The Best Coffeehouse on the Disc

This is a small coffee house known as Fat Sally’s. There are three long tables with benches next to them. A small, grimy lamp gives some light, and above it, steam and pipe smoke swirl together around the ceiling. The benches are generally crowded but there is always room for one more. On the stove a kettle whistles and coffee pots are scattered here and there over the tables.

There is one obvious exit: west.

Daimon wanders in, black coat swishing at his feet, and heads straight for the counter to order a generously sized black coffee.

Miss Georgina de Vitis is sitting at a table, nursing a coffee, a book opened in front of her. The slight smile on her lips is a soft one. The shared tables here tend to be busy, forcing people to sit together.

Daimon strolls towards the nearest empty chair. “Mind if I join you, miss?”

Miss Georgina de Vitis almost startles, nudging her coffee, but she smiles at him, “Oh please do.” She uses a handkerchief to mope up the little mess, adding lightly, her cheeks pink, “I was miles away.”

Daimon plops himself down without much further ado, possessing the casual feline grace of the undead. “Thanks. Ain’t easy finding a spot here.”

Miss Georgina de Vitis nods, a small rueful laugh escaping, “I admit, Sandra has been glancing at me for nursing my coffee. I may have to order cinnamon toast to get myself out of her bad books.”

Daimon nods and begins to roll a cheap cigarette. “Name’s Daimon, by the way. Wearing black, not with the school of deadly and posh, though.”

Miss Georgina de Vitis gives him a smile, closing the book and tucking it into her bag. “Georgina. Not wearing black but I am one of the deadly, if not posh.”

Miss Georgina de Vitis is wearing a neat grey skirt and a white blouse, neither of which are expensive.

Daimon quirks a raven eyebrow. “Wouldn’t of thought it, most of those types dress to show off.”

Miss Georgina de Vitis lifts a shoulder, giving him a rueful smile, “Consider me one of those whose pockets and heritage is not always considered suitable. I am a transfer from Genua, you see, where their recruitment is a little more practical in nature.”

Daimon quirks the other eyebrow. “Yeah? You seem sane, though.”

Daimon says: I mean…. Genua.

Miss Georgina de Vitis laughs, her face lighting up. “My family are very grounded. Bookmakers, you see. It is hard to be less than sensible… And you?”

Daimon says: Uberwald. Just, I met a couple of Genuans last night and they were batshit crazy if you’ll pardon my Quirmian.

Miss Georgina de Vitis bites her lower lip, suppressing a smile. “We are… more passionate in nature than this city seems. But Uberwald surely has its own craziness?”

Daimon sips his scalding hot coffee. “Yeah, but this guy was going around the Drum offering people to make them cement shoes, and the chick was all, I so sexeh.” He drawls the last words in a sticky-sweet fashion.

You ask in Morporkian: I mean, not even in bloody Uberwald would a werewolf walk up to you and go, like, dude, want me to shed on your carpet and eat your kid?

Miss Georgina de Vitis widens her eyes and shakes her head, “I’m… I have nothing. How strange.” She catches Sandra’s eye and asks quietly, “May I have some cinnamon toast?” That done, she turns back, “I promise you I shall neither offer you shoes, nor find it attractive. If nothing else, I believe I am meant to be paid.”

Daimon laughs softly. “I were half thinking that the guy were just trying to pull some scam. Maybe he were really from Cockbill Street and his brother sells travel insure-ants.”

Miss Georgina de Vitis laughs, lifting a hand to cover her mouth as she remembers she is meant to be a lady. “Maybe someone was lifting your pocket watch when you were distracted…”

Daimon says: Yeah, I’d understand that, totally. Naw, these kids were just bein’ bloody weird. The other day I went there, some chick from your school pulled a crossbow on me for not wanting to buy a blowjob from her.

Daimon says: It’s like that place attracts all the weirdos.

Miss Georgina de Vitis blinks slowly, “My school? How… ” She trails off, giving Sandra a smile as she accepts her food. “Have you tried this? It is bliss, I promise.” Her grin is full of mischief for a moment and then she adds softly, “Perhaps it is the locality?”

Daimon glances at the place and shakes his head. “Ain’t much for solid food, me. Looks nice, though.”

Miss Georgina de Vitis takes a bite, munching rather than the delicate manners of the ladylike. “I truly think I could live on this… but perhaps having someone who could cook might help that.”

Daimon lights his cigarette with a spark springing magically from his thumb. “That ain’t me. I can boil an egg and I can make coffee, and that’s it.”

“Me neither. I burn water, I swear it.” Miss Georgina de Vitis shoots him a rueful smile, “People who can cook are like gods.” A faint blush colours her cheeks and she reaches for her coffee, taking a sip. (Georgina)

Daimon says: Wizard were laughing at me last night for not just conjuring up food.

Daimon says: Pointed out to him that conjured blood tastes like Ankh water smells.

Miss Georgina de Vitis laughs, shaking her head, “But you are not a wizard?” She pauses at the latter, and then shakes her head, “Forgive me, I had no idea. I’m chattering on about food…”

Daimon shakes his head, raven locks dancing. “Naw, I do study at the University, though. I copy scrolls, that sort of thing.”

“My father used to say that honest work is all a person needs to have worth.” Miss Georgina de Vitis’s voice is soft, the affection for her man obvious. (Georgina)

Daimon nods goodnaturedly and sips his brew again. “Honest work enough for me, writing scrolls. Just don’t make me a Wizard, capital double vee, since I ain’t a graduate and all that. The wizards are hella particular about those things.

Miss Georgina de Vitis smiles, shaking her head, “A little like us deadly types.” She is almost teasing, relaxing as she eats toast, pulling it into little pieces to prolong that pleasure.

Daimon says: Yeah. Seems to be like, a Morporkian thing.

Miss Georgina de Vitis quietly says in Morporkian with a Morporkian accent: Have you had much to do with those at the Guild? It is rather … a certain class of person.

Daimon says: The assassins? I work for a couple, free lance. They use a lot of scrolls.

Miss Georgina de Vitis nods, pushing her emptied plate away, giving him a smile, “I ought to learn perhaps. For the moment though,… there is so much to learn of their culture.”

Daimon nods and offers a small, pearly white smile. “Yeah. Felt that way when I first came to town too. This city’s… bloody different.”

Miss Georgina de Vitis nods slowly, her amusement fading, “It truly is. I come here to feel a little more at home, and less…” She pauses, seeking the words, “Needing to be fitting in.”

Daimon gestures dismissively at the door. “I gave up on that. My kind around here seem to “fit in” by having weekly singalongs and cocoa.”

Miss Georgina de Vitis lifts her cup, curling her hands around it, a little comfort seeking in the gesture. “Do you ever meet someone and wish you were in their class enough?” There is a wistful note to it

Daimon thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. “Not really. I always get told I ain’t got no class to begin with.”

He earns a laugh from Miss Georgina de Vitis, her wistfulness fading under the amusement. “Oh I think you do. Style if nothing else.” (Georgina)

Daimon grins. “The nobs around here always seem bloody uptight, like they ain’t allowed to just kick back and have fun, ever. Ain’t something I want to strive for, I like just floating along on the current, see where life takes me.”

Miss Georgina de Vitis laughs, giggling, and her face relaxes. “I think they can let their hair down if they aren’t in view but everyone is so proper in the Guild, that I think if I speak as we do at home, someone might catch fire.”

Daimon says: Yeah, I believe that. The ones I write scrolls for sure act different when you’re one on one with ’em.

Miss Georgina de Vitis nods, resting her elbows on the table, her chin in her hands, “They do, or some of them do. Some of them just… not scare me, but a little intimidating. Titles, and the like.”

Daimon says: My kind collect titles like other people collect those little pins.

Daimon says: It ain’t all that big a deal.

Miss Georgina de Vitis tilts her head, “The titles? No. But the education at the Guild, it is different to mine. I am their librarian, you know, and I..” She hesitates, giving him a look, judging whether to speak or not. “I cannot read all of the languages in that library.”

You ask in Morporkian: Can anyone?

Miss Georgina de Vitis nods, giving him a rueful smile, “It feels like half of them can.” She shrugs, sipping the coffee, adding lightly, “I’m sorry, I had no intention of going into… after all, we just met.”

Daimon says: Maybe half of ’em are just pretending. Most folks who put on airs are pretending, that’s my experience.

Miss Georgina de Vitis studies him over the brim of her cup, before she nods, smiling at him. “That is likely true. After all, I am.”

Daimon upends his cup and holds it out for Sandra to fill from the Klatchian pot.

Miss Georgina de Vitis joins him in getting a refill.

Daimon says: Everybody’s got something they’re great at. Folks as try to look like they’re great at everything always make me think they ain’t found their own thing yet.

Miss Georgina de Vitis leans back a little against the bench, studying him for a moment. “I think that really is true.” She smiles, a softer one, adding lightly, “Sometimes the changes are a good thing, they bring new people, new friends.”

Daimon nods with a bright white smile. “I can tell you this, I’d rather be a nobody in Morpork than a big shot in Uberwald.”

Her hands hesitate for an instant as Miss Georgina de Vitis flickers a look at him. “I think I would rather be here, than home.” (Georgina)

Daimon says: Well, I ain’t been to Genua yet but if those two last night are common there… ‘Sides, people eat a lot of garlic there.

Miss Georgina de Vitis shakes her head, a small smile creeping out, “I have never met people like you describe.”

Daimon says: Thank some god or other for small mercies.

Miss Georgina de Vitis laughs, her fingers curling around her cup once more.

Daimon goodnaturedly pinches Fat Sandra’s bum in passing.

You ask in Morporkian: Genua’s still got this story thing going on as it used to?

Miss Georgina de Vitis shakes her head, sipping her coffee, before she asks lightly, “Where is the other Morpork? I believe I have seen Ankh rather a lot, but I feel sure there is a less… polite version.”

Daimon says: Gotta head south of the river and into the poorer parts of town. Might not want to go alone, though. There’s parts of town as really ain’t nice.

Miss Georgina de Vitis slants him a look, her eyebrows arching, “Deadly, remember? Sometimes it is useful to know somewhere that others may not wish to go too.”

Daimon says: Yeah. But let me put it like this: There’s a part of town where vampires don’t go ’cause you don’t know what’s in the dark.

Miss Georgina de Vitis leans back in her seat, her eyes widening for a moment, “Which part, Daimon? It would be unfortunate to wander in there.”

Daimon says: Folks here call ’em the Shades.

Miss Georgina de Vitis softly says in Morporkian with a Morporkian accent: Thank you.

Miss Georgina de Vitis looks thoughtful, her finger tapping on the cup, her eyes narrowing slightly.

You ask in Morporkian: It’s that part of town where the monsters check under the bed for humans before going to sleep, you know?

Miss Georgina de Vitis nods, slanting him a look, before she shakes her head, “There is always somewhere in a city like that.”

Daimon says: Yeah, reckon there is.

Daimon says: I know a couple of the senior assassins like to hang out in that part of town, always figured they got some kind of death wish though.

Miss Georgina de Vitis finishes her coffee, putting the cup down gently, carefully. “Always useful to know where.” She glances up at him, curiousity in her eyes. “Or a desire to let their demons out.” She sounds as if she might understand that, a slight smile curving her lips.

Daimon upends his cup as well. “Yeah, that’s a good point. Everyone’s got demons. I go beat the snot out of trees sometimes.”

Miss Georgina de Vitis slants him a look, replying lightly, “I like to run over the rooftops, just for the freedom.” A wistful note slips in her voice as she makes the confession.

Daimon says, with a mildly teasing note, “I can fly.”

Miss Georgina de Vitis laughs, giving him a real smile, one that reaches her eyes, “I envy you. Perhaps a race sometime.”

Daimon says, more seriously, “I envy humans. Sunlight looks nice. The whole family thing. Having a purpose. I guess the grass’s always greener somewhere else, eh?

Miss Georgina de Vitis’ smile fades a little and she gives him a look that has some sympathy in it. “It always is.”

Daimon says: Yeah. See, that’s why I love about this city. You get to meet ’em all. Get to know ’em all.

Miss Georgina de Vitis nods, giving him a thoughtful look. “I should go, I’m afraid. Time to work a little…” She offers him a smile as she gathers her things. “It has been a pleasure, Daimon.”

Daimon waves lazily. “Take care around, enjoy the city.”

About Daimon

Daimon is one of the many Uberwaldean vampires who flock to Ankh-Morpork in recent times to eke out an unlife free of persecution and mobs with pitchforks.
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