Cavalcafé is a small planet, about the size of Earth’s moon. The planet’s tall grasslands sprawl endlessly around turquoise waters that are always clear. Cavalcafé does not have borders, countries, or even a single government. Its most intelligent species are bipedal horses who, simply put, are kind to one another. Collectively, they run the planet’s single, essential source of income: the eponymous and intergalactically renowned café, which looks like an 1870s farmhouse. It sports baby blue shingles, and its titanium white framing shimmers from the reflective streams of surrounding water. Adding to the shimmer, fairy lights adorn the windows and the entrance. The café’s most famous dish is chevaline. Don’t think about it too hard.
From the sunset heavens, the Hearse spirals down towards the café, slowing until it just barely hovers above the greenery. Once the grass fully subsides, creating a cushion, the vehicle lowers and parks. The two reapers exit the Hearse, both fashionably dressed. Oto wears a black turtleneck and a caramel trench coat. Cheron wears a black mod dress with an inverted heart at the chest.
Cheron turns to Oto. “You’re getting really good at sewing, but you didn’t have to go so far on the dress. I have other clothes besides the uniform, you know.”
Oto shoots her a smile. “It’s unique, right? The pattern suddenly popped into my head a while ago, and I figured tonight was as good as any for you to model it. You like it, Cherry?”
Still stone-faced, Cheron twirls, then gazes up at Oto, her black eye dilated and doll-like. “...I love it.”
The two stroll up to the café’s entrance, where a horse with a lush mane and southern belle dress welcomes a variety of alien newcomers. On Earth, horses cannot emote, but this one clearly wears a warm smile.
“Come on in! A waiter will be right with you, sweetheart!” The horse carols then, upon noticing Oto, sours.
Oto waves. “Hi there! Why the long—”
“Shut up,” the horse snaps with a deep, virile voice.
The reapers shuffle into the cozy, warmly-lit homestead, and are greeted by an onslaught of cold, seething stares. Some patrons even twitch. Without glancing at Oto or Cheron, a waiter leads them to a tiny table at the center of the establishment.
Cheron clears her throat and whispers to Oto. “Is it just me, or is everyone angry at us? More than usual, I mean.”
“We’re an enviable pair, Cherry,” Oto replies as the two sit themselves. “So! What did you want to ask?”
Cheron swallows. “Well…”
“Oh no, please don’t ask me if God exists. I’m not ready to fall into that plot hole. And definitely don’t ask me to kill you, again. Gah! That would really ruin my night. How does immortality even work? When did you stop aging? Woah! Is that why you’re so short? Because you stopped—”
“What?”
“What?”
“Did you not know you were speaking out loud?”
“What?”
“While I was going to ask you about God too, that wasn’t ‘the question.’ Anyway, you seem anxious, so…”
“What? No, I am! I mean, yes, I’m not! What?”
“I’ll just save both questions for later,” Cheron says as she opens a menu and hands it to Oto. “For now, just pick some stuff. You know what I like.”
Oto nods as he watches Cheron stroll to the end of the restaurant, across from him, and into the restroom.
Since intergalactic travel became commonplace, all public restrooms must now accommodate all species. On a surface level, refurbished restrooms look the same as ever, with standard sinks, mirrors, and stalls. However, the inside of every stall looks like an elevator, with buttons for a variety of excretory types. I just thought you should know. Carry on.
Cheron stares at a mirror, clutching the sink under it and muttering to herself. “Just say it. It’s not a big deal. I mean, it’s kind of a big deal, like, really, a big deal, but, shut up.”
Behind Cheron, a woman exits a stall. The woman has blue pigtails, fuchsia skin, and antennae with glowing orbs at their tips. She also has a long, coiling tail that matches her antennae. Her classically alien features and impish grin give her a demonic quality. This is Juby. She is an intergalactic influencer, and she likes to have fun.
Juby spins to the sink beside Cheron and nudges. “So…! What’s his name?”
The redhead cocks a brow. “Excuse me?”
“You sound like you’re having guy problems! Who’s the stud?” Juby bats her sparkly lashes.
Cheron stares back with an eye that gets duller by the second. “Oto.”
“Death?” Juby tilts her head, but not in confusion. Her tone hardens. “Death. And you. You and Death.” Darkness floods her bubblegum eyes. “Together.”
“Huh? Yeah, as in, we came here together. Sorry if you know him well.”
The neon color returns to Juby’s face. “Do I! I email him every day, and I follow him on the Hivemind!” Juby whips out a phone from her puffy purple jacket. “Do you use that platform? Everyone does. Let me follow you.”
“I’m sorry, who are you?”
The influencer tilts her head again, now in confusion. “...You don’t know?”
“Nah.”
Ugly silence fills the restroom. “...Huh.” Defeated, she rolls her eyes. “Whatever, just hold still for a second.”
From her antennae, Juby beams blinding fuchsia light at Cheron, as if she were flashing a camera. Cheron tumbles backward, covering her one good eye. “What the—” Instinctively, she reaches around for the Scythe, but realizes its absence. She still can’t see as two colossal, white horse-men rush out of stalls and grip her arms.
After kneeling before Cheron, Juby holds the redhead’s chin with her thumb and index finger. “You may not know me, but now, I definitely know you, Cheryl-Jane Alphard. Age twenty-eight, surprisingly. Stupid name, by the way. You replaced your two stupid first names with one stupid nickname.”
Cheron sputters. “D- Don’t…”
Juby giggles. “What was that?” ‘Don’t’ what? ‘Don’t’… hurt him?”
“Don’t… Don’t touch me. You didn’t wash your hands.”
Juby shrieks through gritted teeth and slaps the redhead. “That should be the least of your worries.”
Cheron glances at the horse people. “I’m totally not being a jerk right now, right? That’s gross, dude.” The horse people nod, notice their leader’s fuming, then grip Cheron tighter.
Groaning, Juby stomps to a sink and washes her hands. As she does, she takes one last glance at Cheron, smirks, and envelopes the room in fuchsia light again.
Meanwhile, a brown horse waitress takes Oto’s order, somehow using a pen and pad with her hooves. She occasionally stamps her hind hooves and sighs through her muzzle.
Oto goes on. “...Then tres leches with sliced strawberries on top of the cake but below the whipping cream, and on top of the whipping cream put two candied cherries, and with the cake a vanilla chai with two teaspoons of honey and a dash of vanilla-flavored almond milk creamer.”
“Uh huh. And for you?”
“Oh, just orange juice.”
As the waitress walks away, a red-haired woman wearing an eyepatch and a black mod dress skips to Oto’s table and grins. “I’m back!”
Steadfast, Oto whips out the Scythe, curving the blade around the woman’s neck. “Juby. Where is Cheron.” With even a gentle tug, her head would roll off her shoulders.
The doppelgänger keeps her grin. “Wow. Can’t I just come back from the bathroom and be excited to see my best pal?”
“No. Where is Cheron.”
Juby huffs. “Eugh. No fun.” From under the red bob, her antennae flick up and shine the fuchsia light around her body. “What do you want? VIP access to the bathroom? She’s doing her business. Mind your own.” After the aura clears, Juby has fully shifted to her normal state, blue pigtails and all. “And you might wanna be more careful. Your PR is dead as it is.”
Oto eyes the room. The fuming patrons eye him back. He exhales and retracts the Scythe. “What do you want.”
Juby opens her phone and scrolls through her emails. “Oh, come on, sweet Death.” She looks up at Oto and smiles. “You of all people should know.”
ns 15.158.61.5da2
