[WAR: Week II] The Grinder Good

[Suicune's Fire]

The Grinder Good

I am a hero.

I’ve saved this place more times than I can count. I have given it a reputation known by travellers from far and wide. The success of my story rings from every passer-by’s lips, their sweet songs singing tales of my dutiful accomplishments and endless drive for perfection.

Not a single villain has ever managed to pillage my beautiful paradise which I have worked with countless others to craft into a realm of beauty. It is a utopian reserve suited to all who traverse through its unique expanse, looking for a simple place to rest or a site of rejuvenation and purification. I have turned this wasteland into a wonderland, where those who have been searching for their answers can finally settle and be at peace.

Serving others is what I live for. I know that I make the lives of those incapable of doing what I do drastically better. It may sound conceited, but I am capable of reconciling any doubts aimed my way. I have never stopped working, and that is how I prefer it, because dedication can be the key to constructing any kind of—

“Hi, can I get a double-shot pumpkin spice soy latte with two sugars and a topping of low-fat cream, please?”

There it was. The sound I could recognise from a mile away; the words that made me tingle with anticipation, ready to leap in and give this customer’s day the kick-start it needed.

“Coming right up, ma’am,” answered my sidekick with such systematic confidence that he had already lulled the customer into a state of assurance. He topped up the strainer with freshly ground coffee beans from my pal, Garry Grinder, and fastened it onto one of my dispensers. The feeling rocked me with pride as my heated water repository relented, allowing its contents to filter through the coffee that I could always taste on the tip of my dispenser.

Mm. I would never get sick of that strong, caffeinated taste. And unsurprisingly, neither would my customers.

Another barista carried a small stainless steel jug of milk to my bench space, and then dipped my steam nozzle into the liquid. The frothing process always reminded me of my superiority to my cousin, who was not café grade and did not have a suitable component to deal with milk. I do not know how she expected to serve customers with her lacking build, but whatever she did was none of my business. I had my own to take care of, and boy did I do it well.

One thing I cherished about the café was the other machines and appliances. Freddy Fridge was someone I looked up to, for his powers to preserve food and sauces – and milk, which was important for my profession – was unlike any other. Then there was Garry Grinder, whose amazing ability to mill the beans that I so heavily relied on made the production of coffee possible. Tilly was right near me as well, and she was a master at calculations. She had a drawer that could open at the press of a button, and from what I understood, the contents of the drawer was what my coffee earned. In other words, it’s what the masters want.

The masters, in case it wasn’t obvious, were the caterers to the customers. They ran this place – alongside me, of course – and handled the things the rest of us couldn’t. They had much more versatility than any of us appliances or machinery did, but then we could complete many of the tasks they could not. For instance, a master couldn’t hold a can of pickles and keep them cold, like Freddy, and they certainly couldn’t heat and froth milk like I could. We were all useful in our own ways, as were they.

“Damn it...this thing’s jammed,” muttered one of the baristas, trying to grind some of the coffee beans using Garry, but failing. I snorted out of my steam nozzle and glared at him in a special way that only other appliances could read.

“I’m jammed,” Garry rasped, clearly having trouble performing his duties. I scowled at him.

“Stop letting hindrances get to you and do your job,” I instructed him simply, but the appliance merely coughed in response.

One of the other masters arrived by the first one’s side, asking what was wrong. “I think it’s broken,” the first responded, and the two talked for another minute or so before deciding to unplug him and take him out the back. The replacement grinder was someone I got along not as well with, Greta. She was older than Garry and his back-up.

“Greta!” I celebrated as she was set up beside me. “It’s been too long. You ever think they’re going to decide you’re not useless and put you on rotation with Garry?” I joked as someone plugged her in and switched on the power point.

Greta grunted back, for some reason uninterested in talking to me. I got it, though. She had been in the cupboard for so long that she probably couldn’t find the words to speak with another appliance just yet. I gave her a smirk and returned to my duties as what had been salvaged from Garry’s work was tightened onto another one of my many dispensers. It felt good to be me.

The pride fuelling my drive was not only saved for me, however. I had respect for the rich coffee beans that graced my bench and were given to me once ground up. They were the key to creating any coffee at all. They sat right by my bulky form in...neat little paper...bags...

‘Hang on a tick,’ I thought to myself, forming a small frown. ‘Bag Three is missing.’

Wildly I glanced about the store (the handy thing about having a view in both the front and back of your frame was this exactly) but could uncover nothing. The faint but distinct screams of coffee beans pierced the air and made their way to my attention, and once following the source, I finally spotted a customer clutching Bag Three in his greedy prongs. To silence them, he tucked the bag into a fabric pouch on his front. My internal alarms were set off as I felt the sudden need to do something heroic. This is what I was talking about. Not only was I the hero of the latte—I could do things beyond the capabilities of regular coffee machines. I was special.

As my whole frame shook in response to the pressure of my water dispensing, I felt the cups situated atop me for the baristas’ prompt access rattle wildly. One of the paper cups filled with whole coffee beans, which was often there during the morning rush, teetered and fell, spilling all over the bench beside me. The beans fled everywhere, almost as if they didn’t want to be found: on the floor, over the counter, and some even tried to hide under nearby tables and chairs.

My sidekick came over to clean up the beans when he noticed with parallel shock to mine that one of the bags was absent. Bingo. His eyes darted about the café until he noticed a shady-looking patron standing near the entrance, glancing at those near him. Quietly my sidekick rounded the bench and approached the criminal after weaving through the crowd, then confronted him about the theft. The thief tried to sprint, but he ran straight into a customer who had just entered the café, and the two toppled over. The barista took the bag of coffee beans from the burglar’s fabric pouch and apologised to the new arrival, banishing the criminal.

The beans were returned and I once again smiled to myself in pure satisfaction. Not only had I saved those crucial ingredients from being stolen, but I had also helped the masters of the café as well as the patrons. This was what it meant to be a hero, and it was another example of my efforts and capabilities as the protector of the café. I may not be cool like Freddy Fridge, but I sure was steaming hot.

As I heard some of the café’s other tools and instruments begin to talk amongst themselves about my actions, there was one particular kitchen appliance that caught my non-physical eye...

The microwave. You see, this particular specimen moved in only a day ago, when, as they say, it tricked the poor masters into willingly acquiring it. I had my suspicions about this one. It looked cold as a freezer on the outside, but its purpose was to warm food until it gained a hot temperature. Darn suspicious if you ask me. Nothing should be able to warm up food that fast except the oven, or maybe the stove. This thing was trouble, and just earlier today had it heated something up too much and caused a customer to complain, which put the masters in a difficult position. They had to open up Tilly and extract some of that plastic magic, then hand it over to the customer. I’m certain that the masters lost something from that exchange, which could only mean one thing: that microwave had set out to sabotage us.

“Cole, I don’t think the microwave is that bad...” began a small voice, and I (figuratively) turned to the sound of my name. It was a small coffee bean—one of the ones who had spilled from the cup which had been resting on my top surface not a minute before. “She seems to be helping the customers...”

“Peh!” I spat, disrupting the flow of my water a tiny bit as I did so. The barista adjusted the cup underneath to accommodate for potential spillage, but I was too professional to let that happen. “What would you know? Leave the judgement up to the experts, tyke,” I advised with a splash of disdain in my voice. I had to be firm with them or they would never learn their place. And, for some reason, nobody was as assertive as I was. I pinned it on my experience and willingness to label myself as harsh. Nobody else had the motor.

The coffee bean, seemingly disappointed by my reaction, merely stared off into the distance, down past the end of the long counter and to the microwave, which sat against the wall in the customers’ seating area. It was bad enough that the shady pile of electrical scrap was in the café at all; it had to be in a position where customers could access it! That spelled disaster with a new set of manipulative letters. With such an advantageous position under the lip of her handle, she was going to be able to wreak havoc once she got the chance. I could tell she was warming up (pun intended) by playing on the stupidity of the customers and destroying their meals. Then it was blamed on the masters, and they suffered the consequences.

In order to keep this precious haven safe, I was going to have to do something. A new challenge had arisen, and luckily, I was up for it.

***

Because I was not only strong and brilliant-minded, but also forgiving, I gave the microwave a few days to settle in. At first it came to my attention that she was new and therefore unpractised, but after three days, she still seemed to be misusing her powers for evil. Every time a customer placed something onto her plate and hit the buttons on her front, it seemed like she would devise a new way to overheat it. Sometimes she even dispersed enough heat to the food on her plate to make it melt. Just an hour ago, someone’s soup was heated so far past its suggested temperature that it couldn’t take the pressure anymore and exploded, coating her usually shiny interior. I could see a dastardly smirk irradiating from her disgusting form when one of the masters who specialised in washing us down took some spray-and-wipe and a nice cloth to her insides, but my sidekick had to replace that customer’s soup with a new bowl!

“She’s trouble, I’m tellin’ ya,” I hissed as steam blasted from my nozzle and into a customer’s milk.

Freddy, who was situated across from me, just outside the kitchen, hummed in agreement. “There’s something up with that one...”

“I swear, if she does one more thing that puts this café in jeopardy,” I growled, ready to take action, “I’m going to put her down like the criminal she is.”

“But, uhh,” began Freddy in his deep, dopey voice, “how ya gonna do that? You can’t move.”

For a second I felt like berating him for doubting me, but then felt another strainer tighten on one of my filters. The barista happily made his coffee with blissful master-like ignorance, and I reconsidered. He was right; I couldn’t move. I was stuck in one place and always had been, and although I always wanted to get that issue looked at, immobility had never stopped me. “Don’t be silly,” I snapped at him, trying to preserve my dignity. “Bag Three owes me. Coffee beans can roll around. I’m sure they’re just as suspicious. I have to protect this place and if that means sending someone to do it for me, then I will.”

I caught Greta rolling her eyes from my peripherals, and I shot her a glare. “Get off your high trolley,” she grumbled.

Offended, I filtered the coffee with extra pressure while staring her down. “You would really say that when all you do all day is sit in a cupboard and hope that you’ll be used? Your days of being a success are over. Garry’s newer than you and he works better. You’re just a fill-in.”

Greta gasped as she was grinding up her current cluster of beans, creating a hitch in the process before it continued as normal. Yes. I went there. I insinuated one of the most insulting implications to an appliance that there was: to suggest that they were made so poorly that they could only be considered as a substitute for when the more superior version broke. That they were temporary replacements. It was very apparent in older machines who had become technologically obsolete. They were replaced with new and more efficient equipment, and if they were lucky, they would be kept and used as a back-up. Although this spoke highly of their usefulness and indicated their lasting success, it was also an invitation for degradation. An appliance being used as a fill-in was aware of this, but only the cruellest of machines usually acted upon the insults. And yes, maybe that made me cruel, but there were certain boundaries that Greta had a habit of crossing, and by no rights should she be allowed to. If nobody else was going to make sure of that, then it left only me.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” I began again, noting that Greta had gone quiet. I turned my attention back to Freddy. “We should keep an eye on her. I’ve heard rumours about how dodgy she really is.”

“Really?” Freddy wondered, pausing for a moment as someone opened his freezer door.

“What do you mean, ‘really’?” I’d have shaken my head if I had one. “Everyone’s going on about it!”

“Oh... I thought it was just you.”

‘Me?’ I thought with a splash of confusion. I wasn’t the only one. Surely other appliances had been talking about it. Hadn’t they?

Before I could say any more, I heard a scream loud enough to override the café’s bustling atmosphere and invade my field of attention. I knew exactly where it was coming from, as this had happened a time before. My focus was drawn to a single machine: the microwave. Whatever she was heating up was squealing in agony as its very composition was mutating. I heard that microwaves commonly did this; distorting food was their specialty, twisting and gnarling something to speed up its heating process so that others like the café masters could consume it. This microwave had a fixation on morphing the food so radically that its structure disintegrated and transmuted into something completely different, such as when two of Freddy’s beautifully preserved ice cream flavours were inserted together. Instead of keeping their frozen disposition, the flavours would intertwine and create something that looked positively wrong. There was no question that what that microwave did was barbaric and beyond questionable.

A customer quickly raced to the microwave, hitting the door’s opening button. What used to be porridge spilled over the side of her inbuilt glass plate, the remains in the bowl hissing as it deflated. Although I could not see all of this clearly, as half of the microwave was blocked by the opposite end of the counter, I could imagine exactly what was playing out.

One of my sidekicks had to assist the customer and apologise, and then proceeded to flit back behind the counter and grab more cleaning supplies. It was then that I decided that something had to be done.

And as I glanced to Freddy when one of the masters opened his door to get leftovers, I knew exactly how I was going to do it.

***

The time had finally come. The lunch rush was here, and faster than a cherry in a blender, people were beginning to order meal after meal—specifically sandwiches. Ingredients were often stored in Freddy, and over them they had protective casings. Some were thin plastic, and some were in containers with lids... But some were coated with foil.

I waited in earnest for one of the masters to retrieve a bowl with a foil casing on it, and put it on the bench. The opportunity for phase one presented itself when the newest master put the dish on one part of the counter that customers could not access, which provided perfect cover. He tore off the aluminium foil and set it aside after screwing it into a sphere, intending to use the entirety of the dish. As he walked away to assemble the ingredient with ones that could work in unison with it, I glanced to one of my chopping board pals, who was situated right near the foil. At my signal, he used himself to bat the foil across from his part of the bench to mine, which were on two parts of an L shape. It hit my front – the part that the masters used to make coffee with – while none of the masters were looking.

The operation was a success, which meant it was time for phase two. One of the coffee beans who had slid under a part of my structure that didn’t connect with the bench top a few days back rolled out from under me and escorted the ball of foil around my side and to the edge of the bench, out in the open. As if on cue, a customer who had come from one side of the room with a cold bowl of soup resting atop a plate began to walk toward the bench with the intention of passing it and stopping at its other end, where the microwave sat. He was chatting to his peer, who was on his other side.

“Now!” I whispered, and as the man walked past, the coffee bean, as best as its little frame could, gave the foil an extra big budge. The foil was launched rather poorly off the bench and dropped right beside the bowl of soup, on top of the plate. The man already had his spoon clutched within one of the many-pronged tools at the end of his upper appendage, meaning that, as I hoped, he was not going to double-check the plate before inserting it into the new appliance.

The operation was a success. Phase three commenced when the patron placed his dish into the microwave whilst still distracted by his co-patron, and pressed the button.

All I had to do was continue making coffees and wait.

It only took thirty seconds for the microwave to begin to smoke. Loud pops could be heard from within its interior as electrical arcs began to ignite before the surrounding patrons took notice. Suddenly the smoke became lit by a distinct light source, and one particular scream could be heard as it ripped through the layered chatter.

“The microwave’s on fire!”

Suddenly an eruption of calls, screeches and pleas for escape rattled the entire café, complete chaos gripping everything within its reach. My sidekick stopped operating me, even though I was in the middle of dispensing perfectly good coffee into a rather attractive mug, and raced into the back. As I sat back, enjoying the victory and casually watching the mug in my shielding embrace, Greta’s grating voice raked at the air, scrabbling for my attention.

“Cole!” she squawked.

I watched as the final drop of liquid fell from my dispenser and gave a smile before turning to her with complete disinterest. “What, fill-in?”

The grinder seemed to ignore the affront and blurted once more, “What do you think you are doing?!”

I watched as my sidekick reappeared with a red, capsule-shaped device with a nozzle which I knew sprayed a dense foamy substance and rushed between the break in the counter. Once chancing a quick press of the door’s opening button, he directed the black hose and used it to vanquish the flames inhabiting the microwave. Even though the flames had been extinguished, my job was complete.

“Making coffee,” I muttered with clear nonchalance, focusing back on my mug. That shimmering pool of intense blackness looked so complacent in its little residence. I looked up to the café, no longer hearing the somewhat satisfying caws of customers and the claps that their endless scuttling generated. The microwave was being guarded by my sidekick, who looked less than impressed with the event. With another thought of gratification, I added, “And making peace.”

***

Night had fallen and the café sat in silence. Every night it was like this; the masters chose to keep it locked up and inaccessible to the public at night, but they liked to open in the crisp hours of the morning. Earlier in the day, I had used my powers of brilliance to protect this café from the treachery of the microwave, whose careless actions were costing the team of masters the thing that they worked for every day, which was both unprofessional and unacceptable. She had only worsened in the few days that she had been on trial, and I was kind enough to give her plenty of chances.

In the end, she had blown them all. Or she had blown them all up, I should say, on account of how that was exactly what she had done to steadily give this place a bad name. I had worked tirelessly for as long as I could remember to keep this café as respected as it was. The coffee here, and other assorted goods (which weren’t as important) were highly sought after, so to have one little appliance ruin it for the whole café was both selfish and catastrophic. I had not the slightest clue as to why the masters had kept her after her obvious failure to improve during her first few days in operation.

After the fire incident, I had received certain...disagreement from particular appliances in the store. Freddy looked at me as if I was a different machine, and Greta, who always expressed her disapproval, had given me the evilest eye I had ever seen. Teddy Toaster was one of the worst, though. He had intentionally burnt toast for the rest of the day due to how angry he was at me for “picking on the new guy.” What a crock of froth! It was a necessary act of questionable ethics, and its sole purpose was to protect us! Anyone who couldn’t see that was simply ignorant or didn’t have their plug in properly.

In the calm of the afternoon, I had sent off a few of my coffee bean companions to investigate the state of the microwave. After she had cooled down, she was removed from the customer section and put into the back. A repairman came in late in the afternoon and only had a short duration of time to work on her before the café closed, but I assumed that she would be continuously worked on tomorrow.

It was nighttime. My coffee beans had not returned. Whether or not the microwave had secretly been working all along and managed to capture them somehow, I did not know. All I knew was that my minions were missing, and I had to find out why.

It was then that a coffee bean rolled out from the back room and into my area. With shock I glanced upon the tiny seed and watched as it rolled, half of its mass chipped off. I guessed that it had been tortured, as the electricity in its generator seemed to be barely sparking. As it rolled closer and within close enough range to relay information to me, I chose to speak first.

“Are you the only one who made it?” I whispered, hoping against what I already knew to be true.

“The others are fine...” she rasped, suddenly immobile.

“Why aren’t they with you?” I questioned, but my scout merely remained still, as if her simple mind was failing her. I discarded the question, figuring I could just replace them if they were all injured. “Well? What did you discover?” I pushed, impatient for answers.

The seed grunted in discomfort. “We talked to Micah, and—”

“Who’s Micah?”

She paused before continuing, “That’s the microwave’s name. She told me...many things.”

I felt mild annoyance coat my metal insides at the knowledge that, firstly, this insignificant little bean who was tasked with one thing decided to go and make friends with the one she was sent to investigate. How else would she know the perpetrator’s name? Secondly, she was clearly defying my orders. “Get to the point!”

“Y-you accused her of things that weren’t under her control,” she exclaimed, and to her words I was taken aback. It was almost as if she saw me as the villain. “She didn’t want to overheat those poor meals. Someone kept turning up her power intensity settings.”

I gasped, hardly expecting such news. “What a load of instant,” I protested, sure that such claims were ludicrous. That was a lousy excuse for a villain’s handiwork, and the fact that this simple bean believed such an absurd fabrication was only a testament to how desperately I needed to replace my scouts.

“No!” exclaimed the clearly deluded seed. “It’s true. And she knows it was you who put that piece of foil in her.”

“So?”

“You put the entire café in danger!”

“No I did not!” I barked, offended and utterly appalled that such a suggestion could even cross an appliance’s circuits. However, this meagre coffee bean was no appliance. “I saved the café and the masters from a disastrous hazard that could have threatened us all!”

“But it wasn’t even her... And you failed.” The coffee bean spoke with such misplaced relief and contempt that I nearly felt myself laugh in response. “Micah will make a full recovery.”

My thoughts darkened. Full recovery? Beandust. “That isn’t going to happen.”

“Oh no?” began a voice, and I realised to my disgust and expectancy that it was Greta. Of course it was Greta. Greta the great galloping galoot.

“No, Greta, so why don’t you shut your grimy grinding hole and—”

“Hey, don’t speak to her like that!” came the whine of someone I thought was on my side. Evidently not.

I turned to Freddy and told him to shut up before looking back at Greta. However, before I could speak, I was interrupted again.

“How about you cool it.” I looked to see Teddy Toaster staring upon me with disgust, over near where the microwave had been. His gruff voice sounded like he was stuffed to the brim with crumbs. “You’re just full of steam.”

“At least I’m not burnt out,” I growled, rather uninspired by his thick stench and meaningless words. “I actually have resilience and a warranty.”

“That means nothing when the whole café loathes your existence,” he threatened with that scratchy voice, but I merely snorted. What a joke.

Deciding not to award such a ridiculous comment an answer, I looked back to the messenger pit. “Tell the others to come back, since you seem to be incapable of reporting anything useful.”

The seed looked up with a dark frown and bellowed, “No.”

I snorted in amusement combined with condescension. I didn’t have time for this nonsense. “Just do it.”

“They won’t come back! We all hate you!”

I stopped smiling.

Silence flooded the preparation area as I waited, unsure what exactly the coffee bean could have meant. Did they hate me for not coming to rescue them? Well, in case they couldn’t see, I was unable to move. I was too heavily laden with important, café-defining features. “Well—”

“We always have... We were just scared to speak up,” the bean confessed. “But Micah is kind... She doesn’t abuse us or scare us into doing things.” I watched the small pit as she continued, “Even though we came to investigate her termination, she took us in and treated us kindly. That’s...why we haven’t come back.”

I was perplexed at this outlandish concept and scoffed, growing more wary and less confident. “But...but she tortured you!” I yelped, referring to the seed’s half-destroyed body.

“This happened because of you. I fell off the bench and then got stepped on after you told me to put that piece of shiny sharp stuff onto the customer’s plate... The thing that nearly destroyed Micah.”

“And the café,” added another voice, at whom I instantly looked. It was Brenda Blender, who sat in the sink further up the counter after being washed. She was still filled with cold, soapy water.

“No...” I began in my defence, a little horrified that these were common opinions of me. “No, I was trying to save the café,” I shouted, desperation leaking into my tone. I turned to everyone surrounding me, but none of them were exerting looks of sympathy or understanding. All seemed to be against me, and thought I was some sort of coreless, mechanical monster. “You...you guys have to believe me!” Frantically I tossed my gaze from one appliance to another, and finally landed on Tilly. “Come on, Till... You know me! I only ever try to help.”

Tilly gave a sigh and murmured, “All you could ever talk about was how evil that microwave was... You were obsessed.”

Abandoning the sight of my cash register colleague, I focused my attention on the fridge across from me. “Freddy, please. You have to believe me!”

Freddy only looked down, appearing too ashamed to say anything. At first I felt like shouting at him, but another thought crossed my mind. “Wait...wait! None of you can blame me for trying to save the café from that microwave.” I gestured towards the half-crushed pit on the floor. “If the bean’s claims are true, then someone was turning up her power somehow without her knowing! They set me up. They knew I’d try to stop her because this café means more to me than anything.” Nobody could express a single word as I brought that up. Not a peep was heard until I huffed, knowing I was right. “Alright, you fiend. Whoever was turning up that microwave’s power, show—”

“It was me,” a bland voice declared, and out of the shadows from the back room slid a form no smaller than Greta. In fact...it looked eerily similar. It was then that I recognised who it was.

“Garry?”

“Yes, Cole,” he retorted, his voice dripping with venom. At first I wanted to take the buddy approach and assume it had all been one big prank, but the tension hanging densely in the air convinced me to believe otherwise. “It was me. I was the one turning up the settings.”

“See?!” I blurted, pointing my nozzle toward him as he stood, looking rather defenceless, on the floor. “He’s the culprit. You can all stop blaming me now.”

“It doesn’t work like that, Cole,” Garry uttered with frightening assertion. He slid forward in an almost ghostlike fashion, his cord dragging behind him. It amazed me that he could actually move of his own accord, but I knew that many smaller appliances could. I knew Brenda could if she wanted to, and same with even non-appliances, such as the coffee beans. “You see, I am not the villain here.”

I would have raised an eyebrow if I had possessed one. “What in the name of the kitchen are you talking about?”

“We have been under your tyranny for too long.”

The second the words spilled from his mouth, I felt a cold sensation washing over me, like someone had just inserted fridge-temperature milk into my nozzle. This appliance was not making a crumb of sense. “My tyranny? I have saved this café time and time again! I am the essence of this place. People come here to get coffee, not to get toast or ground beans!” I boomed, indicating both Teddy and Bag One. Referring to the latter only made me think back to a recent event which I could bring up. “Remember that time a few days ago, when I saved Bag Three from being poached from that thieving customer?”

The pit on the floor only seemed to writhe in discomfort, shaking herself in a notion of defiance. “We wanted to go!” she yelped, surprising me yet again...which she appeared to have a knack for. “We wanted to get out of here... You’re cruel, Cole. You’re cruel and you make sure you put everyone else down at every chance you get, just to make yourself feel better.”

“What...?” I began, observing that the conversation kept making full circles back to me. “That’s...that’s not true.”

“Don’t you get it?!” yelled Garry, whose moving form on the floor was becoming disconcerting. “Everyone here wants you gone! You’re not welcome here anymore. Just like how you didn’t welcome Micah.”

“That was different!” I yelled, furious that he would compare the two. “How dare you—”

“I’m not allowed to have a say; is that it? You think your word is law around here? You could have done anything when Micah first appeared here, like help her out. I consulted with the other appliances and told them that I was going to alter her power level to see how you would react. If you simply tried to understand her, or help her, then we would let you stay. Instead, you did what we had hoped you wouldn’t...but also what we expected. You plotted against her and painted yourself as some hero.”

“But I am!” I screeched, trying not to lose my cool. However, these accusations and confessions of the plots against me made me steam. Not only that, but they cut deep into my metal hide. Even if it was not physical or literal, the pain still stung. I cast upon them all a glance of dejection. “You...you all plotted against me to begin with?” I whispered, utterly disheartened. I panned across the room, meeting gazes with many who used to be friends and the few who still were. Noticing that alone, I came to realise in that moment how little support I had, and how little I had been dispensing. It was core-breaking.

As I peered upon the little pit I had used only to further my own goals, to show myself as the continuing hero to the café, I realised how much agony I had brought upon her. I didn’t even thank her for her efforts, or ask her if she wanted to do that favour for me. Additionally, I had not even noticed until now – not even when I had sent her away with the others – that she had been crushed. Did that truly make me a villain...or was I just losing my way?

Sadness washed over me like a misfired spray from the tap as all of this dawned on me. I couldn’t believe how ignorant I had been, not to mention pitiless and harsh. I berated any who I deemed below me, which was obviously what the whole kitchen was upset about. They must have felt...betrayed, even, to feel as if they had to devise a plot against me to test my understanding—my willingness to open up to another. Even to open up to the machines that I had known for what felt like an eternity. Greta didn’t deserve to be told that she was just a fill-in, and Freddy’s power was no less important than mine. We were all equals...and although it may take me some time to get used to that, I felt like I could finally see that now. It took the entire café to gang up against me, but at least I had finally realised.

I looked up from my empty filters lying on the grates below my dispensers to Garry, feeling remorseful about all that had happened. “Everyone... I’m—”

“It’s too late to try and blame someone else, Cole,” Garry’s dark toned voice reverberated. I was about to question what he meant when I felt myself suddenly rock.

“Wait, what the—” I began, but was cut off as something pushed me from behind, and I fell with a scream from the bench and landed front-first, merely mugs away from where Garry was placed. My coffee-catching tray released the remains of what the masters who cleaned up did not tip out, the liquid spilling out from beneath me. My filters clattered away from me, littering coffee powder atop the liquid. “Stop this! What are you doing?!” I yelped, desperately trying to move. For the first time in my life, I could fully comprehend the disadvantage of being permanently immobile. “Someone, help me!”

“Nobody’s going to help you,” Garry hissed, and from my back view, I could see Brenda’s glassy form staring down at me from above, on the bench. As I was distracted by her figure, I felt a sharp pain in my wiring, and although I could not see from my angle, I knew that somehow my cord had been severed, and my plug was no longer attached to me. “This had to happen,” he determined.

“Arrgh!” I groaned, feeling the perpetual sting. What followed, however, outmatched it entirely. Brenda unleashed her soapy torrent onto me from above. The water seeped into the cracks of my build, not made to endure excessive flooding from the back, as it rushed directly to my electrical circuits. I screamed in agony as I felt the seemingly endless stream take a strong hold of my frame, twisting my insides and distorting my reality. I tried to beg for mercy, but the words wouldn’t form, and my perception was warping. The last thing I heard before going dormant was Garry’s echoing voice telling me one final thing.

“It’s for the grinder good.”

He always was...big on puns...

***

I was aware of what happened from that moment to the moment I was carried out of the café. The masters had entered in the morning and had seen what had happened to me. Although they could not figure out how it had happened, they did know one thing: I wasn’t fit for duty anymore. I had outlived my warranty, after all.

None of that would have happened had I not been so quick to jump to conclusions. Sometimes, life is about trying to see things from another’s point of view. In the end, my life had been based entirely on that concept. Had I been more open to the perspective and wishes of others, rather than so absorbed in my own righteousness, then maybe I would not have been despised and exiled in the most terrible way an appliance could be. As the self-proclaimed ‘hero of the café,’ I had brought this fate upon myself. Sometimes, all it took was an offer to understand or a helpful gesture to make all the difference.

---

@Eternal NewMoon @3m0d0ll @Ghostwriter @Vultan @Elbub @ninjaskarmory @Arrow-Jolteon - if any of you guys (or anyone else on the team) has the time and willingness to go through this and weed out any errors or weird things, please do, and let me know either in a new post in this thread or in a PM! Thank you! :D If you don't get around to it then no worries.

If anyone else wants to read it and leave a comment in a post below, please, please do. :] I love readers! <3

[Arrow-Jolteon]

I swear to Arceus, I have never been so entertained by a sentient appliance since Brave Little Toaster. That was awesome! I read the whole thing, and aside from being very entertaining, I couldn't find very many grammatical or spelling errors or pacing issues. If I have time I'll reread this to double-check (I tend to miss stuff when I'm entertained by something).

[Suicune's Fire]

I swear to Arceus, I have never been so entertained by a sentient appliance since Brave Little Toaster. That was awesome! I read the whole thing, and aside from being very entertaining, I couldn't find very many grammatical or spelling errors or pacing issues. If I have time I'll reread this to double-check (I tend to miss stuff when I'm entertained by something).

Oh wow, thanks, Arrow! ^v^ That makes me really happy to hear! :D I'm glad. c: Haha, that's okay. Thanks so much for reading. <3 Hopefully I ironed out all those creases. xD

[Noblejanobii]

Well I know who got the gold this round.

[Suicune's Fire]

Well I know who got the gold this round.

LOL as much as I appreciate that, I'm so not the best writer here. xD I guess we'll see what Neo thinks! Thanks for reading. <3 I'm not as good of a friend as you and haven't read yours yet. XD Well, a few lines...but that doesn't count. xP

[Noblejanobii]

LOL as much as I appreciate that, I'm so not the best writer here. xD I guess we'll see what Neo thinks! Thanks for reading. <3 I'm not as good of a friend as you and haven't read yours yet. XD Well, a few lines...but that doesn't count. xP

You read far enough to meet the annoying manager that only appears once and wears I bet you can't guess what color. I'd say that's a pretty good start.

[Ganyu]

If this doesn't get gold, we need a new judge lol.

[Suicune's Fire]

You read far enough to meet the annoying manager that only appears once and wears I bet you can't guess what color. I'd say that's a pretty good start.

PURPLE?! And haha, I guess that's true. But I need to finish it!

If this doesn't get gold, we need a new judge lol.

Aw, you're too kind. <3 But srsly, don't jynx it.

[Noblejanobii]

PURPLE?! And haha, I guess that's true. But I need to finish it!



Aw, you're too kind. <3 But srsly, don't jynx it.

No that's Sloane. Try again.

Bad puns are bad