|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Sun May 02, 2010 8:06 pm
The Fondue Haus was richly adorn in fresh tablecloths, every surface gleaming and reflecting, and the elegance of a soft tune echoing through the speakers hidden behind fresh flowers in various corners of the establishment. Everything was immaculate and nothing was spared with it’s décor and it’s staff. That was why he was facing a problem.
Ladon used a hand broom to sweep up the last bits of shattered glass and pieces of fallen bread into a dustbin, all the while knowing that the plate equaled his paycheck, if not more, and that he was now working not to make a profit, but to keep his job. It wasn’t like he particularly wanted to work at the Fondue Haus. It wasn’t even his idea. His mother had connections and decided to set her son up with a job to teach him the finer rewards of a dollar and work ethic as the school year was coming to a close and summer was coming. Already stretched thin, he felt like protesting but be it lack of sleep or the way his mother’s lips pressed into a sliver of lipstick coral, he had kept his mouth shut.
While he didn’t like the idea of working, he hated it more that he was terrible at it. The platters were heavy, and the fact he was carrying scalding pots of hot liquid that could cause third degree burns if he tilted the wrong way made him nervous as hell. In his first week, his accomplishments were 4 plates, several platters of wasted food, and 2 stained tablecloths. It was a miracle he was still working, but the manage, Mrs. Price, had said that his fine manners were a good asset and that he just needed to work harder at it. That was until he broke a chair (don’t ask) and she decided to put him in the back to do various odd jobs like folding napkins into a specific fold or gathering the trash.
He wasn’t alone. The manage had set him to work with someone else, a girl who seemed to have just as worse of luck than he had, and to save herself from a headache and from more money flying out the window to either lost company or dinnerware, she set them together to do the grunt work and only let them out to do easy tables to test them. Tonight, they were folding napkins again, side by side. He only knew the girl for the fact that the people she served seemed to like her personality, and that she always seemed to tug down at the hem of her small skirt.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon May 03, 2010 6:47 pm
Dale's stockings itched. They were the cheap kind that got runs in them when you bent the wrong way, and Dale had to replace them almost weekly. She even had a jar on her desk (technically Mr. Rook's desk) that was labeled "STOCKINGS FUND".
But the stockings were the least of her troubles. There was the skirt in general, of course. Her blouse wasn't bad, and she could wear a bowtie with it. That, at least, was a saving grace, and something that Dale could manipulate to look somewhat chic. But she wasn't allowed to accent the bow with a cameo, or even replace it with an ascot every now and then.
"We're not THAT kind of restaurant," the manager had said.
Still, many of Dale's tips came from groups of giggling girls... and, sadly, older men. At least she had Star Seeds ripe for the picking in that crowd.
To be honest, Dale would've been better at the ritzy bar that was against one of the walls of the restaurant. At least then she could try to impress her crowds with silly table tricks, and she was behind a bar. Since she was behind a bar, no one would have to see the skirt, or the frilled apron that accompanied it.
Unfortunately, Dale would have to wait three more years before she could host any kind of bar. Which left her with napkin-folding.
"What did you break this time?" Dale muttered under her breath. At least she wasn't at the very bottom of the rung. That seemed to belong to the cute-faced boy that sat next to her. Well, at least he could wear pants!
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon May 03, 2010 7:27 pm
0The night was going quietly thanks to the fact he wasn’t on the floor, and the waitresses and waiters moved past them, taking orders and flirting with one another. They would occasionally smile at them in a way that was either sad that they weren’t doing well, or glad that they weren’t as bad as they were. It was good his hands were occupied or else he would have asked Beth or Jane to go into the back and ripped out her starseed just to keep him from seeing them come his next day to work.
Instead, he was left making a Bird of Paradise fold over and over again, which was like cloth origami. Mrs. Price was obsessive over her napkin folding and would sometimes, when it was slow, come to check on them to see if they had set anything on fire and how their progress was going. This usually involved her picking out the worse napkin out of them all, weighing it in her hand as she pinched the corners and checked if everything was creased perfectly, and then she would shake the entire thing apart and say that such-and-such a thing was wrong. Each time! And each time, she would explain how to properly do it, taking great pride in her finished work, and then handing off the prized napkin creation to them as a perfect example to aspire to. All he could think was that, if she loved doing this so much, why not leave this job for her?
Pressing a napkin over and started to pick up the edges, he glanced at the girl before leaning in to whisper. Whispering was the only way they could talk or else it would ruin the “atmosphere” of the restaurant, even though they could talk normally and no one would hear them from where they were standing.
“Not broken this time. I tipped over a vase and it sent water on the rug near the front entrance. She got angry about water damage to the foyer.” As if a little puddle would do anything any hard. “That and she’s worried about mold collecting in her priceless, imported from some place, rug.” He bowed his head, making what didn’t even look like a bird from his napkin, and seeing that yes, this was how it was suppose to look. “I think I’m getting worse. I heard some of the waiters calling me Damages.” He glanced at her. “I guess it’s better than Disaster.” Better than Fired at least. Maybe.
He set the bird down in the finished pile and started another. “How are you doing?” He glanced her up and down, only because she sometimes asked him to make sure her skirt was not ridding up too high. It wasn’t, though he would have preferred longer skirts, too. For such a high-class place, it wasn’t all against being a little immodest.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue May 04, 2010 8:44 pm
"If she was so worried about a rug, then she shouldn't have put it in a restaurant where people spill things all the time. She should know better than anyone that most of her customers have less than half of a brain, and grace that makes you look like a prima ballerina," spat Dale. Her napkin-folding looked more like neck-breaking. Twist, bend, snap into position.
"I hate this," she continued to seethe. "When I go home, Mr. Rook will rue the day he said that napkin-folding was easy." She grabbed a napkin and started to wring it in her hands, imagining the snapping strands of sinew and muscle.
Mrs. Price happened to walk by, her nose almost plastered to the ceiling it was stuck so high.
"Oh, dears, the trashcans in the kitchen are overflowing. Would one of you mind taking it? And Dale, honey, be gentle with the napkins! You don't want your swans to look like chickens at a Chinese restaurant." She chuckled obnoxiously at her own joke before strutting off. It took all of Dale's class not to chuck her 'chicken' napkin at the woman.
"Well," said Dale. "I'm taking the Older Card on this one. You get the trash."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue May 04, 2010 9:14 pm
The older card sucked, but he wasn’t about to go against the one person he could talk too over some trash bags, even if they were heavy and he was small. Setting his wrinkled bird down, even though it looked more like a dead duck’s backside to him, he turned and walked past her. “Try not to kill any more chickens or else she’ll make us iron them. You know, to get the creases just right.” Again, Mrs. Price was obsessed over her perfect napkins that she actually owned a steam iron in case they needed to get it even more pristine. He was surprised she didn’t make them use it all the time.
Entering the kitchens, he found the bags that had been set aside and sighed, taking two of them and walking backwards to drag them along the ground. It was hard, and soon he found a small trash trolley to throw them in and start hauling the thing towards the back and to the back loading dock where the garbage bins were.
It was nice to be outside, and he greatly hated the fact that the smokers were allowed to take breaks where perfectly healthy employees had to suffer indoors without a small change of scenery. Pushing through the door and outside, he went down the ramp to the trash bins, taking one bag and heaving as best he could to throw one bag into the trash. Something spilled from one of the bags, spilling on his shoes, and he clenched his teeth, swearing only in his head. The trash bag went in and he looked down, deciding that what had been on his shoes smelled and looked like blood. Great.
Just as he went for the last trash bag, he heard a rustle down in the parking lot. Looking over, he noticed a gray figure in the shadows. In noticed him, and raised it’s head. In the light of a lamppost, he saw it was a monstrous looking basset hound, it’s body covered in folds, but it’s mouth curled up to show razor-green teeth and dripping, yellow, drool. Great, a youma!
“Oh for crying out loud. Could you not pick someplace else to sniff around? There are plenty of busy streets.” It looked at him, and then started to move forward.
“Oh no. I work here. You can’t go messing up the one job I have, no matter how much I don’t care for it.” If it wasn’t Fondue Haus, who knew what his mother would find for him to do. At least here he had some sort of idea of what he was suppose to be doing. The youma wasn’t listening, and continued to move towards him. In fact, it kept looking at him as if he was tasty. Was it the blood on his shoes, or did he not see his starseed was not for eating.
“Hey. You. Shoo. Get away, you stupid youma.” Ladon reached down and waved his apron at the monstrous dog. It kept advancing.
“Oh, for the love of – “ Today was not his day, but what better way to blow off some steam than to beat a youma back into the darkness. It would keep him from chucking napkins at Mrs. Price, and he already knew that their were no security cameras back here.
Fine. If the youma wanted to play and think he was tasty, he’d show him he was not for eating. With a soft ripple about him, the apron and his waiter’s uniform faded away to that of a dark black uniform, complete with forest-green bows. It was like taking on a lighter, yet sturdier skin. Shaking off the feeling of transforming, he moved over and pressed his hands on the youma’s snout, pushing it back. It was surprised to see a Negaverser appear, and now was looking at him with a dumb, surprised expression. It had stopped growing, and was now looking at him like a lost puppy. “Now git. Come on. Moveeee.” The dog whimpered loudly, grunting as he shoved on the dog’s big nose, before it started to turn and sniff around, walking back into the darkness.
Well, that done, he turned and picked up the last of the trash, tossing it easily into the dumpster now that he had additional strength. Done, he shifted back to his other form and pushed the trolley back up to the ramp when he froze.
Dale was standing there, holding a bag of trash he had forgotten. She’d seen him change and shove off a youma.
“Ahh…And I liked talking with you.” He sighed and dipped his head down, moving to let the trolley stay and started to move up the ramp. Great. He was going to have to steal her starseed just to keep himself from being found out. He REALLY LIKED having a buddy to talk to at work. What was worse, he never took a starseed of someone he liked before. It was going to be hard. Really, really hard.
Like a man headed to do a terrible deed, he started to move towards her, shaking one hand to get the blood flowing in it to be able to take her starseed. This was going to suck. Where the heck did he even dump her? He had to be back at work! He didn’t want to deal with death this soon. Why couldn’t she have just stayed inside?!!!
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun May 09, 2010 9:05 pm
"Glamorous," Dale mused. It was convenient that the small boy was Negaverse. No, it was more than convenient... it was cute. Even as a lieutenant, Ladon was small.
What was interesting is that Ladon wasn't noticing Dale's facial expression. Most people would've screamed at the sight of a youma, or at least appeared shocked. But Dale just looked amused, and she even had a slight smile on her face.
When Ladon reached his hand out towards her chest, Dale gave a quick shrug of her shoulders before pushing the last bag of trash into her co-worker's grasping hand.
"Take that, will you? I need a moment. Don't get agitated or anything, the only man I've let handle my Starseed is the General-King," she said. She took a step back, still eying Ladon. Then, with a flourish, she pulled out a tube of gold lipstick. It was completely for show, and had no use whatsoever. But Dale still enjoyed quickly passing it over her previously undecorated lips.
"What? I have to have a moment to glamorize myself too, you know," said Dale. With a wink, she let the darkness envelop her, and re-emerged as Variscite.
"Okay, now I can take the trash out."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun May 09, 2010 9:24 pm
He hadn’t noticed since he was more shocked he’d have to get rid of his first work buddy ever and thinking of how miserable work would be when he had no one else to talk to as he was lectured on how to properly fold napkins or mop a floor. It wasn’t until he was stumbling back with a bag of trash that he saw how indifferent she was to him in either uniform, and then the small smile she had on her face. First he thought she might just think he was weird for dressing up like this and not make the connection of who he actually was, but then she started to talk about the General-King and he got even more confused about what was going on. When she finally, in a very casual way, glamoured up, his mouth and the bag of trash, dropped.
“No WAY!!” Yes way. Dale, his coworker, was part of the Negaverse. What was the chances of that even happening?! Not only did he not have to kill her, but she was on HIS side. This was just too – too –
“This is amazing!!” Wolframite was past excited, he was bright eyes and clenched hands, looking as if he’d seen the drummer to his favorite band. “I would have never thought you’d be in the Negaverse. I don’t have to kill you! This is great!”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
