Killer Kafé

summary: Ya’ll HISHE’s superhero cafe and villain pub? Yea, well… here’s my take on it. Every DBD Killer, one saloon!

word count: 1890

a/n: This was a crackhead hours idea I had and it actually really inspired me, so I hope you guys enjoy it! Hope this is silly enough for the #WritersCircle

Once upon a time, there was a realm within a realm. This realm was where the killers of the Fog were held between trials, lest they try to torture the survivors outside of their allotted period of time. Now, not every killer was happy with this arrangement, but every killer did accept it for what it was — a chance to kick back and have a drink.

Michael Myers kicked the door open as the café went silent, watching him trod over, slumping down into a barstool and slamming his hand on the counter as he waited for the Deathslinger to give him a drink. No one actually knew what drink the Boogeyman preferred, as he didn’t speak, but he must not have hated whatever concoction Caleb came up with, or else he wouldn’t come back in the same exact way after every trial, bloodstained from head to toe.

Freddy joked, “Lose a couple pounds there, Michael? You’re practically silent when you walk.”

Ghostface said, “Actually, practically silent is what most would consider myself - Mr. Myers here is completely silent. You can’t hear him move at all, whereas one might hear my cape floating around-“

“We get it, shut up already.” Frank Morrison, head of the Legion, spit, shoving Jed out of his seat by his face mask.

The Nurse let out a spine chilling gasp in mortification. “Manners, young man!”

Frank grunted in agitation. “Sorry, Miss Sally. Certainly won’t do it again.”

Jed, finally back in his chair after fixing his mask, said, “If I had my knife, I would kill you.”

A sinister laugh erupted from behind the counter, where Caleb was busy making some Irish coffee for Michael. “Read the sign, buddy.” And pointed above himself, where a rusted sign with scrawled letters read: NO WEAPONS IN THE KILLER KAFÉ. The sign used to say ‘in the pub,’ but Caleb went on a rebranding spree when he heard about all the recent horror flick remakes, and he commissioned Carmina to repaint his sign. He didn’t listen to anyone who said remakes only happen for killers with movies already in existence. He had the spirit, at least; not to mention Rin Yamaoka sitting at the end of the bar, sipping on some herbal tea.

“But… don’t YOU have your weapon?” Julie pointed out in confusion.

“That’s because I own the pub — I have to be able to defend myself otherwise any ole’ ragtag crew could come in here and steal everything, from merchandise to money.”

“Like OUR ragtag crew?” Joey observed, with a glint in his eye.

Deathslinger slid the finished drink toward Myers, being careful to move the drink AROUND Joey’s grabby hands, as he confirmed, “Yes, like YOUR crew — and stop trying to get alcohol! I am a man of the law and I will not be breaking it.”

“He says, despite having murdered numerous people to even get to the Fog in the first place.” Julie narrated. She prided herself on being a smart-ass, arguing with the adults just to argue.

“Out.” Caleb pointed to the café door, already having reached his limit.

The three stood up to leave, chuckling to themselves, and a fourth ed them reluctantly. Susie, the only one of the three to be respectful and always ask for chocolate milk instead of alcohol, said quietly, “Have a nice day, Mr. ‘Slinger, I’m sorry about them.”

He tipped his hat at her, offering her a rotten smile and a, “Have a nice day, Miss Lavoie.” She smiled, waved goodbye to the rest of the killers, and chased after her friends.

“What a nice girl!” Sally rasped, clasping her hands together.

“Merrr!” Rin Yamaoka huffed in annoyance at the end of the bar. “She’s not the ONLY nice girl in the world, you know. More chai, please.”

The Killer Kafé suddenly went dark, and what most beings thought were the moans, screams and cries of the Dredge’s victims, were ACTUALLY the moans and groans of the killers at the Dredge’s dramatic entrance to the pub. He teleported into a (locked) locker, scrabbling until he could break the locker door open. The room lightened up again, and the Dredge complained, “I told you to stop locking that thing!”

“You took Maurice!” Jeffrey stood up, his beer belly nearly flipping his table over as he slammed his hands down angrily. Everyone silently nodded along. Even if they wouldn’t say it, making your entrance into the Fog by harming Maurice is wildly unpopular. Nobody hurts Maurice.

Anna, Bubba and Max Jr. trudged in through the back doors, dropping wood down by the fireplace and putting some meat into the prepping fridge. Caleb said, “Thank you for working so hard, you three. I appreciate it.” And nodded his head at each of them in acknowledgement.

“Is that bacon?” Amanda said, and those sitting at the counter pretended to jump. She tried to be stealthy, but everybody always knew when she was coming. It was the squeak of the chair that gave her away, but nobody had the heart to let her down.

Caleb nodded. “Would you like some, Miss Young?” She nodded vigorously, and he slapped some into a pan after grabbing it out of the fridge. Bubba grunted, which typically meant he wanted some, too, so Caleb added more. Caleb heard a hiss and a whine, and when he looked down, he saw that the Demogorgon was sitting at his feet, salivating, and even though it didn’t have eyes, he felt the puppy dog eyes breaking down his defenses. “Okay, fine. Here you go, Demodog.” He tossed a few pieces of raw bacon, and Demo jumped up, catching them in its mouth and chewing them with a loud smacking noise, as if it truly was a dog.

Across the room, Adiris keeled over, puking on the floor and saying something utterly incomprehensible. “Hey!” Caleb shouted, “No more drinks for you!” After which she groaned, swinging her sconce around messily and knocking the glasses on the table over.

Herman stood up from the next table over and said, “I think she just may be sick again, with the plague. Like usual. Would you like a mask, Adiris?” She readily accepted it, as well as the vaccine that Nemesis offered her with a roll of his eyes, as if her illness were an inconvenience to him. Granted, everything that didn’t help him catch Jill Valentine and all those other S.T.A.R.S. was an inconvenience to him.

Trickster stopped his melodic humming and piano playing and said, “I do this for free, you know. The least you could do is not stink up the room with vomit.” He shuddered. “Disgusting.”

Pinhead laughed next to Trickster. “I love witnessing your suffering. How delectable.”

“Shouldn’t your DRINK be delectable?” Trickster asked.

“No. It tastes horrible. That’s why I like it.” Came Pinhead’s response.

The Hag walked through the café doors, and everyone waved at her in greeting. She took a seat at the counter, and right when she opened her mouth to speak, a chime rang out. All she had time to say was, “Ah, shi–” Before she was teleported out of the room. Everyone in the room looked at each other awkwardly, and Pyramid Head stole Hag’s abandoned seat at the counter. Caleb glanced down at the drink he’d been preparing for Hag, shrugged, and handed it over to Pyramid Head. Pyramid Head grabbed the drink, tilted his head back, and immediately poured it all over his face. He sat there for a few seconds, processing what he did. Gently, he set the empty mug on the counter, then dragged his giant knife out of the café with him, the doors swinging shut in his wake.

In the private room of the café, Charlotte’s groans rang out as she banged on the TV, static noise trickling out through the cracks in the walls. “La télé n’est travaillé!” A harsh, grating noise rang out, and Sadako climbed out of the TV. Of course, the TV was still nothing but static, because Caleb didn’t know how to set it up in the first place, but he told everyone a repair man was going to fix it soon. Nobody knew who the mechanic would be, though.

A bell chimed, and a tall being materialized in the middle of the café. “I’m Philip. Heard there was a TV problem? What’s happening to it?”

Sadako eyeballed him warily and said, “It’s never been set up.”

Charlotte’s jaw dropped as she stared at Caleb in disbelief. Caleb’s jaw dropped because it was already broken, and he stared at the Onryo in disbelief. “How did YOU know that I never set it up?”

Sadako shrugged. “Not sure. I can feel it when I through, though.” She glanced to the side, then said, “There’s a baby trying to steal your bread, by the way.”

A squeal came from the kitchen as one of Trapper’s bear traps clamped down on Victor, the baby-looking man, while he held onto a piece of stale bread. “You’ll pay for that!” Albert Wesker says, pointing at Victor. Wesker hadn’t had much time to frequent the café as of late – the Entity kept calling him into trials – but he would be damned if a petty thief was going to ruin his first visit in so long. Trapper finally came back from wherever he was, and kicked Viktor, who splattered into nothingness, but reappeared in Charlotte’s chest cavity a few seconds later.

Trapper shuddered at the sight. “Parasite.” He said to Victor.

“Good work,” Blight praised Trapper. “Care for a drink?” Trapper shook his head, rejecting the offer. He’d already spotted the Blight spiking his drink with the golden glowy liquid seeping down through the coffee – it’d be bound to give him more than just an adrenaline rush.

Just then, a loud yell resounded through the Killer Kafé, and everyone looked outside with bated breath. A green aura drifted into the room, and the Wraith said, “I’m out.” He rang his bell and disappeared right as a horn was blown to announce the arrival of the Knight and his loyal army of soldiers. They trudged through the doors, metal clanking against metal and chainmail clinking together, taking a seat at the café counter.

Oni, who had just come back from a trial of his own, reared his monstrous head and roared. He dashed upstairs angrily, muttering about how knights are fake samurai and leaving a red trail of light in his wake. Caleb looked around at The Killer Kafé and sighed. He was proud of his renovations, but it still felt a little gloomy. Everyone was always mad about something, and he couldn’t cater to a consumer base that found a way to be glum about EVERYTHING.

He felt a tap on his shoulder. “Ahem. I see you’re feeling a bit down about your business. What if I bought it from you and made all of your troubles go away?”

He turned and saw that the voice belonged to none other than the Skull Merchant. He threatened her, “Don’t even THINK about trying to buy The Killer Kafé – your money is worthless in this world.”

“Suit yourself.” She said, and walked out of the establishment as if she already owned the place. Caleb was never going to get a break, was he?