Long Night Cafe |
Stories from the cafe...
For all those sleepless and restless folk, when the dark wee hours lie heavy... Welcome to the world of the Long Night Cafe and its many tales.
Built on Mostly Square, the Long Night Cafe is not the most pretentious of buildings, but quietly dominates the site in much the same way it envelops the lives of its inhabitants and clientele...
Mr Gecko and the Long Night Cafe
by Natalie West
From late in the evening until just on dawn they come. Many are regulars. Cards are played for unusual stakes. Books are read, pondered and sometimes acted upon to curious affect. Jazz murmurs. Drinks sooth. Calm pools. Disputes and problems are put away with the day. Soft chairs sit on the dark wood floors, the atmosphere perfumed by night flowering beauties.
Cafes this busy usually buzz, but here the atmosphere is muted. Those who come, usually come to share secrets and the pots of Gecko’s Finest Chocolate, blended especially and exclusively for the cafe’s proprietor, Mr. Gecko. A quiet man of dark demeanor and exquisite tailoring, Mr. Gecko presides over the cafe from behind a long mahogany bench. His black eyes glitter in the dim light. He does not move very often, never sits down, yet his presence permeates the premises. He misses nothing. He hand-writes every receipt using parchment, quill and the India ink he keeps in a crystal ink pot in his desk next to the brass cash register.
He knows all his regulars by name and greets all with a graceful inclination of the head, bidding them farewell the same way. His wardrobe is of the finest quality, fashionably cut in shades of grey, cream and occasional mossy greens. He has a very slender figure from what can be seen above the counter and as a result, always wears his clothing well. He affects either a silk tie or cravat with matching handkerchief and sometimes a cream coloured, night blooming flower in his lapel. He always wears a coat. No one has ever seen him in shirt sleeves.
His personal grooming is, of course, equally immaculate. His hair is thick, straight and as black as his eyes. He keeps it collar length and slicked back away from his face in a smooth coif. The rest of him has the smoothness of a brown python, with barely a trace of scale. He regularly has his nails “done” at the House of Grooming for Gentlefolk, just off the square, so they gleam subtly in the soft light. His touch scents everything with lavender. He even leaves a trace of it in the air whenever he moves. As a result he has never touched the food or crockery, and does not go into the kitchens at all. That side of the business he leaves entirely to his Chef, Heinrich, another reason he does not go into the kitchens. The serving of food and drink is the exclusive domain of his waitress Miss Chatter Ji.
Neither does he handle the teas. That he has left to his apothecary, Mr. Roberts. Behind the counter is a huge array of both teas and tisanes many of which, no one else carries. They are housed in individually labeled drawers. What the labels say, only the apothecary can read. Mr. Roberts consults with the customer behind a screen before mixing a tea, to either drink on the premises or to take away in one of the cafe’s signature opaque glass jars with their dainty silver lids.
He too writes on parchment with India ink. He keeps careful note of the ingredients and weights, and furnishes Mister Gecko with the tally. His own records he keeps in a mahogany and brass filing cabinet under the counter. He does his filing just before dawn so as not to disturb the clientele. He keeps all the documents under lock and key. The key he keeps around his neck on a long silver chain. Only the clients and Mister Gecko ever see him and they are closed mouthed. Though he can be heard going about his business. He is so short, it appears only the top of his hat has arrived as he walks along behind the counter. Clients seldom even acknowledge they have availed themselves of his services, so he is unremarked unless needed. What he thinks of this has not been recorded. No one, not even those who live on the Square, know where he came from or where he goes during the day. They know only that he comes in every night to the cafe and can be found there reliably between the hours of dusk and dawn. There is no evidence that Roberts is even his real name. In some parts of the community where secrecy is paramount being untraceable makes him all the more useful. About Mister Roberts little else can be said.
Then there is our darling Miss Chatter Ji to consider. She is the oil that keeps everything moving. She waits tables, clears up and helps in any way anyone asks. She prepares the private rooms at the back of the premises, cleans up, fluffs pillows and is the only one who can deal with Chef Heinrich, who has been known to drive people from the kitchen with more than harsh words (though his food is very good).
She is one of the quick people who never seem to tire and are always happiest when they are busy. She is so fast that indeed it is almost miraculous and as long as there is a steady supply of honey she will stay and help. Her tip jar is often full of little sachets of the stuff and she always squeals with delight when she sees them, as she finds them so convenient.
She has a long plait of midnight hair and always wears a green and brown sari covered with a flowing green apron. Her feet are bare and her ankles are adorned with anklets dotted with bells in red, yellow and pink gold. In her ears she wears two lustrous pearls that gleam beautifully in the soft light. Her face is small, with high cheekbones, a pointed chin and emerald green eyes. Her skin is the same colour as moonlight often glowing softly in the darkened cafe. She is a quiet beauty but moves so quickly that few notice, let alone remark on her loveliness. They only know the table is cleared and the coffee, tea or chocolate arrives in immaculate china cups. She keeps the cafe so clean it is astonishing and no one except Mister Gecko ever sees her do it. You can eat off her floors, some do, but that is another story for another time.
Now that you have met the proprietor and some of the staff perhaps we will meet at the cafe on Mostly Square some long night.
by Natalie West
From late in the evening until just on dawn they come. Many are regulars. Cards are played for unusual stakes. Books are read, pondered and sometimes acted upon to curious affect. Jazz murmurs. Drinks sooth. Calm pools. Disputes and problems are put away with the day. Soft chairs sit on the dark wood floors, the atmosphere perfumed by night flowering beauties.
Cafes this busy usually buzz, but here the atmosphere is muted. Those who come, usually come to share secrets and the pots of Gecko’s Finest Chocolate, blended especially and exclusively for the cafe’s proprietor, Mr. Gecko. A quiet man of dark demeanor and exquisite tailoring, Mr. Gecko presides over the cafe from behind a long mahogany bench. His black eyes glitter in the dim light. He does not move very often, never sits down, yet his presence permeates the premises. He misses nothing. He hand-writes every receipt using parchment, quill and the India ink he keeps in a crystal ink pot in his desk next to the brass cash register.
He knows all his regulars by name and greets all with a graceful inclination of the head, bidding them farewell the same way. His wardrobe is of the finest quality, fashionably cut in shades of grey, cream and occasional mossy greens. He has a very slender figure from what can be seen above the counter and as a result, always wears his clothing well. He affects either a silk tie or cravat with matching handkerchief and sometimes a cream coloured, night blooming flower in his lapel. He always wears a coat. No one has ever seen him in shirt sleeves.
His personal grooming is, of course, equally immaculate. His hair is thick, straight and as black as his eyes. He keeps it collar length and slicked back away from his face in a smooth coif. The rest of him has the smoothness of a brown python, with barely a trace of scale. He regularly has his nails “done” at the House of Grooming for Gentlefolk, just off the square, so they gleam subtly in the soft light. His touch scents everything with lavender. He even leaves a trace of it in the air whenever he moves. As a result he has never touched the food or crockery, and does not go into the kitchens at all. That side of the business he leaves entirely to his Chef, Heinrich, another reason he does not go into the kitchens. The serving of food and drink is the exclusive domain of his waitress Miss Chatter Ji.
Neither does he handle the teas. That he has left to his apothecary, Mr. Roberts. Behind the counter is a huge array of both teas and tisanes many of which, no one else carries. They are housed in individually labeled drawers. What the labels say, only the apothecary can read. Mr. Roberts consults with the customer behind a screen before mixing a tea, to either drink on the premises or to take away in one of the cafe’s signature opaque glass jars with their dainty silver lids.
He too writes on parchment with India ink. He keeps careful note of the ingredients and weights, and furnishes Mister Gecko with the tally. His own records he keeps in a mahogany and brass filing cabinet under the counter. He does his filing just before dawn so as not to disturb the clientele. He keeps all the documents under lock and key. The key he keeps around his neck on a long silver chain. Only the clients and Mister Gecko ever see him and they are closed mouthed. Though he can be heard going about his business. He is so short, it appears only the top of his hat has arrived as he walks along behind the counter. Clients seldom even acknowledge they have availed themselves of his services, so he is unremarked unless needed. What he thinks of this has not been recorded. No one, not even those who live on the Square, know where he came from or where he goes during the day. They know only that he comes in every night to the cafe and can be found there reliably between the hours of dusk and dawn. There is no evidence that Roberts is even his real name. In some parts of the community where secrecy is paramount being untraceable makes him all the more useful. About Mister Roberts little else can be said.
Then there is our darling Miss Chatter Ji to consider. She is the oil that keeps everything moving. She waits tables, clears up and helps in any way anyone asks. She prepares the private rooms at the back of the premises, cleans up, fluffs pillows and is the only one who can deal with Chef Heinrich, who has been known to drive people from the kitchen with more than harsh words (though his food is very good).
She is one of the quick people who never seem to tire and are always happiest when they are busy. She is so fast that indeed it is almost miraculous and as long as there is a steady supply of honey she will stay and help. Her tip jar is often full of little sachets of the stuff and she always squeals with delight when she sees them, as she finds them so convenient.
She has a long plait of midnight hair and always wears a green and brown sari covered with a flowing green apron. Her feet are bare and her ankles are adorned with anklets dotted with bells in red, yellow and pink gold. In her ears she wears two lustrous pearls that gleam beautifully in the soft light. Her face is small, with high cheekbones, a pointed chin and emerald green eyes. Her skin is the same colour as moonlight often glowing softly in the darkened cafe. She is a quiet beauty but moves so quickly that few notice, let alone remark on her loveliness. They only know the table is cleared and the coffee, tea or chocolate arrives in immaculate china cups. She keeps the cafe so clean it is astonishing and no one except Mister Gecko ever sees her do it. You can eat off her floors, some do, but that is another story for another time.
Now that you have met the proprietor and some of the staff perhaps we will meet at the cafe on Mostly Square some long night.
Copyright claims 2015
The authors on these pages have exercised the intellectual ownership of the Long Night Cafe, its characters and concepts; and as such the Long Night Cafe, its characters and concepts are the intellectual property of the authors who created them.
The authors on these pages have exercised the intellectual ownership of the Long Night Cafe, its characters and concepts; and as such the Long Night Cafe, its characters and concepts are the intellectual property of the authors who created them.