Before coming to work, most of her day was spent at the other church. They were planning a potluck, and she was to make something even though she was a terrible cook. She prayed to the one who lived below while she bent in front of the alter and hoped her cooking would be at least edible. Once upon a time her mother had tried to teach her how, but she was too disinterested the process and more interested in eating. She figured as long as she exercised, she could probably live off frozen food, canned goods and things straight out of the package. But lord, did she miss her mom's home cooking.
She would at least try frying up enough chicken for the group. It was only thirty or so people that attend, which was small in comparison to hundreds of people that attended the the Church Of Christ. She had never been into christianity and didn't intend to be anytime soon, especially when the god she served hadn't steered her wrong thus far. She had been protected, safe, and without harm since she had converted. That was something she could believe in. Sometimes, she wondered if her parents would be upset at her serving a god as cruel and dark as the one that lives below. She figured they probably would be, but it wasn't like they'd ever find out.
The rest of her day before going to the bar was spent relaxing in the tub and taking a load off. She knew she'd have a really long night, serving drinks and chatting with the customers. It was very much tourist season, and that meant there was a lot of clientele. She didn't mind though, because the tips would be overflowing because of her great service and pretty face. She wasn't above flirting to get what she wanted either, long as they realized they didn't have a chance in hell of fucking her.
Now the night was on and she was quick as a whip as she served drinks. She was barely paying attention, serving another customer his scotch and rum when she saw her boss' daughter come in. She rolled her eyes, hoping the kid wasn't about to pester her about drinks. She was told in no certain circumstances was she supposed to give her one, even if she came in bleeding and looking like she really needed one. Which honestly, she found hilariously stupid, because why couldn't the kids in this town drink? They were liable to die at an early age.
But when it came down to it? She liked her job and even more so, she didn't want to lose it on account of giving the boss' daughter a shot of anything. Not even a non-alcoholic beer. Little missy sat herself right in front of her as she started filling up a pitcher with beer for the man who had asked for one for his table, she noticed the look and knew what was about to come as she gave the man his beer and watched him twaddle away.
“if I tell you I'd rather cut off my left hand than give you a drink. Will you stop pestering me, you little brat?,” she retorted, placing her hands on the bar as her bracelet sashed against the top, she had an obvious attitude.