Serving Swill (H 1.1)

Location: Poseidon's Belly
Time: evening

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Helix,

It's halfway through your second shift and your eyes are itching and burning from lack of sleep. What kept you up last night? There's a live band playing tonight, blaring rock so loud you have to lean in too close to listen to Bakker's drink orders, almost close enough to touch - not that he minds. The Belly is busy tonight: not an empty table and a few people left standing by the bar. Who else is waiting tables tonight?

Mikkie just laid somebody out in the fighting pit, per usual. His streak is up to twenty-two, so high that folks don't want to bet against him. This match had Mikkie wearing shackles and his opponent had a frelling chainsaw - didn't matter. The crowd may not bet against him, but they sure cheer for him.

As you're taking Bakker's order to the bar, you see some Sippians enter the Belly and "eject" some Librarians from their table so they can have a seat. It's in your section.

What do you do?

There are ants behind my eyes today, little legs scratching, little teeth biting. It burns, but not as much as the Whispers in my blood which have built up over the double shift with nowhere to go. My hands are heavy with them, laden with the pushing, pressing, worming. They are drops of ink in the clear water of my soul.

Their spread is only made worse by the ants, scratches of sleepiness because I am keenly aware that my neighbor and I share a bedroom wall. When her lover visits, their passions aren't worried about the hour. And last night, once the moans and the banging of the headboard had ceased, shouts followed. A lover's quarrel about something I'm sure they'll make up about in a way that will steal another night of sleep from me too soon.

In some ways, I find relief in how busy it is tonight. The distraction, the music, even the occasional lewd pick-up line are all welcome distractions, quieting the whispers to murmurs. But my reserves are nowhere near where they should be for dealing with the Sippians. I very intentionally avoid direct eye contact while I fight the urge to plead with the Whispers under my skin to send them on their way and subconsciously scan the space to see if there are any Talons here. The Sippians eject the well-mannered Librarians - a double whammy in my own personal fighting cage. Not only did I lose my nicest table, it got replaced by the worst. Well, maybe not the worst table. I glance toward the cages where Mikkie is still soaking in the cheers and jeers of the audience. That guy sends shivers like snakes down my back.

I head up to the bar and feed Bakker's order to Kiwi behind the bar.


While he gets the drinks, I turn and scan the room for Dakota, the only other server working tonight.


With how busy it is, we could have used a third, and if we wanted to provide actually attentive service - the kind that I'm sure Princy and Millions get from people like Edmund Sterling every day - we would have probably five of us serving. But the tides aren't so kind to everyone, so Dakota is my only chance to ditch the Sippians.

When she comes back to the bar with her table's next order, I move up to her. "Hey, switch sections with me?" I mean to say it like a statement, a strong and certain thing, but it comes out with a question mark on the end.

I hesitate, unprepared for the question and worried about letting my chance at escaping the Sippians slip away with a flippant response. I scan Dakota's section, then Dakota herself, hunting but trying to keep the Whispers from reaching out for her. They press at my temples from the inside, trying to claw their way toward her, but I keep them inside where they plant a headache between my eyes in revolt.

But I know Dakota without their help, surely I can tempt her on my own. In our world, everyone is fish. Big or small, barbed or smooth, everyone has bait that would hook them. I can find Dakota's flavor.

Dakota has a deep and abiding crush on Kiwi and wants to impress him. Not so badly that she'd stop getting high, mind you, but she'd do just about anything else. Kiwi, however, has expressly told you that he does not date co-workers because "1. that always causes problems down the road and 2. I need this job".

Despite the fact that it's so loud in here my own voice feels like it is drowned out before it reaches my ears, I glance behind my shoulder to make sure Kiwi isn't within hearing distance before I answer. "I thought you might like to spend more time in Kiwi's sightline. You look nice tonight, so I'm sure he wouldn't be able to help himself from enjoying the view." I watch her face closely for a reaction, to see if my bait is tantalizing enough.

Dakota holds herself like new ice trying not to break as the waves below beat against her fragile surface. She's high, of course, but I can't help but wonder if part of the reason she is so sluggish is partially due to the pain eating away at her mind. The thought makes the Whispers push harder at the space between my eyes so I hide it away in some dark corner of my consciousness for later when I'm not so tired myself.

I know the Sippians are going to give her hell, but I don't feel bad enough about it to rescind our deal. "Kiwi's working on Four's order now. Two is waiting on one more before they order. And I haven't greeted Eight yet." I rattle off the updates for my section quickly, Eight being the space the Sippians have just taken over. Poseidon's Belly is always cast in a red-orange light from the many neon signs scattered around the space, tacked up to sections of chainlink fencing that separate sections and wrap around the bases of booth legs. The VIP rooms have the same neon lights, but none of the chain link fence.

"What about you?" I am as certain that whatever updates Dakota shares about her section will be incorrect or incomplete as I am that Peppering will get together with her lover again.

Dakota slowly murmurs gibberish about table sixteen (there is no table sixteen) before she heads to the bar to fetch Bakker's order. You've escaped the Sippians and jumped into the deep end of unknown and irritated tables full of Rafters - denizens of the Raftlands.
What are the Rafters celebrating? Is it some arcane holiday of their own making, that they sealed a new deal that will bring them prosperity if they can hold onto it, a celebrated union of two of their young-folk, or something else?

Armed with some completely useless information about her section, I head off into Dakota's tables. They seem turburlent, probably annoyed with the slow service or maybe less entertained now that Mikkie has won another fight, but I hope the Rafters will have a little more grace than usual today. It seems like they're celebrating a marriage. The happy couple sit at the head of a table together, chairs squished close, both with gull feathers woven into their hair and fresh matching tattoos on their necks. I'm uncertain about who holds the highest rank amoung the group, so I go to them first.

"I'm taking over your table for the rest of the night. Were you waiting on anything I can check on for you?" I don't quite smile as I make my introduction - I rarely do in any scenario - but I try to look pleasant at least.

I resist the urge to grab her wrist away as she drags me far too close for comfort. My choker pushes against the back of my neck, willing the Whispers forward, forward, forward, and Titicaca's wild eyes become the sky - expansive and alight with galaxies unexplored. Unexplored but beckoning. I close my eyes and will myself back into the center of my own universe.

With how tired I am, the mere act of closing my eyes has me swaying on my feet and I snap them open again. I want to tell her something snarky - that it would be a lot easier to get their beers if I weren't being chained here like a dog - but instead I say as calmly as possible, "I'll get those right away for you." And I wait for her to let me go while the Whispers slither around behind my skull like hungry snakes I've just denied a meal. I just need to keep them from striking out a bit longer.

My forehead flickers with pain as they all laugh, each guffaw like an anvil against my brain. Victoria isn't the only one with a headache, and I'm sure mine won't be cured so easily. Still, I give Suez a grateful look as I straighten, free from Titicaca's hold. I look at her with her wild, galaxy eyes beckoning. "You got it." The Whispers tell me I could know her, and crush her, but I turn away before their bait can sweeten too much.

I'm sure Dakota's other tables are just as impatient as this one, but this one is big and Titicaca is always a bit unhinged. As I pass one of my other newly-acquired tables, I put my hand on the end of the table and assure them, "I'll be right with you." But I try to move on before they can stop me. I really hope Kiwi's been watching and can get the Rafter's drinks up fast.

"Give me Librarians ANY night over those guys," I answer as I reach up and run a finger under my choker, situating it more comfortably after Titicaca's tugging displaced it. I sneak a glance over toward the Sippians' table. "But they drink less. You know she won't kick the Sippians out unless it's financially advantageous." Financially advantageous for her, of course. If the past is any indication, the Sippians are terrible tippers. I reach across the bar and help move glasses onto the tray. "Do you know what they've ordered? I'll help run it when it's up." Dakota won't be able to handle it, I know that. If I'm just dropping off drinks - NOT running their tab - I may escape the stormiest waters.