ONE: AN "AVERAGE" SATURDAY

𝘼𝙉 "𝘼𝙑𝙀𝙍𝘼𝙂𝙀" 𝙎𝘼𝙏𝙐𝙍𝘿𝘼𝙔 𝙐𝙎𝙐𝘼𝙇𝙇𝙔 𝙁𝙊𝙇𝙇𝙊𝙒𝙀𝘿 𝘼 𝙎𝙋𝙀𝘾𝙄𝙁𝙄𝘾 𝙋𝘼𝙏𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙉 𝙁𝙊𝙍 𝙈𝙀. First, I would wake up at the crack of dawn for a college student - so about seven in the morning. Then, after throwing on an outfit that usually involved an over-sized sweater, dark washed jeans, and some form of sneakers, I bounced out the door with my headphones on. Music that was not from my generation would blast through my ears as I ambled down the sidewalk - the streets filled with cars honking at one another for violating traffic laws or the fact that another Super landed in front of a car causing it to stop short. None of it mattered really.

My destination was clear too.

By seven fifteen, I found myself unlocking the shatterproof glass door of the cafe.

(Shatterproof being relative. It depended on which Super Duo decided to duke it out in the street. Sadly, our insurance doesn't cover "Hero/Villain Damage" to our property based on the very nature of those who own this place... but I digress.)

The cafe I worked at was called Super-Coffee.

A stupid name for a little, fifties-inspired cafe with decor passed down from generation to generation of my boss's family.

Not that I was in any place to even offer a name change. "Good morning, Dianna," my boss greeted me. I bit my tongue in reminding her that I was named 𝘍𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 because her elderly smile brightened everyone's day and I was the only one she had left.

(She really was a nice boss, ya know, once you get past the whole part of forgetting your name.)

"Good Morning, Charlie!" I replied with my tired smile that only grew when she handed me a piping hot cup of coffee. I will say this until the day I die, and, in my line of work that could be any day now, Super-Coffee made the best coffee in the world. "Thanks!" I said with a yawn lacing my voice.

"Of course, Sweetheart," Charlie gave me a motherly smile before a cloud of purple light engulfed her and she went to work on the books.

Oh, yeah, the Super-Coffee is owned by Charlie Midday, also known as Violet Light in her superhero days.

And this? This is Neo City, where the Supers duke it out daily for world domination and the heart of our great metropolis.

My name is Fianna Lexington, and everything I tell you is one-thousand-and-ten percent true.

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"𝙁𝙄𝘼𝙉𝙉𝘼, 𝙄 𝙒𝘼𝙉𝙏 𝙈𝙔 𝙐𝙎𝙐𝘼𝙇!" A deep voice without consideration for others boomed across the cafe. I glanced up from my psychology textbook to find a man dressed in drapes and armor.

   "Calm down, Balder," I bellowed back as I already moved to start the brewing.

   "You do not tell a god to calm, wench!"

   I turned around and sent him a cold, harsh glare.

   I am human. I have no power, especially when Balder tended to get involved. However, I am the barista – and no one screwed with the barista. The entire room, filled with supers on their breaks, glanced our way. "Balder," my voice lowered into a dangerous calm. "I am going to warn you of one thing. I will serve you decaf and spit in your coffee."

   His face morphed into something akin to horror at the thought.

   (I had to thank Thor one of these days for telling his baby brother of the quote-unquote horrors of decaffeinated coffee. After all, the threat alone of the mere not-so-energy drink brought the dirty blond to as close to me as the counter would allow and he fell to his knees.)

   "O, Sorceress of Energy and Keeper of the Ambrosia known as Coffee," he began with panic in his voice. "I meant no disrespect, I am sorry for ever inciting your wrath. Please refrain from serving me the horrid decaffeinated coffee!"

   A wicked smirk graced my pale features before I nodded and left to take care of the pot that I brewed for him. After all, Balder was essentially a god, he needed more than a normal super to be full. I poured him a cup before heading to the fridge case and pulling out the most expensive chocolate cheesecake we had.

   I honestly have no idea why this seemed to be his usual, but the Organization always covered his tab when he was unable to fish out a pure gold coin from his pocket. In his world, the cold, yellow metal was only used for decor or magic-working. It was junk to Balder.

   Here?

   Here, for Charlie, five of these coins translated to an entire month's bills being paid.

   I placed the cake in front of him with a fork and left to find the next customer in needing of assistance.

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𝙄𝙁 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝙒𝙀𝙍𝙀 𝙏𝙊 𝙀𝙑𝙀𝙍 𝘼𝙎𝙆 𝙈𝙀 𝙃𝙊𝙒 𝙄 𝙀𝙓𝘼𝘾𝙏𝙇𝙔 𝙂𝙊𝙏 𝙃𝙀𝙍𝙀, the answer would be rather short.

   I called a random number I found on the bulletin board full of job offerings at school.That was it essentially.

   Charlie paid for an add in the school's paper. It just read that an elderly woman needed help running an old cafe. I seemed to have been the only one mildly intrigued enough to call and ask about it.

   From that alone, I ended up getting the job.

   Not the most exciting of stories, but freshman year was rarely something that I considered exciting. It wasn't until after all the paper work had been filed and finished that all the weird stuff started to happen.

   Then again, I shouldn't have been surprised. Charlie disappeared into a violet light right after I signed the contract and agreed to help out for an hour or two waiting tables that night.

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𝙈𝙔 𝙎𝘼𝙏𝙐𝙍𝘿𝘼𝙔𝙎 𝙒𝙀𝙍𝙀𝙉'𝙏 𝙁𝙄𝙉𝙄𝙎𝙃𝙀𝘿 𝘼𝙁𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙄 𝘾𝙇𝙊𝘾𝙆𝙀𝘿 𝙊𝙐𝙏 𝙊𝙁 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘾𝘼𝙁𝙀.

   (They never were - which sucked because the psych major has a hell of a lot of homework tied with it. But, that's life according to Frankie.)

   At night, after I crammed as much homework as I could do in my tiny apartment before changing, I found myself at the Icarian Pub. A local haunt put in place by the League in order to have the villains take a less destructive break time.

   (Hint, bar fights were always happening here so it didn't work. At least the damages were hyper-localized.)

   "Hey, Fianna," my boss here said as he entered the main room with the bar. I gave him my book bag and grinned.

   "Icarus, long time no see," I teased. It was a different relationship than what I had with Charlie. Charlie reminded me of a grandmother who loved everyone dearly, so I tried my best to behave myself.

   (It only went so far. Sometimes the Supers were as annoying as the other people in the world. Gods more so because they had a literal god complex, but I got a paycheck. That's the extent of it.)

   Here, it was easier to be laid back. The patrons were all a bit more laid back, especially with a bit of alcohol in them. In the soft glow of the dark wood pub, a flyer caught my eye. "I forgot that this Sunday was the third of the month. Do you have all the people you need?"

   "Sadly not. Damien is using his vacation time to take this girl he seems to like to Venice, and Elsie is in Norway attending an ancient funeral rite for one of her Viking allies that passed."

   "Oh, so you're down two then?"

   "Luckily the antiheroes are rolling in by tomorrow night."

   The antiheroes don't really belong anywhere in this world. They tend to be wild cards but there was an understanding that once a month they are free game on both sides. "You sure they'd want to go?"

   "Let's hope."

   He left to go do some paperwork as I washed my hands. The first few patrons trickled in around five.

   Among them were two mages, a dude in makeup that I could never figure out what the hell he was meant to be, and an alien. "Barkeep!" One of the mages called in a wheezy voice.

   "Yes, Alistair?" I answered as I walked over with a pint glass in my hand.

   "A pint of the Icarian Signature!"

   "Sure thing, Shakespeare."

   I went to the brightest gold handle, and pulled the lever down. The almost golden ale pooled in the glass and I sighed. These four stayed until closing every night and I needed to occasionally kick them out.

   At least they just talk and don't brawl. "Are you guys joining the team this month?" I asked as I handed the mage in a dark cloak the pint.

   "Of course we are! Will that blond brat be joining the enemy?" The second mage - a girl with pale as death skin and bright green eyes - asked.

   "You know I can't tell you that, it's in the contract."

   "Damn, it was worth a try. May I have a pina colada?"

   "Sure thing."

   And, that is essentially my average Saturday.