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Gotham was Danny’s getaway. A completely different dimension—a one without any of his usual troubles. As King he could travel between them with little difficulty. Gotham was his chance to escape his parents, the observants, and the responsibilities of being King of the Infinite Realms. While he never stayed long—just a short shift as a barista in a quaint coffee shop—it was his home away from home. The job helped him hold onto his humanity, made him feel like he was completely alive again. Of course, he always made time for Sam and Tucker, they were his best-friends. Not to mention, Sam would flip, then hunt him down to lecture his ear off if he disappeared without a trace. His job was a highlight of his time.
What he didn’t mean to do though, was become a tourist attraction.
As King, Danny could understand all languages. All of them. No matter how ancient, how dead, how secret it was, Danny could speak them all fluently. How else would he communicate with his subjects? It was the Infinite realms after all. All beings that died ended up in his domain, no matter which dimension they came from. There was an unfathomable amount of languages, and Danny intended to be great king, so why not know them all? That way he could understand every grievance his subjects had and could fix them as soon as possible.
And now, he had apparently become known as ‘The Reverse Starbucks,’ or some people just liked to call him ‘Spelling bee Champ.’ According to online, Danny could spell any name correctly and pronounce it right too. No matter what language it was or how difficult the spelling was, he always got it right. Even names with multiple spellings Danny could write on the cup with the same accuracy. It was jarring.
After he gained traction, the little coffee shop he worked at—the Crystal Cup, that had a number of witchy items—boomed in business. He was a tourist attraction. People visiting Gotham, for any reason whatsoever, would come in and give him the weirdest, out of pocket, names in effort to finally catch the ‘Reverse Starbucks,’ with a spelling error. Many came, and none succeeded.
Today was a normal day as any, Danny Nightingale clocked in at eight a.m and put on his purple apron (that he decorated with pins and painted start) then opened the cafe for business. The sun had barely risen by then, struggling to peak over the many buildings in the city. It was a surprise the sun was even visible in the smog-covered city. Despite the pollution, sunbeams shone into the shop and lit up Danny’s day. It was a great start.
His usual customers entered first, and per usual Danny had premade their orders a few minutes before they walked in.
Mr. Anogyne liked black coffee with two shots of expresso and a pump of sweetener. He was always first. $6.83, and if he stayed true to the pattern he would tip Danny five bucks. He always appreciated the correct spelling and pronunciation.
Second customer to come in was Ms. Barbra Gordon. She liked a cold frappe with a caramel drizzle on top. $5.44. The nice woman winked at him after getting her drink and slipped fifteen dollars into the tip jar simply saying, “Don’t tell Dick I lifted that off him.” Every morning he laughed and crossed his fingers.
Number three was Tracee Minader. Her order was complicated, but Danny managed. Two pumps of vanilla and two tablespoons of milk stirred twice counter-clockwise, and the cappuccino part had to be added last, the steamed milk on top was to be roughly five centimeters shorter than the cup’s edge. $7.30. Danny was sure she had some type of OCD, every morning she would turn up at 9:00 sharp, with creaseless clothes. She used to carefully watch as he made the drink, wanting to make sure every detail was perfect, but after the first month of his occupation there, she trusted him to make it properly.
Ms. Pam was the last customer to come in regularly in the morning, she was very vegan and liked a cold brew with a chocolate croissant, which was very much not vegan, so he assumed it was for a partner. $8.26.
Between all of them, he had quite a few people he didn’t know yet, coming in and ordering coffee. The shop was still small and not totally mainstream, so it was a slow morning. It was afternoon when it started up. By then his co-worker, Jamie, would show up. She always came in a little late, but he didn’t mind. Danny could handle the shop by himself for a bit.
Usually, Jamie would make the drinks while Danny manned the cash register and called out orders. This day was no different. The lunch rush today was a little busier than usual—there was probably a convention in town or something. Most of them were normal, getting plain drinks and go about their days. When seeing the names on the cups or hearing the spot-on shout of their name, a few of them were surprised.
However, some of the customers were the weird ones that tried to trip him up. Some filmed him while ordering, hoping to get evidence of a mistake of some kind. All failed.
It was getting to late lunch, and in a few minutes, the Wayne Clan would file in. Danny assumed it was some kind of daily family thing, but for some reason they always came in together. Except for Duke, oddly enough. Granted, it wasn’t the entire posse, it was just the older ones, and a friend of their’s Jason. A revenant. Whatever, it isn;t his circus. Not his monkeys. (Even though it totally is).
Per usual, Jason, Dick, Tim, Steph, and Cass all filed in. Everyone but Tim went to sit down, it was his turn to order and pick up the drinks. It rotated on a daily basis.
Danny had no idea why all of them decided to come here. He guessed maybe because Jason liked the books lining the walls since he kept reading them, and maybe since it was kinda small they wouldn’t be bothered much? He didn’t know. If someone did bother them, Danny would make sure they minded their own business. Everyone deserved peace and quiet sometimes. He of all people would understand, being King and all.
Tim leaned on the counter, looking more tired than usual. Dark eye bags stained his face.
“Hey…uh Danny. Whatever.You—uh. You know the usual.” Tim barely managed to stammer out. “In my coffee—my coffee…add five shots of espresso. You know the name. Uh-uhm 𖣘ᨎ𖤍𖥟𖣊𐬼.¨
Danny looked at Tim with an incredulous look on his face. Had he slept at all in the last week or was he trying to trip him up again with ancient languages? He was almost sure it was a mix of both because he had no idea how a human with human vocal cords had pronounced that semi-intelligibly. Also it meant ‘Old Barn’. Not a name. Eh whatever he would entertain him.
Danny wrote the name down, flawlessly, and passed on the cups for the drinks to be made.
He heard the chatter between the family and the hiss on the coffee machines behind him. Soon enough, the drinks were done and he called out the name. He had to alter his vocal cords a bit, but it was worth it to keep his reputation.
The entire Wayne posse snapped their heads around—what had Danny said?
Tim walked up, “Danny, you speak Aleochian?”
“Uh, yeah. I’m fluent.”
Tim’s eyes widened in shock. How? Was Danny in the cult?
“Are you in a cult?”
Danny paused, “What? No I just like learning I guess.”
Tim decided he would needed to be investigated later, but right now he could get Danny to help on a case that had been evading him for weeks. It was making him go completely insane!
A cult had some kind of goal that could only be deciphered from the line of Aleochian Dick had found at one of their abandoned bases. Tim could not figure it out. The language was either super old—like undocumented old—or was a completely new one. It wasn’t based of an altered ceasur cypher, it wasn’t any kind of code it was a verified language. Even the Bat-computer couldn’t solve it.
Now, Danny, the genius—or secret cultist—was his savior. Tim almost shed tears of joy at the counter. His torture has been halted!
Tim grabbed the drinks and put them back at the table quickly, almost spilling Steph’s.
“Hey! Tim!” Steph yelped, the coffee tipped slightly, but enough to make her think it spilled.
Dick grabbed Tim’s arm before he went back to the counter to ask for Danny’s help, “Hey, uh, Timmy did he just say what I think he did?”
“Yea he did!” Tim said with giddy, pulling out his phone to show Danny the copy of the writing.
“Uh, kid. Has it occurred to you that he might be in the cult?”
Tim turned to him, “Yes. If he is willing to help me I frankly do not care. I need some kind of lead, this case is literally killing me!”
Dick looked at him incredulously as Jason chuckled a little and said, “Kid you might get a red herring. Is it worth it?”
“YES? Of course it is, it has been weeks, and the cult might be inching closer to their goal, I need a lead, or a red herring that can be looked into, I don’t know I just need him!” Tim whisper-yelled. “Even if it is misleading I can work from there!”
“Whatever. Go knock yourself out.” Jason finished
Tim grinned and pulled up the document on his phone to show Danny, he walked straight up to the counter, disregarding what Danny was doing.
“Hey-uh Danny. Could you help me with something?” Tim leaned onto the marble separating him and sweet, sweet relief.
Danny looked up at him, away from the cup, “Sure Tim, what’s up?”
Tim lit up at that, “Can you tell me what this says? It’s-uh It’s for a college class.” He lied somewhat-smoothly.
“Yeah, of course.” Danny took the phone and looked at it for a second, his eyes widening in surprise
“Well, I’m sure you knew what you said your name was means, but if you didn’t it means ‘Old Barn’. This reads out as a recipe and place to summon the ghost king.”
Tim’s smile was so big, it almost split his face in two, “What are the ingredients?”
Danny looked up at him, being able to tell him straight up—he changed the recipe himself so no one could summon him.
“Three-exact table spoons of sand from the Sahara, a diamond, unchanged, from Australia, wheat from Canada, a cup of tea from England, and leaves from a giant sequoia tree. It’s meant to be really hard, I guess.” He didn’t have to guess. He just didn’t want to be summoned.
Tim almost squealed in happiness, he knew what they were doing and could single out where! Ahhh! Danny was so amazing! He could kiss him! He grabbed a sharpie from the counter and copied down all he had said onto his arm, Tim ran to the table, picked up his drink and sprinted out.
Huh. That was weird. Whatever. No one would waste that much time and effort to summon a King they don’t even know existed.
Danny was wrong. People would waste that much time. Before he even got the chance to clock out, Danny was suddenly in the middle of a summoning circle in a musty old warehouse. It was falling apart all around.
He looked around to find an odd scene surrounding him. A few of the bats were frozen in there spots, staring at him. Multiple people with weird black and green robes with stars over them were lying on the ground, one unconscious in Red Robin’s grasp. They all stood there silently, staring at each other awkwardly.
“Uh…boo?” Danny said with a shrug.
Everyone stared on in stupor, confused. They were supposed to be in front of the Ghost King, not a tired, 20 something, barista. According to the lore Tim had dug up, the Ghost King was an oppressive conquerer, able to wipe out dimensions with the flick of a finger. It was supposedly this guy. A lanky, black haired barista with an apron filled with pins and little painted on stars. He was the oppressive conquerer King of Ghosts and all the Infinite Realms?
All the bats stared at their favorite barista. What?