Subjugate [Chapter 2, Death Note]
In the following week after The Incident -as she had started to call it after the first day or two of walking around Los Angeles in that foul smelling jacket, Misa had made three wonderful little discoveries; one being the fact that attempting to enjoy a latte on a sidewalk, apparently, made you a beggar (as she had learnt upon receiving eight dollars from some nice old lady with a cane), the second being that if she even hoped to survive here she needed a job -something off the books most definitely, and the third being the most fantastic of them all…
Japanese cell-phones do not get American reception. Wonderful, simply wonderful.
All in all, it was an understatement to say that Misa was hungry, tired and annoyed -all of which might explain the random destruction of one newspaper (although she kept the yellow pages, she swore she saw an ad for a job in some placed called ‘Perfect Blue’), the dents on one unfortunate trashcan, and the ugly bruise on her foot from the aforementioned.
Misa sighed, shifting uncomfortably as she fumbled with the keys to her apartment.
Apartment 606, Misa supposed, sounded less like her new home than something straight out of a horror movie.
Still, it would have to do; she was in no condition to be meticulous about her living arrangements. Not while she was still jobless and all she could afford was this cheap, filthy apartment downtown.
Speaking of which, Misa remembered, she needed to stop delaying the job search. It wouldn’t be long before she completely ran out of money and was forced to live out on the streets. And really, living in this place was more than enough.
Locking the door behind her and giving it a little shake for good measure, Misa quite literally skipped down the hallway. Hopefully, the movement would rattle her brain enough to keep her mind away from thoughts about this dreadful nightmare -one she hoped she would awake from soon.
Thirteen minutes and one frazzled taxi driver later, Misa found herself standing before a rather friendly looking diner. She glanced at the ‘Help Wanted’ sign and pushed the door open; her heart felt like it would pop out of her ribcage any minute now, and Misa found herself taking deep breaths. She had to remember that this was just a little interview, the people here didn’t bite.
…Right?
She certainly hoped so.
Misa looked around, saying a silent prayer to every god she could think of. This shouldn’t be difficult; she had no reason to be so worried. This interview is nothing compared to the dozen she’s been in Japan, and it certainly didn’t hold a candle to all the photo-shoots she’s been part of.
So… Why was it that she was checking out all the exits, again?
No use, Misa needed to calm down. She needed to relax and stop fretting over such a small thing; even if the language was different -and her pronunciation was far from eloquent, this was the same as any other interview. You talk, you smile, add a little schmoozing here and there for good measure and then proceed to talk about details; when, where and how much. Nothing new for Misa-Misa, really.
And sure enough, it wasn’t. After kindly grabbing the cashier’s attention -or rather, slamming her fist into the counter and demanding to see the manager with the highest-pitched tone Misa could muster, and having a rather ‘pleasant’ conversation with the Manager, Misa was in.
…Which just left one little thing.
“So… Misa Amane?”
Misa nodded, hands in lap as she stared at the woman across the table. Something Queen, Misa recalled, was a tall, blond woman in her early thirties and surprising friendly compared to her superiors back at Note Blue. And all in all, Misa found it rather hard to believe that this woman was the Assistant Manager.
“Then I suppose you’re Chinese, or something?” She laughed, and Misa inwardly huffed; since when was her name Chinese?
“Japanese. But you were pretty close Miss. Queen.” Misa said, donning one of her smiles. The fact that this woman probably had nothing to do with her paycheck wasn’t going to stop her, sucking up to the higher ups, Misa had learnt, always came in handy for any situation. “Oh! Misa just remembered something! The manager didn’t tell Misa when she could start.”
“Ah, so close.” She said, with mock disappointment. “But you can start working first thing tomorrow. That is, depending on whether you know how to work the tables or not.”
“Misa used to work at a café back in Japan too, so Misa knows what to do, Miss. Queen.” Misa grinned, it was true. She did use to work at a café back in Japan, just before she marched right up to her boss and quite literally threw her resignation in his face to pursue her ‘way to fame’. Somehow, she was starting to regret that.
“I see… But please, call me Samantha, I hate formalities.” She smiled and stood up from her chair. Misa suddenly felt very, very small.
“So,” she began. “Think you can work next Monday?”
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-- --("I don't blame you, for being you, but you can't blame me for hating it.")-- --
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
It only took Misa three days to get it all down to a science. Despite the fact that certain discoveries (such as the fact that Americans could care less about tea -gulping down so much coffee that it made her sick to the stomach, and that some seemed to posses absolutely no table manners -was it so hard to say ‘thank you’?) took some getting used to, Misa was now working full-time at the Perfect Blue. And, although serving tables was easy, some customers weren’t.
However, it was to be expected; men would always be men. And if they weren’t hitting on you, or conspicuously looking up there, then they were probably with their lover or gay. Still, Misa always smiled, sounding a little bit more strained than intended, and repeated the usual line.
‘May I take your order?’
But when that didn’t work, she kindly slammed the menu into the table and marched right off. The rain was quite distracting and the customer had obviously not been given enough time to think through their order.
Thus, this was how Misa’s new job had been so far, and this is how she expected it to be every single day, even if tomorrow was her birthday. Still… She couldn’t shake off the feeling that today was going to be different; she could feel it in her bones.
…Her bones that were currently protesting under the weight of one tray and what had to be thirty dollars worth of sweets, drowning in sugars and syrups.
Misa was pretty sure she looked ridiculous.
Still, she couldn’t complain. Five dollars per hour while she worked; what? Eight? Seven hours per day on a good week? All just for cleaning up some tables, taking some orders, and seeing the look on the costumer’s face when they realize just how much they’ve spent. Misa could not complain, even if her arms felt like they were about to fall off and some costumers were anything but pleasant.
Misa scoffed, holding her head up high as she damned the costumer that ordered all of this junk; she could barely see over the pile of pancakes!
She scrunched her nose, if she even got a drip of syrup on her clothes this costumer was going to face hell. The idea of facing another situation similar to that one did not appeal to Misa at all.
Shuddering, Misa looked around the diner. This order was for table five, usually hard to get, but considering that today was Christmas Eve and that most of Los Angeles was spending their time with their families, Misa was not surprised at the somewhat unoccupied state of the restaurant. Even with six staff members available, they were able to run the restaurant normally.
Turning around the corner, Misa put the tray in the counter behind the table. Without even glancing at the costumer, she began to place the plates.
“Sorry for taking so much time. We’re a little short on staff, and your original waitress had a little… Accident.” That is, if you consider getting the runs from snagging week-old chocolate cake from the kitchen an accident.
“That is quite alright, Misa.” The costumer said, and-
Wait, what?
Misa wasn’t wearing a name-tag, it hadn’t been made yet. And, besides, that voice sounded like… Like… God oh God. It was official, someone up there was out to get Misa, because no being on Earth should be unfortunate enough to encounter him in less than a month’s span, especially not with the ridiculous amount of misfortune Misa seemed to be encountering as of late.
Swallowing her pride, along with the sudden urge to slam the pancakes into his face, Misa continued to set down the plates. All while keeping an eye on the man sitting in front of her. God knows what he could do the moment she lets her guard down, knowing perverts...
He seemed to notice. “Oh? You seem upset.”
She scowled, something she wouldn’t do under any normal circumstance, but she’d make a special exception; after all, it wasn’t every day that she encountered such an annoying person.
“…How nice of you to notice, Rue Ryuuzaki.” Misa finally said, after a few seconds of awkward silence. If he didn’t notice the conspicuous sarcasm, then this was truly irony wasted on the stupid.
He grabbed the coffee cup with his index finger and thumb; she hadn’t placed it on the table yet. “It was not concern or an act of kindness as you’ve put it. I was merely stating the obvious.”
Setting the empty tray on the counter behind Rue, Misa put both of her hands to her hips and huffed, head held as high as possible. If she thought this guy was annoying before, then she had obviously not given him enough time to talk, because he was now on her last nerve.
He stared blankly, as if expecting something. “Did I say something offensive, Misa?”
“…” If it hadn’t been for the fact that Misa really needed this job, she would have given this man a piece of her mind already. However, she refrained, causing Rue to shrug and turn back to his coffee.
He frowned, looking up at her once again. “Do you have any sugar?”
Misa rolled her eyes, was he blind? “There’s some next to you, Mr. Rue.” She said, purposely using the same intonation that he used when pronouncing her name. God knows what lewd things he thought each and every time.
Rue tilted his head, as if to get a better look at her, and frowned. “It’s not enough.”
This caused Misa to make a double check on just how many packets of sugar there were in this table. She blinked, how are ten packets not enough? “Misa thinks you have enough, there are at least ten packets there.”
The frown was still there, and he began to chew on his thumb. “Then Misa is mistaken. She is clearly too immature to understand how properly drink coffee.”
…Immature…?
“Excuse me?” She began, gob-smacked. Who was he to call her immature? He didn’t even look eighteen. “Who does Rue think he is to call Misa immature?! Misa will be eighteen tomorrow, she’s as mature as she can be!”
He ripped open a pair of sugar packets and poured their contents into his coffee. Misa flinched, that was enough to give someone diabetes.
“How lovely.” He began, opening the second set of packets. “But I am very certain that who I am is of no concern to you, Misa.”
Misa almost scoffed, he was probably just trying to frustrate her.
“Fine. But Misa’s not bringing you any more sugar; if you want more, bring your own, Mr. Rue.” She simply said, and picked the tray up, purposely hitting Rue on the back of his head as she picked it up.
Childish? Yes. But he was the one who told her she was ‘too immature’.
He made a small sound, and continued to pour the sugar into the now sickly sweet coffee. If he noticed that that small ‘accident’ was quite intentional, he didn’t say anything. “I see. I’ll call on you when I’m ready to pay, and, by the way, Rue is my first name.”
Misa turned on her heel, too prideful to give him the satisfaction of hearing her get frustrated again. Men were always men, and no matter how odd Rue was, he still was one of them.
Even when Misa returned to work on Wednesday and found herself speaking to him again, it would change nothing about her opinion.
Oh no siree, nothing at all.
Japanese cell-phones do not get American reception. Wonderful, simply wonderful.
All in all, it was an understatement to say that Misa was hungry, tired and annoyed -all of which might explain the random destruction of one newspaper (although she kept the yellow pages, she swore she saw an ad for a job in some placed called ‘Perfect Blue’), the dents on one unfortunate trashcan, and the ugly bruise on her foot from the aforementioned.
Misa sighed, shifting uncomfortably as she fumbled with the keys to her apartment.
Apartment 606, Misa supposed, sounded less like her new home than something straight out of a horror movie.
Still, it would have to do; she was in no condition to be meticulous about her living arrangements. Not while she was still jobless and all she could afford was this cheap, filthy apartment downtown.
Speaking of which, Misa remembered, she needed to stop delaying the job search. It wouldn’t be long before she completely ran out of money and was forced to live out on the streets. And really, living in this place was more than enough.
Locking the door behind her and giving it a little shake for good measure, Misa quite literally skipped down the hallway. Hopefully, the movement would rattle her brain enough to keep her mind away from thoughts about this dreadful nightmare -one she hoped she would awake from soon.
Thirteen minutes and one frazzled taxi driver later, Misa found herself standing before a rather friendly looking diner. She glanced at the ‘Help Wanted’ sign and pushed the door open; her heart felt like it would pop out of her ribcage any minute now, and Misa found herself taking deep breaths. She had to remember that this was just a little interview, the people here didn’t bite.
…Right?
She certainly hoped so.
Misa looked around, saying a silent prayer to every god she could think of. This shouldn’t be difficult; she had no reason to be so worried. This interview is nothing compared to the dozen she’s been in Japan, and it certainly didn’t hold a candle to all the photo-shoots she’s been part of.
So… Why was it that she was checking out all the exits, again?
No use, Misa needed to calm down. She needed to relax and stop fretting over such a small thing; even if the language was different -and her pronunciation was far from eloquent, this was the same as any other interview. You talk, you smile, add a little schmoozing here and there for good measure and then proceed to talk about details; when, where and how much. Nothing new for Misa-Misa, really.
And sure enough, it wasn’t. After kindly grabbing the cashier’s attention -or rather, slamming her fist into the counter and demanding to see the manager with the highest-pitched tone Misa could muster, and having a rather ‘pleasant’ conversation with the Manager, Misa was in.
…Which just left one little thing.
“So… Misa Amane?”
Misa nodded, hands in lap as she stared at the woman across the table. Something Queen, Misa recalled, was a tall, blond woman in her early thirties and surprising friendly compared to her superiors back at Note Blue. And all in all, Misa found it rather hard to believe that this woman was the Assistant Manager.
“Then I suppose you’re Chinese, or something?” She laughed, and Misa inwardly huffed; since when was her name Chinese?
“Japanese. But you were pretty close Miss. Queen.” Misa said, donning one of her smiles. The fact that this woman probably had nothing to do with her paycheck wasn’t going to stop her, sucking up to the higher ups, Misa had learnt, always came in handy for any situation. “Oh! Misa just remembered something! The manager didn’t tell Misa when she could start.”
“Ah, so close.” She said, with mock disappointment. “But you can start working first thing tomorrow. That is, depending on whether you know how to work the tables or not.”
“Misa used to work at a café back in Japan too, so Misa knows what to do, Miss. Queen.” Misa grinned, it was true. She did use to work at a café back in Japan, just before she marched right up to her boss and quite literally threw her resignation in his face to pursue her ‘way to fame’. Somehow, she was starting to regret that.
“I see… But please, call me Samantha, I hate formalities.” She smiled and stood up from her chair. Misa suddenly felt very, very small.
“So,” she began. “Think you can work next Monday?”
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
-- --("I don't blame you, for being you, but you can't blame me for hating it.")-- --
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
It only took Misa three days to get it all down to a science. Despite the fact that certain discoveries (such as the fact that Americans could care less about tea -gulping down so much coffee that it made her sick to the stomach, and that some seemed to posses absolutely no table manners -was it so hard to say ‘thank you’?) took some getting used to, Misa was now working full-time at the Perfect Blue. And, although serving tables was easy, some customers weren’t.
However, it was to be expected; men would always be men. And if they weren’t hitting on you, or conspicuously looking up there, then they were probably with their lover or gay. Still, Misa always smiled, sounding a little bit more strained than intended, and repeated the usual line.
‘May I take your order?’
But when that didn’t work, she kindly slammed the menu into the table and marched right off. The rain was quite distracting and the customer had obviously not been given enough time to think through their order.
Thus, this was how Misa’s new job had been so far, and this is how she expected it to be every single day, even if tomorrow was her birthday. Still… She couldn’t shake off the feeling that today was going to be different; she could feel it in her bones.
…Her bones that were currently protesting under the weight of one tray and what had to be thirty dollars worth of sweets, drowning in sugars and syrups.
Misa was pretty sure she looked ridiculous.
Still, she couldn’t complain. Five dollars per hour while she worked; what? Eight? Seven hours per day on a good week? All just for cleaning up some tables, taking some orders, and seeing the look on the costumer’s face when they realize just how much they’ve spent. Misa could not complain, even if her arms felt like they were about to fall off and some costumers were anything but pleasant.
Misa scoffed, holding her head up high as she damned the costumer that ordered all of this junk; she could barely see over the pile of pancakes!
She scrunched her nose, if she even got a drip of syrup on her clothes this costumer was going to face hell. The idea of facing another situation similar to that one did not appeal to Misa at all.
Shuddering, Misa looked around the diner. This order was for table five, usually hard to get, but considering that today was Christmas Eve and that most of Los Angeles was spending their time with their families, Misa was not surprised at the somewhat unoccupied state of the restaurant. Even with six staff members available, they were able to run the restaurant normally.
Turning around the corner, Misa put the tray in the counter behind the table. Without even glancing at the costumer, she began to place the plates.
“Sorry for taking so much time. We’re a little short on staff, and your original waitress had a little… Accident.” That is, if you consider getting the runs from snagging week-old chocolate cake from the kitchen an accident.
“That is quite alright, Misa.” The costumer said, and-
Wait, what?
Misa wasn’t wearing a name-tag, it hadn’t been made yet. And, besides, that voice sounded like… Like… God oh God. It was official, someone up there was out to get Misa, because no being on Earth should be unfortunate enough to encounter him in less than a month’s span, especially not with the ridiculous amount of misfortune Misa seemed to be encountering as of late.
Swallowing her pride, along with the sudden urge to slam the pancakes into his face, Misa continued to set down the plates. All while keeping an eye on the man sitting in front of her. God knows what he could do the moment she lets her guard down, knowing perverts...
He seemed to notice. “Oh? You seem upset.”
She scowled, something she wouldn’t do under any normal circumstance, but she’d make a special exception; after all, it wasn’t every day that she encountered such an annoying person.
“…How nice of you to notice, Rue Ryuuzaki.” Misa finally said, after a few seconds of awkward silence. If he didn’t notice the conspicuous sarcasm, then this was truly irony wasted on the stupid.
He grabbed the coffee cup with his index finger and thumb; she hadn’t placed it on the table yet. “It was not concern or an act of kindness as you’ve put it. I was merely stating the obvious.”
Setting the empty tray on the counter behind Rue, Misa put both of her hands to her hips and huffed, head held as high as possible. If she thought this guy was annoying before, then she had obviously not given him enough time to talk, because he was now on her last nerve.
He stared blankly, as if expecting something. “Did I say something offensive, Misa?”
“…” If it hadn’t been for the fact that Misa really needed this job, she would have given this man a piece of her mind already. However, she refrained, causing Rue to shrug and turn back to his coffee.
He frowned, looking up at her once again. “Do you have any sugar?”
Misa rolled her eyes, was he blind? “There’s some next to you, Mr. Rue.” She said, purposely using the same intonation that he used when pronouncing her name. God knows what lewd things he thought each and every time.
Rue tilted his head, as if to get a better look at her, and frowned. “It’s not enough.”
This caused Misa to make a double check on just how many packets of sugar there were in this table. She blinked, how are ten packets not enough? “Misa thinks you have enough, there are at least ten packets there.”
The frown was still there, and he began to chew on his thumb. “Then Misa is mistaken. She is clearly too immature to understand how properly drink coffee.”
…Immature…?
“Excuse me?” She began, gob-smacked. Who was he to call her immature? He didn’t even look eighteen. “Who does Rue think he is to call Misa immature?! Misa will be eighteen tomorrow, she’s as mature as she can be!”
He ripped open a pair of sugar packets and poured their contents into his coffee. Misa flinched, that was enough to give someone diabetes.
“How lovely.” He began, opening the second set of packets. “But I am very certain that who I am is of no concern to you, Misa.”
Misa almost scoffed, he was probably just trying to frustrate her.
“Fine. But Misa’s not bringing you any more sugar; if you want more, bring your own, Mr. Rue.” She simply said, and picked the tray up, purposely hitting Rue on the back of his head as she picked it up.
Childish? Yes. But he was the one who told her she was ‘too immature’.
He made a small sound, and continued to pour the sugar into the now sickly sweet coffee. If he noticed that that small ‘accident’ was quite intentional, he didn’t say anything. “I see. I’ll call on you when I’m ready to pay, and, by the way, Rue is my first name.”
Misa turned on her heel, too prideful to give him the satisfaction of hearing her get frustrated again. Men were always men, and no matter how odd Rue was, he still was one of them.
Even when Misa returned to work on Wednesday and found herself speaking to him again, it would change nothing about her opinion.
Oh no siree, nothing at all.