Roses in a Vase of White
Chapter One
Notes and disclamer in Prologue
"We got a new dishwasher." Amy-Beth, a petite seventeen year old, didn't even bother to look up from where she sat, legs crossed, at a table neatly folding napkins into a flower shapes and stuffing them with forks and knives. She knew without looking that Rosalynn D'More was the one who had walked in and not a customer. Roz never made a sound when she walked, even in high heels, unlike most people. It was a unique talent that Amy-Beth envied.
Beyond that, however, Amy-Beth knew it was her just from the feeling of her presence in the room. She knew and remembered everyone she had ever met simply from the feeling of their…aura for lack of a better word. Remembering people *and* remembering their names after only meeting them once made her a great waitress. She could live on tips alone if she needed to. Not that she got payed that much anyway.
"He's realla cute ta," she added cheerfully.
Rosalynn sighed softly as she hung her coat on a hook by the door. "You think anyone with stuffing in his pants is cute, Amy-Beth."
"Ow, someone's touchy this mornin'," the younger girl turned around in her chair to look at her friend and gasped when she saw the deep purple bruise over her eye that her heavily applied makeup couldn't cover. "Dear God, girl! What the hell happened ta you?!" She stood quickly, moving around the tables to get to her.
"It's okay, Amy-Beth," Roz said, giving her a tight smile. "Joel didn't take the news as well as I could have hoped."
"That bastard *hit* you?"
Roz shrugged. "I knew better. I should have told him before he introduced me to his parents. It was too much of a shock for him, I guess."
"Oh, Roz!" Amy-Beth hugged her tightly laying her cheek against her shoulder. "You shouldn't be making excuses for him. If he can't see how great you are despite the color of your skin, he's not worth your time."
Roz shrugged. "And neither was Berry, or Marten, or Matt, or a slew of other guys," she said, unwrapping her scarf. "Men just suck. I swear if I didn't like them so much, I'd lay off them forever. God, I don't want to train someone new today," she sighed, casting a glance over her shoulder to the double doors leading into the kitchen.
"Why don't you just go on back home? Take a sick day. I'm sure Max will understand."
"Yeah, Max'll understand, but it wouldn't be fair for me to leave him short one cook for a few hours. Especially when there's a new guy who probably doesn't know a three-compartment sink from a toilet. James isn't even here yet, is he?" Amy-Beth shook her head. "Figures. I guess it wouldn't be nice to pawn him off on James anyway. Did you ask him is he has a problem with mutants, by the way?"
Amy-Beth shook her head. "I never even thought about it. I thought Max probably would have…"
"Max is too kind hearted and naive. He's convinced that everyone thinks the same way he does, and doesn't quite realize how many cruel people there really are out there." She sighed again, reaching up to touch the bruise on her cheek. And here she'd thought she'd finally found someone who didn't give a rat's ass about what she was and liked her for *who* she was. Now who was being naive?
"Oh-oh." Amy-Beth said, going to the door, getting ready to push it open.
"What?"
"It's the Sandersons. You better get into the kitchen before they see you."
Roz rolled her eyes and grabbed her bag. The elderly Sandersons were a very nice couple who came to the restaurant at least three times a week, staying, usually, all through breakfast and lunch. They were sweet and kind, very grandparent-like people who worried constantly about both girls because they each lived alone without family near by. All Roz needed right then was a lecture from Joanne Sanderson about not having someone to protect her, or a long discussion with Matthew Sanderson about the importance of family.
She could already see their horrified expressions if she looked nearly as bad as she felt. "Tell them we won't officially be serving breakfast for another hour, but I'll go ahead and start the raspberry tea" she called over her shoulder as she pushed open the "in" door and stepped into the kitchen.
Finally she smiled. Now she was home.
The kitchen was larger than ones in most restrants, mainly because the ownder, Max, was clostraphopic and too many people in a tight space made him nervice. The three compartment sink was already set up with water and sanitizing salution, and the large dishwasher beside it was already running. Two large three compartment ovens stood like iorn gients in the back, hopefully already warming up for the many loaves of bread and countless dinner rolls Roz'd have to fix throughout the day.
Two convection ovens, two veggie sinks, six gas stoves with their own ovens, one grittle, two large grills, three refrigerators and one walk-in completed the rest of the kitchen with a slew of other, moveable exuipment like mixers and the deep fat friers. There was tons of room between everything for people to be able to move around in comfertably. Roz liked that. She could pick up her cutting board from one of the three stainless steal tables they worked on and walk to the sink without worrying about running into people.
With no more than five people, not counting the waitstaff, working in the kitchen at one given point of time, everyone was more like family than co-workers. Because of this, roz wasn't afrade of being outed as a mutant and useually washed away the layers of make-up she painsakingly aplied every morning, and took out her blue contacts. She was never so comfertable, not even at home, with who she was than with these people she worked with.
James, the only other cook who worked days, sat in the little area set aside for the kitchen staff to take their break, drinking coffee and talking to a Latino-boy who sat across from him.
Roz frowned. "Hiding from Amy-Beth, are we?"
James, a tall, slightly pudgy, blond haired twenty-three year old looked up at her, a bright smile on his face. "Morning Roz…" he blinked. "What the hell happened to your face?"
Roz shruged, setting her bag down by the swinging doors. "Walked into a door." James gave her a look, letting her know he didn't aprecheate her humor. "Look, James, I don't want to talk about it, okay? I feel bad enough as it is." She looked over him at the new dishwasher, surprised slightly by his uncommon good looks. Dark in hair and eyes, he looked tall and slender, even sitting. The color of his skin, an almost grey shade, made him look as though he hasn't seen the sun in more years than could be told. He was excotic looking.
"Hi, I'm Roz," she said, moving over to him, arms crossed over her chest to keep herself from offering him a handshake. She looked him over, trying to force herself to look indifferent.
"Angelo," he said simply, eyes on her face.
Roz brushed her cheek against her shoulder, scratching an itch. "I don't know if Max asked you or not, but do you have a problum with mutants?"
Angelo raised an eyebrow, an amused smerk on his face. "I have no problums with mutants, chica." Laughter tinted his voice, making her think he was laughing at her.
"No problums with working beside them, or anything else?"
"Nada."
Roz smiled brightly, offering him her hand. "Good, welcome to Elmo's then."
James, not at all amused by her little performance, frowned. "I'd already asked him that, Roz."
"Yeah, well," she shruged, "I asked him too. What can it hurt?" She walked over to the changing room, snaging her bag as she went.
"Roz," James said warningly, giving her a look that said she wasn't going to get away with not telling him how she'd gotten the shiner, even though he probably already knew.
"Oh, the Sandersons are here, I'll start some bread and tea when I get back out." She disapeared into the changing room, grining at him over her shoulder and completely ignoring his warning tone.
Anglio blinked, watching her. "She always like that?"
James sighed and shook his head, following her. "Only around strangers." He pushed open the door and steped inside, backing out quickly again as a roll of tolet paper flew at him and she screamed, "Get out!"
James, red faced, went back to his seat and ploped down in it. "I'll talk to her when she comes back out..."
---TBC---
Chapter One
Notes and disclamer in Prologue
"We got a new dishwasher." Amy-Beth, a petite seventeen year old, didn't even bother to look up from where she sat, legs crossed, at a table neatly folding napkins into a flower shapes and stuffing them with forks and knives. She knew without looking that Rosalynn D'More was the one who had walked in and not a customer. Roz never made a sound when she walked, even in high heels, unlike most people. It was a unique talent that Amy-Beth envied.
Beyond that, however, Amy-Beth knew it was her just from the feeling of her presence in the room. She knew and remembered everyone she had ever met simply from the feeling of their…aura for lack of a better word. Remembering people *and* remembering their names after only meeting them once made her a great waitress. She could live on tips alone if she needed to. Not that she got payed that much anyway.
"He's realla cute ta," she added cheerfully.
Rosalynn sighed softly as she hung her coat on a hook by the door. "You think anyone with stuffing in his pants is cute, Amy-Beth."
"Ow, someone's touchy this mornin'," the younger girl turned around in her chair to look at her friend and gasped when she saw the deep purple bruise over her eye that her heavily applied makeup couldn't cover. "Dear God, girl! What the hell happened ta you?!" She stood quickly, moving around the tables to get to her.
"It's okay, Amy-Beth," Roz said, giving her a tight smile. "Joel didn't take the news as well as I could have hoped."
"That bastard *hit* you?"
Roz shrugged. "I knew better. I should have told him before he introduced me to his parents. It was too much of a shock for him, I guess."
"Oh, Roz!" Amy-Beth hugged her tightly laying her cheek against her shoulder. "You shouldn't be making excuses for him. If he can't see how great you are despite the color of your skin, he's not worth your time."
Roz shrugged. "And neither was Berry, or Marten, or Matt, or a slew of other guys," she said, unwrapping her scarf. "Men just suck. I swear if I didn't like them so much, I'd lay off them forever. God, I don't want to train someone new today," she sighed, casting a glance over her shoulder to the double doors leading into the kitchen.
"Why don't you just go on back home? Take a sick day. I'm sure Max will understand."
"Yeah, Max'll understand, but it wouldn't be fair for me to leave him short one cook for a few hours. Especially when there's a new guy who probably doesn't know a three-compartment sink from a toilet. James isn't even here yet, is he?" Amy-Beth shook her head. "Figures. I guess it wouldn't be nice to pawn him off on James anyway. Did you ask him is he has a problem with mutants, by the way?"
Amy-Beth shook her head. "I never even thought about it. I thought Max probably would have…"
"Max is too kind hearted and naive. He's convinced that everyone thinks the same way he does, and doesn't quite realize how many cruel people there really are out there." She sighed again, reaching up to touch the bruise on her cheek. And here she'd thought she'd finally found someone who didn't give a rat's ass about what she was and liked her for *who* she was. Now who was being naive?
"Oh-oh." Amy-Beth said, going to the door, getting ready to push it open.
"What?"
"It's the Sandersons. You better get into the kitchen before they see you."
Roz rolled her eyes and grabbed her bag. The elderly Sandersons were a very nice couple who came to the restaurant at least three times a week, staying, usually, all through breakfast and lunch. They were sweet and kind, very grandparent-like people who worried constantly about both girls because they each lived alone without family near by. All Roz needed right then was a lecture from Joanne Sanderson about not having someone to protect her, or a long discussion with Matthew Sanderson about the importance of family.
She could already see their horrified expressions if she looked nearly as bad as she felt. "Tell them we won't officially be serving breakfast for another hour, but I'll go ahead and start the raspberry tea" she called over her shoulder as she pushed open the "in" door and stepped into the kitchen.
Finally she smiled. Now she was home.
The kitchen was larger than ones in most restrants, mainly because the ownder, Max, was clostraphopic and too many people in a tight space made him nervice. The three compartment sink was already set up with water and sanitizing salution, and the large dishwasher beside it was already running. Two large three compartment ovens stood like iorn gients in the back, hopefully already warming up for the many loaves of bread and countless dinner rolls Roz'd have to fix throughout the day.
Two convection ovens, two veggie sinks, six gas stoves with their own ovens, one grittle, two large grills, three refrigerators and one walk-in completed the rest of the kitchen with a slew of other, moveable exuipment like mixers and the deep fat friers. There was tons of room between everything for people to be able to move around in comfertably. Roz liked that. She could pick up her cutting board from one of the three stainless steal tables they worked on and walk to the sink without worrying about running into people.
With no more than five people, not counting the waitstaff, working in the kitchen at one given point of time, everyone was more like family than co-workers. Because of this, roz wasn't afrade of being outed as a mutant and useually washed away the layers of make-up she painsakingly aplied every morning, and took out her blue contacts. She was never so comfertable, not even at home, with who she was than with these people she worked with.
James, the only other cook who worked days, sat in the little area set aside for the kitchen staff to take their break, drinking coffee and talking to a Latino-boy who sat across from him.
Roz frowned. "Hiding from Amy-Beth, are we?"
James, a tall, slightly pudgy, blond haired twenty-three year old looked up at her, a bright smile on his face. "Morning Roz…" he blinked. "What the hell happened to your face?"
Roz shruged, setting her bag down by the swinging doors. "Walked into a door." James gave her a look, letting her know he didn't aprecheate her humor. "Look, James, I don't want to talk about it, okay? I feel bad enough as it is." She looked over him at the new dishwasher, surprised slightly by his uncommon good looks. Dark in hair and eyes, he looked tall and slender, even sitting. The color of his skin, an almost grey shade, made him look as though he hasn't seen the sun in more years than could be told. He was excotic looking.
"Hi, I'm Roz," she said, moving over to him, arms crossed over her chest to keep herself from offering him a handshake. She looked him over, trying to force herself to look indifferent.
"Angelo," he said simply, eyes on her face.
Roz brushed her cheek against her shoulder, scratching an itch. "I don't know if Max asked you or not, but do you have a problum with mutants?"
Angelo raised an eyebrow, an amused smerk on his face. "I have no problums with mutants, chica." Laughter tinted his voice, making her think he was laughing at her.
"No problums with working beside them, or anything else?"
"Nada."
Roz smiled brightly, offering him her hand. "Good, welcome to Elmo's then."
James, not at all amused by her little performance, frowned. "I'd already asked him that, Roz."
"Yeah, well," she shruged, "I asked him too. What can it hurt?" She walked over to the changing room, snaging her bag as she went.
"Roz," James said warningly, giving her a look that said she wasn't going to get away with not telling him how she'd gotten the shiner, even though he probably already knew.
"Oh, the Sandersons are here, I'll start some bread and tea when I get back out." She disapeared into the changing room, grining at him over her shoulder and completely ignoring his warning tone.
Anglio blinked, watching her. "She always like that?"
James sighed and shook his head, following her. "Only around strangers." He pushed open the door and steped inside, backing out quickly again as a roll of tolet paper flew at him and she screamed, "Get out!"
James, red faced, went back to his seat and ploped down in it. "I'll talk to her when she comes back out..."
---TBC---
