[PM to Join]The Dirty Bird
Posted: Mon Sep 09, 2019 11:55 am
Roalis 37, 2719
The Dirty Bird Bar
She sat in the lightest corner she could find in the bar she was visiting, a glass of water off to one side and her sketch book spread out across the table while she focused on drawing the face of the man who knocked her up. It wasn’t hard for her to remember faces she grew to love and then hate. She wanted to scribble darkness into his eyes, but that would have defeated the purpose of the drawing.
It was not a sketch made out of creativity, but a composite from her memory. His blond hair, his piercing blue eyes, his chiseled chin and the line of his jaw… she had trouble with it all because it hurt to draw him for this purpose, but the son of a bitch got what he deserved. He’d called himself Mateo and his meaningless words about loving her were all just garbage, and she remembered the cold feeling within her as she killed a living thing that she considered an animal but wasn’t. She closed the book and stood up, putting it away in her bag, being yelled at to get back to work because people were coming in.
The bar she was at was a new one in an old building, and she had just gotten work there to sell premade shots in test tubes to people who wanted to get drunk. There was a band setting up on stage at the moment, and there were her coworkers getting ready for the crowd. She put her stuff away and grabbed a rag so she could clean up any of the tables and help move them out of the way for standing and dancing, a mosh pit if you will, and then she went to the back of the house to get a tray of 50 tubes of swill.
The girl set to work for the long night that they were to have. She had used whatever money she had left from stealing from the old fart, and she had bought new clothing for working, as well as a damn donkey instead of a horse for transportation. She had already gotten the stuff she’d stashed in the forest and hunkered back down where she had a safe and dry spot to do so. As much as she missed being alone in the forest, she needed to slow down for the sake of her baking bun.
She wore a pair of black slacks that showed off one of her assets, and a white blouse that she tied over the top of a shift, wore her hair in a long braid off to one side, and knee high boots. Her make up was simple since she’d had to ask to be shown how to put it on, but the most striking thing was the khol she lined her eyes with, causing her blue eyes to pop and therefore get people to actually look at her face when she was trying to sell swill.
The only problem that came was when someone asked what was in a drink, and after she stuttered a good minute or so, the customer waved her off with impatience. The boss was sympathetic to her because he knew she had a memory problem, so he actually came to her rescue and said, “That is called Sailor’s Delight and is a combination of Vodka, grenadine, orange juice, and a touch of vanilla. You should try it, our very talented Xonia came up with the drink,” which was true but that was because she got the recipe wrong and put the grenadine and vanilla in the Screwdrivers without thinking. But it was a pretty drink that was like a red sky at night over the ocean.
He did pull her aside after and said, “I want you to tell me later how to help you remember shit. I can’t always rescue you from unhappy people who you are sellin’ drinks to.” And she sighed with a nod and understanding.
The sound of music nearly made her lose the twenty or so remaining tubes from her tray when the opening band began to play. She closed her eyes and wondered if she had made a mistake in becoming a shot girl.
The Dirty Bird Bar
She sat in the lightest corner she could find in the bar she was visiting, a glass of water off to one side and her sketch book spread out across the table while she focused on drawing the face of the man who knocked her up. It wasn’t hard for her to remember faces she grew to love and then hate. She wanted to scribble darkness into his eyes, but that would have defeated the purpose of the drawing.
It was not a sketch made out of creativity, but a composite from her memory. His blond hair, his piercing blue eyes, his chiseled chin and the line of his jaw… she had trouble with it all because it hurt to draw him for this purpose, but the son of a bitch got what he deserved. He’d called himself Mateo and his meaningless words about loving her were all just garbage, and she remembered the cold feeling within her as she killed a living thing that she considered an animal but wasn’t. She closed the book and stood up, putting it away in her bag, being yelled at to get back to work because people were coming in.
The bar she was at was a new one in an old building, and she had just gotten work there to sell premade shots in test tubes to people who wanted to get drunk. There was a band setting up on stage at the moment, and there were her coworkers getting ready for the crowd. She put her stuff away and grabbed a rag so she could clean up any of the tables and help move them out of the way for standing and dancing, a mosh pit if you will, and then she went to the back of the house to get a tray of 50 tubes of swill.
The girl set to work for the long night that they were to have. She had used whatever money she had left from stealing from the old fart, and she had bought new clothing for working, as well as a damn donkey instead of a horse for transportation. She had already gotten the stuff she’d stashed in the forest and hunkered back down where she had a safe and dry spot to do so. As much as she missed being alone in the forest, she needed to slow down for the sake of her baking bun.
She wore a pair of black slacks that showed off one of her assets, and a white blouse that she tied over the top of a shift, wore her hair in a long braid off to one side, and knee high boots. Her make up was simple since she’d had to ask to be shown how to put it on, but the most striking thing was the khol she lined her eyes with, causing her blue eyes to pop and therefore get people to actually look at her face when she was trying to sell swill.
The only problem that came was when someone asked what was in a drink, and after she stuttered a good minute or so, the customer waved her off with impatience. The boss was sympathetic to her because he knew she had a memory problem, so he actually came to her rescue and said, “That is called Sailor’s Delight and is a combination of Vodka, grenadine, orange juice, and a touch of vanilla. You should try it, our very talented Xonia came up with the drink,” which was true but that was because she got the recipe wrong and put the grenadine and vanilla in the Screwdrivers without thinking. But it was a pretty drink that was like a red sky at night over the ocean.
He did pull her aside after and said, “I want you to tell me later how to help you remember shit. I can’t always rescue you from unhappy people who you are sellin’ drinks to.” And she sighed with a nod and understanding.
The sound of music nearly made her lose the twenty or so remaining tubes from her tray when the opening band began to play. She closed her eyes and wondered if she had made a mistake in becoming a shot girl.