Post by Deleted on Dec 31, 2013 10:38:51 GMT -5
I'm Not Sorry
Every day that passed in the diner was exactly the same as the one that had passed before it. That alone was enough to make Stella want to run her own head through a wall. Her morning had started off in exactly the same way as every other morning that had passed before it. She woke up to the rather obnoxious ring tone set as her alarm, pulled from another comforting dream, ripped from her bed and forced out into the world where she worked a job that required she at the very least pretend like she cared how the customers saw her. Her life was never supposed to have turned out in this direction, and perhaps that was what drove her all the more crazy. When Stella had been a young girl she'd been just like many others, deluded by illusions of greatness, convincing herself that she could do something great. She was going to leave a mark, she was going to wear a crown and marry some great, powerful prince.
Instead, she was pushing beer nuts and hoping that she made enough money to cover her rent at the end of the month. If she hadn't been steadily building her own work in selling her magic, Stella would have easily gone crazy years ago. If the hex bags weren't giving her the money that she needed to actually take care of herself on the side and live a comfortable life that didn't involve going from one paycheck to the next, Stella would probably be just like poor Jane Doe - the newest waitress who's name, Stella had honestly given up on trying to actually learn. The girl was a plain Jane with no past and no foreseeable future; She was all plain blond hair plaited down her back, shirt tucked in, nude and boring make up. There was nothing fun or unique about the way that she carried herself, she approached each day and each table with a monotone voice and manner that made it clear as day that she had given up on her life years ago. Stella would hate to see a world where she wore those same shoes.
The magic and Kacey's influence had swept into her life early enough that these were things Stella would never have to worry about. She was able to pull herself out of her bed in the morning, wash her hair and apply her make up, take a lingering glance at the woman in the mirror and proudly know that there was nothing plain about her. She was a foreign mixture of ethnic cultures, she was beautiful and strong and she knew it. Perhaps that was what made her all the more dark, all the more powerful. Stella didn't back down from a challenge, and often times it seemed every day that came her way held it's own challenge. This morning, however, did not seem to be giving her much promise.
The uniform fit against her body with it's usual manner, snug around her waist and clinging to her chest in all the right ways that made the older, single men drool and leave her larger tips in their naive hopes that if they paid her well enough she'd let them take her home. She never had the heart to let those poor men know that such a thing would never happen, waiting tables was all about the tease and denial in all of the worst possible ways. You kept your head up and your back strong, you told each customer whatever it was that they really seemed to want to hear, and just when that person thinks that they've won, you pull it all back and take your reward. Not that the reward was ever anything worth bragging about, on a good table Stella would be lucky to pull a $5 tip. The people who lived in New York were just about as broke as she was, and about three times as pissed off about it because they didn't have the power that she had, they couldn't do the things that she could do. She was special, and that was Kacey's doing, and because she was special there wasn't much room for moping in her life.
The morning at the diner was moving slow, no broke soul moved through the doors with their down trodden steps and permanent pouts, and Stella was left spending more time than she'd prefer to spend hanging in the kitchen with the foreign cooks who assumed that she couldn't speak Spanish, that she didn't know all their little secrets and dirty comments about the waitresses that they threw back and forth when they thought they were in the safety of their own language. Just because Stella's Spanish had gone out of practice didn't mean that she wasn't capable of filling in the gaps of words she didn't understand and figuring out just what was being tossed around over burnt meat patties and melted cheese.
Luckily, she didn't have to spend too much time filling in those gaps before the ringing of the bell over the diner's door alerted her, finally, of a customer's presence in the dining room. Stella was out from the kitchen and heading towards the open door with her customer satisfaction guaranteed grin in place, reaching out for the menus and ready to lie her ass off to get whatever was in this bitches wallet before she even glanced up to take in a face that was obnoxiously familiar in a way that she couldn't quite put her finger on, "Welcome to Sunny's, how can I help you?"
Instead, she was pushing beer nuts and hoping that she made enough money to cover her rent at the end of the month. If she hadn't been steadily building her own work in selling her magic, Stella would have easily gone crazy years ago. If the hex bags weren't giving her the money that she needed to actually take care of herself on the side and live a comfortable life that didn't involve going from one paycheck to the next, Stella would probably be just like poor Jane Doe - the newest waitress who's name, Stella had honestly given up on trying to actually learn. The girl was a plain Jane with no past and no foreseeable future; She was all plain blond hair plaited down her back, shirt tucked in, nude and boring make up. There was nothing fun or unique about the way that she carried herself, she approached each day and each table with a monotone voice and manner that made it clear as day that she had given up on her life years ago. Stella would hate to see a world where she wore those same shoes.
The magic and Kacey's influence had swept into her life early enough that these were things Stella would never have to worry about. She was able to pull herself out of her bed in the morning, wash her hair and apply her make up, take a lingering glance at the woman in the mirror and proudly know that there was nothing plain about her. She was a foreign mixture of ethnic cultures, she was beautiful and strong and she knew it. Perhaps that was what made her all the more dark, all the more powerful. Stella didn't back down from a challenge, and often times it seemed every day that came her way held it's own challenge. This morning, however, did not seem to be giving her much promise.
The uniform fit against her body with it's usual manner, snug around her waist and clinging to her chest in all the right ways that made the older, single men drool and leave her larger tips in their naive hopes that if they paid her well enough she'd let them take her home. She never had the heart to let those poor men know that such a thing would never happen, waiting tables was all about the tease and denial in all of the worst possible ways. You kept your head up and your back strong, you told each customer whatever it was that they really seemed to want to hear, and just when that person thinks that they've won, you pull it all back and take your reward. Not that the reward was ever anything worth bragging about, on a good table Stella would be lucky to pull a $5 tip. The people who lived in New York were just about as broke as she was, and about three times as pissed off about it because they didn't have the power that she had, they couldn't do the things that she could do. She was special, and that was Kacey's doing, and because she was special there wasn't much room for moping in her life.
The morning at the diner was moving slow, no broke soul moved through the doors with their down trodden steps and permanent pouts, and Stella was left spending more time than she'd prefer to spend hanging in the kitchen with the foreign cooks who assumed that she couldn't speak Spanish, that she didn't know all their little secrets and dirty comments about the waitresses that they threw back and forth when they thought they were in the safety of their own language. Just because Stella's Spanish had gone out of practice didn't mean that she wasn't capable of filling in the gaps of words she didn't understand and figuring out just what was being tossed around over burnt meat patties and melted cheese.
Luckily, she didn't have to spend too much time filling in those gaps before the ringing of the bell over the diner's door alerted her, finally, of a customer's presence in the dining room. Stella was out from the kitchen and heading towards the open door with her customer satisfaction guaranteed grin in place, reaching out for the menus and ready to lie her ass off to get whatever was in this bitches wallet before she even glanced up to take in a face that was obnoxiously familiar in a way that she couldn't quite put her finger on, "Welcome to Sunny's, how can I help you?"
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