Taverns? Old and busted!

Coffee Shops are where it’s at!

Particularly this one, the Progress Ground and Print.

Even if you didn’t see the wooden sign hanging out front you could smell the fresh ground coffee all the way down the block. The creaky wooden floor leads up to the counter where a young man is busy operating the machines under strings of soothingly dim electric lights. There are several round tables and metal folding chairs set up.

They serve a single cup of espresso for 5p up to a large mug of Industrial Strength with Whipped Cream and Spices for a shilling.

They also serve small pastries and biscuits.

There is a bulletin board in the corner.

Intellectuals, teetotalers, artists, and unionists meet and gather here so often that many have their mail directed here. The shop will gladly hold or hand off a package for delivery for a small fee.

There is even one of those new phone booths in the far corner! You can’t expect a private call with all the hubbub but for a shilling you can use the line for sending a telegraph or 5 shillings to connect by voice to somewhere in Bastion if you know the number.

In the locked back room there is a printing press, rented out occasionally. The paper is lower quality than the Printers Guild presses and the print is a distinctive coffee brown, apparently a convenient way to skirt the Guild’s monopoly on printers ink.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:32, Thu 29 Dec 2022.

It’s opening time at Progress. The door unlatches and swings open. The small crowd huddling in the cold shuffles in quickly.

”Welcome to Progress!”

The young lady with long black hair, almond eyes and a complexion as deep as the beans she grinds works the various machines behind hear. Steam hisses and the room breathes a collective sigh as they smell the beverages brewing.

Haf is stood amongst the crowd of people waiting to enter Progress. He motions to the other patrons to enter before him with a smile. Haf, being slightly taller than most, is indicating that he isn’t much in a rush. Truthfully, he’s hoping to catch the eye of the young woman behind the counter and he’d like for her to see him as courteous and polite. In reality, Haf is a conman, thief, rogue treasure hunter, unscrupulous antique dealer and many other professions deemed unsavoury.

Upon entering Progress, Haf queues patiently and pretends to read the bulletin board. While the lines and squiggles mean relatively little, he can make out the numbers fairly well and he’ll order whichever is second from the cheapest, hoping it’s coffee with chocolate this time.

You peek at the bulletin board and the following snippets catch your  menu items catch your eye:

---

Espresso - 5p
Coffee with 1 refill - 10p
Coffee with chocolate- 10p

---

EXPLORERS WANTED
Spelunking Tools & Free Growler of Coffee Provided
Free Coffee for a Year for each Arcana Recovered

ASK FOR COUGHY BEENZ

---

Sitting near the bulletin board at a cafe table is a haggard and distraught fellow holding his head in his hands. His elbows are propped over a large tome that is currently closed. Resting on his feet is a large dog who seems sad as well.
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:01, Sat 31 Dec 2022.

Kostya is one of the patrons that Haf politely motions to enter. Kostya nods his thanks. He tries to smile, too, to appear friendly. He wants to be friendly. On his routinely austere, drawn face, the smile spreads like an involuntary spasm. The corners of his lips twitch. Nothing in his eyes is changed or warmed. It might've seemed more affable if he hadn't tried at all. He settles ahead of Haf in line.

Regulars may recognize him as one of the unionists that routinely haunts the coffee shop. Haunts is the correct word. He haunts. He looms. He's tall and thin. The long ulster coat, with its uniformly black silhouette, makes him look unhealthily pale. Sometimes, he rubs elbows with the artists and other intelligentsia. Kostya typically sits on the edges of their circles. He listens a lot. He says very little. Often he can disappear from their conversations without any notice.

Kostya also eyes the board from his place in line. His gaze moves along the lines of text. Several times, it shifts awkwardly between the board and depressed, slouched over gentleman. It feels awkward to read around someone clearly in the midst of some great personal tragedy. He feels he should do something. He's not sure what.

"He looks like he will weep at any moment," Kostya comments to Haf, sotto voce. He sounds uncomfortable.

Thomas was relatively unremarkable compared to Kostya, being the outwardly everyday sort that could blend into a crowd without much trouble. His only distinguishing feature at present - if it was even considered that - was the newspaper tucked under one arm as he waited patiently in line. A brief look-over the noticeboard and a quick glance at the bedraggled fellow under discussion were the only interruptions to that pose.

Then he pursed his lips and took a slightly longer look at the fellow. The combination of tome, dog, and ramshackle wasn't much of a tonal match to the coffee-for-arcana offer on the noticeboard, but then again... what was?

Kostya's comment caught Haf off guard. Haf had been so engrossed in his own thoughts and musings he hadn't noticed the distraught fellow. He scans the room quickly and spots the man with his dog. Haf's eyes glaze over the man, but rest where the dog is laying.

Haf puts on his concerned face when he returns his look towards the gaunt and unseemly man infront of him. "Poor mutt. Suppose the man's coffee isn't so good, eh?" Haf says, and chuckles to himself. Haf speaks without eye contact, always at an angle facing away from whomever he is conversing with. People tend to read him too well when he engages directly.

Haf looks once more over at the large dog and says to Kostya, "here, hold my space in the queue would you, chum?"

Haf strides over to where the man is sitting and crouches beside the pair. Without looking at the man, Haf extends an open palm towards the dog, inviting it to check his scent. "Beautiful. What's their name?" He says with a smile.

”His name is Joseph. My name is Bernard.”

Says the dog. He sits up then reaches out with his paw to shake your human hand.

”He is upset because our expedition under the cafe’ never returned. And they lost the growler. Not me growling but the container. I don’t drink coffee because I am a dog. But I get the day old biscuits.”
This message was last edited by the player at 18:45, Sat 31 Dec 2022.

Kostya, amused by Haf's quip, laughs. Sort of. It's through closed lips and sounds more like hm-hm than ha-ha.

"Of course," he naturally agrees to hold Haf's place. He's taken the man for some variety of do-gooder. The café philanthropist. Now, as the fellow bustles off to the table, his suspicion is all but confirmed.

Kostya stays put. The look on his face would be more appropriate on a solemn honour guard than someone saving a spot in line. He eavesdrops. Is it still eavesdropping when it lacks all subtlety? He's not all that secretive about where his attention is. The talk of a missing expedition alarms him much more than the dog doing said talking. It's not polite to jump into a conversation from several feet away and yet -

"Excuse me," he calls over, sharply, without thinking. "When were they meant to return?"

”A week ago.”

The haggard man looks up from his book and shuts it.

”I couldn’t go, I had to escort my sister down the isle at her wedding. I asked them to wait for us, but no. They wanted to try their luck after the last expedition failed and cut Bernard and I out of our fair share!”

"Under the cafe, you say?" Haf says, gladly shaking Bernard's paw. Haf's ears perk up a little, like a wolf who has picked up the sound of prey nearby. He turns to Joseph and says, "well... I learned a similar lesson a long time ago. They probably saved you a bit of time, partner. If they were prepared to cut you out before the job, they might've already planned to do so after."

Haf stands up and looks towards the man for the first time. He rests his eye slightly away from Joseph, looking towards the ground, and extends his hand to shake. "Haf," he says. "Haf Bellin. I happen to specialize in such matters of stolen goods and in helping the needy settle their business with former partners. Perhaps my services could be of use to you, my friend?" Haf smiles awkwardly, with a grin that seems used to holding a cigarette and saying pointed words.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:45, Thu 05 Jan 2023.

He had been right: unlikeliness of appearance had no relation to actuality. A failed expedition, a cutting out, a lament for the lost - if seemingly more for the coffee container than for the people who had carried it. There was a story here.

He stepped out of the line - he could get back into it later if need be - and over to the table, keeping a respectful distance so as not to crowd the proceedings. "Pardon the intrusion, but if you don't mind my asking, what caused the previous expedition to fail?"

He wasn't really intruding, considering the distance at which parts of it had already been carried out, but that was no reason to leave out the formalities!