Realistic or Modern 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐍, 𝐚 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭.

[mother of sorrows]

​

 

[mother of sorrows]

/* ------ left side ------ */

/* ------ left side info ------ */

mood screaming throwing up

location the white swan

outfit cooking mama core

tag answer here

daniela suárez

/* ------ right side ------ */

The sun shone, the birds chirped, and Daniela was about 92% sure her boss is dead.

It was - a glance at the clock told her - 11.35 exactly, and Emilia still hasn't shown any sign of moving from where she was lying over her desk. Blonde hair covered important-looking papers and the laptop's keyboard like a living curtain, back hunched in a way that will definitively hurt tomorrow. You could almost see the outline of a knife sticking out, maybe a splatter of fake blood and a grainy filter, and you'd get yourself a murder mystery; as it is, Emilia snored louder than corpses have the habit of. That and restaurant owners usually aren't in the top ten targets for bloodthirsty hitmen looking to kill - usually.

The kitchen was all but ready to open, all the prep gone and done; they'd be cooking by now, stacking still-warm bread into woven baskets and polishing wine bottles like misers with their diamonds. Just.

''Emilia.'' Daniela shook the woman's shoulder, voice a rapid whisper. ''Wake up.''

Her shaking only gets a bigger snore in reply, shoulder wiggling away from the hand that tries to wake it.

Daniela cast an impatient look out the delicately decorated window (all windows in the White Swan are delicately decorated. Not intricately, or even tastefully, just delicate. Emilia stretched out manicured hands when asked, like a conductor preparing for the play of his life. 'My dad,' she always says, 'had a vision. I'll keep by it.') Three new people arriving; three new people and their boss lost the fight to strawberry vodka and lost spectacularly. Three new people arriving; three new people and their boss lost the fight to strawberry vodka and lost spectacularly. No car pulled up yet, no taxi, but still any shriek that sounded like a tire had her jumping with adrenaline. They'll be here any minute and there's no way Daniela is doing this alone.

''EMILIA!''

The shout finally rose the woman from the dead, mascara-blacked eyes blinking blearily into the bright sunlight. She squinted at Daniela with all the focus of somebody who's been drinking far too much alcohol for their body size, body movements graceful like a tree about to be torn out by wind.

''Oh my God, what?''

''The new hires,'' Daniela started, exasperation edging in on her voice. ''They're almost here.''

To that panic-inducing statement, Emilia only blinked. ''Oh. I thought it was something important.''

And at that, Daniela had to take all of the power that the world could give her not to facepalm right there - she isn't sure what she expected, but that's about right. Plan B; get the team running so nothing is out of place. And in this restaurant that's like trying to beg the sky not to be blue. All Daniela got for ther troubles was a dismissive wave of the hand, with her boss sitting back in her plushy seat.

''I'll be ready in, say, fifteen. Feed Fred before you go, darling.''

Fred, for his credit, was sitting remarkably quiet in his spacious giant of a cage, settling beadly little eyes on Daniela as she inched closer with the fear of a hunter approaching a lion. Say what you will about Emilia, but she did love that - beast more than she loved her hairdresser. He ruled over almost half the elegant office, like a demented mad-king. He didn't throw peanut shells at her like usual, or try to tear out her hair for no reason other than pure evil; at any other time this would have brought on suspicion, but she had no minutes to spare for fear. She threw in a couple of fruits, head swiveling at the sound of a car running down the street. ''Oh, shit.''

A look told her Emilia was knocked out over the desk again, sleeping as if she had no worried in the world - Daniela only shook her head, throwing the cage's door back before scrambling towards the hall.

If she threw just one last glance back at the cage, she would have seen how Fred practically plotted.

---​

''CODE RED! CODE RED!''

Marble shone under her feet like a moving lake, the classical paintings sighing from their frames as Daniela hurried past. Plushed seats stood proudly and curtains danced in the light breeze - French impressionists would sit here and nod, sketching the wide arcs and golden edges to remain a forever memory. Only maybe would they leave out the woman in the cook's uniform, speeding down into the dining hall - depends on how pretty she looks while in a state of distress. Waiting staff and the stray cook alike turned her way, pausing in their cleaning-examining-chatting. Daniela leaned on her knees to gasp for breath, a wild curl of black hair escaping her hat.

''The newbies. They're here.''

She didn't have to say what she really meant, the words hanging in the air by themselves -

act normal.

Her eyes scrambled for the person she was looking for, hoping to catch a woman who looked like she should be posing for an artist than sit around here. It took a good moment of terror for her to find her target - Giselle, their charming host and about the only person who could convince people that they are in fact an establishment deserving of respect. Daniela chased after her with all the desperation of somebody who's worked here for too long, and knows that something could go wrong if she doesn't hurry.

''There you are - help me greet them.''

Maybe Giselle could have said no - perhaps she even did - but Daniela had ears only for the sound of cars outside, dragging her in like a siren's call. She grabbed hold of the woman's arm, marching towards the great, polished front doors like a general going into her last battle. She's sure she's going to have to pay Giselle back for this later, no doubt with a lot of complaining, but for now Daniela needed her help and needed it desperately. The doors glittered like night made physical as they swung open into the courtyard, trees lining the white-stoned path. Leaves turned, skipped, danced in the clean wind, rustling with each stride of the wind.

And right by the steps, three people.

Unfamiliar ones.

Daniela's shoulders squared by themselves, her usually animated features shifting into the professionalism she fought hard to carve; she looked down from a slightly raised chin, tucking back the escaped hair.

''You must be the new hires.'' A shade of seriousness colored her words, opening the doors wider to get a good look at them. ''I'm Daniela Suarez, the head chef here. Your names are...?''

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[miyabi]

thedailynews.com/news/2021/local-man-serves-oven-mitt

Local Man Serves Oven Mitt. Gourmet gone wrong?!

An employee of The White Swan has, reportedly, served an oven mitt in place of a steak.
(click for full story)

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At the strike of 10:00 a.m., Quentin had already stumbled out of his home—moreso out of necessity than anything; had he not, he would’ve been bound in circles reading comic book after comic book with the sprained wrist he had the shower to thank for. He’d cleaned his glasses, did his daily duties, spoke to the local cats he often fed anchovies to, readied himself to seize the day he hadn’t even thought about. That is, if he had even thought about anything at all. Quentin recounted the way he’d woken up that morning, two hours prior to his alarm, with the sun beaming into his sensitive eyes, a cough drop stuck to his cheek—having forgotten it was there until he looked in the mirror, a cough ricocheting the piece of hard candy against his dirty, Spider-man sticker covered wall.

There were early preparations to be made, many of which involved fresh produce that he—much to his dismay—had a small contribution of responsibility to; this is why it was encouraged, at least for him, that he write the list in brightly colored sharpie marker—the only real way to get his attention when he fell off track. So he greeted Gloria, a woman far past her prime (sorry, Gloria), at the doors of the market; her emerald green eyes narrowed at him alongside speckled freckles running across her scrunched nose bridge, a look of disdain painted on her cheeks with an overpowering tone of red blush. The thing is, he never picked up the fact that she disliked him, how could she? He greeted her every morning with that stupid smile on his face and clueless eyes. To Gloria, he was far too chipper and she didn’t trust it. Most people didn’t until they realized this: Quentin wasn’t faking it, no. He was really like that. Quentin learned early that if you smiled at the people around you, it would make their day better, but that was a goddamn lie. Most never appreciated it, were only increasingly sketched out the longer he smiled at them.

Under normal circumstances, there would be a longer list; but to ensure the avoidance of yet another fuck up, the list had only four items, in order by necessity—which should be noted that Quentin, even with the idea further instilled in his brain through yells and insults, would forget at least something. This time, he was determined, putting far too much focus and thinking into the produce aisle. Roma tomatoes, yellow and green bell peppers, asparagus, and… feeta? The word “feeta” had been bolded, underlined multiple times in bright red ink, but smudged by the orange juice and coffee he’d spilled on himself earlier. Aside from the obvious misspelling, the smudge had made it harder to decipher; he was lucky enough he remembered what it was, though.

A woman and a child are to his side, eyeing him down like he was a lost puppy, and he very well could've been one; Quentin sure looked the part, big eyes filled with confusion, furrowed brows, the tip of his tongue hanging out between rose-colored lips as he falls into concentration. And then he shakes his head a precise three times like he's trying to clear it, thinking that this will help him keep the focus on the list and less on the pristine display of animal shaped balloons. They were shiny, you can't blame him for this. "That's like... a pet. On a leash. But without the pet," he mutters under his breath as he reaches towards a floating zebra, stripes shining under a spotlight. "No, no! Focus, breathe in. Breathe out. I'll see you later, Doris" his hand reaches for the other, smacking it away, and only prompting a more questionable look from the mother and child who, for the duration of this moment, had been watching him like this was a Wildlife Discovery documentary.

“Hey, Arnie! My man, my guy,” Quentin calls out in his confusion, pulling his strained eyes away from the neon letters, and onto an innocent employee he’d pestered only the week before (and many others). And Arnie rolls his eyes, pretends not to hear Quentin until his voice echoes between the aisles again. When will this guy get the hint? “Thank god, I thought you didn’t hear me,” and Arnie wished he hadn’t.

“What. What is it this time?” The annoyance was apparent, one that he often met Quentin with, but it was obvious Quentin wouldn’t be able to pick it up if he tried.

And Quentin stares back, looks down at his list, squinting—man, he should get some new glasses—and looks back up, nearly stumbling through the word. “Fee-tah? You guys got that, right? I couldn’t find it.” The conversation follows as this: an exasperated sigh, followed by questioning, followed by more questioning, followed by finally getting down to the issue at hand: Quentin spelled "feta" wrong, even with his utmost concentration, and definitely didn't process that he was saying it wrong in the first place.

Luckily for Arnie and Quentin (mostly Arnie) the exchange was short, even if it did feel like eternity after Quentin’s ramblings about how long he thought he could balance a bell pepper on his index finger. Whatever that was.

***

“If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends,” the tune resounded alongside knives against a cutting board, sparkling blade breaking through crisp stalks of celery. He lifts it, points it to his lips; thoughtlessly singing into it with little regard, stained white sleeves of his uniform rolling up. There’s no music, only the sound of his voice cracking between lyrics. In this was serenity of some sort, in between Daniela’s seemingly panicked running back and forth and the others scrambling to prep in an ideal pace, Quentin had gone to his own world.

That world involved him, the Spice Girls, open flames, and blades.

“CODE RED! CODE RED!”

He’d only broken out of it the moment Daniela thrusted the fact that the newbies had finally showed up. It was written in his calendar. Somewhere. An excitedly drawn, squiggly circle around a date hidden in his car—probably under the seats covered in lint and crumbs. “Finally! I wore my lucky socks for this,” an over-excited tone almost drowned out the crunch of produce and ringing pans. His socks were lucky for a multitude of reasons: he wore them to his graduations, even if they had holes in them, they were the color green—partially, the color was amongst the rest of the hamburger design, and he wore them when he landed the job at the White Swan.

The luck would run out soon, though. With the chatter in the kitchen, his mindless movements, something was bound to happen before he knew it. And it did. A quick turn made sure of that as the back of his trousers brushed against the stove aflame, the combustion was quick—spread as quickly as the California Wildfires, He didn’t notice it right away, walking as carefully as he could as he carried the prep into the fridge; it was only until he passed his reflection that he’d noticed. Even then, it took him a few seconds before the screaming happened.

Panicked, loud, raspy, with the slight tinge of a sob in distress; his voice wavered as he ran back and forth, all the way into the area Daniela was greeting everyone. Quentin’s ass was on fire in front of complete, new strangers, and he didn’t know what to do about it. “MAYDAY! MAYDAY! BUTT ON FIRE. I REPEAT: BUTT. ON. FIRE,” he threw his arms up, flailing them around as if thinking that the air would put it out, but it only seemed to make it worse.

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mood

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location

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outfit

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mention

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tag

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/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[erzulie]

scroll

Giselle A.

the white swan

daniela mother of sorrows , Quentin miyabi , newbies

here

She was thankful that she had always been an early riser. It was a given, seeing as the nanny who had taken care of her had been ordered to keep her on the strict schedule. Even with Anastasia no longer assigned as her caretaker, the need to rise with the sun had stuck with her. She definitely needed the hours. Her morning routine was far too lengthy for anything shorter. There was no chance that she’d change it just for her job.

Each day she left the house, fresh faced and ready to begin her day. It was almost ironic, how she was one of the people who arrived at work on time. Giselle knew that she had her faults, but she did try her best. It wasn’t her fault that important things happened to pop up once the day progressed. That broken nail had definitely earned her a sudden trip to her nail tech. And she most definitely had to take that lunch break at 10:00 am.

Plus, she made a habit of going through reservations and such with the extra time that she had. There had been a mix up one time and it was something that she did not want to go through again. Honestly, what type of man pretends to have booked a reservation just to try and con the restaurant out of a free table. Giselle had known the moment that he’d walked up that he didn’t have one. His ill-fitted suit and cartoonish tie said otherwise. He had been better suited for the circus in her opinion. A giggle escaped her at the thought. If anything, it could never be said that her days at the White Swan were boring.

Excitement buzzed within her at the possibility of what may happen today. It was really similar to a box of chocolates, the restaurant, and she had always had a sweet tooth. Giselle smiled happily, a little lost in thought as she flipped through her book of reservations. Instead of her desk, Giselle sat at a table. Her head went up when the sound of doors bursting open let her ears. Ahead of her, a frazzled looking Daniela. The two of them locked eyes and Giselle was tempted to go on her lunch break now.

“He-“ When Daniela all but ran to her, Giselle’s greeting had been cut off. She was yanked from her table, yelping in surprise as she was forced to speed walk with the head chef. “Daniela! Your grip is far too tight, I bruise like a peach and you know this.” She complained while following along. “I’m sure that the new hires won’t just up and leave suddenly.”

Her words may as well have been spoken to a wall. Giselle had just enough time to right herself when they reached the new hires. Slipping into a professional persona quite easily. “Yes, welcome to the White Swan. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Giselle jumped in surprise. Why was everyone so loud today. Looking towards the direction of the scream, she gasped at the sight before her. “Quentin!” The source of the shrieks were coming from her coworker. He was on fire and not in a good way. She was swift, swifter than someone who was wearing heels should be. “Wait wait! Stop running, you’re only fanning the flames!”

“You have to drop and roll!” With that Giselle pushed the man with all her might. When he landed on the floor she began to push him, forcing him to roll back and forth.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[mother of sorrows]

/* ------ left side ------ */

/* ------ left side info ------ */

mood NOOO

location the white swan

outfit leggo

tag miyabi erzulie

maddie joson

/* ------ right side ------ */

Let it be known that Maddie, despite popular belief, has a routine.

Every Monday she takes down every curtain and every Tuesday she polishes every marble statue and every Friday she deep-cleans every carpet; no spot of dirt survives her determination, no speck of dust. The dust bunnies quiver in their hiding spots when she comes by, armed only with a vacuum and a face storming with hatred for the very concept of 'unclean.' She's not one of the many employees keeping the restaurant clean, but she is fiercely protective of the bar and any territory that goes with it. And today? Today, when the team is getting new members?

Maddie had practically ran all living beings out of the cleaning closet, mixing up an unholy concoction that would probably make the Elephant's Foot sparkle like dew in the morning dawn.

She had been at it since the beginning of her shift; it's not that she particularily loved cleaning, at best tolerated it, but a good environment was near and dear to her heart. A person's workspace reflected their inner self, her mom always insisted (probably to get Maddie to clean her room, but the message stuck regardless of intention), and she supposed there was trust in those words. Any person would feel better in an environment that is put together - and those who don't aren't really people you'd like to stick around with. And so Maddie had talked off the ears of anybody who would listen about her strategy for today, which... wasn't a lot of her co-workers, since they tend to run away in terror when they know she's got something to talk about. You never stop once you start, one of the waiters said with no small amount of exasperation, it's a nightmare. Which, okay! So maybe she talks a lot. At least she's got opinions. Which, good thing! What if she had the personality of wet cardboard!

A wet cardboard wouldn't have had the genius capability for strategy she has.

First step, second step, third step. Polishing, dusting, oiling. She cleaned the tables till they shone and then she cleaned the windows till they beamed. And fourth, final step - mopping up the floors.

She had taken a great, big bucket foaming at the brim and a mop that looked like it could hurt a man if used with evil intentions, starting at the dining area before working her way at the entrance. Her black hair escaped her hair tie slowly, sneakily, without her even realising, tip of her tongue sticking out with focus and features dropping into a frown of concentration. Giselle and Daniela passed by without Maddie's notice, swiping the mop up and down the glittering marble. Voices talked at the edge of her hearing, finally making her look up; excitement lit up in her chest at the thought of the new co-workers arriving already, getting up on her toes to see better outside -

only for whatever happiness she had to die out like any dream, burning out with the literal fire coming out of Quentin's ass.

'MAYDAY! MAYDAY! BUTT ON FIRE. I REPEAT: BUTT. ON. FIRE.'

Panic, hot and dangerous, took over the rest.

''DON'T WORRY! I'LL SAVE YOU, QUENTIN!''

She grabbed hold of the bucket, threw it -

only to see, in one terrible, horrifying second too late, that Quentin was already on the floor.

The next target behind him - Giselle, Daniela and three poor, innocent newbies.

Maddie stood still. Daniela stood still. It was a sight, to see the woman go from red to pale to red to pale, face pinched so tight it might snap and clothes soaked through.

''Uh.'' Maddie started awkwardly, still holding hold of the bucket. ''See. You already went through one of our traditions. A... hazing one.'' Silence. Maddie added, ''For good luck.''

She never thought silence could ever be this loud.

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[dear.szmm]

mood :

unexcited

location :

home → the white swan

outfit :

mentions :

asdf

interactions :

asdf

bonilla

reuben

Reuben started every day awoken by the same four legs bearing down on his abdomen and the same soft, sloppy tongue lapping at his face. He writhed away from the dog’s excited kisses, shielding himself with his palms thrust outward in surrender.

“Okay, Frankie, okay! Stop, now – I’m awake, I’m awake!” He cried, throwing the bed covers back over the dog.

“You don’t gotta do that to me, Francesca, we’ve been through this,” he said, pushing himself out of the bed with an unimpressed frown. He wiped some saliva from his cheek before turning to take another look at Francesca, her black snout protruding and sniffing frantically from beneath the comforter.

“C’mere,” he coo’d, giving in to the dog’s unbridled demand for life. He collapsed onto the bed in a flurry of fur as her incessant wake-up routine played out in full; he grimaced and chuckled and entertained her, ruffling her face between his hands.

“Good morning, sweetheart, good morning - yes, I’m up.” He insisted between frantic licks.

This was, in fact, the most joyous part of Reuben’s morning. After reclaiming himself from Francesca’s clutches, he went about the mundane routines one must take part in when preparing for a tedious day of work. A cup of strong black coffee helped supress the rising feeling of dread that accompanied Reuben as he progressed towards leaving his humble home and heading begrudgingly for his workplace.

There was a part of Reuben that knew he had it good at The White Swan, which is perhaps why he made no real effort to leave, despite his complaints. Frankie accompanied him on every shift, as there was no way he was leaving her to mope alone in the house; the food was free on shift, and there were a few faces Reuben could at least tolerate.

This was in no way to dismiss Reuben’s qualms for the place. It was a fucking restaurant, for one. He was an architect graduate. This was one stop not scheduled on his post-college journey. It was a hotspot for gossip and could be bitchy amongst the staff and the customers alike. Some trouble wasn’t worth it, and Reuben had a distaste for people that stuck their noses in where it didn’t belong. He didn’t delve into his co-worker’s private lives, and he expected they didn’t attempt to scrutinise his, either.

He arrived at the restaurant, only a ten minute walk from his home along the lake shore, via the kitchen entrance, spending a few minutes getting Francesca settled in her make-shift bed in the kitchen porch. No doubt he’d enter to a flurry of action; Daniela flying about the stoves, where’s this and where’s that; Quentin belting his lungs out to the sound of the radio; wait staff beavering in and out. Reuben was well practiced at dodging it all, as well as the additional questions of his repeated lateness, and could usually deflect some of the attention onto the presence of Francesca, who would gladly accept any consequential pettings or fusses.

Upon entering the kitchen with as much subtlety as he could manage whilst still moving, Reuben found no frantic Daniela, nor any out of tune Quentin or bustling Nisha.

From the dining room, Reuben heard a sudden high-pitched shriek and the splash of a surge of water. He looked quizzically in its direction, pushing through the swinging service doors that separated the common kitcheners from the face of the restaurant; the front of house.

Don’t get him wrong, the kitchen was good. The food they produced was great, more often than not, but the front of house were the ones that kept things running smoothly. Between the waiters, Heritage, Reuben… sometimes Giselle… the front of house made it what it was. And that was Reuben’s honest opinion.

“Jesus, what happened in here?” he said, furrowing his eyebrows at the sodden boy sprawled on the floor amid a crowd of silent, damp onlookers.

“Looks like a slip’n’slide.” He remarked through a small smirk, moving between Giselle and some stranger. He outstretched a hand to Quentin, helping heave him off the floor. It wasn’t a completely intangible situation; Reuben had certainly seen Quentin in more precarious positions in the past. It was part of his nature, or something like that.

He clapped his colleague’s shoulder as he came to his feet, suddenly compressing his lips as he noticed the substantial hole in Quentin’s pants.

“Bro,” he exhaled, holding back laughter. He motioned to the underwear on display through the damaged trousers.

“I think those are busted.”

Reuben looked up as he heard the slam of the front entrance, signalling the second late arrival.

“Rhys!” he exclaimed, greeting the fellow European with a discrete fist bump. He motioned the Frenchman to come aside.

“What do you make of these three?” he asked, leaning his back against the bar as he nodded at the unrecognisable strangers accompanying Daniela and Giselle.

He crossed his arms, smirking knowingly. “You think they’ll make it the whole day?”

In private, he may have asked because he wanted to know if it was worth learning their names. The White Swan had a semi-questionable rate of staff turnover, and Reuben wasted no breath on temporary contracts that were here for a quick gig. What would be the point in that?

coded by reveriee.

 

[blue-jay]

/* ------ left side ------ */

/* ------ left side info ------ */

mood very concerned

location the white swan

outfit usual chef wear

tag everyone pretty much

dovey holmes

/* ------ right side ------ */

Dovey’s alarm rang at 8:00 AM, but she was already awake. After a few rings, she reached over and switched her clock off. Soft morning light was spilling through the windows. Birds were chirping. Her apartment smelled like vanilla, thanks to her use of the nice wallflower plug-ins from Bath and Body Works. With a slight smile, Dovey sat up in bed and stretched. She would check her calendar soon, but she knew without checking it that today was an important day. The newbies were arriving, and she had an idea that she hoped would make them feel welcome.

Within moments, Dovey was up and out of bed and getting started on her daily morning routine. She had stayed up perhaps a little too late last night tending to her hobbies (particularly doing work on her Animal Crossing island) and had been worried that she would have trouble getting up and shaking off the drowsiness. However, she was in the shower by 8:05. Not too long after, she was doing her skin and hair care routines. At one point, she caught herself subtly posing in the mirror and grimaced, embarrassed even though no one else was around.

Dovey knew both her daily tasks and the unique demands of each individual date pretty well, but she still checked her schedule out of habit. From what she had already done, it read: Get dressed. Eat breakfast. Vacuum living room. Take AJ’s sweets out of the fridge. Transfer money to Mom’s account. Text Mom, Dominic, and Auntie Cleava. And so on. After examining the schedule, she began carrying it out, busily shuffling through her apartment like a honey bee. Her speaker played her morning playlist as she worked, mostly R&B love songs.

The whole time, she made sure to give herself mental reminders, mostly concerning her coworkers: Don’t forget AJ’s snacks. When you get to work, remember to ask Rhys if he needs any help. Update the “Olivia’s known allergies” list if needed. Ask Daniela if she has anything for me to do. Check on Giselle. Check on Quentin. And so on.

Before long, she was in her car and on her way to work. Once she arrived, she greeted everyone she passed in her usual soft, melodic tone and made her way to the back, where the kitchen was. She set the sweets she had prepared for AJ on the counter, making a mental note to make sure he got some later. She quickly checked that all the dishes and ingredients she needed were in order and then it was time to begin “Operation Warm Welcome.”

First was the mix. Dovey had stayed late the past few days experimenting with different proportions until she pinpointed a recipe that she thought was just right. She double-checked the note she had written for herself as she worked. This much flour and... that much sugar. Not too much or too little cocoa powder. Now, baking soda. Then salt... Now the wet ingredients. She finished the mix after a while and, while it was baking, got to work on the frosting. Not only did she have a specific taste in mind, but a specific color. She examined the hypoallergenic food colorings she had bought before mixing them to obtain the desired hues.

After an hour of meticulous and love-filled labor, the cake was done. It was an intricately decorated chocolate cake topped with strawberries cut to resemble rose petals and a small white swan figure made of fondant. Written on it in icing was: We Welcome You to the White Swan with Open Wings! And, although Dovey felt that she could’ve done better, she hoped that the newbies would like it. She heard Daniela’s voice ring out from somewhere in the restaurant (“CODE RED! CODE RED!”) and realized that the newbies must be arriving. Oh, it’s time! She excitedly (but carefully) picked up the platter the cake was on and began walking towards the entrance of the restaurant.

As she approached the entrance, she noticed that there was quite a ruckus. She heard Quentin shouting (“MAYDAY! MAYDAY! BUTT ON FIRE. I REPEAT: BUTT. ON. FIRE.”), then Giselle’s voice and Maddie’s voice. Worried for her coworkers, she sped up her walking until she arrived at the scene (at about the same time as Reuben) to find... everyone soaked, Maddie holding a bucket, and Quentin with a hole in the back of his pants. One of her earlier reminders ran through her head: Check on Quentin. She made a note to be more diligent about that one next time.

“Uh. See. You already went through one of our traditions. A... hazing one... For good luck.”

Picking up on what Maddie was trying to do, Dovey added in an attempt at a cheerful tone, “Oh... Yeah! This is all a part of the welcome experience. I even made you guys a cake! It’s a, umm... hazing cake!” Dovey, admittedly, didn’t know much about hazing. “Welcome to the White Swan!” She stepped towards the newbies, but almost slipped and lost her balance on the wet floor. After recovering from the slight stumble, she opted to stand where she was and hold out the platter with outstretched arms, smiling warmly.

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[xayah.]

olivia wynn

the assistant waitress

the white swan

this is hell.

restaurant uniform

interactions

miyabi mother of sorrows blue-jay erzulie sox .V1LLAINISM._ dreamglow

Olivia is more hate than human.

She hates her inability to sleep at the right time to not be sleep-deprived. She hates how far her sad excuse of an apartment is from the White Swan. She hates how early she has to wake up to arrive on time. She hates that cold morning showers are the only thing that can wake her sleep-deprived senses up. She hates how coffee tastes so good but hurts so bad, hates how long the water for her tea takes to brew. She hates how she broke the yolk of her pitiful, single sunnyside-up egg breakfast when she was flipping it onto the plate.

And most importantly, she hates being late.

So of course, on the one day where first impressions are being made, the bus Olivia usually rides is out of service—a quote unquote brake emergency according to the alert on her phone. Then, all the Uber drivers near her neighborhood decide to be off work this morning. A thirty minute wait later, and Olivia finds herself in the backseat of a car with a driver who has never, ever even traveled in the direction of the White Swan. That, and he has a mouth comparable only to Quentin. The kind of blubbering fool who spends so much time engrossed in interacting with others that they forget their main task—maybe that was why the driver missed the turns noted by his phone's GPS multiple times. After praying to move faster through traffic, a few u-turns, and the occasional running over a curb with the back wheel, the driver parked. All Olivia could speak out was a small sigh of relief.

"We've arrived, ma'am. Don't forget to leave a-"

Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Olivia hopped out of the car and practically sprinted to the back door of the restaurant that led into the kitchen. Her fingers tapped as fast as possible, marking one star—if she had died on the way to work, her ghost would've given him a zero—and stuffed the phone in her back pocket. She was late. So late. And the fact made her physically cringe. As her hand wrapped around the handle of the door, Olivia's entire body tensed. Oh, it felt so wrong to be the one doing this.

It was apparently just as wrong to open the door and see what lay inside. The smell of burnt... polyester? cotton? fabric of some sort perfumed the air. Not the most appetizing, but certainly not unusual. Perhaps a rag caught on fire for the second time that week. As embarrassing as that might be for a fine dining restaurant, worse things had made headlines—like a certain chef and cousin of hers serving an oven mitt in place of a steak—but this was far worse.

Up ahead, the sight of Quentin's ass cheeks with bits of burnt cloth surrounding them. Thoroughly soaked to the bone alongside him were Giselle, Daniela, and... three faces that Olivia couldn't place. Not that that mattered. The sight of Maddie with a washing bucket and Dovey holding a cake made her eyebrows twitch. The events of this morning were about to burst, and this might've been the last straw.

The secondhand embarrassment she got at the sight of Quentin made her grab the nearest apron and few clean rags from the storage area and stride over. The black apron was dusted with flour and stains of an unknown sauce, but it would do. Apparently no one had thought to cover the fool's bum, at the very least in an attempt to salvage whatever reputation the White Swan had left as a dignified establishment, so as always, Olivia was relegated to caring for Quentin's image. She draped the apron around her cousin's neck, straps facing the front, and let the wide part drape over his posterior. In this position, one strong pull, and it'd choke him out. A tempting proposition, but Olivia dropped it, instead choosing to shoot the briefest of side eyes at him—a request, a stern one, to go change.

Handing out the once plate-wiping, now body-drying rags out amongst the poor victims of Maddie's splash attack, Olivia got a better look around at everyone who had witnessed Quentin's accident of the week. She noticed Reuben and Rhys, not surprised they were evaluating the three strangers. Olivia couldn't help directing her attention in their direction either. Were they new employees or unfortunate customers caught in the crossfire of the restaurant staff's shenanigans once again? Nonetheless, she could only manage a nod in their direction.

"Good morning. Anything uninteresting happen?"

Uninteresting meaning anything she wouldn't hate.

coded by natasha.

 

[LowkeyLovingLoki]

scroll

fight or flight

dean.

mood

ugh.

outfit

who cares?

location

his apartment -> the white swan

interactions

maddie + noel + little bit of everyone

tags

mother of sorrows dreamglow

Every morning, Dean's alarm went off. Every morning, Dean had to fight the urge to pick it up and send it hurling toward the wall opposite his bed. Instead, he'd just groan and hit the snooze button, and then he'd fight the urge all over again ten minutes later. Fortunately, he didn't particularly care if he was late to work, so no matter how many times he hit snooze, he was never really in a rush.

He considered himself a man with simple tastes, so his breakfast consisted of a piece of toast with strawberry jam and a cup of mediocre coffee. Of course, half the time, he'd open the pantry to find that he was out of bread, or jam, or his coffee would taste particularly bad. So, most mornings, he would scoff down a burnt end-piece of toast with just a little bit of butter on it, and then he'd grab a much better coffee from a cafe on the way to work.

He liked to walk to work, mostly because he didn't have a car, and he hated public transport. So, actually, walking was his only option. Whatever. He told himself that he liked it. He just lit a cigarette, put his earphones in - with cords, because what the fuck was wrong with a cord? He wasn't spending hundreds on EarPods or whatever they were just for them to fall out of his ear and into some sewer somewhere. Fuck Apple.

Anyway. He smoked as he walked, regardless of how cold it was, and didn't put out his cigarette as he entered the White Swan, also known as Hell on Earth. He was late. He thought there might have been something important on today, but he couldn't remember what it was, so it couldn't have been that important.

"Hey, assholes,"

he greeted as he pushed open the doors into the main area, words slightly muffled by the cigarette that dangled from his mouth.

The sight in front of him made him stop in his tracks for a moment. Least interestingly, he realised what today was - new hires. More interestingly, the hires, along with Giselle and Daniela were dripping wet. One particular hire with red strands in his otherwise now-wet dark hair, Dean found particularly interesting. He tore his eyes away to the rest of the scene, which was most interesting of all. Quentin's ass was out. Dean allowed himself a second of looking, but it was pretty average.

"And asses,"

he added to his initial greeting, wandering over to Maddie, who seemed to be at fault for drenching the hires.

Dean glanced at the bucket, then reached up and took a drag of his cigarette. He wasn't supposed to smoke inside the restaurant, but he always liked to wait until someone told him he had to stop.

"Aiming for Quentin?"

He asked Maddie, nodding at the bucket and then tilting his head towards its victims.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[sox]

mood

enthusiastic through her confusion

outfit

link

location

the white swan lobby

tags

mother of sorrows miyabi erzulie blue-jay

"maybe 'hi, i'm nishika, but you can call me nisha!' ...do people actually say this shit? that makes me sound like a teenager. maybe i can just play it cool. 'the name's nisha.' not bad, but perhaps that makes me sound like quite the asshole..."

no, nishika had not been awake since four in the morning after a fitful night of rest. she did not memorize the names and pronunciations of the entire staff before her orientation at the white swan for the sake of avoiding embarrassment. and she most definitely did not spend the last two hours before said orientation pacing outside of her apartment building and talking to herself in hindi like any sane 27-year-old woman would at the asscrack of dawn.

in her defense, nishika had never been this nervous for her career in ages; despite her prestige and inherently extroverted nature, she couldn't help the unsettled twisting in her gut at the idea of having packed up and moved to a foreign country by herself. she had worked hard to learn the language throughout the years she'd spent in mumbai and hyderabad, but the lack of exposure to native speakers meant she never quite learned the colloquial applications and slang she'd undoubtedly encounter in the states.

would she be able to keep up with the kitchen staff's banter? would they leave her out of the loop if she didn't catch on to everything right away? would they give her the cold shoulder if they didn't like her accent?

at the end of the day, however, she had uprooted her entire life for the sake of cooking under the guidance of a good friend and mentor, and she would allow no obstacles to stand in the way of a very lucrative learning opportunity. she was confident in her skills on the line and knew she could whip up a mean burrata salad with her eyes closed.

and, well, if they asked any questions she couldn't quite make sense of, then...

"fuck it. i'll just say i don't speak english."

it was with such a newfound devil-may-care bravado that nishika mustered the courage to cease her pacing (much to her neighbors' relief) and hailed a cab to the white swan, where she was greeted by none other than the head chef and two other new hires upon entering the premises.

''i'm daniela suarez, the head chef here. your names are...?''

'so this is daniela. pretty face. pretty name too, easy to remember.'

nishika extended a hand for daniela to shake, a warm, yet contained smile tugging at her lips. "nisha rani. lovely to meet you." a cursory glance at the restaurant revealed a humble, pleasant decorative style, not overbearing but not too plain either. it wasn't anything like the fancy, high-class establishments her university peers had landed roles in back in mumbai; rather, it was the exact picture of american dining that nisha had always imagined, and she couldn't help the elated twinkle filling her eyes at the idea of finding a home in such an environment.

with that in mind, nothing could have prepared nishika for the events to follow.

a gentleman with his rear on fire— quentin, she deduced— emerged from the kitchen with a throng of staff members on his tail, each displaying varying levels of panic as they attempted to put out the man's flaming cheeks. despite years of professionalism training, it took every ounce of willpower within nisha to hold back the snort threatening to escape her mouth, thinly veiled by the concern in her dilated gaze.

the urge to laugh at the situation did not last long, however; before she could process what was happening, the man fell to the ground in a non-consensual attempt ot stop-drop-and-roll, and a bucket of cold, soapy mop water rained down upon her and the other new hires from the direction of a staff member who had previously been hard at work cleaning the floors.

"uh. see. you already went through one of our traditions," the lady rationalized on the spot. "a... hazing one. for good luck."

another voice piped up in solidarity soon after, with a delayed addition of "oh... yeah! this is all a part of the welcome experience. i even made you guys a cake! it’s a, umm... hazing cake! welcome to the white swan!”

nisha blinked in silent shock— once. twice— before a brilliant smile broke out on her face, pupils twinkling once again despite the chill settling into her bones from the wet garments clinging to her skin.

"i see!" the naive chef exclaimed, lightly clapping her hands together out of enthusiasm. "i have heard about american hazing before. it is a test of resilience, right? you must all be very strong-willed people. it is an honor for someone like me to be able to work with you."

nishika rani.

© reveriee

 

[dreamglow]

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  very wet and embarrassed
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  fit of the day

  
  
  
  

  white button down, gray pants, white superstars

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  dovey ( blue-jay ) & literally everyone else
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

noel

the newbie

It was 11 in the morning and the only thing that could be heard inside of Noel’s sparse apartment was Nicki Minaj’s “Va Va Voom”, otherwise known as the sound of his alarm. Groaning, he rolled over and hit the stop button, knowing he’d absolutely regret everything in life if he hit the snooze. It took a minute to stretch his entire body and actually get out of bed but once he did, straight to the bathroom he went. Having showered before going to bed, he felt no need to do that, but absolutely needed to brush his teeth.

“Just met a boy, just met a boy when. He could come inside of my play pen ‘cause he look like a superstar in the making so I think that I'm going in for the taking,” he sang, voice muffled slightly by the toothbrush in his mouth. He waited for the chorus before singing again. ”I I I wanna give you one last option, I I I wanna give you one last chance. If if you're looking for the main attraction, just hold on tight and let me do my dance.” And if he did actually dance in front of the mirror, well, no one had to know.

By the time he finished brushing his teeth, getting dressed, feeding Jamu and letting him out, Noel was nearly late. Grabbing a banana for himself to eat on the way, he locked his apartment behind him and set out for The White Swan. Most would drive or take a cab to their first day of work, but he felt like walking. It would give him a chance to clear his head and get his mindset fully on work mode. Plus, he enjoyed looking at the scenery around him, and it was hard to do that when in a car. So walk he did.

Walking up the front stairs, he realized he was the last of the new hires to arrive. But before he could offer an apology or even introduce himself to the other two, a lady who he assumed to be one of the people in charge came out to greet them and ask their names.

”I’m Noel Riyadi,” he introduced as he followed her inside. He’d barely had any time to admire the interior before various other staff greeted them as well. Feeling slightly bashful, Noel clasped his hands together in front of him and stared down at the floor. It was, perhaps, for this reason that he missed the chaos unfolding.

Too busy lost inside his head, wondering whether or not the red streaks and underside in his hair would be accepted here, he didn’t see the man come sprinting out of the kitchen with his ass literally on fire. But he sure as hell heard it. Just as he looked up to find out what was going on, he was met with a face full of mop water. His favorite treat.

It was silent for a few beats, everyone trying to figure out and process what exactly happened. Assuming it was rude to spit mop water out onto the floor on your first day, Noel raised his shirt to his lips and spit the water out onto the fabric. Emerging from the button-down, he was met with the gazes of the rest of the staff. Fantastic.

He could feel eyes from the bar burning holes into the back of his head but didn’t dare turn his head to look at them. Instead, he focused on the girl who seemed to be at fault for the drenching as well as another who was carrying a cake. And… a hazing tradition? Interesting. A hazing cake? Even more interesting.

Noel waited for the other new hire to finish speaking before he did, pushing his soaking wet hair out of his eyes so it was now slicked back. ”Well,” he started, looking at Dovey. ”I could go for some of that cake right about now if you’re willing to cut me a slice.”

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[hery]

mood :

living laughing etc

location :

the white swan

outfit :

mentions :

g

interactions :

g

the dishwasher

rhys

It would be a bore to describe Rhys' morning routine in detail. Like most nice things in his life, there was no order. No rhyme, no reason, and certainly no explanation for the manner in which he trudged about his apartment, groggily munching on dry cereal and eyeing the joint he knew he couldn't partake in just yet. It was the only thing he had to look forward to, not in a depressing, hopeless way, but as a consequence of leading a life lacking direction.

The place was half a mess, unorganized to the untrained eye but just right to Rhys. Unfolded laundry was strewn across the floor, barely covering the wine stain on the rug he last opened his chakras on. What was the time? The young, foggy-headed man peered at his phone on the table, making a note that if he left in approximately twenty minutes, he could make it to work before the sticklers got a clue.

But their opinions were less relevant than Rhys' rank morning breath, so he moved on to more pressing matters. And then he got to work cleaning corn flakes off the carpet, which the narrator failed to mention spilled everywhere in a freak "Rhys-tripped-again" accident just moments ago.

Then, when all was said and done, he hopped into the car, stopped for gas and a dollar coffee, then waltzed through the door of the White Swan with a big, impudent grin on his face. If he could manage to be consistently two to seven minutes late to work every day, wouldn't it be just as easy to simply leave two to seven minutes earlier? It was one of Rhys' defining attributes: with him, you take what you can get. He cocked his head to the side, rolling his tongue in his cheek. Plus, he was slightly earlier than death-glare Olivia, which he made sure to gloat over with a smug glance in her direction.

"Hey, Dan," he greeted the chef through stifled laughter, "A little chilly for a run through the sprinklers, don't you think?" He gave the woman's shoulder a light squeeze, pushing past the group toward the back.

"Love the cake, by the way," Rhys added with his deceivingly soft voice, a glint in his eye, "And the hazing cake looks great, Dovey. Who has the pleasure of having it thrown at them today?" His facetious gaze wandered from Dovey, to Dean, to Maddie, to Olivia, to Giselle, and, finally, to Quentin, skirting past the new hires as though they hadn't yet begun to exist. As far as he was concerned, it was just another day.

Once he tore his eyes from the scene behind, there was a warm greeting waiting for Rhys from Reuben. The two exchanged a private fist bump and stepped away from the chaos. "Hardly working or hardly working, my friend?" the dishwasher quipped, marveling at the persistent insanity that followed opening. Personally, Rhys was a much greater fan of closing, even if that meant it was dish crunch time.

His attention was soon turned back to the crowd, this time with his attention on the strangers. "Since when were we getting new hires?" he queried, tugging at the collar of his black tee. A thought emerged from the back of Rhys' mind, loosely recalling a mention or two or twelve of new people and some arbitrary need to act semi-professional for just one afternoon.

No can do, bucko. As far as he was concerned, if it didn't come from Emilia, then it wasn't supreme law.

"I hope they make it. I'm tired of being one of the new guys." He snuck a glance at the bar shelf, fighting the instinct to lick his lips in the presence of quality liquor. "That polite chick seems impressionable. Wonder if I can get her to cover a break or two?" He laughed quietly to himself, giving the three strangers another once-over. His curious eyes were always sizing up something or someone, which perhaps gave them the intensity he was entirely oblivious of.

"Nice hair," he called to the small, trendy-looking guy with red in his hair. He looked fun. There was a hint of cheeky irony in Rhys' tone, but it was all in good nature.

He raised an eyebrow at Reuben, curious about his own opinions. Though he and Rhys could be philosophically incongruent at times, it was an opinion he valued nonetheless. Good workplace shit-shooting could be hard to find.

coded by reveriee.

 

[erzulie]

scroll

Giselle A.

the white swan

open

here

It had only been a few seconds of her helping Quentin. Another had passed and suddenly she was soaked with water, dripping from head to toe. Giselle was quick to stand up, letting out a short shriek from a mixture of shock and the cold. For a moment she stood frozen. Her brain was trying to process the fact that water had been dumped on her without reason. It had been Quentin who had been on fire in the first place. Well, at least said fire had been put out. That had been a good thing. Giselle glanced at Quentin. While there was a hole in his pants now, he was unharmed. A tiny sigh of relief left her lips.

Turning, she was met with the sight of others who were in the same predicament as her. She could hear her coworkers trying to save face. Giselle was shocked that the new hires seemed to believe the hazing lie that had been told to her. She couldn’t help but be impressed by how fast they’d come up with it. A chill came at her and she suppressed a shiver. Giselle straightened up. Once again she slipped into her professional persona, despite looking as if she’d just dived head first into a pool or something.

“Now that the hazing is out of the way. I’d like to formally welcome you to our establishment. I hope that we didn’t startle you three too much.” Giselle smiled, gently moving some wet locks from her forehead. Goosebumps were already forming on her skin, she needed to wrap this up fast before she caught a cold or worse. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go and change before I get any colder.”

With that Giselle sauntered off, heels clacking and posture straight as she walked off. When far enough she wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing in an attempt to warm up. The Swan was sometimes on the chilly side, and unfortunately today was one of those days. If she continued on any longer her teeth would begin chattering.

On the bright side, she perked up a little, this was more than enough of a reason for her to step out. There were likely to have some extra uniforms somewhere….but she needed to warm up. Yes, she definitely needed to head some to change close. And maybe she could take a little detour, stop at a cute little cafe for some hot chocolate. And her hair, she had just gotten it done! And while she thought of it, her nails could use a touch up too. Giselle smiled, mind overtaken by her plans.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[mother of sorrows]

/* ------ left side ------ */

/* ------ left side info ------ */

mood screaming throwing up

location the white swan

outfit cooking mama core

tag answer here

daniela suárez

/* ------ right side ------ */

You know how they say under rock bottom there's a sub-basement? Daniela's pretty sure she just found the stairs down to it.

It all happened so fast; Quentin rushing in with his ass on fire (and it's sad that she can say that so calmly, that it's not the worst thing she's seen), Maddie rushing to help. Water, bitter and dirty, splashing all over them. Her and Giselle were the main victims, only -

the newbies. They were completely covered. It hasn't even been a minute. Daniela turned red, a shade of red that meant violence is at hand. Lord, is she really being so unreasonable to expect for this team to act right one day? A single one? No, even half a day would be great, more than she can ask for - anything but this. She would say to be yourself, but for these people? She'd tell them to act anything but their true self. Worse yet it seemed like the entire staff was packed in to see what was going on, and definitively not to help; Ryhs and Reuben were together, which was never a good sign. Especially when either of them was smiling.

About the only highlight of this was Dovey and Olivia; Dovey because she had cake in hand and Olivia because she was determined to cover Quentin's behind.

'I have heard about american hazing before. It is a test of resilience, right? You must all be very strong-willed people. It is an honor for someone like me to be able to work with you.'

Daniela snapped out of her shock at the sound of a voice, turning back to - Nisha, yeah, the girl with satin eyes and a smile as polite as the ones you'd see in commercials. Nisha Rani. Emilia sang her praises, 'lovely girl, really smart, she'll do great here.' A picture of elegance - and seems sane enough. Which isn't a guarantee here. Daniela gave her a genuine, if awkward smile; a drop of water drifted down her cheek.

''...yeeeah. This is just a test. Uh, to see if you're determined enough.'' The man beside her, hair the color of fire that burned Quentin's ass - Noel Riyadi, the newbie's newbie if she's correct - looked unharmed. Physically, at least. Mentally, who knows what kind of damage he gained by witnessing this burst of insanity?

'A little chilly for a run through the sprinklers, don't you think?'

At least Ryhs is having a great time. When does he not have one? The restaurant could be up in flames and he'd be the one to start roasting marshmallows. The glare Daniela sent him could have possibly killed him where he stood - the water soaking her down dampered the effect, but she made sure to show her disapproval even more. Giselle made the smart decision to abandon them, wandering off with the grace of a ballerina leaving the stage; how she did that while covered in dirty water is beyond Daniela. She's going to have to do the same if she has any hope of looking presentable. A hand drew over her face, supressing a sigh.

''Reuben, Ryhs, Dean. Anybody. Please get Quentin new pants.'' She's seen more of Quentin's behind than she ever wanted to. Nightmare fuel.

''Dovey, Via, please show the newbies to the break room. Everybody get in there, it's time to celebrate.'' Daniela decorated it herself - strawberry pink banners, balloons clinging to the ceiling, sparkling letters spelling out a big 'WELCOME.' ''And introduce yourselves while you're there, okay?''

Now to get rid of these clothes. Sigh.

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[dear.szmm]

mood :

pissed

location :

dining room --> break room

outfit :

mentions :

Giselle, Quentin, Daniela, Nisha

interactions :

Rhys ( hery )

bonilla

reuben

Becoming friends with Rhys was relatively straight-forward. He was only one-year Reuben’s junior, and, for the most part, had his head screwed on. He reminded Reuben of his younger self, from not too far in the past. Rhys was an ally, for sure. Did he do fucking stupid shit? Sometimes. Reuben did too, again, not too far in the past.

“Oh, no,” he said through a smirk, shaking his head. “She wants nothing to do with you, dude. You’ll ruin her. Look at her.”

Reuben shot a glace over in Nisha’s direction, watching as she smiled and nodded her head enthusiastically at the rest of the hoard. Eh, she would soon lose her grin when service began. The food that left the kitchen had to be fast, high-quality, and exceptionally presented. Reuben had enough to deal with in the ways of customers without any of them whining and moaning about the food; he’d been here long enough to gain a skill in pre-empting which diners would complain about what, and would try communicate this to the rest of the staff through a raised eyebrow or a subtle point with his chin.

Reuben chuckled, still perusing his co-workers, elbowing Rhys for his joint attention.

“Maybe you should swap with Olivia for a night,” Reuben teased. “You might actually do a better job than her. If she was in the sink, there’d be less a chance of her throwing a table of eight’s drinks over another group of diners.”

He sighed, straightening up a chair half tucked under a nearby table. He begrudged talking bad of any of his co-workers, but some of them were… on another planet.

“What can I say, I hope I’m wrong, dude. I hope they last. I hope they’re half competent. God knows we don’t need any more Giselles or…”

He looked up as he spoke, eyes following Giselle as she disappeared.

“Jesus Christ, would you look at that. What, am I supposed to do the job of two people by myself or somethin’?”

Reuben looked around, bewildered, raising his hands exasperatedly.

“Where’s she going?! Daniela?!” he called, striding towards her with aggressive purpose.

All but ignored, Reuben swiped a can of soda from the bar and trudged begrudgingly to the break room. Quentin was grown. He could find his own damn pants.

coded by reveriee.

 

[xayah.]

olivia wynn

the assistant waitress

the white swan

this is hell.

restaurant uniform

interactions

blue-jay dreamglow sox dear.szmm .V1LLAINISM._

What. Was. Daniela. Thinking.

If Olivia's dread wasn't perceptible, the pure and unfiltered dislike she had for these types of things was written all over her face and embued in her every move. Remember, this was the waitress that had been written about online as "unwelcoming" and "wholly negligent" in her most recent raving review. Olivia hadn't started off with such impeccable service to the party of 8, but after making her stand in the aisle between tables for some ten to fifteen minutes because they didn't know what to order after confirming they were ready and letting their kids drop silverware and drinks all over, they had found their way onto her shit list.

Staring after her boss, more like burning holes deep into their back, Olivia hoped that Daniela would feel the discomfort she was feeling ten, if not a hundred, times over before redirecting her attention to Dovey. One of the few sane people who worked at this establishment, Olivia more than tolerated the restaurant's resident pastry chef, and now, she was looking for a way out of leading this committee of merry-despite-being-recently-"hazed" new employees. Unfortunately, Dovey's hands seemed to be full, literally, as a very enticing cake seemed to dangle in front of the new hires like a reward for all of their unintended suffering. There was no rescue coming to save her from her suffering, was there.

"Well... welcome to the White Swan."

Her hands drew an arc, drawing attention to the immaculately decorated interior and all of its meticulously chosen furniture. For all of the staff's almost daily antics, the restaurant was certainly befitting of its status as a place for fine-dining. It made a good impression, a good cover really.

"The break room is over here. If you'd follow me before digging into our talented pastry chef's newest creation." As much as Olivia despised taking the role of the leader, she was good at it, pointing out details big and small. There, where she had come out of before stumbling on today's incident was the kitchen, and over here was the hallway that separated the dining room and the staff room where you could sneak small morsels of food away from prying eyes. Through the kitchen was the back of the restaurant, a common smoking spot for things that began with a c or a j. Near it was a changing room—hopefully her embarrassing cousin had found a pair of trousers with or without someone's assistance—and there the bathrooms.

And finally, the break room. Holding the door open while the others filed in, Olivia did her best to suppress an eye roll as Reuben comfortably lounged with his soda in hand. Very helpful and outgoing there, Mr. Host. She couldn't help it at the sight of the room, though. From the banners to the balloons that would've floated away into space without the ceiling and a sparkling 'WELCOME', it was very much giving off the impression that they were hosting a child's sixth birthday party. Which they weren't, if that wasn't clear.

"I'm Olivia. Assistant waitress. I mostly deal with the difficult customers." Choosing to emit the fact that she was responsible for making sure such people never returned, Olivia walked over to help free up Dovey's hands. She moved over to the table and helped clear a spot for the untouched cake, careful not to get any on herself. God knows what was in it, and if it would put her out of commission for the rest of the day.

After scouring through the cabinets for plates and utensils, Olivia started on dividing the treat into pieces while the others like Dovey and Reuben introduced themselves. WIth gloves on, of course. After spending so much money on a near deadly Uber ride here, she would not be returning home empty-handed. They'd have to drag her cold, dead body out of here before that happened. Holding a piece of cake on a plate up with all the poise of a waitress who's balanced trays for decades, she looked over at the new hires before extending the piece out in a come-and-get it sort of manner.

"Name and job from you three before you get one."

coded by natasha.

 

[.V1LLAINISM._]

Stanley

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the walters

I love you so

Drip…Drip…Drip


It was 8 am in the morning. 8 am in the morning and he’d already seen someone’s bare ass, a fire and the entire contents of a well over-worked mop bucket. 8 am and he already wanted to die. And though some people would just call this a regular day in Little Beacon Oregon, the bespectacled on the other hand, would passionately like to disagree. For there were simply no words, truly none left to describe his current state of appall, his shock, his embarrassment. It’s not like he’s never met chaos before, no, being a part of a family large enough to be deemed a small militia has made them quite good friends, it’s that he’s never seen chaos quite like this.

Murky water wrapped around his frame like snakey tendrils, trailing into a slow descent until they pinched the cool, polished floors. Blurring his glasses, dimming his hair, sopping his clothes and of course, turning his stomach. In the end, the unsuspected Estelicche didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry, but what he did know was this: he wanted to go home. He wanted to go home right this instant.

Would they notice if he slipped out the very doors he’d only just walked through? Would they even care? It seemed like any sane person would do so regardless but Stanley wasn’t entirely sane- or at least, his father wasn’t.

“Those bastards, look at ‘em, going ‘round stealing my business' He'd said to him on one pink evening, at the impressionable age of 8 or 9. Stanley remembers being transfixed by the image of his father right then, listening to him as if he were god himself. With his cigar jutting through worn fingers, pointing in fiery vindication, the rose of the sky illuminating his umber-coloured eyes, igniting a flame in his pupils. It was in that moment that the older restaurateur resembled something of a movie character, majestic in a way that he’ll likely never embody again.

He took another drag, “I’ll put an end to ‘em one of these days, just you wait son, just you wait.” And that was the end of that.

Now Stanley never quite understood his father’s undying hatred for the White Swan, not because he wasn’t a talking man (well that too), but because the story would change every single time- thanks to the rest of the Estelicches whom of course, bear no particular qualms over imagination. Some say it’s because of an old family feud, ancient as time itself and yet, never seeming to age past the very minute it happened. Others have alluded to a stolen signature recipe and his siblings, well, they merely think that the old man’s lost his mind, as old men often do.
And as Stanley stands dripping in dirty ass water, he’s beginning to think so too.

''-See. You already went through one of our traditions. A... hazing one.. For good luck''

The spy had to do his absolute best to wipe the skepticism off his face. Because he who had gone through multiple surprise “hazings” as per the initiation of his older (and unfortunately stronger) brothers, struggled to display the same naivete as his new colleagues.This was no ritual no, this was a terrorist attack.


“Oh uh.. Hazing, heh ‘course” his meak words became tapered and he wondered, how in the hell was he already bad at this? He’d only just started… Though if we’re being completely honest, Stanley was never known for being good at, well, anything really. In fact the opposite is true. Notoriously bad at his job (and every other one hey’d given him), Stanley is very much what you’d call ahem, a nuisance. Butter-fingered, loose-lipped and everything in between, it’s always been painfully apparent that the world of food- or simply the world itself- is very much not for him. But of course, with his tremendous luck, his family just had to own one of the most successful restaurants in the state and basically the country itself. That is, if it weren’t for him and the White Swan holding them back. At least the two shared something in common.

Thus, how he’d been bestowed with yet another chance, another adventure was beyond him- no really, he nearly choked on his dinner when his father uttered the words: “you’re going in,” in that extremely articulate manner of his. He thought that maybe he’d misheard, that he’d instead called for another sibling but no, it was him, Stanley Estelicche the hero, destined to save his family from the mundane and pave the way to prosperity… Let’s just pretend that it’s destiny and not the fact that he looks nothing like the rest of his family, nor that very few people care to know about all 8 siblings besides Antonio, whom he constantly sits in the shadow of. Needless to say, he was shocked too.

But I digress, let us return to the White Swan, shall we?

Faces. There were tons of ‘em just standing there, staring, talking as if they hadn’t just witnessed what should be designated a crime within the legal constitution of the United States of America. And Stanley was mortified. For not only had he just been through so much in such a little amount of time (he already made a mental note to book his next therapy session), but he was drenched in doodoo water. In front of strangers. And the worst part of it all wasn’t that he’d tasted some of it, no, It was that this all seemed very much normal to them.

What the hell have you gotten yourself into Stan?


_______


It wasn’t long before Ms. Daniela- who seemed youthful though still carrying the air of a tired mother- ordered two women who may or may not be named Olivia and Dovey to escort them (still drenched in ass water mind you) to the break room for cake and introductions. Was he thrilled? Absolutely not. Did he want cake? Well he deserves it by now don’t you think? Stanley’s ears pricked up and what was once drained of colour became rosy in at the prospect of delicious confections. His stomach growled. What? He missed breakfast for this.


Though he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t at all intimidated by these people. The restaurant itself was in impeccable condition, sleek and equipped in a way that theirs’ wasn’t and Stanley, well he couldn’t help but feel a lil envious. Even the employees who, despite the recent freak show, looked like they knew what they were doing and had a choice in knowing. They weren’t born into it, well most of them weren’t anyway. They weren’t constantly critiqued for every little thing, every dish or service but most of all, they were allowed to have passions outside of -of whatever this was. And so the jealousy thickens.

Chatter filled the short lengths in which they all walked, the kind that reminded him of his boyhood. The brunet noticed that many of them were friendly with one another, outgoing but not awfully so, which in hindsight, was bad for him because there was nothing to exploit thus far, but good for them for obvious reasons.
It also made him feel a tad lonely, on top of the plethora of other emotions he was currently processing. He couldn’t help but realise one of two things: no matter how much he’d come to like or dislike these people, none of it would be real. So, the prodigal son remained how he always was: quiet, nervous and with fleeting dignity.
It almost felt like home.

___________


When they arrived at the break room Stanley was just about ready to eat his own foot- and the left one too. Why he’d been so wrapped up in his own little world and the harsh realities of this one that he’d grown exhausted, entirely spent on thoughts and thoughts alone.
So when a slice of cake was lifted before him, like simba to the rest of the pride, he almost pounced on it. Almost.

"-Name and job from you three before you get one."

Why does the Universe keep doing this to him? WHY?!

Suddenly every pair of eyes darted to the trio once again, waiting expectantly for him-who accidentally positioned himself as first- to speak. Shit. Name, name, c’mon name think of a name Stanley-

“Uh John Smith…son.” He offered a sheepish smile. Oh you idiot. “John Smithson” He affirmed “I’m the new waiter.”

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[erzulie]

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Giselle A.

the white swan

John Smithson .V1LLAINISM._

here

Giselle was still sniffling when she burst through the spa doors through the back entrance. A quick text and they were ready for her in all of her soaked glory. She had nearly burst into tears again as they kept their distance. It wasn’t their fault, she knew that she was a horrid sight. And not to mention the smell. Going through the back had been on purpose, she couldn’t let anyone else see her in such a state. Her reputation would be in shambles, it was bad enough that she was actually working. It didn’t matter how much she enjoyed the job. In the eyes of society, she was better than that.

Her movements were quick. The shower had been already prepared for her and as she entered the steamy room, she could smell the refreshing scent of a lavender shower steamer surrounding her. Her body sagged instantly, a sense of calm washed over her once she stepped inside and closed the door. It was so tempting, the thought of spending the rest of her day in the private area of the spa. She could pamper herself thoroughly, she deserved it after being doused with dirty water.

Giselle ran a hand through her hair after releasing it from the bun it was in. It would be rude if she didn’t at least attend the welcoming party. What would her new coworkers think if she just upped and abandoned ship. It was her job to keep the restaurant image in the clear after all. Yes, she’d go back. With that in mind Giselle began to clean herself of the foul water.

——-

It had ended much quicker than what she was used to. But she felt refreshed nevertheless. Giselle was presentable once more. Smelling like lavender and looking as though she’d never been drenched in the first place, she sauntered back into the White Swan. She’d just walked in to catch the end of the conversation and the beginning of the introductions.

“Oh, I haven’t missed too much. I’m glad.” Giselle clicked into the break room and flashed the trio another award winning smile. Her gaze landed on the one with glasses. “John Smithson…that sounds familiar somehow…” Her gaze trailed over him intently. “Oh! Are you a member of the Smithsonian family?”

♡coded by uxie♡