The Epitome of Idiocy

Chapter 1: Of Unlikely Princes and Their Assorted Problems
In which the concept of "love at first sight" is proven to be more of a happenstance than an actual legitimate thing (though the matter of fairy tales continues to be the subject of much debate).

This story contains various types of references to sensitive material such as alcohol, drugs, and certain types of mature content. While any character(s) engaging in any of these types of things can safely be assumed to be of an appropriate and legal age (unless otherwise stated, in which case a proper warning will be made beforehand) viewer discretion is advised. Thank you.

Once upon a time, in a faraway land that was actually much closer than one would expect, a young and handsome (and incredibly sexy) prince found himself on his hands and knees, scrubbing away dejectedly at an already spotless kitchen floor while all around him people bustled about, completely ignorant to his plight as they hurried to-and-fro busily in order to complete their respective duties.

Well, something like that. Alejandro sighed and stood up, tossing a wad of paper towel soaked with cleaning solution into the trash as he did so. When he was younger, such fantasies had kept him amused for hours whenever he found himself tasked with the completion of a variety of menial tasks, such as coursework or group activities or attending the many frivolous dinner parties thrown in his parents' honor he'd always been forced to attend as a boy. Unfortunately, while it had proved a foolproof way to pass the time in his childhood, it seemed the tactic didn't work quite as well in adulthood. "Dios mío," he murmured to himself. "What a night it's been, and it's not even nine o'clock yet."

"Mr. Burromuerto?"

At the sound of his name, Alejandro turned, carefully schooling his scowling countenance into an expression of genuine concern. "Ah, Cynthia. Feeling any better?"

The girl nodded. "One of the waiters covered for me while Rhonda was helping me in the bathroom." She nodded down toward her left arm, which was cradled gently against her body so as to not jar the white gauze wrapped carefully around it. "It's not deep, at least, and it hurts a bit if I move it a lot, but I can still work for the rest of the night if you need me to."

"No, no," Alejandro said with a shake of his head, carefully placing his hand on Cynthia's shoulder and navigating her through the kitchen, toward the staff lounge beside the office at the back of the building. "I would much rather you go home and rest for the night instead." He smiled knowingly at her. "Believe me when I say that I truly understand what the life of a student is like — I was in your shoes too, not so long ago. I'll see you again on Monday." Truthfully, the main reason Alejandro wanted to send her home was to prevent any more blood from spilling should the cut in her arm accidentally reopen. Not that blood made him queasy, of course; Alejandro simply wanted to avoid making any more messes where he could. Besides, Alejandro found Cynthia rather clingy and annoying, and that was at the best of times. He wasn't so heartless as to not schedule her for work or fire her without notice (because he really had been truthful when he'd told her that he understood what the hectic life of a university student with numerous obligations was like, and how important a steady a steady job was) but he found that he'd rather avoid her juvenile attempts at flirting as much as humanly possible.

Cynthia looked up at him and bit her lower lip in what she obviously thought was a rather coquettish sort of way; Alejandro thought it made her look like she was suffering from indigestion. "Well," she began dejectedly, "only if you're sure..."

They'd reached the door to the staff lounge, now, and Alejandro, ever the gentleman, politely held it open for Cynthia. "I'm sure," he replied curtly, and she gave him a strange look before slipping past him to sign off her shift and gather her things to leave for the evening. He caught himself, however, and offered a smile as she slung her purse over her shoulder. "But please, take it easy, and get some rest."

"Alright, then." Cynthia smiled up at him, and Alejandro allowed the door to the lounge to swing shut as the young bartender made her way to the staff entrance down the hall. "And thank you, Mr. Burromuerto — have a good evening!"

"Gracias," Alejandro said as he watched the young woman leave the building. Only when he was certain she had left did he lean against the door frame for a brief moment of reprieve before he was obligated to return to back to the hustle-and-bustle of the restaurant, allowing his features to settle into a very displeased frown. "Though whether it really will be good or not still remains to be seen." He closed his eyes and rubbed them tiredly with one hand before straightening and pushing of the wall with other, and with one last sigh of weariness and resignation, Alejandro turned back to the kitchen and the hectic evening that still lay ahead of him.

It wasn't that Alejandro disliked his grandmother or her restaurant by any means. In fact, it was just the opposite; his fondest memories from his boyhood days had all taken place in this very establishment, or at the very least in the presence of his darling abuelita, and as such she was one of the very few people in the world he was willing to go to any lengths to help however possible. And so, when Alejandro had received word earlier that day that Isabel was in the hospital and would be forced to remain on bed rest until she was properly healed, he had immediately offered to be of assistance in any way possible. Thus Alejandro had found himself promising his abuelita to act as the manager and supervisor of La Corona until Isabel was well enough to resume her duties. She had worried, of course, about her grandson's standing at the firm at which he worked as one of its youngest project directors, though Alejandro had somehow managed to mollify her enough to the point that she finally agreed to accept his help.

"But your real work must come first, Alejito," Isabel had told him in her calm and gentle voice. "Promise me that."

And naturally he'd been forced to agree. "Of course, Abuelita," he'd assured her. "I promise."

In the end, Alejandro had known that in the long run, his promise would be an easy one to keep. Isabel was very particular when it came to the affairs of her business, and not once in his entire life could he remember even one instance of chaos or disorder. Even the knowledge of her absence had caused little more than a small murmur of concern amongst the staff when Alejandro had given them the news mere hours ago, and business had proceeded as usual. Alejandro had to do little more than come in to supervise the establishment a few times a week, particularly on the weekends, and take careful stock of the restaurant's inventory and revenue, noting the information down carefully in order to present it to his grandmother when he visited her next. This was the single most important guiding principle and rule Isabel had insisted on, and Alejandro had assumed that adhering to it would be simple enough.

Still, it is a proven fact that any rule is guaranteed to have at least one exception, and it had quickly become apparent to Alejandro that this particular Saturday evening was meant to be exactly that: many members of the restaurant's staff had called in earlier to inform him that, due to extenuating circumstances, they would be unable to come in to work that evening, and as such Alejandro had found himself quite understaffed for the night. Cynthia's accident as she was serving patrons at the restaurant's generous bar (in which she'd managed to not only break a handful of serving glasses specially imported from Spain but also cut herself on a particularly sharp and jagged piece while attempting to clean up the mess) and subsequent departure had certainly not helped matters at all, and with the position of bartender as of yet still unfilled, Alejandro had quickly realized that only one truly probable solution to that problem existed, albeit one he was not overtly fond of. Yet upon returning to the kitchens, Alejandro nonetheless navigated the hot ovens and steaming stove tops with ease until he reached the swinging double doors that separated it from the main dining area, pausing only once to check his reflection in the mirror that hung on the wall beside them. Only when he was satisfied that his tie was straight and his hair properly smoothed down did Alejandro place a hand on the cool polished rosewood of one of the doors, and with one last sigh push the door forward and step out onto the restaurant's main dining floor.

Compared to the flurry of activity in the kitchens, the main floor was remarkably calm, particularly for a Saturday night, and it was for this reason Alejandro supposed that perhaps Lady Luck had indeed decided to smile upon him for the evening after all. Though a vast majority of the tables and booths were filled by diners enjoying the famed authentic cuisine of La Corona, the number was no more than what was expected on the average weeknight, and so no where near the greater influx the restaurant normally anticipated on the weekends. This, in turn, made it that much easier for Alejandro to find the person he was looking for. "Ambrosio," he said, tone level and even as he approached the restaurant's maître d', "since we have no one to replace Cynthia for the evening, I'll be the one at the bar tonight. I realize that we aren't too busy tonight, but inform me immediately if I am needed for anything — you know where to find me."

The older gentleman gave him a quick nod of understanding in response, and though his expression seemed, to the casual observer, to exude the level of sophistication and propriety one would expect from any of the staff at La Corona, Ambrosio's trim graying mustache twitched nonetheless as he tried in vain to hide his amusement from the authoritative way in which Alejandro spoke to him. "You're such a big boy now, Alejito," he said, eyes twinkling merrily even in the relatively dim lighting of the main floor. "I wonder when you grew up."

Alejandro suppressed another frown; Ambrosio was one of the youngest of Isabel's cousins, and though Alejandro had never cared much for the jocular manner in which Ambrosio acted toward the family's younger generations, he was family all the same — there were rules about that. "I grew up a long time ago," he responded coolly.

"Of course, of course." Ambrosio crossed his arms, closing his eyes and nodding thoughtfully to himself as he did so, and when he opened them a moment later, any hint of amusement had vanished, to be replaced by pure business. "Very well. I'll be sure to inform you immediately should any problem arise." And with that, the maître d' turned smartly on his heel, and walked away.

Narrowing his eyes, Alejandro continued to glare frostily at the older man's retreating back for a few moments longer before continuing on to the bar at the other side of the main floor. His timing couldn't have been more impeccable even if he'd tried: barely two minutes passed had from the moment Alejandro first stepped behind the polished granite and rosewood of the bar before he found himself catering two obviously well-off young ladies, followed shortly thereafter by a group of business associates celebrating a successful merger of some sort (and painfully reminding Alejandro of the pile of paperwork from his own firm waiting for him at his apartment).

After that, Alejandro found himself thoroughly occupied for the next two hours as people continued to flock to the bar in a steady, but still manageable, stream. When he finally had an opportunity to properly check the time again, Alejandro was pleased to find that it was already almost a quarter to eleven — little more than an hour remained before the restaurant was to close for the night, and if he was lucky, Alejandro would be able to finish locking up for the night less than an hour after that. His only concern now was how he would keep himself busy until then, as the patrons of the restaurant who had approached the bar while waiting to be seated were now well into their main courses, while the others had left the premise of the restaurant entirely, no doubt in search of some of the established night clubs in the surrounding area and the adventures that awaited them there.

The thought of those same clubs caused Alejandro to silently give a prayer of thanks. Although spending a Saturday night working at a restaurant on an evening where everything seemed to be against him was hardly his idea of good time, he supposed it definitely could have been worse — Alejandro could have been roped into another one of his cousins' crazy schemes to pick up someone (or a few someones, in the event that Julio, his second cousin by marriage, chose to make an appearance) at whatever establishment was unfortunate enough to bear their presence, and Alejandro would have naturally become the designated wingman and designated driver of the night, if only by default, as he didn't particularly trust any of his cousins to do the same for him. Alternatively, he could have very well spent his evening at his parents' extravagant home or visiting with some of his other relations, but though Alejandro did have a certain amount of affection for at least a select few members of his extended family, it certainly wasn't enough to make him want to spend his Saturday night with any of them. Then again, perhaps being so proud and overbearing really was the Burromuerto way, and as he finished drying the last of the glasses Cynthia hadn't managed to destroy in her clumsiness, Alejandro thought to himself that he now had a better understanding idea of what being suffocated by one's family might actually feel like. Still, at least any encounter with any member of the Burromuerto clan – and even the members of their very extensive extended family — was guaranteed to be a bit of an adventure in its own right.

Oh, adventure, Alejandro thought to himself idly as he began to tidy up the rest of the bar a bit more, how I miss your whimsically tempting ways — what a cruel mistress you are, to deny a man and leave him wanting like this. It sounded quite poetic, he decided after turning the phrase over in his mind a few times, as out of the corner of his eye he saw someone take a seat in front of him at the bar. After tucking the towel he'd been using to wipe down the bar's granite surface discretely beneath the counter, Alejandro rolled the sleeves of his dress shirt up to his elbows in a rather professional sort of way before turning to his newest customer with a suave smirk. He wasn't quite prepared, however, for the way his heart seemed to skip a beat as he found himself looking at the coldest, most beautiful pair of grey eyes he had ever seen, or how, for the first time in his life, Alejandro Burromuerto actually forgot how to properly speak when in the presence of a beautiful woman. He caught himself quickly, however, and barely a second later and managed to compose himself appropriately, taking care to up his smirk from being merely suave to an advanced level of roguishly debonair in the event that the lady sitting in front of him had noticed his momentary lapse. "May I be of assistance?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow at her for good measure.

Fortunately, it seemed she hadn't noticed at all — her attention had been focused on something she was reading on her phone, and it quickly became apparent that whatever it was she had been perusing so intently had just as easily soured her mood. Alejandro could see the anger in her eyes. "Yes. Vodka soda on the rocks, please, with a slice of lime. And make it strong." Her voice was brusque and business-like, with a commanding, haughty sort of richness to it. It carried the same iciness as her eyes, and the sensation of it all sent a shiver down Alejandro's spine.

How interesting. "More vodka than soda then, I take it?" Alejandro reached under the counter for a tumbler and the jar of cold frosted glass they kept the wedges of lime in. "Sounds like you have had a very rough day."

She shrugged and ran one perfectly manicured hand through her dark hair. "I've had worse," came the reply as she watched him deftly prepare her drink. "Believe me, you'd be able to tell pretty quickly if I really had a rough day. But, yeah — today was pretty damn shitty. Pardon my French."

"Of course." Alejandro placed a coaster near the lady and set the glass upon it. "Care to talk about it? My abuela – my grandmother, that is — says it is always best to get rid of any negative emotions and thoughts by talking about them. Keeping them in is bad for the skin, you know." He flashed her what he hoped was a good-natured grin, and was surprised when she not only seemed to accept it but also smiled back in response, although the look in her eyes continued to be cold and distant. What surprised him more, however, was how earnestly he'd spoken; he'd sincerely meant every single word he'd said. Then again, he supposed he meant it only on an empathetic level as a kindred spirit of sorts — his day had been awful as well, after all, and as the age-old saying went, misery (or, at least, a certain amount of empathy) certainly did love company.

"Your grandmother must be a wise lady, then," the lady said, offering Alejandro another small half-smile of her own as she reached for her drink and brought it to her lips. "Your skin looks excellent." She took a sip of her drink. "And you're not half-bad at making drinks, either."

Alejandro responded with a flourishing bow. "I would be honored to pass on a compliment from such a lovely lady to my grandmother," he began, "as well as receive a compliment of my own from her as well. Thank you." He straightened and leaned down, using his forearms to support himself on the cool, smooth countertop. "Though I'm afraid I did not quite catch your name, Miss...?"

"Heather." She lifted the glass to her lips and allowed herself another liberal sip as she feigned indifference, though Alejandro could still see the blush tinging her pale cheeks as a consequence of the compliment he had just paid her in turn. "My name is Heather."

"Well then, Señorita Heather," came the reply, "you may consider me, Señor Alejandro, advocate for clear skin and brewer of fine drinks, at your service." And when Heather narrowed her eyes but continued to smile at him nonetheless, Alejandro thought that perhaps the rest of the night wouldn't be so bad after all.

Notes

And so we have the first "legitimate" chapter of this whole thing. Finally.

I kid, of course, but it's actually a bit true, in a way — I've actually had this chapter written, transcribed, and mostly edited for a few days, now, and the only thing preventing me from actually going through and updating it was my own indecisiveness re: the manner in which I wanted to post it. Ultimately, it seems that I finally settled on some sort of decision on the best way to tackle that problem, and here we are now, with Alejandro and his current situation properly introduced (for the most part), with that of the lovely Miss Heather to follow shortly after.

With all that being said, I'm afraid I actually don't have much else to say in the way of notes. As always, any further commentary can always be found on Dreamwidth/Livejournal or tumblr (links can be found on my profile), and feedback and critique of any kind greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading, and a merry Christmas and happy holidays to everyone.

This chapter was originally published on December 25, 2013.