Tea

A pot of tea sits on the table before you, the leaves slowly unfurling as the warm water seeps into the foliage. Some people call it pretentious, flowering teas, just grind it up, stick it in a little bag, brew it at the wrong temperature for too long, complain when it's bitter.

The sensation that these aren't your thoughts, your eyes lifting from the pot and focusing on the unblinking button eyes of the stuffed Chai in front of you. His face seems pleasant enough. But it was sewn that way, wasn't it? A permanent look of happiness tufted into his face, the thread growing slightly loose with time, creating a bit of a smirk on one side, or that's probably just your imagination.

After all this is just some sort of cladding for a mechanical tea machine, fur worn down where the elbows bend, discoloration and damp from when the tea spills... A robot really shouldn't spill that often though, should they?

But maybe sometimes the patrons don't deserve the tea, their toes tapping away at the floor, wanting some sort of instant drink. That's just not how tea works, not this tea, anyway. Years of collection, practice, experience, the perfect amount of sugar to balance the tannins, the precise temperature, the proper steeping times... You can't rush that. Anyway, it's their own fault the tea spills, the machine jerking slightly when they try to snatch the cup from his soft paws. They can wait for another cup or they can leave, who are they going to complain to? The manager? There's no one here except for the machine.

You'd swear the thread tightened, pulling his smirk even further, just your imagination, surely.

A small ding, his body moving forward, arms extending, pouring the bloomed tea directly into your travel mug, screwing the lid back on for you before handing it over, no spills. Pretty impressive how they can program him to adapt to different containers.

One sip and you're transported, warmth flooding into your body, the subtle taste of fruit and florals, not even a touch of bitter.

You mutter a thank you, it's just polite, even if he's just a machine. His hand raises in acknowledgement, you feel like you'd be welcomed here again.




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