Page 4 of Marked By Feral Monsters
I finish applying my makeup: dark smokey eyes, red lipstick. It isn't nearly as good as the fae twins, and as I stare at my reflection, a range of emotions pass through me. Confidence. Second-guessing, then self-doubt. Discomfort.
I still look like an uncomfortable human playing dress-up.
Whatever. I'm just delivering drinks. I can quit after tonight, say I've had my brush with my wild side, and look for another job in marketing. One in an office, with beige walls and a day planner.
I push the door open, follow the music, and begin.
Lily
"Bring these to six. The mer-people prefer males, so you should be able to get right back. I'm a little swamped tonight. I've got this tray for twelve, and this one for five." Eli hovers his hand over the filled drink trays, then rushes back to the patrons lined up at the bar.
It's my third week at The Monster Playhouse, and all I've done so far is serve drinks. Eli is cute if he thinks anyone is going to ask me to stick around, so I grab the tray for table six and work my way through the crowd.
Despite not being propositioned even once, this is the best job I've ever had.
Sure, I was nervous at first about sleeping with the customers. I told myself that first night all I wanted was to get through the shift without having my ass grabbed without my permission. And I did. I got through the entire shift, and nobody paid me any attention. No one made advances; no one touched me.
Not the next night, or the one after that.
After a while, I felt slighted.
I've learned that monsters are more respectful than humans in a lot of ways. There are so many clashing cultures here, and a general understanding that everyone sets their differences at the door. If there's any trouble, there are three troll security guards spread throughout the room. Three may not sound like very many, but considering they're half-giants, it doesn't take much to subdue any type of monster. They may not be quick or bright, but they can wallop.
So, as it turns out, the one thing I was dreading, more nervous about than any other aspect of the job… it's not even a problem.
Because no one wants to fuck me.
So now I have a new problem. I love my new job. It's so much fun. There are so many interesting people. I've made friends with all my coworkers, and even a few regulars. But my self-esteem has never taken such a beating.
My fiancé cheated on me. I lost everything. To gain my confidence back, I started working here, thinking, well, most monsters want to fuck humans, since we're smaller than them and easy to manhandle. We've got tiny holes and pamphlets.
But the monsters don't want to fuck me either.
At least I'm finding my groove as a server, trying not to take it personally when I get a polite nod and a pleasant,now please leavesmile from the gnomes and half-kraken.
Whatever. I don't want to have sex with them, anyway. Way too many tentacles. Where would they even go?
It's a rhetorical question, because they're Keely's favorite, and she's explained in great detail where they all fit. She even had four male half-krakens follow her and Braden into a private room last week, and before I even had to ask how that all worked, she winked and said, "They have holes, too."
All I could picture was one giant pile of squiggly limbs playing naked Twister.
I drop off the tray and grab drinks for table twelve, then five. Each tray is refilled by the time I get back, so I fall into my new nightly routine. I'm delighted to know I'm efficient as ever. Skills I never thought would translate here have helped me excel at my job. I'm the best damn server this place has ever seen. Or so I like to tell myself, since it's a pleasure house and not one monster has asked me for pleasure, and I've gotta find my fun somewhere.
The pamphlet is useful in other ways too. I'm learning about different monster scents and taste preferences. I enjoy recommending new drinks to regulars, since I've learned more about their species, and can make educated guesses about what they might like. It's exciting when they enjoy my suggestions, and I add little notes in my pamphlet so I can keep track.
I changed up my wardrobe a bit, finding something that suited me between what most employees wear—some combination of stringy things, fishnets and spandex—with old band t-shirts I had buried in a closet. And every night, I wear the shimmery silk wings clipped to my shoulders that Keely gave me.
Maybe I'm not getting laid because I'm dressing too modestly. I tried cutting my shirt lower at the neck. With my lacy hot-pink bra, you could definitely catch some nip if I bent over just right. But nobody's looking.
That's nothing compared to Keely and Braden's actual nipples, which I see constantly.
Whatever. I'm happy serving drinks.
The other thing I've learned is, the flirtier you are, the more you can banter, the better the tips. I'm not great at banter, so I've tried to make up for it by delivering drinks quickly, never screwing up an order, and being an attentive server.
I think I make a tenth of what everyone else makes, but it's not like I have rent. I still live in my parents basement. So, there's that.
I finish helping with drinks and, halfway through the night, I sit down on a barstool, drop the empty tray and say, "Okay, what else you got?"
