Monk and Paladin walk into a decently sized town near the Calim Desert. Think Suzail, but without all the dead bodies in the alleys.
Monk: Paladin, do I smell coffee?
Paladin: I don’t know Monk. I smell coffee, well I think I do, I’m never really sure, but how would I know what you smell?
Monk: That was…never mind. Yes, I do smell coffee, and there is the shop it is coming from.
Paladin: Can I have coffee too?
Monk: You don’t drink coffee. Or anything else. It’s one reason why I like you, you neither consume nor expel food. You are the cheapest of dates.
Paladin: I like the smell.
They walk into the shop, oblivious to what their argument sounds like.
Monk: You can smell coffee from anywhere in this building, they make it here.
Paladin: That’s other people’s smells. I want my own smell.
Monk: You mean besides oil and dirt?
Monk: Never mind. Yes, you can have your own coffee to smell.
They walk up to the counter in the shop, waiting calmly in line. They are lawful after all. When you are lawful, you follow the rules.
Shopkeep: Can I help you?
Monk: Two coffees please
Shopkeep: What kind?
Monk: The kind that’s already made and able to be poured into the largest mugs you have the fastest. I’m not picky unless what’s made tastes like a beholder’s taint.
Shopkeep: None of our coffee tastes like that, it is all imported directly from Calminshan…
Monk interrupts the shopkeep.
Monk: Kid, I’m sure that story is fascinating, however, I don’t even care enough to argue over the price markup that story gets you. Just give me coffee. Better yet, give my friend here the coffee, I’m going to sit over there and pretend I didn’t have this conversation.
Shopkeep: That will be ten coppers
Monk puts the money on the counter and walks away. The shopkeep commences to making the coffee, and hands both mugs to Paladin. Paladin is puzzled at one of the mugs but doesn’t think about it much. In truth, Paladin doesn’t think about anything much.
Paladin: Here you go monk, your coffee
Monk takes a sip and gets the kind of look a small child gets when you promise them a pony and give them a goat. He is betrayed.
Monk: Paladin, this is not coffee. This is tea.
Paladin: The man said “here’s your coffee” and that is what he handed me. Maybe it’s special coffee.
Monk: It is special in that it is tea. Someone gave me tea instead of coffee.
Paladin gets a worried look on his face. he’s not bright, but he does recognize certain dangers. People messing with Monk’s coffee is high on that list. Monk gets up to go talk to the shopkeep.
Shopkeep: Is there a problem?
Monk: This is tea.
Shopkeep: Yes it is, our special house blend.
Monk: I ordered coffee. I got tea. Can we fix this.
Shopkeep: But you’re one of those monks, aren’t you?
Monk raises an eyebrow at this. Paladin can see his friend starting to get tense in what he calls his “beatin’ arm” and decides that he needs to pay full attention to the aroma of his coffee. In truth, it does smell rather nice.
Monk: Yes, but I fail to see…
Shopkeep: Well, everyone knows monks drink tea. You look like you’ve been walking a while, clearly, in your fatigue, you misspoke.
Monk: No, I didn’t. I want coffee. Cof. Fee. Coffee. Comes from a bean. Keeps you awake. Keeps me from getting headaches that make me all murdery. Coffee. One word, two syllables. Right behind you on the stove. Dump this shit out, pour some coffee in the cup. Hand the cup to me.
Shopkeep: Our tea is most certainly not shit good sir. I’m insulted that you would even implrrrk!
The shopkeep suddenly finds talking to to be a bit of a chore, what with Monk grabbing the shopkeep’s tongue between his index finger and thumb in a painfully tight grip.
Paladin: Yes Monk?
Monk: I believe I saw a butterfly outside. You should go play with it.
Paladin: Monk, this is a more arid climate than butterflies…
Paladin: Oh look, a rare desert butterfly! Come here butterfly, we can smell my coffee together.
Paladin quickly leaves the shop. He has a good idea what is about to happen and not seeing it will be very helpful in him keeping his vows intact and his docent on his chest and not in an inconvenient place, and he doesn’t mean the back of a ffolkewagon.
Monk: Allow me to demonstrate the ramifications of your error in judgement.
Sounds come out of the shop. Sounds that would not be out of place if made by someone with a full mug of tea inserted into their colon at high speeds while their limbs are bent into the shape of a coffee pot and the lid of a coffeepot fused into their skull. All done in a very methodical, well-planned fashion. Totally not chaotic.
Passers by try to ask Paladin what’s going on, but Paladin ignores them while running around yelling “COME BACK BUTTERFLY, THERE IS MORE COFFEE TO SMELL” in a slightly hysterical tone. The passers by are not sure who is more terrifying, but they all remember sudden business they have. In Zhentil Keep. Where it is safe.
Monk walks out of the shop and sits at one of the tables with a fresh mug of coffee. He takes a long sip, sighs deeply and smiles.
Monk: Ah, sweet, wonderful, coffee. How I love you.
Paladin looks like he’s thinking about going back into the shop, but Monk catches his eye and says “No no my friend. Let us stay outside today.” Paladin is in full agreement with that sentiment.
The coffeeshop keep never did get rid of that limp.