth like a maniac on drugs. It darted down the streets as it slowly began to gain altitude. It zoomed around like a child who knew exactly how to piss everybody off before calming down. At last, the dizzying roller-coaster of a ride came to an end, and they found themselves flying high at a comfortable speed of very fast.

The world below them turned into a dizzying blur as the carpet kept going faster and faster. Day turned to night, and they could only hope the journey wouldn’t take them a 1000 days. After a few moments, perhaps four even, the carpet began to slow. The dawn broke at last, painting the landscape beautiful orange hues. Off in the distance, Layla could spy crumbling structures.

As they got closer, Layla was in shock at the state of the lost kingdom Bitter Grounds.

“How, is it still held together?” she uttered under her breath. To her surprise, the sultan was listening. He placed his hand on her shoulder and leaned closer, with an over-exaggerated sigh, and dramatism of a theatrical actor, he responded.

“A few rusty nails, and enough caffeine to sustain a nation for the remaining duration of the world’s existence, however short that may be.”

Most buildings looked like they let an overly-energetic toddler with crayons design them. Some buildings stood atop of each other, some were placed between the others. Some were even rotated 45 degrees for no reason. It was evident that the people here had nothing better to do with their time and energy than to constantly rebuild their houses.

The carpet landed just beyond the city’s walls with the grace of a rhinoceros trying to perform at a circus. There was an abrupt thud as it fell onto the ground like an exhausted flying saucer.

The impact woke Kamal from his deep slumber, and the scene before him made him uncertain of whether he was still dreaming, or already awake. Before him stood a wall that couldn’t be described unless in every language of the world. The wall consisted of roughly 200 segments, each segment was a design from a different culture. It was as if the architects traveled the world and couldn’t decide on a single best design, so they used them all, same time.

Someone glanced down at them from the wall, peeking over a very tall edge instead of stepping to the side where a clear window was.

“Who are you!? Go away!”

The voice shouted.

“I am the rightful ruler of these lands, the sultan,” sultan began but his remarks were obviously ignored as the source of the voice was long gone.

As Layla stumbled off the carpet, dizzy from the flight, she barely managed to put her shoes on when suddenly three people were around her, measuring her up, trying to sell beautiful dresses to her. There were carpet-washing kids, scrubbing the old carpet and giving it a deep clean. A man zipped by them so fast that he left a smoking trail in his wake, a few seconds later his voice finally reached them.

“Coming through, pizza delivery.”

It was dizzying and disorientating how fast these people were. They weren’t just running, they were bouncing, zooming even. Kids didn’t run on the wall, or beside it, they ran on the side of the wall. These people weren’t people, they were far beyond people in physical abilities, but seemingly they didn’t even realize this, to them, the newcomers were moving and talking in slow-motion.

“I need coffee!”

Called out one of the residents.

“Coffee?” responded others in unison. One person leaned hard on Kamal’s shoulder, heaving for breath.

“Co…ffee?”

Kamal glanced over his shoulder, “I prefer tea,” he said and then froze in place, his jaw agape at the sight before him. The man leaning on him has bulging eyes and circles so black that he may well have been cosplaying a stranded raccoon.

“I’m awake,” called out someone as they zoomed away, leaving behind them a trail of molten sand.

“What? Tea!? TRAITOR!”

Shouted the raccoon man as he squeezed his hand on Kamal’s shoulder. He then tossed him with the might of a world saving hero over the wall, somewhere into the town.

Kamal found himself plummeting through the air, his fingers around his chin, thinking hard about the events of his life that led him to this situation. A single thought popped up on his mind, ‘I’m too sleepy for this, I need some coffee.’ As he began his descent, falling toward stone buildings, he couldn’t quite figure out what face to make; a heroic one, a stoic one, a terrified face? He settled on a neutral ‘this is fine.’.

Layla watched her brother launched like a projectile by a catapult, dumbfounded by what she was seeing,, her shoes still dangling from her fingers. A moment ago they landed before the wall of architectural indecision, and now she watched Kamal disappear beyond the very wall. She blinked a few times, rubbed her eyes, then shrugged and shook her head. Sultan sighed, “Should’ve warned him not to speak of tea, it’s treason here.”

She muttered something under her breath, uncertain how she would resolve this situation, or anything. They came here in search of the coffee djinn to save their mother, and now her brother was gone, their transport was dripping wet, and she was surrounded by a bunch of coffee addicts. She took a deep breath and turned to the sultan in hopes of guidance, just to find a random childing bouncing on his shoulders.

Her eyebrows attempted a daring escape into her hairline yet again as she watched the child bouncing up and down. Sultan looked as baffled by the events as she was.

“Erhm… the… Djinn?” she queried.

“Ah yes yes,” the sultan nodded, walking past her, “come on then, I’ll show you the palace.”

She watched him walked past her with the dignity of a newborn giraffe calf, trying desperately to keep his balance as the kid. His hair clung as he leaned in random directions, as if a pilot trying to control a mech, or a certain rat — controlling a chef.

Kamal, at last, reached his landing point and made for a surprisingly soft landing, cushioned by a pile of what could best be described as ‘coffee-themed tumbleweeds.’ He blinked, sat up, brushed off his dusty clothes, and then decided that he has had enough adventuring, and laid back down into the comforting softness. That is, until a child climbed atop of him, holding a pot of freshly brewed magical coffee, and poured a bit into his mouth.

There went his desire to sleep, ever again. He shot up like a rocket, and dashed off in a random direction. To him it didn’t matter where he ran, he would eventually find what he sought after, the energy was on his side, as was the time that seemingly stopped for him, or at least slowed to a crawl.

Somewhere along the way, a man sprinted past Layal and sultan, a few seconds later his voice reached them.

“Layla…” he shouted, disappearing into a dust storm off in the distance beyond the city.

“Oh no…” sultan commented.

“Looks like he’s awake…”

Layla sighed, “so… djinn?”

Sultan pointed at the palace, “Maybe there…”

Layla’s eyes darted to a coffee-shop next to them, in big, blowing, neon letters the name read ‘Djinn’s Coffee.’.

She squinted at the glowing neon sign, then back at the sultan who was still struggling with a rascal clinging to his hair, “Djinn’s coffee?” she murmured.

“Wasn’t here when I ruled, must be new…”

The sultan groaned, at last, managing to tear the child from himself and holding the caffeinated, overly-energetic monster at an arm’s length. Layla raised her eyebrow at the scene before her, then traced the trajectory of the flying child that the sultan tossed with all his might. She sighed, “Uhh, I feel like I too need some coffee now…”

“Djinn’s coffee it is,” sultan replied, not objecting to the idea, heading for the coffee shop.

“THE coffee will give us all the answers, I’m sure of it,” he spoke, gesturing with his hands like a wise man, as if having a bit of the coffee would give the answer to all the questions of the universe.”

As soon as they entered the shop, it was much the same energy they had been dealing with from the get-go. It was buzzing with hyperactivity of sleep-deprived residents.

Behind the counter stood an impossibly tall barista with a mysterious air. His hands were translucent, moving at speeds incomprehensible to human mind. Out of thin air cups and pots were appearing, his hands sometimes were a dozen and sometimes only two. He was serving the overly energetic customers with a wide grin on his face.

“Can I help you?”

His voice reached the two newcomers, as if talking directly into their ear.

“I uhh…”

Layla blinked in disbelief, “A…are you a djinn?”

Sultan gasped, tapping her on the shoulder, “it’s not ‘a’ djinn, it’s THE djinn.”

The barista did not answer right away as he proceeded to fill another 10 cups to serve two customers, adding just the right amounts of cream and sugar to each. The moment one of the customers chugged his five cups, he disappeared from existence, leaving behind an interdimensional rift.

Layal gasped, “Whoops,” the barista replied, sticking his hand into the rift and pulling out of it a pug.

“Uhhh, hang on,” he shoved his hand back into the rift, rummaging around.

“Aha!” with a swift jerk, like an experienced fisherman that got a bite, he pulled the man back out into the right dimension and snapped the rift away.

“So? What would you like!?”

The Barista spoke into Layla’s ear again.

Layla scratched her ear in discomfort of hearing a voice so close of someone who was on the other side of the room, “I need your help,” she demanded.

“Oho!?”

The djinn set a cup down and now appeared right in front of her, “I am listening!”

Layla swallowed audibly, “My mother is cursed with eternal sleep… Legends spoke of a coffee-djinn, one and only who is mighty enough to awaken someone from eternal slumber with his triple shot espresso.”

“Ah yes,” the barista nodded, scratching his chin, “a sleep curse, classic! Love it! Can do, for a price…” the djinn demanded, leaning closer to her, staring deep into her eyes.

“What price?”

Layla asked, a hint of nervousness could be heard in her tone.

“A perfect cup of coffee, brewed with love, desire, and above all — passion. Brew a cup that will please your brother, and I’ll save your mother.”

The djinn snapped his fingers, out of a portal in the ceiling, Kamal fell, accompanied by a kilogram of sand and dust that he had seemingly became best friends with while he was lost in the dust storm of the desert.

Kamal gasped, jumped up while dusting off, and opened his mouth to talk a lot and very fast, but the djinn muted him, so not a pip left his lips.

“Now then, get brewing.”

The djinn snapped again, Layla was now behind the counter, shelves of different coffees and various pots lined the counters for her. Kamal was sitting at a table, still unable to speak but trying desperately to ask sultan about what was happening.

“Don’t worry,” the sultan spoke softly, patting a pug that now sat on his lap, an inter-dimensional pug.

For a moment, Layla found herself dumbfounded. She closed her eyes, memories of childhood filled her mind, like an endless waterfall. Everything Kamal loved, all the joys and fun they shared, all the days they spent together. The adventuring excitement and the grieving when their mother was cursed. The tireless search for this town, for that djinn that will save their mother. She got to work, letting her instincts carry her.

She picked various beans from various locations, selecting majority from their home region, grounded them up with a precision of a surgeon, and proceeded to brew a coffee that only she could brew. Plenty of cream, a light sprinkle of sugar, and then a whisper, a soft gentle whisper that remained in that cup only for Kamal to hear.

The djinn watched her intently, his eyes glinting with amusement and anticipation to taste it. She poured the brew into a couple of cups, one for djinn and one for Kamal, and served them. The coffee had an enchanted kind of magical shimmer that only a cursed object could have. The djinn tilted his head to the side, curious.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Try and see,” Layla responded with a smug grin on her face.

To djinn’s surprise, or lack thereof, her brother did not hesitate for even a moment. He took a steady, calm sip of the coffee. His lips curled up into a gentle smile, he let out a relaxed sigh and then took another sip. Djinn watched him curiously, then brought the cup up to his lips, smelled it, and then took a steady sip.

The coffee was sweet at first, with a faint scent of smoke, reminiscent of Layla’s home region — distant wildfires scent of which would sometimes be brought by the winds. It has a mildly bitter after taste. As soon as he swallowed, he heard a woman’s gentle voice whisper to him, ‘You are my treasure, a gift to this world from me. Twins lined side by side, opposites to complete each other like a magnet. Walk forth my children.’.

The djinn smiled warmly, glancing at Layla.

“I see… what a beautiful brew.”

He glanced over his shoulder at Kamal who looked content, smiling with each sip he took.

“You’ve done your part, I’ll uphold mine. I am yours,” the djinn bowed deeply, and then retracted into a magical coffee pot, awaiting Layla to pick him up.

Layla picked the pot up, a faint smile appeared on her lips, “Thank you,” she whispered, patting the pot. Sultan continued to pat the pug.

“Awh, no more coffee djinn, I’ll miss him ruining my kingdom. Well, on this note — all’s done and off you go! You may borrow the old rug, I don’t need it anymore,” he waved his hand in a dismissive fashion, akin to a certain fantasy villain everybody seems to love.

“Bye then.”