Page 5 of Beyond The Maples
"Chef, can you relax?" I say, my voice rising and falling melodically as I grab the tray she's tossing food on haphazardly. "These people don’t care how fast things get to them. They’re all drinking their faces off, but they won’t tip well if all they can hear is your squawking," I tease.
?She glares at me. Her tan, wrinkled brow giving off a disgruntled look, one that makes me chuckle as I turn to retrieve the drinks I need.
??Marta demands to be called "Chef", which always makes me smile considering there isn’t a lot of cooking happening. The diner is more symbolic at this point, a homage to an old world that few remember. I’m not sure what kind of deal the owner has with the government distribution offices, but we get the regular government gruel along with a few extra items to make it.... interesting. Our scrappy Marta here manipulates it into some semblance of food.
?When magic disappeared, it levelled most of the continent's societal structures with it. The gaps in power and wealth that had been established over centuries crumbled in mere months.
Now, spending coin at a place like this is as good a status symbol as any. If you have extra to spend on food and drink, you’re doing alright. Mostly we serve single people, vagabonds. Washed up soldiers.
?I come up gingerly to the table of men who are getting louder by the minute, plopping down their drinks and the fried protein patties. ?
"Anything else I can get for you?" I ask warmly, trying to breathe in through my mouth as their smell overwhelms me.
"Get us another round, will ya?" the one closest to megrunts. ?
The youngest guy at the table lurches forward, his battered canvas coat frayed over his arms. He makes eye contact with me like he wants to ask me something.?
"Something else I can get you?" I ask again sweetly. He nods a bit shyly before finally saying, "Got anything... fresher?" The last word is barely audible in the busy room. I nod, appreciating his hesitance.
He wants fresh food, and is bold enough to ask for it. Every once in a while we’ll get something fresh come through. But rarely, and we have to be careful who we serve it to. Its price alone pushes away most customers.
I give him a sympathetic glance before saying, "I’m sorry. All we’ve got is what’s on the menu."
He gives me a suspicious look, then nods, and I flit away,wanting to remove the smell from my immediate vicinity.
?As I’m cleaning the table next to theirs, I hear one of them mention the Games tonight. Idly, I wash the worn wooden table one too many times, ears strained. The oldest one talks openly about what he’d do with all his winnings, his words slurring.
?"I’m tellin’ ya, there ish going to be some heavy hitters tonigh'. I plan on rakin' it in." He hiccups.
Internally I roll my eyes. I doubt this man will make it out past dinnertime. I clock the way he sways, slapping his mate on the back, knee bouncing enthusiastically, the metal from his mug tinging every time he slams it against the table. "And there are big fights tonight boys, big, big fights. I already know the winner." Another hiccup.
Yeah, this man’s going to pass out before he gets home. ?
The others go back and forth, and I hum absently as I continue my busy work, making sure no one suspects me of eavesdropping. The fights I don’t care so much about, but inormation is always helpful to a girl like me. The man is brazen, talking about everything so openly.
The Games are dangerous. Not only that, they attract people from all walks of life––people that could be a danger to me, if I'm not careful. The punishment for participating is, more often than not, death. You can find anything there, which is part of the appeal. You can order yourself up drugs, alcohol, all sorts of banned paraphernalia which includes, but is not limited to, literal humans or simple vegetables. Ironically, I’m not sure which would get you in more trouble at this point.?
I want no part in any of it. I just need the coin, and the gambling rings are the only way I can get enough in a short time to cover Willow’s medication.
I move from table to table, cleaning and taking orders. The table of travelling men gets louder and drunker as time goes on, but I don’t discourage it. If by some miracle they end up at the Games, it will be all that much easier to take their money.
I pick up a sticky mug. Ale is a thing of the past, but where there’s a will, there’s a way. And for some strange reason, despite the food crisis, the government never seems overly eager to regulate booze, no matter how creatively it's being made. ?
I’m deep in thought when Hollis startles me. ?
"You have that look in your eye. I hope you’re not thinking of going out tonight. There’s only so many times you’ll go unnoticed, you know," she warns, sincere concern lacing her tone. ?
"Don’t worryMom, I’ll be fine," I joke as a delicate hand reaches up for my shoulder. ?
"Please be careful," she says, pursing her lips, like she knows something I don’t.?
I nod, brows pulling together as I search her heart-shaped face. Appreciating the kindness being shown, even if it's confusing. I've been on my own for years. A pang of guilt rings through me. Hollis has always been kind, and shown interest in being friends. I’ve just never managed to find the energy.
Although the class division doesn’t seem huge from the outside anymore, Hollis still doesn’t face the same pressures I do, and I doubt she’d really understand them either. While my classmates were getting drunk in abandoned warehouses as teenagers, I was at home, trying to figure out how to heat our house. ?
"I’m only doing what I need to do until my career as a singer takes off. You know, my true calling," I say loudly with a grin and a theatrical bow, hoping it will lighten some of the worry creasing her features.
Down the prep line, Chef takes the bait.
