Chapter Text
“I dont want to say you’re involved with the sneeple as that would be a heinous accusation, but the way you’ve positioned your quaint little shop is oddly… suspicious.”
The blast of air from the portable fan beside Garcia softly nudges the curls sticking to his sweaty forehead. It’s a hot day outside, and since the air conditioning hasn’t been fully installed yet a fan for him and another larger fan for the customers was easily the next best option.
“… Okay?”
“Right in the center of our quiet town by the two other restaurants nearby, including the one my dad owns. Are you perhaps considering sabatoging the other businesses to build your colony underneath our noses?”
An old clock by other end of the bakery rings loudly signifying the hour hitting high noon.
“… This is more of a bakery than a restaurant, but sure.”
“Aha! So you admit it then?”
Garcia sighs tiredly, “If I say yes, will you buy something?”
“Well… I don’t have money on me right now, but-“
Garcia barely holds back the slew of curses he wishes he could spew right now, preferring to instead, calmly walk to the door and flip it from open to closed before gesturing at the teen to leave.
“Then no. Now… please leave, I’m going on break.”
Fry hair gives him a sour look before walking out the door. He turns to make one last statement, but Garcia slams the door in his face with not a moment of hesitation. Fifteen minutes of having his ear talked off about stupid conspiracies has not been good for his mood. What a great start to the day.
It’s only been a week since Garcia opened up his pride and joy, Latin Bread & Bakery, and he’s already encountered several frustrations; money is hard to hold onto, his patience has been tested like never before, and since he has absolutely zero employees to help him manage the place, it’s becoming a real chore to make everything by hand and also get things from the foreign market delivered on time for opening in the morning.
It, unfortunately, grates on his love for cooking. Garcia came to this place to share his love for Colombian sweets and to enjoy the freedom of living by the coast, but he’s been too busy with the place to process any of it.
“Sigh…”
His feet slide over the polished linoleum beneath him and he takes a sip of the coffee behind the counter he usually sits behind. The milky liquid softly slides down his throat and he lets out a contented sigh at his daily fix.
He wouldn’t be able to do what he does without it.
He peeks outside for a moment to make sure the coast is clear of any cheapskates before turning the sign back around to ‘open,’ but not until he, with permanent marker, writes-
No loitering around inside unless you are a paying customer.
Perfect.
He occupies himself with forming and frying a fresh batch of Beef Empanadas on the table behind him, before the front door chimes loudly across the small store.
Ring!
A customer! And hopefully a paying one this time.
“Welcome to Latin Bread & Bakery!” He yells out before turning to greet them, “How may I help youuuuu…”
He chokes on his words at the sight of the two customers: A small, chubby kid he recognizes running around the boardwalk every so often, and his… mother? It’s honestly difficult to say considering they bear no resemblance to one another.
She’s thin, extremely so, and the pale blue tint painted across every inch of her skin is… unnatural. Her eyes resemble pale glass orbs, the small iris in the center of them lacking any sort of pupil. Her unreasonably long nose also resembles the beak of some sort of bird, and there’s a star emblazoned over the center of her, odd, but interesting getup. That’s not even the weirdest part; there’s a glossy Pearl embedded in the center of her forehead, glistening as sections of bright yellow light skim it’s surface.
The sight has him stumbling over his well practiced greeting.
“Uh… cough … Good morning, how may I, uh, help you two?”
The child beside her beams up at him.
“Hi! We just came in here to browse and see what you had for sale. I didn’t realize there was a new store in town, so I just had to come and see.”
“Yep. I just got here about… a week or so ago, give or take? Either way, If you need any help, just give me a holler.”
He nods excitedly before looking over every single shelf in the store with an unmistakable sense of wonder, and curiosity. While that’s going on…
“Can I help you choose anything, ma’am? I have a varied selection that I’m sure you’d be interested in.”
She looks at him with thinly veiled disinterest, and the various delicacies lining the shelves racks with abject disgust.
“I don’t eat. I find food like this… less than appealing on the best of days. I’m only here to keep him on track.”
“Okay…”
… Is she insulting his food without even tasting it? What does she even mean by human food? And how is she being… rudely polite? There’s a fine line between letting someone down gently or being blunt, and somehow, she’s towing that line with ease.
Friggin’ weirdos, he thinks.
Garcia furrows his eyebrows, before taking a deep breath, a decent effort put into making sure he reigns in his bad temper. He quickly, and efficiently, stomps the immediate urge to curse her, being careful to note the child still nearby.
I’m sure she didn’t mean it like that, he thinks.
A reasonable justification.
“Well…” He manages to say through grit teeth, “If you need help with anything, please, let me know.”
”I’m sure I won’t,” she replies, her narrow gaze watching the kid intently, “Oh, will he hurry up…”
She taps her feet on the floor impatiently.
“Pearl! Pearl! Come look at this one! Doesn’t it look tasty?” Pearl gracefully steps toward him, her longs legs helping her to almost glide in a series of balanced strides. Every step is unwasted, and every movement is toned by years of hard earned experience.
Impressive.
“Which one?” She asks, her eyes roaming across the section he points toward.
“This one!”
I walk up to the counter behind the section he stands in front of and nod appreciatively at his choice; a batch of milhojas just positively glowing at the attention, the small bulb on top illuminating the glistening slice of delicious goodness.
“Good choice.” García grabs the pair of tongs hanging beside the shelf. Polished metal clacks as he gives it a soft squeeze, “How many?”
“Three! One for me, one for dad, and one for Amethyst! Is there anyone else I should be worrying about…?” He shoots Pearl a curious glance, but she predictably shakes her head at the gesture, still uninterested in trying anything.
Garcia smiles. He likes the kid already. He slides open the glass compartment behind the shelf and carefully pulls out one of the pastries delicately organized over a plastic try, before placing one on small glass plate with a dizzying swirl of colors. He holds the plate across the glass shelf toward the kid and grins, “On the house, just this once. First time customers deserve a little treat, don’t ya think?”
“Yay!” He grabs the plate and takes a seat by one of the several wooden tables strewn across the claustrophobic hall, under the softly ringing flatscreen. He immediately sinks his teeth into the milhojas with undeniable gusto. He chews for a second, then another, before his face settles on an expression of absolute pleasure, his wide grin evolving into a blissful smile, “It’s amazing. What is this and why have I been missing it my whole life?”
Garcia chuckles.
“It’s milhojas: A puff pastry with filled to the brim with several layers of sweet custard, and topped off with a drizzle of carmel thinly spread over the uppermost layer. It’s quite popular back where I’m from.”
“And where are you from?”
“Can’t you tell?” As he fills a paper with the three other milhojas, he points the custard stained tongs toward the flag hanging by the door. The colors of yellow, blue, and red mixing to become the familiar symbol of his home, “I’m from Colombia.”
He looks at Garcia with a newfound curiosity, and smiles, the puff flakes from the milhojas stick to the corner of his lips.
“Cool. We usually get a lot of tourism around here, but almost never new people. It’s nice to meet you…?”
“García.”
”… Just García?”
”Yep.”
It’s just what he prefers to be called.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you Mr. Garcia. My names Steven, and this is Pearl.” He looks up at, what I assume to be, his mother and she nods in agreement, “She’s my… caretaker? Guardian? Mom-“
He’s interrupted by Pearls insistent tone, a spark of annoyance mixed alongside it, “I’m his guardian along with two others. Speaking of, we should really get a move on, Steven. Garnet only gave us ten minutes to get you breakfast before we have to get back to the temple. Let’s go.”
“Ah shoot! You’re right!” He shoots up from his sight and pats down his pockets for the cash to pay for the rest of the milhojas. He pulls out his jeans inner pockets, the dusty cloth puffing out a chunk of lint, and a few pennies.
“Uh… Pearl?”
She signs, before shoving her hand into the Pearl in her forehead-
“What the fuck!”
She turns to him with an unamused sideye, pulling out a few bills before carefully counting each of them with a slender and dexterous finger. She slides the green paper across the counter to Garcia, who hands her the filled paper bag with wide, bulging eyes, surprise and bewilderment written over every inch of his expression.
He has no words for this.
“Please don’t curse,” she chides softly, her voice tinged with disdain.
“I - uh… o-okay, sorry. Have a good day? Yeah. Have a… a good day.”
She shoots him a look that almost seems like a warning before turning and walking away, an excited Steven waving back at him with a grin. García absently waves back, the overhead bell chime ringing throughout the store.
… Friggin’ weirdo aliens.