Well, I'm updating (YAY.) again, and I think my brain may implode from all of the ideas... Anywhooz, If you havn't heard the song 'Copa Cabana' by Barry Manilow, I suggest you hear it (read; If you don't go and listen to it this probably won't make a lick of goddamn sense). Human names used cuz it's an AU, derp.

Authoress; Kiarikitten
Rating; T to be safe
Pairings/characters; I'm not gonna list them all, vut they'll show up. The major ones
Summary; She'd never know why they called her Lola, why she'd agreed to this, why her little sister had a thing for the co-owner's little brother (stupid potatoes...), or why her outfit had to be so revealing and bright. But she'd always know why her heart, mind and perspective will never be the same.

I think that's about it, other than this is just the base for the story. If I get some feedback, I'll continue~~~ :3 . So, yeah. ^w^ Enjoiiiiii~~~ :3

Lovina found herself outside the office of her cousin Francis' newest establishment, the Copa Cabana. It was about mid-summer at the time and she'd much rather be napping in the sun at the park than at the Pervert Palace, as she so lovingly dubbed it. Francis and his friend, Gilbert, had decided that the city needed yet another club and had bought the place. It had been running smoothly for about a year, Lovina never having set foot in the place save a small few times to grab her sister, whom favored one of the bartenders. She honestly didn't mind the place itself or it's choice of music, but the shows made her a bit uneasy. But alas, that's what she was here for. Lovina's little sister, Feliciana, and she were a tad short on cash at the moment and Francis was gloating of his wealth, so... She was here to see him in order to get two spots somewhere and make a few dollars to pay the rent. She and Feli were rooming together to save money but were still going down.

The door opened and out stepped a slightly fuming blond girl, her glasses askew and her pigtails swaying around her waist as she stormed toward the exit, her high heels clicking on the tile and grumbling with a British accent something along the lines of 'that bloody frog needs to learn what personal space is' and 'if this place did'nt pay the bills I'd be gone'. Lovina rolled her eyes and ignored the sight, for her cousin was known to burst personal bubbles with his claims of l'amour and his Frenchness. She slammed the door shut and flopped into one of the two chairs before a dark wooden desk, behind which the Frenchman was still laughing to himself. Her presence was made known when she cleared her throat and dropped her bag to the floor.

"Ah, you are looking lovely today! What can I do for you, Lovi?" Francis uttered, turning his attention to her. He studied that her long brunette hair was let free from her usual ponytail (she'd also been letting it grow out a bit, but she planned on cutting it again soon) to frame her slender face and her scowl was accented by reddened lips. Her hazel eyes strayed from his face to look at a shelf on the wall. Before he could gather more detail on her appearance, she'd snapped her head back to him and slammed her and her sister's resumes onto his desk.

"We need jobs. Bills don't pay themselves and sorella just lost her job at the diner. What do you have open?"

Knowing very well that huffing and puffing won't help her pay the bills, Lovina not so gently shut her appartment door and tossed Feli's 'uniform' onto the couch and headed to her room to inspect hers. "'You can start tomorrow!' he says... The fuck? They call this a uniform?"

In the box she'd received from her cousin after asking for a job, was a yellow dress tenderly tucked into the cardboard. It was adorned with fluffy feathers of a shade slightly lighter than that of the main article and said feathers were covered in glitter. A few spots on the fabric were of a different colorant, this time being of a dark ashen and contrasting nicely. It's neck was almost nonexistent in the fact the straps were transparent in order to give it a strapless look and the bossom showing a generous amount of chest. It's length was about to mid-thigh and a pair of sparkly golden flats were included. Under the garment, two delicate hair clips sported feathers similar to the ones on the dress, completing the attire.

Sure, it was a pretty sexual club, but the waitresses wore this? Was Francis finally going insane from the perverseness killing brain cells? The sound of her sister walking throught the door stirred her from her thoughts.

"Sorrella? You home?" Feliciana called, dropping her bag on the counter and sighing. That was her last day at the little diner down the street. That meant no more free coffee on Sundays and slow days...

"Yeah. And I think I got us a job. Francis had a couple spots open as waitresses..."

"That's great! Now I can see Ludwig more often!" Oh yeah that was his name; Ludwig. Potato Jr., second only to the Albino Idiot.

"That's not great! That's one step closer to potato spawn!" Her rant continued as she walked to the kitchen, but we're not going into the colerful language.

"... You... You really think we'll have kids one day? That's wonderful! I would love to start a family one day!"

Lovina did not reply, but did have a though along the lines of 'That airhead...'

Their first night had'nt been that horrible, save the crowd. Sure the music was loud and it smelt of cigarettes and cigars (for the most part), but the clientele was the absolute worst. A large majority of the male customers wolf-whistled at them and one went so far as to pull Lovina onto his lap, with which she responded by yelping and punching him square in the nose ("Damnit, you got blood on my arm, bastard!"). Other than that, it had been fine.

Her sister had hung around the bar with the too-muscley German she adored so much while Lovina actualy worked, which wasn't too hard except for the fact that the other bar tender (whom was quite a looker, but Lovina would never admit this) frequently caught her attention with his staring and shouts directed toward her in Spanish. She didn't know much Spanish, but her knowlege in Italian let her know they were of affection. And how he knew her name, she'd never guess. And so, a few heard and thought he'd said 'Lola', by some chance of fate.

Lola it was then.