"I need 3 orders of large onion rings for table 4," You call over to John, one of the cooks, who nods at you and turns around to face the deep fryer. A few days after Eric fired you, Sarah's grandpa, a man named Earl LeBlanc, told you that two of his employees went missing and that he had a spot for you if you wanted it. He's in the office right now, doing whatever he does. During your month of working at the bar, you encountered some very rude customers and some nice ones too. Some vampires even came in sometimes, unbeknownst to the other patrons.
It started to get warmer outside, so you didn't need to wear so many layers when you went out. Eric gave Sarah his credit card so she could shop for furniture and a new door. She did, and she brought you along with her. You never really liked shopping but shopping for furniture proved to be fun. You were able to test out the softness of beds and couches, which made it all worth it. It took you about 2 weeks to get over being fired, after watching a plethora of vampire movies. Sarah told you she never really saw Pam or Eric anymore, the two of you had no reason to be out late at night, not anymore. Sarah liked to go running sometimes, but she never encountered any vampires. Only other animals.
Slowly, you were starting to accept that Eric wasn't in your life anymore, it only took a month but you rarely ever thought about him. Speaking of Eric, one of the vampire customers enters LeBlanc's, sitting in a booth near the back. You've seen him almost every night since you started working at the bar, he always ordered a glass of red wine. He isn't in your section tonight, he's in Layla's, one of your co-workers and new friend. Layla's a tall Hispanic girl with round cheeks and a kind smile, she reminded you of Margot. You missed Margot, even if you only knew her for a short time. You hope the vampire doesn't eat Layla or something, he might be the reason so many women at LeBlanc's are going missing.
John is done with your onion rings, you turn around after taking a glance at the vampire in the back of the bar, grabbing the baskets of onion rings, and placing them on your tray, "Thanks." You say to him, holding the tray in your hand as you walk confidently through the restaurant. You're wearing makeup, nothing too dark or heavy. Just enough to get tipped more than usual. If you wore dark makeup, religious people wouldn't tip you. If you wore too much of it, they would think you were a whore or something. That would work with the men, but not the women.
You arrive at table 4, a woman is sitting there with her husband and 2 kids, you put the onion rings in the middle of the table, "Are y'all ready to order?" Whenever you worked, you would thicken your accent, it was hard not to. Most of the people in the bar had thick Southern accents, you adapted. You have your notepad out, along with the pen usually tucked in the pocket of the apron tied around your waist. Everyone at the table orders and you smile at them politely and tell them their food will be ready shortly. You return to your place behind the bar, sliding the piece of paper you scribbled their order on over to John. It was easier that way, he could read it faster than you could say it.
"Can I get a Busch Lite?" One of the men sitting at the bar calls over the loud noises around you, customers talking and laughing, glasses clinking against each other, and music coming from the speakers in the ceiling. You nod your head, acknowledging the man. While you're getting him his beer, you glance over at the vampire one more time, quickly so you don't spill it on the floor. He's wearing a tan button-up shirt, you can't see his lower half. He looks up at you and you look away, turning around to slide the beer over to the man with the cowboy hat.
Layla's back from his table, pouring some wine into a glass for him, "That guy keeps looking over at you." She says teasingly, closing the bottle of red wine as she grins at you. You roll your eyes and lean against the bar, glancing over at the vampire, who isn't looking at you at the moment. You're glad, but you know it's because he can hear everything you're saying. He probably doesn't know you know he's a vampire. He couldn't.
"Which one?" You ask, but you know who she's talking about. She's talking about the dark-haired vampire in the corner of the bar, his hands are clasped together in front of him, resting on the table.
It's Layla's turn to roll her eyes, "You know who I'm talking about, don't play dumb." She says, grabbing the glass of wine and walking back over to the man to give him his drink. He wouldn't be drinking it, but nobody else would notice. You grab the bottle of wine she left on the counter, bending over to put it under the bar on one of the shelves. When you stand up straight, a woman sitting on the other end of the bar waves you over. She asks for vodka. You don't judge her, not out loud. You pour the vodka into the glass and slide it across the counter toward her. Why anyone would drink vodka straight, you didn't know. But you understood.
"Order for table 4!" John calls over the noise in the bar and you whirl around, setting your tray down so you can put all the plates of food on top of it. It's the heaviest load you carried all night, but not the heaviest ever. You manage to carry it to their table without incident, using one hand to slide the tray stand open. They ordered burgers, all 4 of them.
"Enjoy your food," You say, closing the tray stand and taking everything back to your spot behind the bar. It's late, about 10 o'clock, the bar would be closing in 2 hours and you were glad. You already made over 20 in tips tonight, so you're happy, but you wish it was more. The thoughts of Eric were replaced with thoughts of money and making new friends that didn't get you killed, or almost killed. You know you shouldn't interact with any more vampires, but you want to talk to the man sitting in the back.
"I'm leaving, be careful closing tonight," Layla says, kissing you on the cheek and reaching past you to grab her purse from underneath the bar. She walks through the kitchen and into the back room, probably to tell Earl she's leaving, and so she can grab her keys. Most of you left them in his office. Speaking of keys, before Eric could take his credit card back, you bought a car for yourself. But they did call him to confirm the payment and he let it slide, thankfully. You wished Sarah didn't give his card back, but she had to. Layla told you to be careful because of the waitresses disappearing. First an unnamed woman and then Deb. But you knew what happened to Deb, you don't know anything about the other girl though. You knew you would at some point.
Her leaving meant you would be taking care of her tables, her section was mostly empty. She only had 2 tables to take care of. Most of the customers are at the bar, but there are 4 tables full of people. They would start to leave in an hour, and you couldn't wait. The people at the bar stay the longest, the alcoholics. One in particular, Lewis, an older man with a long beard, some days you have to call a taxi for him. And sometimes, when a younger person comes in and gets bombed, you have to call a taxi for them. It didn't happen often, but it happened so many times that you had to cut off certain customers. You started to notice when they were getting too drunk, and cutting them off early meant they would be sober enough to get a ride with someone. And they would, there's always a considerate sober person around.
Eager, you stroll across the bar and over to the vampire in the corner, "Anything I can get for you?" You ask, glancing at the full glass of red wine in front of him. Noticing, he raises an eyebrow at you and glances at it as well.
"No, thank you." He says, smiling politely at you. You return the smile and turn around, resting the tray against your chest and walking over to table 4.
"Everything alright?" You ask, looking down at the family of four. They're almost finished with their food, you notice most of them have already finished their drinks and you grab them, placing them on the tray for a refill. The wife smiles at you, swallowing her mouthful of food.
"All good," The husband says, giving you a thumbs-up that almost makes you want to cringe. You refrain from doing so, instead, you smile politely and turn around, walking over to one of Layla's other tables. Two women sitting across from each other, one older and the other younger. Probably a mother and her daughter, but you don't know for sure. And you wouldn't know, you didn't care to know. There's no reason to make friends with any of the customers. You're more interested in befriending your co-workers.
They're done with their meal, you bring them the bill and they slip two 20 bills in the little black folder, another 20 tip. You're happy. As they leave, you take their empty glasses into the kitchen. The busboy would do the plates and everything else. You put them next to the man washing the dishes, he shakes his head at you playfully. You know what that's like, doing the dishes and someone puts a fork or a cup in the sink. It's annoying. But you're not sorry.
After you leave the kitchen, you notice one of the people in your section has left the restaurant without paying. You shake your head but you don't care, nothing new. It happened almost every day. Now you only have 2 tables to take care of, and 6 people at the bar to serve. The bar was always the worst when it came to ignorant customers, but it's easier to deal with them when they seem smaller than you, when they're sitting down.
"Can I get a margarita?" One of the younger customers asks, you smile politely at him but you're dying inside. You're not a mixologist by any means, and it's a pain to make any drink that involves the cocktail shaker, something always needed for a smooth, evenly mixed alcoholic beverage. After making his margarita and sliding it across the bar, another customer asks you for a beer. The man from earlier wants another Busch Lite. You pour the piss-colored liquid into a tumbler and slide it over to him. During your month of working at the restaurant, you learned how to smile despite bad customers and incompetent co-workers. After the 2nd week, your cheeks were sore for days. But you're used to forcing smiles for hours now.
You walk over to table four, they're done with their meal so you bring them their bill and wait near their table. You usually did that, that's what your manager wanted you to do. He's not here right now but if he was, he'd be watching you like a hawk. You waited because of what just happened, people leaving without paying. But if they didn't finish before they left, you wouldn't be able to catch them. Not that you would, that could be dangerous. But you could tell Earl, if his grandaughter's a shifter, then he's probably a shifter too. It's genetic, you can't turn someone into a shifter. But you can turn someone into a werewolf, with a bite. But the chance of that is pretty low.
They tip you 5, but you don't mind. Most of the people in Bon Temps are not rich by any means, you wouldn't judge them for that. You pocket the cash and clear the table before the busboy can. You usually pocket your tips, you do every job sometimes. You get behind the bar, you clean the tables, and you even wash the dishes sometimes. And since you're closing tonight, you have to clean up the place.
You notice the man who ordered the two Busch Lites leaving, he has a tab so his money didn't matter right now. Lewis follows him, the alcoholic. But by the end of the week, he would need to pay, and Lewis would too. But both of them were usually good about that sort of thing. You return to your place behind the bar, glancing at the vampire near the back. He's your only table left. Because of this, the busboy is leaving and so are the cooks. Earl is probably gone by now too. With a vampire in the restaurant, you feel a lot better about working alone. He might not protect you if anything bad happens, but you have a feeling he would if something ever did happen.
The man who ordered the margarita asks you if he can use the phone and you nod, he calls the taxi company, and 10 minutes later he's out the door, stumbling. You hope he makes it home safely. You always worry about the safety of drunk customers, especially when they disappear into the dark. In your experience, the dark could prove to be very dangerous. Especially in Louisiana. There seemed to be a whole lot of Southern vampires. Hearing another Southern accent from a vampire would probably break you. The vampire in the back has one, that's weird enough. Eric doesn't have one, not really.
When the restaurant is almost closed, the only customer inside is the vampire in the back. You glance over at him from your place by the bar, you look back down at the rag in your hand and continue wiping the bar down. Before the busboy left, he cleaned off all the tables, except for the vampire's table of course, "Who are you?" You ask, tossing the rag on the counter and turning to face the vampire. He doesn't look surprised, he just looks amused, maybe a little curious. All the vampires that looked at you were either curious or amused, you were getting a little tired of it. You're not a clown there for their amusement.
"I'm not here to hurt you," He says, trying to be reassuring. It works, you knew if he wanted to kill you he would've done it already, it was too easy. You're already alone with him. But you had to be careful of manipulation, Henry warned you about how persuasive some vampires could be. You missed Margot more than Henry, even though you knew him longer.
"You didn't answer my question." You say walking closer to him, arms crossed over your chest. Eventually, you reach the table he's sitting at and you sit across from him, grabbing the wine glass by the stem and sliding it toward you. If he wasn't going to drink it, you would. No sense in wasting perfectly good wine, you didn't even know why he asked for it. You supposed if he didn't he would be kicked out for loitering. This is the first time he's stayed after the restaurant closed, and you knew it wouldn't be the last. He's a persistent bastard, he stalked you at your job for a month before attempting to talk to you. Realizing that creeped you out, but not entirely.
"I'm Bill, Bill Compton." He says, and you jump out of the booth and shriek, the glass of wine falls to the floor, shattering instantly, contents spilling.
