Margy

art by PuffinSweater!

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lore by worme!

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Black tea, green tea, white tea. Chamomile, ginger, peppermint. Margy hummed as she counted over the types of tea her shop offers, making sure each container of the loose leaf mixes were turned to the front, precise and tidy.

She flitted back to the front, where she had just laid out a dozen or so cookies in the display tray, and prepped her workstation for customers. After giving everything some final primping she headed toward the front to flip the sign to open and waited for the first rush of customers.

The day moved on, the tea containers shifted, the cookies and pasties sold from the display case, and dishes began to pile up in the sink. During a brief moment in the rush of customers, Margy admired the business she built. Her eyes ran over the conversing patrons and their tea in collected china cups, from both matching sets and singular teacups, mugs, and saucers she had found. The pastries, made with care and intent; the teas, meant to be there for comfort and for energy; the decor, to set the mood and make her patrons feel at home.

She felt pride.

The day continued and the night approaches. The last of the day's customers leave through the tastefully decorated door and Margy flips the open sign to closed.

She begins to sweep the floors, catching stray crumbs, feathers, and scales in her broom. She wipes down tables with handmade cloths and puts all her towels and cloth napkins into a bag for washing. She refills the loose-leaf containers, sugar, milk, honey. She preps baking ingredients for the morning's fresh baked goods. Her rhythm keeps steady, unbroken until she finds there's nothing else to do but head home. Nothing else to do besides wait for the next day in her wonderful little tea shop and keep doing what she loves.