These Parasitic Infestations
WHO: Two Eastern Europeans Who Look On Others With Scorn
WHERE: The Royal Café
WHEN: March 1st, 2011
WHAT: Anastas appears to sample the Café's Most Magical Menu (Of Dairy Products)
Today had found Ion once again that damn dress, stuck like a human hamburger patty between layers of lace, silk, fluff, and bows like a deranged sacrifice to the Deities of Fashionable Rococo-Era Maid Dresses. To continue in a French vein (and may the blood flow freely when Ion finally rid himself of this monstrosity), his (long) legs were encased in a pair of Nylon Motherfucking Stockings™, and he felt quite willing to lodge his pen in the eye of the next too-rambunctious customer who felt brave enough to attempt to flip his skirt.
For whatever reason, the customers were growing both younger (more college aged...), noticeably more male (suspicious...), noticeably more adventurous with their hands, and distressingly scanty with their tips.
...the pen to the eye was likely well-deserved.
The bell above the door had been replaced with a chime that played a cheerful tune (one Ion vaguely remembered as his manager telling him was about cats), and in walked another person that fit Ion's criteria of The Bastards To Look Out For.
Ce pula mea.
WHERE: The Royal Café
WHEN: March 1st, 2011
WHAT: Anastas appears to sample the Café's Most Magical Menu (Of Dairy Products)
Today had found Ion once again that damn dress, stuck like a human hamburger patty between layers of lace, silk, fluff, and bows like a deranged sacrifice to the Deities of Fashionable Rococo-Era Maid Dresses. To continue in a French vein (and may the blood flow freely when Ion finally rid himself of this monstrosity), his (long) legs were encased in a pair of Nylon Motherfucking Stockings™, and he felt quite willing to lodge his pen in the eye of the next too-rambunctious customer who felt brave enough to attempt to flip his skirt.
For whatever reason, the customers were growing both younger (more college aged...), noticeably more male (suspicious...), noticeably more adventurous with their hands, and distressingly scanty with their tips.
...the pen to the eye was likely well-deserved.
The bell above the door had been replaced with a chime that played a cheerful tune (one Ion vaguely remembered as his manager telling him was about cats), and in walked another person that fit Ion's criteria of The Bastards To Look Out For.
- He did not walk in so much as saunter through the door as if he owned the place.
- He had his hands shoved in his pockets in a display of forced nonchalance that bespoke feigned swagger and it was Supremely Annoying.
- He fit the aforementioned age range of university assholes.
- He had one of those goddamned grins on his face.
Ce pula mea.