George, the Orc barista: Cash Box

Three men dressed in black loitered outside George’s café. They nervously pulled their hood to conceal their faces.

“Are you sure about this?” one man whispered, his eyes darting around. “I’ve heard the Orc is tough.”

The apparent leader of the trio responded, “I’ve been scouting this place for weeks. The Orc works mornings, and the dainty little Elf takes the night shift.”

With a glance at his companions, the third man tried to muster some bravado. “Come on, this is an easy score. Besides, one Orc versus three of us. We’ve got this.”

The trio cautiously entered the café. While the Elf was nowhere to be seen, they could hear faint sounds behind the counter. On the leader’s cue, they drew their swords and advanced.

“Hand over the cash, Elf,” the leader demanded, trying to project authority.

George, the tall, muscular Orc, rose from behind the counter, towering over the men. The trio’s bravado disbanded instantly as they took in his imposing physique.

With a malicious grin, George asked, “What can I do for you?”

Trying to regain some semblance of control, the leader stuttered, “The… cash…”

As George sized them up, the other two thieves merely nodded, at a loss for words.