Chapter Text
A film of sweat and grease clung to Aspen’s arms, a patchwork of scars and tattoos as metal blasted in one earbud.
Her wrist moved in time with the music, German steel crushing through cellulose and gliding through flesh.
She could feel the hostess’s eyes burning holes in her already burn covered hands.
She knew she should look up, say something, make eye contact, smile, anything. Internally she begged to hear a ticket come through, to have any reason to turn around, unlikely in the mid-afternoon lull.
Debilitating shyness and the cocktail of stimulants flowing through her veins kept her eyes locked firmly on her hands repetitive motion.
she didn’t even need to look, the motions of julienne cuts were seared into her muscle memory, but the thought of looking anywhere else seemed almost painful.
“Dear god I’m pathetic.”, she thought to herself, continuing to ignore the hostess’s gaze. Silently wishing one of the hundreds of firms she had applied for would call her back soon and get her out of this restaurant.
All that time in college for a degree she couldn’t use.
She whirled around at the chime of a new ticket
“Finally.”, she breathed.
She stepped and twirled in a frantic dance of ingredients and metal in time with the song playing in her left ear
Cassie eats cockroaches
The beads of sweat developing on her skin intensified as the hiss of hot oil meeting cold flesh cuts though the constant buzz of vents overhead.
-“Cassie loves to swallow”-
Another twirl as she reached for plates and a pinch of spices.
-“the bleeding will not stop”-
Putting the final garnish on the plate, she set it in the window and sold the ticket, smiling to herself as a Blue Velvet sample played over guitars in drop A#. She always loved when her interests collided like that.
With the ticket fulfilled, she was once again left to wallow in her unfufillment. Avoiding the gaze of the hostess and the occasional customer. She hated working on an open line.
“4 more hours of this shit” she silently complained, still feeling the burn of the hostess’s gaze.
Aspen frequently made eyes with this girl, always darting their eyes away the second she looked her way.
They wondered the reason behind the stares. The way they saw it there were two options. Optimistically, that the hostess, grace, thought she was cute. Realistically, that Grace was trying to answer the question “what are you?”.
It was a fair question in all honesty, Aspen had a very androgynous appearance. Standing at 6’2 with their long dark hair tied in a bun, bangs only peaking out from under a hair covering and small breasts hidden by bulky chef whites and a black apron; their concealed body contrasted strongly with a narrow feminine face. It’s sharp features highlighted by silver piercings and stubborn stains of the previous nights makeup. Combined with her being nearly mute, it genuinely was difficult to decipher much about them.
——
“10 goddamn hours” Aspen whispered, shaking their head as they stepped onto their train home, quickly slumping into a row of seats.
She reveled in the opportunity to finally sit down, deaf to the world around her. After a few moments to enjoy the bliss of the pressure on her feet being relieved, Aspen glanced up.
The glance revealed she was alone in the seating section, save for one woman.
The woman appeared to be a few years olden than Aspen, with a round face, bearing high cheekbones and a small button nose, pierced through the septum. Her hair was short, textured and bleached blond. Her brown eyes shaded by long false eyelashes and enveloped by swooping eyeliner.
Aspen did their best to look away. Pry her eyes away from the woman’s luscious tattooed thighs, a tapestry of black insects waltzed in ink across the curves of her creamy skin, colliding into each other to merge the lithobiidaen menagerie’s dance into a single ensemble.
For the entire train ride, Aspen tried desperately to keep her eyes occupied. Persistently failing, catching details of the woman’s baggy canvas jacket, and frilly lace socks sitting atop platform shoes. She fought especially hard to keep her gaze away from the woman’s substantial cleavage. Aspen looked down to her own chest, barely visible through a white tank top. She stared towards the train car door, large eyes sporting a fearful expression, leg tapping violently.
Aspen scurried off the train the second the doors slid open.
Rain and fog hovered like static in the light of street lamps, illuminating Aspen’s trudge to her apartment. Music playing, discomfort returning to her lower body, and rain glaring off her face quickly forced Aspen to forget about her little crush on the train.