(no subject)
Author: zukpager305
Title: Smudges
Recipient: sofipitch
Rating: PG13 for minor swearing
Characters/Pairings: Chris Mustang
Summary: It's all in the details but sometimes life throws you a curve ball that smudges everything up.
Notes: Word count- 850
Overhead the stars were shining brightly, but Chris Mustang was working tonight. She didn't have time to notice. The painters had just left and she had glasses to shine and liquor bottles to stack. Not to mention finding a staff to pour these bottles into her newly shined glasses. Everything is in the details, and she needed the perfect girls to employ. An attractive girl that could get her patron to think he's having the time of his life while effortlessly depleting his wallet.
A patron might even divulge one or two secrets while inebriated, she mused, wrestling with an especially stubborn smudge. These glasses were second hand, much like everything she gathered for the bar. Years she spent setting aside most of her paychecks, trying to save up enough money to buy this place. So right now she didn't have the budget to buy fancy, new glassware. These would have to do, and with a little elbow grease, Chris was sure she could make them look better than their high end counterparts.
Had she been like her brother, she could have made glasses out of sand and a little bit of chalk. And he probably would have smashed this smudged glass by now in annoyance too, the good for nothing alchemist. Chris was still angry with him for leaving her in Central, running off with the first girl to look his way. They were a team, they planned to open this bar together and here she is, years later, doing it without him. Damn bastard.
Love was for the weak. Love made men do and say stupid things. Her brother would send her letters every once in a while, sometimes with money. Chris wanted to burn the cash and send the ashes back, but practicality won out, and she ended up putting that money aside too. Apparently he had a son. The boy must be six or seven by now, maybe eight. She didn't know his age since she never met him.
She needed a cigarette. They were one of the few life's vices she allowed herself. Plus she wasn't nearly as hungry after smoking one. Cigarettes were cheaper than food. Someday she'll indulge in the finer things in life, like furs and jewelry, but that won't happen till she has this bar up and running.
It was cold out she noted, as she stood halfway in the doorway of her front entrance, furiously puffing her little tobacco stick. The "help wanted" sign hung in the window, its obnoxiously bright red letters hurting her eyes. Being particular about the kind of girl who will work under her may set her grand opening back, but it will be worth it in the end.
She burn her cigarette down to her fingers and went back to the glasses. It was probably after midnight, but that made no difference to Chris. Late nights were a part of bar ownership. Even if said bar wasn't open yet.
A knock at the door brought a sigh to her lips. It was probably another drunk, thrown out of one of Central many open and operating bars, looking for more booze. The dingbat didn't see her closed sign and would keep knocking till she shooed him away.
When she opened the door, she didn't she anyone at first. Upon looking down, she found a little shivering boy with a mess of black hair and penetrating dark eyes. He shoved a piece of paper into her hands, apparently too cold to speak. It was one of her reply letters, belonging to her brother.
"Are you Roy?" she asked nonchalantly, already knowing the answer. The little boy bobbed his head up and down several times.
"Where are your parents?" If her brother thought this was some kind of joke, he was sorely mistaken. The boy looked down at his shoes and mumbled something. Annoyed, she demanded he speak up.
Anger flashed in his eyes and then tears formed. "Dead!" he screamed, bravely pushing her aside and running inside.
Chris stood there for several minutes, dumbfounded. Dead? That can't be possibly. She just sent this reply letter back two weeks ago! She walked back into the bar, seeing the child miserable and huddled on one of the stools. That idiot! Her emotions raged. How could he get himself killed?!
She sat down across from the boy and grabbed a bottle of whiskey off the top of the crate nearest to her and one of the glasses, uncaring if it was smudged or not. She filled it to the brim and poured its contents down her throat before filling it up again. The boy looked up at her, his eyes looking so much like her brother's. Chris hesitated, not knowing what to say. She grabbed another glass, filled it up halfway and pushed it in front of him. He looked at it like she just passed him a poisonous snake.
"It's okay. If you're going to live here with me, you need to learn how to hold your liquor."
The rest of the glasses would have to wait till tomorrow.
Title: Smudges
Recipient: sofipitch
Rating: PG13 for minor swearing
Characters/Pairings: Chris Mustang
Summary: It's all in the details but sometimes life throws you a curve ball that smudges everything up.
Notes: Word count- 850
Overhead the stars were shining brightly, but Chris Mustang was working tonight. She didn't have time to notice. The painters had just left and she had glasses to shine and liquor bottles to stack. Not to mention finding a staff to pour these bottles into her newly shined glasses. Everything is in the details, and she needed the perfect girls to employ. An attractive girl that could get her patron to think he's having the time of his life while effortlessly depleting his wallet.
A patron might even divulge one or two secrets while inebriated, she mused, wrestling with an especially stubborn smudge. These glasses were second hand, much like everything she gathered for the bar. Years she spent setting aside most of her paychecks, trying to save up enough money to buy this place. So right now she didn't have the budget to buy fancy, new glassware. These would have to do, and with a little elbow grease, Chris was sure she could make them look better than their high end counterparts.
Had she been like her brother, she could have made glasses out of sand and a little bit of chalk. And he probably would have smashed this smudged glass by now in annoyance too, the good for nothing alchemist. Chris was still angry with him for leaving her in Central, running off with the first girl to look his way. They were a team, they planned to open this bar together and here she is, years later, doing it without him. Damn bastard.
Love was for the weak. Love made men do and say stupid things. Her brother would send her letters every once in a while, sometimes with money. Chris wanted to burn the cash and send the ashes back, but practicality won out, and she ended up putting that money aside too. Apparently he had a son. The boy must be six or seven by now, maybe eight. She didn't know his age since she never met him.
She needed a cigarette. They were one of the few life's vices she allowed herself. Plus she wasn't nearly as hungry after smoking one. Cigarettes were cheaper than food. Someday she'll indulge in the finer things in life, like furs and jewelry, but that won't happen till she has this bar up and running.
It was cold out she noted, as she stood halfway in the doorway of her front entrance, furiously puffing her little tobacco stick. The "help wanted" sign hung in the window, its obnoxiously bright red letters hurting her eyes. Being particular about the kind of girl who will work under her may set her grand opening back, but it will be worth it in the end.
She burn her cigarette down to her fingers and went back to the glasses. It was probably after midnight, but that made no difference to Chris. Late nights were a part of bar ownership. Even if said bar wasn't open yet.
A knock at the door brought a sigh to her lips. It was probably another drunk, thrown out of one of Central many open and operating bars, looking for more booze. The dingbat didn't see her closed sign and would keep knocking till she shooed him away.
When she opened the door, she didn't she anyone at first. Upon looking down, she found a little shivering boy with a mess of black hair and penetrating dark eyes. He shoved a piece of paper into her hands, apparently too cold to speak. It was one of her reply letters, belonging to her brother.
"Are you Roy?" she asked nonchalantly, already knowing the answer. The little boy bobbed his head up and down several times.
"Where are your parents?" If her brother thought this was some kind of joke, he was sorely mistaken. The boy looked down at his shoes and mumbled something. Annoyed, she demanded he speak up.
Anger flashed in his eyes and then tears formed. "Dead!" he screamed, bravely pushing her aside and running inside.
Chris stood there for several minutes, dumbfounded. Dead? That can't be possibly. She just sent this reply letter back two weeks ago! She walked back into the bar, seeing the child miserable and huddled on one of the stools. That idiot! Her emotions raged. How could he get himself killed?!
She sat down across from the boy and grabbed a bottle of whiskey off the top of the crate nearest to her and one of the glasses, uncaring if it was smudged or not. She filled it to the brim and poured its contents down her throat before filling it up again. The boy looked up at her, his eyes looking so much like her brother's. Chris hesitated, not knowing what to say. She grabbed another glass, filled it up halfway and pushed it in front of him. He looked at it like she just passed him a poisonous snake.
"It's okay. If you're going to live here with me, you need to learn how to hold your liquor."
The rest of the glasses would have to wait till tomorrow.