Mocha, mid-morning, everybody OTA/MW
There was a fat chick in the queue before him, and Andras rolled his eyes. She was chatting to the barista -- not Joy -- and ordering her coffee piecemeal -- 'Oh yes, I can just as well have some sprinkles! But who was that old man this morning?'
Andras groaned, and she turned around, grinning all the way up at at him. She had a very impressive pair of boobs, but Andras didn't care.
"You going to keel over next?" she asked, sweetly.
"No, but you are!" Andras said, caffeine crave making him grumpy. "You really shouldn't have sprinkles, you know. Or whipped cream. Or brownies, at that." She already had an ass like a dray horse, for fuck's sake! Why was she making it worse?
"And who are you, the food and body police?" she asked, shaking her head. "Mind your own damn business."
"Who he is," said a somewhat Scottish voice behind Andras, very drily, "is some fluffy hipster between me and my coffee, and that's not a naturally tenable position for anyone."
She giggled, and Andras turned around, and almost felt like keeling over after all.
The man behind him was about fifty, but an inch taller even than Andras, and at least twice as broad. He smiled down at him, his amber eyes, oddly enough for such a warm colour, icy-cold as he did so.
"Cream, sprinkles, brownie, and caramel cookies," the fat girl declared, and when she got it, she turned, flounced past Andras, offered the big Scotsman a cookie (which he accepted, taking a bite right away with very strong and white teeth that looked positively threatening), and took herself off to some table in the corner.
"What are you waiting for, Mr. Hipster?" the Scotsman asked, sweetly.