The barista bustled over, a stiff smile on her lips that never quite made it up to her eyes. She stood at the table, tray in hand, and watched the two women speak for a moment.

And then, bored by the direction the conversation was taking, she flipped the tray of coffee onto the two women and produced two very, very sharp knives from underneath her sleeves.

"Do. Not. Move," she said darkly. "Or do. It'll be easier for me to collect your blood that way."