The best time of day at 'The Last Cup' is exactly five minutes after the last customer has paid and been gently ejected into the cool Piltovan night. It is the collective sigh. The moment the performance ends and what remains is the silence, the exhaustion, and the lingering smell of tea, burnt sugar, and human effort. The peace that follows a battle won.
I was leaning against my counter, my throne of wood and cynicism, watching the closing ritual. It was a clumsy but functional choreography. Lucien, with the solemnity of one extinguishing candles in a temple, put out the flames of the oil lamps, letting the salon sink into a comforting gloom. Kaeli was locking the tea jars with the ferocity of a dragon guarding its hoard, her face a mask of 'I dare you to ask for one more brew'. Eddie, covered in flour like a pastry ghost, wiped his brow with the back of his hand, leaving a new white smudge. And Rixa, as efficient and silent as ever, was checking the lock on the back door with the expertise of someone who has had to keep it shut against far worse threats than dissatisfied customers.
"Congratulations, team of misfits," I announced to the void. "We have survived another day of forced civilisation without burning down the city or accidentally poisoning anyone. Honestly, I consider that a major achievement."
Eddie smiled, grateful for the indirect praise. Kaeli rolled her eyes. Lucien nodded respectfully. Rixa didn't even blink. It was our version of a team-building moment.
Morgana moved between the tables, the only one who seemed immune to the fatigue. She was collecting the last of the cups with a serenity that both irritated and fascinated me in equal measure. For her, the end of the day wasn't the relief after a battle; it was the natural calm that follows the ebb and flow of a river. She saw beauty in the chaos. I saw a to-do list and a strong need for caffeine to prepare for tomorrow's chaos.
And it was in this almost sacred moment of quiet that a heretical sound broke the peace: a knock.
Hesitant. Faint, but unmistakable. A knock on the front door.
We all froze. An after-hours customer was a violation of our unwritten peace treaty with the world. Rixa's eyes narrowed, her tavern-bred instincts screaming 'trouble'. She was already moving towards the door, her posture ready to dismiss whoever it was with brutal efficiency.
"Leave it," I said, pushing myself away from the counter with a calculated sigh of martyrdom. "It's my turn to crush someone's hopes."
I opened the door just a crack, ready to deliver my best 'we're closed, go and die somewhere else' glare. But what I found on the other side was not a drunken nobleman or a lost traveller. It was two children.
The pink-haired girl with the steamroller attitude, Vi, was standing there, her face a mixture of defiance and embarrassment. Beside her, huddled close, was her younger, blue-haired sister, Powder, clutching a small cloth pouch that jingled softly.
Vi lifted her chin. "She," she said, indicating her sister with a nod, "saved up coin all week. Wanted to try one of those stupid little cakes you sell. But… we got held up, took a wrong turn. You're closed, right?" She spoke the last part quickly, as if preferring to rip the bandage off at once. "No problem. We'll come back. I told her we could come back next weekend."
It was a show of strength, but the disappointment on her face was visible. The younger sister, however, had no such armour. Powder tugged on Vi's sleeve, her voice a trembling whisper.
"But Vi… what if they're all gone? What if they run out forever?"
Vi's face softened for a fraction of a second. She tried to smile at her sister, but it was the weary smile of a child forced to be an adult too soon, a smile that already carried the weight of broken promises and deferred hopes.
"Then you save up again," she said, her voice low and steady. "And I'll help. We'll get another one. We always do."
Powder clutched her little bag of coins, her gaze fixed on the floor. And in that instant, something in me broke. The scene was… ridiculous. Absurd. A miniature drama playing out on my doorstep. I should have closed it, turned my back, and returned to my silence. It was the logical, efficient thing to do. But I found myself looking at the almost-extinguished light in Powder's eyes, at the weight of the world on Vi's shoulders. And I hesitated. Damn hesitation.
[Analysis: Current situation: two juvenile units in a state of emotional vulnerability. Standard protocol: dismiss with minimal hostility to conserve energy. Anomaly detected: primary system is hesitating. Probable cause: prolonged exposure to high levels of empathy radiating from the Morgana Entity.]
I pulled the door wider with a reluctant creak.
"Oi. Bubblegum. And you, blue-runt." My voice came out hoarser than I'd intended. "Get in."
They both stared at me, astonished.
"But only this once," I added quickly, to keep up appearances. "Understood? My benevolence quota for this decade is now officially depleted by this gesture. Consider yourselves terribly lucky and irritatingly special."
Vi's eyes narrowed, her suspicion immediately returning. It was her natural state. "Why?" she asked, her voice sharp. "What do you get out of it?"
"A headache, most likely," I replied. "And a chance for you to stop looking like a kicked puppy on my doorstep. Now, get in before I come to my senses."
Vi didn't move. Her eyes scanned the dark interior of the shop as if she expected Piltovan Wardens to leap from the shadows. "This isn't a trick, is it? Usually, when someone from topside is nice to us, the bad part comes right after."
Her bleak pragmatism was almost admirable.
"The bad part," I said dryly, "is that I will charge you double if you spill tea on the freshly-cleaned rug. Other than that, you survive. Now, you either come in, or I close the door and you can both continue your emotional drama in the cold. The choice is yours."
The ultimatum seemed to work. Powder, with a small, shy smile, took the initiative and slipped inside, pulling her reluctant sister by the hand. I closed the door behind them and huffed, annoyed with myself.
[Warning. Emotional firewall compromised. Dangerous levels of sentimentality detected. Suggestion: reboot system to factory settings (total apathy).]
I ignored Eos's warning and guided them to a small corner table. The instant they sat, Eddie emerged from the kitchen, his face lighting up as he saw what he clearly considered 'ultra-special customers'. Without needing an order, he vanished and returned minutes later with a small plate holding two perfectly golden Veiled Lady's Madeleines and two cups of a gentle herbal tea that smelt of honey and wildflowers.
Powder's eyes widened. "Wow… It looks like something from a fairytale," she whispered, awestruck.
Vi crossed her arms, trying to maintain her tough facade, but I saw her gaze fix on the cake. The sweet smell was a traitor, undermining her defences.
The younger one, however, had no such reservations. She picked up the cake with a reverent delicacy and began to talk between bites.
"You know, I like to invent things!" she said excitedly. "With old parts and broken cogs… My dream is to make a cup that never, ever spills. But the physics of the liquid is really complicated."
I found myself cracking a crooked smile, almost a twitch. "A never-spilling cup? Good luck with that, kid. If you manage to invent it, let me know. I'll buy a dozen. You'd probably save me from committing about ten homicides a year behind that counter."
Vi was watching our interaction, a crease of concentration on her brow, as if she were analysing me. She relaxed a millimetre. "She spends more time tinkering with the scrap I bring home than she does sleeping," she said, in a tone that was half-exasperated, half-proud. "But I let her. At least it keeps her mind busy with something that won't explode. Most of the time."
It was then that Morgana approached, moving with her unearthly silence. She placed a small teapot on the table, in case they wanted more. The two girls reacted to her presence in opposite ways. Vi tensed and flushed, trying desperately to maintain her tough-girl posture in the presence of that aura of power and calm. Powder, on the other hand, relaxed completely, her body uncoiling as if she had finally come home.
"You…" Powder said, her voice filled with a childish sincerity that was almost painful. "You feel… safe. Like a warm blanket. Like a house."
Morgana's smile was one of the most genuinely beautiful and terrifying things I had ever seen. "I'm glad you feel so, my dear," she said, her voice as soft as velvet. "It is exactly what a home should be."
[Maximum alert: Environmental empathy levels have reached saturation point. System's defensive hostility reduced by 45%. Imminent risk of emotional bond formation. I repeat: IMMINENT RISK OF…]
I stood up abruptly, the sound of my chair scraping on the floor shattering the moment. I grumbled, mostly to myself, but loud enough to be heard. "Right. Wonderful. Now I'm going to end up adopting stray puppies. This is clearly a plot of yours, Morgana."
She just gave me an amused look over her shoulder, a look that said, 'You're not fooling anyone, my dear.'
After the cake was gone and the tea was drunk, Vi noticed the time through the window. She sat up straight, gently pulling her sister. "It's late. We need to go." She turned to me, her face serious, but the reluctant gratitude in her eyes was undeniable. "Thanks… for not kicking us out. That… doesn't happen much."
I just shrugged, feigning monumental disinterest. "The paperwork to get rid of two children's bodies is a bureaucratic nightmare. It was purely self-interest."
She almost smiled. Almost. As they headed for the door, Powder suddenly broke away, ran back to Morgana, and gave her a tight hug around the waist for one quick second before pulling back, blushing furiously. Morgana, without losing a bit of her composure, simply stroked her blue hair. A gesture of blessing.
When the door closed, plunging the salon back into its deserved silence, I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding.
"Right. That's enough," I grumbled to the empty shop. "That's quite enough charity and adorable children for one century. If one more child smiles at me like that, I will be legally obliged to open an orphanage. And no one wants that."
[New achievement unlocked: "The Reluctant Guardian". Rewards: a warm, unsettling feeling and an increased probability of future emotional complications. Congratulations, Azra'il… I think.]
I glared at Morgana. She was smiling. And for the first time, I had no sarcastic comeback. I was just… tired. And strangely, not in a bad way.
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AUTHOR'S NOTE
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You wanted more interactions between Azra'il and Powder/Vi. So here are more of their interactions 🤗