Due to such a busy schedule, time passed swiftly. We chefs adjusted to the business a lot faster than Mr. Nork expected. Thus, he decided that we earned the right not to be called "smeets" again. ("They grow up so fast," he sobbed.)

Every now and then our boss would have us each prepare a certain treat for him. It was a test, as he put it, to ensure our cooking skills were up to scratch and to prevent laziness. Sometimes I suspected that he was more interested in the treats than the tests.

As usual, I kept to myself, focusing on my tasks and trying to achieve perfection in everything. I learned a long time ago that by staying quiet and just listening, I could obtain all sorts of useful and interesting information. Since my associates often conversed among themselves while working, I picked up everyone's name with ease. The only situations where I spoke about things not relating to work were when Ki started a friendly chat with me. I found her a bit strange, but also very nice.

-xoxo-

One early "morning," Mr. Nork greeted us with, "I need a volunteer–"

My spiky gloved hand shot up instantly, almost poking someone's eye out in the process. "I'll do it, Sir!"

"What a surprise," somebody mumbled.

Mr. Nork's eyes widened. "Zemori, I haven't even said what it is I need you to do."

"I'll volunteer, Sir," I persisted.

"Kiss-ass," muttered another.

A small thud followed by a quiet "ow!" made me think that Ki had just stomped on that guy's foot.

Mr. Nork continued, "Very well then, Zemori, you'll be my volunteer… again. Everyone else, you know what to do." He folded his arms behind him and waited for me to make my way right in front of him.

Now that I was this close, I noticed something I hadn't before. He looked exactly one inch shorter than me! To be taller than my own boss… I couldn't help smiling. I pushed an image of him standing beside Mr. Reezle out of my mind before my smile could show teeth and make me look weird.

Mr. Nork misread my smile as eagerness to hear what he wanted me to do. "You know the bar on the upper levels? The one that recently opened up?"

"Yessir."

"The bartender's assistant is sick today. You're going to fill in for him."

He wanted me to work… at the bar?

No.

No!

NOOOOOOOOOOO!

"Yessir."

-xoxo-

I've heard stories about what it's like in a bar… Awful, terrible, horrific stories. Especially at night… that's when things really got crazy. Hopefully the rumors were nothing but exaggerations. I'd find out soon enough.

My temporary boss introduced me to all the drinks he kept. At the moment, my job was to wash dishes, clean tables, and wipe the counter. The bar was completely empty when I first arrived, as I expected.

When a few customers dropped by, I served them salted nuts and the bartender poured their beverages.

Hours passed, and that's when I started getting nervous. It was true after all; these types of drinks caused their victims to… change. Not physically, really, but emotionally— a change in their behavior. I listened to two females laugh annoyingly at every little thing. More than half of the consumers talked louder than necessary. One male was giggling one minute, then throwing a tantrum the next, then crying right after.

Having never seen anything like it before, I hovered somewhere between bewilderment and fascination.

Thank the Tallest no fights had broken out. I also tried my best to avoid conversing with anyone but the bartender. To be honest, I wasn't sure I could handle talking to someone cursed with inhibition. Luckily, everyone seemed too wrapped up in their own lives to even acknowledge me.

I guess it was around midnight when it happened. I should've known that something was bound to happen to me by the end of my shift. I can't walk into unknown territory and expect everything to go my way.

I should've raised my guard up the second the bartender told me he'd be right back.

As soon as he left, someone asked for a refill. Since I didn't know which drink to get, I had to ask him what he had.

As I grabbed the correct bottle and filled his glass, he stared at me. I wanted to pour faster, but couldn't because that would increase the risk of spilling. I took extra care to watch what I was doing and not look up.

Finally, the glass was full. He took a sip. In that split-second, why didn't I just turn around and walk away?

He set his drink down and said very seriously, "You have unusual eyes."

Most Irken eyes are oval. Mine more closely resemble cut gems, like expensive jewels.

Taken aback, I stared, not knowing how to respond. Drunk or sober, drunk or sober? I couldn't really tell.

He said, just as seriously, "I want them." He lunged at me.

I let out a startled gasp when the force of the impact knocked me flat on my back. The crazy idiot's knees pressed into my gut and his hands clawed furiously at my face.

Instinctively, I shut my eyes as tight as I could. Deep beneath the fear was a burning anger, encouraging me to put the spikes on the wrists of my gloves to good use.

But harming a customer was out of the question.

Suddenly, I found that I was able to breathe normally. I dared to open my eyes and saw that the bartender had pulled my attacker off.

I sighed in relief and closed my eyes again. I rested on the floor until my temporary boss asked if I was okay.

-xoxo-

I learned many things that night. One was that rumors do have some truth to them. Another was always hear what the job is before volunteering for it. The most important lesson I learned was to never work in a bar again, unless I'm ordered to.