More famous and far more expensive than its size suggested, perpetually full of either workers from a nearby factory, faces from the neighborhood ,or tourists clutching a guide for which locales to visit during their stay, The Canary stood on the corner between two streets in a town in one of the states of the continent-country Ency.

The place had the general look of a diner and had everything you would expect: a big neon sign outside, booths and walls in bright colors, a small antique library in one of the corners,smiling staff, and was filled with the aroma of cinnamon at all times. The radio was usually blasting old rock pieces unless the owner, Nora, decided she was in the mood for classical music. All in all, it was a place where you could find yourself losing a tidy sum from the contents of your wallet and have no complaints whatsoever.

One of the waitresses was setting down two teacups on a table in one of the booths. She was a Witch with long black hair, neatly tied back, and was wearing a white apron over her dark uniform.

One of the customers seemed to be in one of those moods: “You’re marryin’ one of them? Might as well marry a damn wolf, Witches, the lot of them! Blazed elves think they own the Globe, don’t they, callin' us Unfrozen, like we the ones in their blazed way—“

“Dad,” a nervous girl across from him started patiently, shooting the waitress an apologetic glance, “if you don't want to come, don't. Just--”

Winter Bureíssna – Volk if you looked at her ID - set down a piece of cheesecake next to the tea, followed by the check.

“A country the size of a flea is tryinna lump us all together after infecting us with their magic and Ice Ages! They’re tryinna put me with the same bunch as the Siberians! Northern folk, high and mighty! To the deserts with them, if you ask me--”

As Winter was walking away, she heard the man go on:

“--Northland is none more than a frozen desert!”

“Then you don't have to come to my wedding!”

Winter held in the urge to go back and freeze the man’s lips together. She found a distraction in taking an order from three men, all of whom appeared to be Witches.

“--That clown said that there isn’t anything he can do for me, because apparently statistics showed Summer Witches’ got more tired than us.”

“Blazed deserts.”

“So then I told him—“

“May I take your order?” Winter asked, pen ready.

The third man, who wasn’t a part of the conversation, said:

“Ehh… one espresso macchiato… Carl? Siegel?”

“We do the same flaming work—oh, black coffee for me, short,” Carl said.

Siegel nodded. “Same.”

Carl turned back to Siegel and continued “We all have to charge clothes, don’t we? Why can't we get a raise then?”

“Thank you.” Winter walked away and reached the counter right one of her coworkers, Alex, was laying out some freshly-baked croissants in the display. She gave Winter a bright smile.

Winter said, “One espresso and two black coffees, and the check for table three.”

Another waitress, Sherry, arrived with a scowl.

“I hate Mondays,” she announced, putting a tray of empty cups down.

Alex chirped from behind the counter:

“You should be happy for the business, Sherry. Coming right up, Winnie.”

“Don't call me Winnie.”

Sherry rolled her eyes. “I want to hear you say that when Nora works you like a dog next week, Alex! Oh, and I need one strudel, one hot chocolate with whipped cream and a--”