“Aright Tusk. Finish that five.”
Tuskaloosa blinked at Chesh's command. “Uh, I'm good--”
“Your five got interrupted: plant that hoop.”
The troll winced. Things had been tense enough earlier and the last thing she wanted was to cause more friction between high-ranking members of a gang, but she knew better than to ignore that tone in a mother's voice: no matter the metatype. “Yes Ma'am,” she muttered weakly.
Several of the gang spared her feelings by not snickering as she resumed her place.
She was just getting settled when a pair of smaller—younger?--gnomes carefully walked up bearing a litter with a mixing bowl on it. She caught the aroma of soycaf and peered down into the bowl's murky contents as they stopped next to her.
“And that,” the boy/young man in front said smugly, “is how to make a delivery without spilling a drop.”
“Oh, seal it Fiddy-two,” the girl/ young woman snapped as the litter's legs touched the floor. “We've still got the cups to bring out...cookies too. A drone swarm would've finished the job by now and made it without a spill.”
Chesh frowned. “What are you talking about San-san? This should have been a single trip. You two just needed to bring Kaf 'n cookies to Tuskaloosa here, an I know the cookies aren't that heavy...”
The two litter-bearers exchanged a quick look, then peered intently up at the troll's face.
“It's copacetic,” Tuskaloosa said quickly. “I'm sure your crew wouldn't say 'no' to Kaf...you can bring the plate-”
“Then, you're not...I mean, you're....” The girl—San...san?--glowed as she spun on her heel and tore back the way they had come. “Haaaaaaaatter!”
“Sorry Chesh.” Fiddy-two—Fifty-two Pick-up, the troll hazarded—was only a shade less red than his partner. “We assumed you wanted it all for the crew, since Hatter... convinced Sangatsu that it—she,” he amended quickly, “...she was a MCT K-K, modded to look like a troll.”
“Sounds like San-san wasn't the only one who bought it,” a nearby ganger hooted.
Fifty-two's embarrassed heat rose with the crew's laughter.
“Actually,” another chimed in, “I can see that. Kenchiku-Kikai's 're old school construction anthros, right? Strong, slow, clumsy, a bit dim and need a babysitter. A little hull modding to personalize...” He threw out a thumbs up, “Sounds like something we could find under the Christmas tree this year!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Chesh hollered over the whistles and cheers. “Back to it, ya grease stains.” She waved a hand in the direction of the bowl, her fiber-optic tresses shifting and settling into a new pattern. “Sorry, but the mug was the biggest we had.”
Tuskaloosa suddenly remembered the mug that she had been drinking from when the fireball went off. It had become so many shards of broken pottery in the aftermath. “Null sheen. It's actually not the first time,” she said as she picked up the bowl, briefly savoring the heat of its sides in her hands. “Gives it kind of a tea ceremony feel, if that makes any sense.”
“Wit a mixin bowl? You're next shiver'll be from some master reincarnatin', jus' so he can come back an slap you silly. Still...I do see what ya mean. Kinda on the poser side for Kaf though.”
“I guess. And if this was some gimmicky, sarariman-trap,” Tuskaloosa gestured to the garage's walls, “I'd agree. This is hospitality though, not ceremony...any drink is special that way.” She lifted the bowl in salute and took a deep drink.
The Soykaf was a chaotic brew that tasted exactly like the multiple pots of last-in-the-dispenser doses that it was. It was the emptying-the-pantry drink of late nights, by people who were so deep in work to even bother with a drone-drop delivery from the store. The only thing that would have made it more nostalgic was if it had been ignored for half a day and re-heated.
“Thanks,” she said with heartfelt feeling to the delivery boy. “I haven't had something this home-y in a while.”
