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tamingthemuseTitle: The Meat Castle
Fandom: Original
Prompt: # 199 - Myxophobia
Word Count: 950
Warnings: Language
Rating: PG
Summary: Somtimes you have to suck it up and deal with the consequences.
Notes: I hope it's okay that I was a bit liberal with the definition of 'slime'. I'm new here, by the way. Hello everyone!
First Julianni was running breathless through the carnival street and then she was being dragged into the dirty, stucco kitchen by a meaty hand that—much to her amazement—was able to fit around her entire upper arm. Her feet barely grazed the ground, and when she was released she almost stumbled into a guy frying a skillet-full of hamburgers. The stench of meat and fat and oil was overpowering. The kitchen itself didn’t deserve the title of kitchen since it seemed more like a cramped cupboard with a few appliances. Aside from that, there was more grease coating the walls than paint, and the lighting was orange. There was something flaky and brown crusted over the countertop.
“Dude,” she said as she rubbed her arm. “I’m not washing your dishes. No one actually does this anymore.”
The man that had dragged her in asked, “Would you like the more modern punishment of being hauled away by the police?”
“How about I just pay for the meal?”
“Oh? And do you actually have the money to pay for it?”
“I’ll give you my phone as collateral.”
He grunted a laugh. “That’s not going to happen. We’re a restaurant, not a bartering system. So you work off the fifteen dollars you thought you could run out on. The sink’s over there.” He pointed to a rusty contraption filled to the brim with brown water.
She asked, “How many hours until my debt is paid off?”
“Just under three.”
“Three?”
“So you should be off by eleven.”
He was the bartender so he took his leave. He had customers to serve. There were three other people in the kitchen and they were too busy to pay her much mind. Indeed, she didn’t think they noticed that an eighteen-year-old girl had just been forcibly dragged into their midst. She turned to her work station, started to reach in for a dish, and then thought better of it. There were chunks of God-knows-what floating in the murky water. Her hands had been recently slathered with apple-scented hand sanitizer. There were little purple dragons on her black nails. Julianni wasn’t particularly germophobic but this sink was not a place for her hands. She would have to scrub a layer of skin off her palms if they were to touch anything in that water.
“You’re going to have to clean if you want to earn your wages,” said a voice and she jumped. The bartender was speaking to her through a sliding wooden window; he slipped three dirty dishes in and then pulled it shut.
“This is bullshit,” she muttered. Grimacing, she stuck her head into the sink and pulled out a dish that was coated in a putrid mixture of grease, ketchup, steak sauce, and what was probably blood from a rare steak. She had seen at least three people at three separate tables eating bleeding steaks only about a half an hour earlier. She scowled at it before getting a crusty rag to wipe it off. When it was cleaned to satisfaction—well, her satisfaction, which is to say she got sick of scrubbing it—she placed it distastefully in the drainer.
She was about to reach for another one when her cell phone chimed the CSI theme song. Her friend Miranda’s ring tone. She picked it up, happy for the distraction.
“Where the fuck are you?” Miranda asked from the other end.
Miranda didn’t believe in greetings. She thought that they were unproductive hindrances to conversation and that, moreover, people just get straight to the damn point. Her words, not Julianni’s.
“Dude,” Julianni said. “I’m at the Meat Castle.”
“You’re where?”
“The Meat Castle. It’s downtown, by the pier.”
“No, you moron, I know where it is. I mean, why in the world would you go in there unless you were being held at gunpoint?”
“That’s not so far from the truth, dude.”
“Excuse me?”
“Well the other day Casey was telling that he gets all kinds of food for free because he…dines and dashes.” A derisive snort from the other end. “He told me he would mentor me and that it would probably be a good idea to try somewhere small before taking on a monster like…like, Outback or somewhere.”
“You were going to rob Outback Steakhouse.” It was deadpan and not phrased like a question.
“No. It was just an example. Anyway, when the time came for the dash part he managed to get lost in the crowd on the pier but I was running in boots so the bartender managed to grab me and drag me back in.”
“Did you get arrested?”
“No. I’m stuck doing dishes for three hours.”
Miranda snorted. “You deserve it.”
“Dude.”
“No. No dude. I’ve told you eighteen damn times not to call me that.”
“Dude, this is bullshit. I can’t believe that idiot left me here. He hasn’t even bothered to call and find out if I managed to escape.”
“Whatever. Just call me if you need to get picked up when you’re done.”
“Thanks, dude.”
“I told you not to call me dude.” And then she hung up. Miranda wasn’t a big believer in farewells either.
As she slipped the phone back into her pocket the wooden window slid open again. The bartender looked at her and slid in two more plates. “No talking on cell phones,” he said. “You’re only prolonging your stay.”
He shut the window and she stared at the stack of dishes waiting for her. On the topmost one was a large glob of something that looked yellow-green and it too was slick with grease. She shuddered. After tonight, she was sure, her hands would never feel clean again.
Fandom: Original
Prompt: # 199 - Myxophobia
Word Count: 950
Warnings: Language
Rating: PG
Summary: Somtimes you have to suck it up and deal with the consequences.
Notes: I hope it's okay that I was a bit liberal with the definition of 'slime'. I'm new here, by the way. Hello everyone!
First Julianni was running breathless through the carnival street and then she was being dragged into the dirty, stucco kitchen by a meaty hand that—much to her amazement—was able to fit around her entire upper arm. Her feet barely grazed the ground, and when she was released she almost stumbled into a guy frying a skillet-full of hamburgers. The stench of meat and fat and oil was overpowering. The kitchen itself didn’t deserve the title of kitchen since it seemed more like a cramped cupboard with a few appliances. Aside from that, there was more grease coating the walls than paint, and the lighting was orange. There was something flaky and brown crusted over the countertop.
“Dude,” she said as she rubbed her arm. “I’m not washing your dishes. No one actually does this anymore.”
The man that had dragged her in asked, “Would you like the more modern punishment of being hauled away by the police?”
“How about I just pay for the meal?”
“Oh? And do you actually have the money to pay for it?”
“I’ll give you my phone as collateral.”
He grunted a laugh. “That’s not going to happen. We’re a restaurant, not a bartering system. So you work off the fifteen dollars you thought you could run out on. The sink’s over there.” He pointed to a rusty contraption filled to the brim with brown water.
She asked, “How many hours until my debt is paid off?”
“Just under three.”
“Three?”
“So you should be off by eleven.”
He was the bartender so he took his leave. He had customers to serve. There were three other people in the kitchen and they were too busy to pay her much mind. Indeed, she didn’t think they noticed that an eighteen-year-old girl had just been forcibly dragged into their midst. She turned to her work station, started to reach in for a dish, and then thought better of it. There were chunks of God-knows-what floating in the murky water. Her hands had been recently slathered with apple-scented hand sanitizer. There were little purple dragons on her black nails. Julianni wasn’t particularly germophobic but this sink was not a place for her hands. She would have to scrub a layer of skin off her palms if they were to touch anything in that water.
“You’re going to have to clean if you want to earn your wages,” said a voice and she jumped. The bartender was speaking to her through a sliding wooden window; he slipped three dirty dishes in and then pulled it shut.
“This is bullshit,” she muttered. Grimacing, she stuck her head into the sink and pulled out a dish that was coated in a putrid mixture of grease, ketchup, steak sauce, and what was probably blood from a rare steak. She had seen at least three people at three separate tables eating bleeding steaks only about a half an hour earlier. She scowled at it before getting a crusty rag to wipe it off. When it was cleaned to satisfaction—well, her satisfaction, which is to say she got sick of scrubbing it—she placed it distastefully in the drainer.
She was about to reach for another one when her cell phone chimed the CSI theme song. Her friend Miranda’s ring tone. She picked it up, happy for the distraction.
“Where the fuck are you?” Miranda asked from the other end.
Miranda didn’t believe in greetings. She thought that they were unproductive hindrances to conversation and that, moreover, people just get straight to the damn point. Her words, not Julianni’s.
“Dude,” Julianni said. “I’m at the Meat Castle.”
“You’re where?”
“The Meat Castle. It’s downtown, by the pier.”
“No, you moron, I know where it is. I mean, why in the world would you go in there unless you were being held at gunpoint?”
“That’s not so far from the truth, dude.”
“Excuse me?”
“Well the other day Casey was telling that he gets all kinds of food for free because he…dines and dashes.” A derisive snort from the other end. “He told me he would mentor me and that it would probably be a good idea to try somewhere small before taking on a monster like…like, Outback or somewhere.”
“You were going to rob Outback Steakhouse.” It was deadpan and not phrased like a question.
“No. It was just an example. Anyway, when the time came for the dash part he managed to get lost in the crowd on the pier but I was running in boots so the bartender managed to grab me and drag me back in.”
“Did you get arrested?”
“No. I’m stuck doing dishes for three hours.”
Miranda snorted. “You deserve it.”
“Dude.”
“No. No dude. I’ve told you eighteen damn times not to call me that.”
“Dude, this is bullshit. I can’t believe that idiot left me here. He hasn’t even bothered to call and find out if I managed to escape.”
“Whatever. Just call me if you need to get picked up when you’re done.”
“Thanks, dude.”
“I told you not to call me dude.” And then she hung up. Miranda wasn’t a big believer in farewells either.
As she slipped the phone back into her pocket the wooden window slid open again. The bartender looked at her and slid in two more plates. “No talking on cell phones,” he said. “You’re only prolonging your stay.”
He shut the window and she stared at the stack of dishes waiting for her. On the topmost one was a large glob of something that looked yellow-green and it too was slick with grease. She shuddered. After tonight, she was sure, her hands would never feel clean again.
no subject
Date: 2010-05-14 09:52 pm (UTC)Have fun!
no subject
Date: 2010-05-15 03:08 am (UTC)