Bethany Richards (hard_edge) wrote in low_tide, @ 2009-12-13 00:18:00 |
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Current mood: | determined |
Entry tags: | bethany richards |
Lightbulb
Bethany had come to the conclusion that the sooner she remedied this… work situation the better, it was currently unacceptable and she was a hairsbreadth away from putting the nearest sharp implement through the eye of her co-worker who had no brain to mouth filter. What kept her from giving in to that impulse was the reminder that rent was due and as ridiculously expensive as it was it was still the roof over her head. Bethany was in no lifetime - even one as shitty as this - being homeless and on the streets.
Currently Bethany was finishing up her shift, glancing at the clock out of the corner of her eye before smoothing back a strand of hair, feeling the frustration build as time seemed to drag on forever.
Of course having nothing much to do was good for one thing: getting a read of her co-workers and more importantly the so-called friend that had stolen the promotion and was currently doing the manager. If this had been another place and another time, Bethany would have respected the girl for going after what she wanted, but as it directly impacted on Bethany’s life Bethany held the woman in nothing but contempt.
She took a moment to count her tips and smiled at the amount, obviously the flirting had paid off in just the way she expected. Maybe just maybe she’d be able to afford a pair of boots soon. The mere idea that she had to save up for one pair of boots was… sickening and vomit inducing, but it wouldn’t be for long, this much Bethany was sure of.
The bar was due to shut so it was rare for somebody to wander it off the street, but life was nothing if not unpredictable and so the sound of the front door opening was not as shocking to Bethany as it was to her useless co-worker.
It was a hoard of giggling women, all of which were dressed in some questionable clothes and seemed to have glitter or what used to be glitter on their skin. Bethany's co-worker leaned across and whispered, "Strippers."
Bethany's eyebrow arched and she took a moment to regard the women now present at the bar, unable to stop from comparing them to the women she'd had dancing on her stages in Chicago. They weren't as pretty nor as elegant in movement, but they certainly seemed well paid.
A light bulb seemed to go off above the Slayer's head and it was with a well thought out move that she found herself serving them, asking them about their work and how they found it, figuring it couldn't hurt to dabble a little. Especially if it meant she made a little extra money, it couldn't hurt and it wasn't like she was in any shape of form ashamed of her body, more than a little conceited in that department.
Bethany glanced over her shoulder at her co-workers who were too busy being inept and generally useless to notice before turning back to the dancers, giving them a slow persuasive smile, managing to get as much out of them as was possible given their state and the time of night.
Bar work was not for her, but maybe just maybe dancing could be. Anything had to be better than working where she was and so what if she had to take her clothes off, nothing ventured was nothing gained.
Somebody had to make this life a better one.