[ WP ] A dragon struggles to run a coffee shop in a busy city

‘ Drarcor the Terrible ’ he had once been called, at least until the Income Collectors had started knocking on his door. ‘ Undeclared Income ’ they had called his pillaging, and apparently Article 19 of the Aspen Income Code said that it could be taxed. Since good lawyers were illegal for dragons to acquire, he had to settle with a bad one. According to the settlement the judge had ruled, he would have to pay 35 % of his horde in taxes, or get a respectable job and start paying taxes like a real citizen. 
 
 Pot O ’ Gold Coffee had slowly grown into one of the more nuanced hangouts. Members of all the races often frequented his establishment, primarily for the notoriety of a dragon owning a coffee shop, but many became frequent customers after the discovered how finely roasted all his beans were. The Farmers Union had tried unsuccessfully to shut him down several times, but thanks to some well-placed bribes ( and promises to not kidnap their daughters ) to the Merchants Guild, that lawsuit had failed. Now he was a respected business man, and if there was one thing he hated, it was wizards. 
 
 Enter Morgan Waterfront, our illustrious Wizard-not-to-be, recently forcefully gifted magic via Magic-Crystal-to-the-Chest by Fate herself. Morgan, until this morning, had also been a respectable business owner, running a No Magic Guaranteed bakery on the outskirts of the Downtown District. After this morning, he was a self-proclaimed fugitive, and wanted a nice hot cup of coffee before he set off on his self-inflicted long journey to once again attempt to escape his destiny. 
 
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 Morgan carefully wrapped his robes around himself, trying to conceal the crystal that Fate had buried in his chest early this morning. He had felt the tingles of magic creeping through his being, begging to be released since then, and was proud that he had only had 3 accidents: two while Fate was still around, and once when he was using the bathroom. The Healer had assured him the burn marks would heal. 
 
 Pushing the door open, Morgan confidently strode into Pot O ’ Gold Coffee and scanned the room. A few dwarves sat in a corner, their jewels and golden robes placing them in the Dwarven Middle Class. Off in another corner, probably wanting to not be sullied by the dwarves, sat a few elves. Morgan studied the tattoos on their heads and sighed in relief when he saw that they were Common Class. The Orcs, the more frequent visitors of the establishment, of course looked gaudy and resplendent in their many colored and tacky robes and head dresses. There was no way to determine an Orcs class by their dress, but not to worry as they will always let you know. 
 
 As Morgan strode up to the counter, he couldn ’ t help but admire Drarcor ’ s selection of beans and teas that he kept in his establishment. He decided he just wanted a cup of coffee, plain no frill, when the dragon turned to him and his order stuck in his throat. 
 
 Drarcor was a huge, black dragon, best known for the Pillage of Greenhaven in 1444. He had deep-set red eyes, gold belly scales, and smoke constantly curled around his nostrils. Morgan had heard rumors before about him and his coffee, but had never been brave enough to enter the establishment. 
 
 Drarcor looked Morgan over carefully, “ What do you want, kid? ” 
 
 Morgan managed a small stutter before Drarcor sighed, sending tendrils of smoke up through a cleverly placed chimney in the roof. “ Look, kid, ” he said, “ I got other customers, what do you want? ” 
 
 “ Coffee, ” Morgan finally managed. 
 
 Drarcor nodded like this was already known, “ What bean, what roast? I special roast all my beans per order. ” 
 
 Morgan licked his lips, “ Do you have just a house coffee? ” 
 
 Drarcor ’ s eyes narrowed and he leaned over the counter. Morgan only then realized just how big a dragon really was, and also how much he never wanted to meet a dragon again. 
 
 “ This is a fancy establishment for fancy people, ” Drarcor said, “ I don ’ t make a ‘ house roast. ’ You order your coffee, I make it. Now what do you want? ” 
 
 Morgan pointed his hand towards one of the containers of beans on display, “ That one, blonde roast. ” He quietly prayed that he had made a good choice. 
 
 Drarcor glanced over at the coffee bean, then back at Morgan, and slowly nodded his head, “ Good bean, good roast. I ’ ll bring it to you in a minute. ” 
 
 Morgan swallowed hard, left a few coppers on the counter as payment, and went to go find a seat in some secluded area of the bar where the dragon ’ s smoke hopefully hung thicker. He managed to find a place and settled in with his bags. 
 
 “ Going somewhere? ” a voice asked lustfully. 
 
 Morgan glanced over and nearly jumped out of his chair when a large, female Orc slid herself into the bar next to him. She was rail thin, which was the current body style amongst Orcs, and had painted her face a vibrant shade of blue, with orange highlights around her eyes. Her hair was a brilliant pink, and spiked upwards in a mohawk, while her robes were a deep forest green that shimmered as she moved. 
 
 “ Lana, ” Morgan said as he recognized the Orc, “ What are um, ” he glanced around, “ What are you doing here? ” 
 
 “ Meeting some friends, ” Lana said as she inched closer to Morgan, licking her tusks. “ What are you doing here? ” 
 
 “ I was leaving on business, ” he stuttered. 
 
 “ Baker ’ s business? ” 
 
 “ Well uh… ” Morgan stammered, but fortunately for him he was saved by Drarcor bringing him his coffee. As he held out his hands to accept it, he saw, to his horror, they had begun to glow blue. 
 
 Drarcor stopped and huffed, causing a sheet of flame to shoot out of his mouth and dissolve moments before it reached Morgan. “ Hey kid, ” Drarcor said as his eyes narrowed, “ I want you to read that sign in the back behind the bar. ” 
 
 Morgan looked and saw a large, yellow sign with flashing lights around it saying “ NO MAGIC ALLOWED. ” 
 
 “ Uh, ” Morgan licked his lips, “ It says no magic— “ 
 
 “ That ’ s right, ” Drarcor said as he slammed the cup onto the tabletop. “ No. Magic. Allowed. So get your fancy blue hands the hell out of my establishment. ” 
 
 “ Look, ” Morgan said as he quickly grabbed his coffee, “ This is a mistake. Fate— “ 
 
 “ Yea, yea, I ’ ve heard it all before. ‘ Fate told me to kill you Mr. Dragon, ’ ‘ Fate has chosen me as a powerful wizard, ’ et cetera, et cetera, I don ’ t give a rat ’ s ass, ” Drarcor snarled as he obviously tried to get his breathing under control. Red flames were beginning to shoot out of his nostrils as he stared Morgan down. 
 
 “ No, that ’ s not it, ” Morgan said as he slowly eased his way out of the chair and towards the door, “ See, I got a magic crystal infused into my chest— “ 
 
 “ Oh a rich kid! ” Drarcor said with laughter, but Morgan saw the mirth didn ’ t reach his eyes. “ Well rich kid, let me tell you something, ” and he began approaching menacingly, “ Don ’ t ever come back into my establishment. I don ’ t care about your daddy ’ s money. I have big enough bed to sleep on as it is without adding your filth to it. ” 
 
 Morgan, finding the door, opened it and fled back out into the cold, crisp morning. He started briskly walking as he heard the dragon shout, “ And don ’ t come back! ” Fortunately for the dragon, he wasn ’ t planning on it, but this was just another bad moment added onto a horrible morning. Sighing, he took a sip of his coffee and immediately regretted his banishment. 
 
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 Visit my [ subreddit ] ( http: //www.reddit.com/r/grenadiere42 ) for more stories, as well as the [ prequel ] ( http: //www.reddit.com/r/grenadiere42/comments/36mwyg/morgan_the_breadmaker_vs_fate/ ) to this one.
