brief introduction of oliver uisce
"FUCK'S SAKE," HE says. Priam isn't really sure what to respond to whatever it is he'd just heard, so he opts to swearing and giving the caller the flattest voice he can manage. "It's 2 AM, June. It might be wake hours for vampires like you but it's sleeping time for humans like me."
"Yes, but," June continues, as if he hadn't just word-vomited the nutritional intricacies of cereal at him at 2 fucking AM through a phone call, "is cereal soup?"
Priam closes his eyes. "No, June, it is not soup."
"But—"
He cuts the call, tosses his phone away, and buries his head on his pillow.
There's a knock on his bedroom door.
"JUST GOOGLE IT, JUNE. FUCKING DAMN IT. LET ME SLEEP."
____
"Why is there a corpse in front of the café?" Arle says the moment she enters the café kitchen.
Priam almost snaps his neck as he turns to her in panic. "There's a what."
"A corpse," Arle repeats, her nose wrinkling. "It doesn't smell bad yet so I know it's new. Also, it smells distinctively like the dude from the gasoline station but I'm not really sure."
Priam inhales, summoning all the inner peace he could manage, then mentally repeats a mantra he'd read from an anger management book Ollie lent him to help calm him down. It's not working, but he can't afford to explode right now. It's not even 8 o'clock in the morning for fuck's sake.
"Okay," he grits out. "Okay, I'm calm."
He is not.
Arle gives his hand, currently gripping a wooden spatula close to splintering, a dubious look. "Uh-huh."
Three minutes later, Priam is marching to the shop across the street as he mutters all the profanity he's encountered in his life. Arle is quite impressed and even took notes on her phone.
Priam slides the glass door of the flower shop open and barges in like a battering ram. "Godammit, Hana! Didn't I tell you to tell the mortician's that your shop is on the other side of the street? They keep delivering the plant foods on my doorstep!"
"Plant food?" Arle whispers, looking fearful at the prospect.
"Well, yes," the sole florist named Hana replies from behind the counter. She's 5'4", looks like in her early 40s, a flower crown of marigolds rests on her pink-dyed hair, colorful flower tattoos sticking out of her neck and arms, and an abundance of silver piercings on both her ears. "Most of my plants are carnivorous. Picky ones, too. They only want fresh meat, unfortunately. Had to remove the bones and teeth myself."
Arle gawks at the woman's appearance. Then the statement caught up to her brain and she's gawking for an entirely different reason now.
Priam slams his hands on the counter as he looms over Hana. "The corpse, Hana! It's almost my opening time! It's bad business if the stench stays!"
Hana merely examines her manicured nails, unconcerned of Priam screeching right in front of her.
"—na! Are you listening, Hana?!"
YOU ARE READING
Priam and His Customers
HumorPriam owns a book cafè and his customers aren't really the usual ones you'd expect. Sometimes there's bloodshed, sometimes there's a rift in space and time, sometimes he can't understand the orders spoken in ancient tongue. But he always, always se...
