The Abode of Valentine and Naminé, Monday Evening
Valentine had gone and gotten himself a job.
It was a good job. A strong job. A decent job. A job to take pride in. A job that Valentine would pay the bills on. A job that would allow him to bring home food and new clothing and a million other things that he'd never been able to do when his sole source of income was juggling on the sidewalks. It was a job that made him square his shoulders and say,
"Valentine, you're a bloody amazing waiter."
Even if his first day at work had proven to be... slightly catastrophic. His employer had given him a second chance, and the next day had gone far more smoothly. Less boom, fire, volcanoes, more "Yes sir, may I take your order sir," and "No, ma'am, that doesn't have to come with the capers. Might I recommend the cracked peppercorns instead?"
Being a juggler, a performer, and a lover of fine food, day two of the new job had proven to be far, far more amenable than day one had been. At the rate he was going, he was in line for a raise - a raise! And perhaps someday, he might even strive to own a fine restaurant of his own. One had to dream big dreams, after all. It simply wouldn't do for him to settle with considering himself to be merely the greatest waiter Brighton had ever seen.
This accomplishment piling up onto a dozen other fantastic moments he'd had lately, Valentine settled himself in the somewhat broken-down loveseat that he and Naminé had inherited (and made a note that he'd have to replace that! With his own money!), and he picked up the telephone and dialed Fandom.
There were people he hadn't spoken to since before he left, after all.
[Nfb for distance. But open for anyone who might like a phone call from a Very Important Man.]
It was a good job. A strong job. A decent job. A job to take pride in. A job that Valentine would pay the bills on. A job that would allow him to bring home food and new clothing and a million other things that he'd never been able to do when his sole source of income was juggling on the sidewalks. It was a job that made him square his shoulders and say,
"Valentine, you're a bloody amazing waiter."
Even if his first day at work had proven to be... slightly catastrophic. His employer had given him a second chance, and the next day had gone far more smoothly. Less boom, fire, volcanoes, more "Yes sir, may I take your order sir," and "No, ma'am, that doesn't have to come with the capers. Might I recommend the cracked peppercorns instead?"
Being a juggler, a performer, and a lover of fine food, day two of the new job had proven to be far, far more amenable than day one had been. At the rate he was going, he was in line for a raise - a raise! And perhaps someday, he might even strive to own a fine restaurant of his own. One had to dream big dreams, after all. It simply wouldn't do for him to settle with considering himself to be merely the greatest waiter Brighton had ever seen.
This accomplishment piling up onto a dozen other fantastic moments he'd had lately, Valentine settled himself in the somewhat broken-down loveseat that he and Naminé had inherited (and made a note that he'd have to replace that! With his own money!), and he picked up the telephone and dialed Fandom.
There were people he hadn't spoken to since before he left, after all.
[Nfb for distance. But open for anyone who might like a phone call from a Very Important Man.]