ɱɑʀiɛ (coveted) wrote in summerview, @ 2019-02-01 14:50:00 |
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Entry tags: | breanna tucker, complete, zmarie roque |
start a new job in a factory
Who: Marie & Bree
What: An interview for a waitressing gig
When: Backdated to when Bree arrived
Where: Boudin
Rating: Low!
Status: Complete
Interviews, what fun. But a necessary aspect for now, since Marie owned Boudin and didn’t have a front of the house manager yet - however, she was steadily acquiring a waitstaff. She’d just hired a bartender, and then was informed by Jayati a day later that he was probably here to spy, by the way, because her sister was a righteous bitch and that family drama was starting to spread like a pesky case of herpes. Mon dieu. And yet she’d handle it, she always did. First, however? A little bit of fortification. Which meant she prepared herself a Bloody Mary shot - the small glass had hot crawfish seasoning on the rim, and speared garnish consisting of a green olive and a sliver of bacon. It smelled like pure unadulterated evil and tasted like the blood of the Devil himself. So obviously, she picked it up and downed it in one go. The vodka in the concoction was infused with spices that could easily turn the tongue to ash, for those with weak constitutions. Which was not her. Then she waited, while simultaneously keeping busy doing things like rolling silverware, wearing jeans and black boots that climbed high with a cozy belted-at-the-waist sweater thrown over that. She was intrigued to see what this potential new waitress was like - Bree, was her name, and she was new to town. Either way, Marie would show her some hospitality. She was good to the newbies, not to mention good to her regulars - the perks of being the one running the show was that she was personable with just about everyone that wasn't a fuckin' asshat. If her favorites were having it particularly rough, she'd take care of them. Guaranteed. Bree had so far run into another werewolf on the way down for breakfast at the weekend and half a dozen other people whose scents she couldn’t place even in the slightest. She’d slept like a baby for the first time in a year knowing that for now at least she was safe, and wouldn’t be easily located through magical - or more mundane - means, which hopefully meant she could stop running. Of course, that also meant that she needed to get a job and find somewhere to live. She’d make a terrible housemate so she figured she’d need to live alone, so that meant she definitely needed a job. She’d browsed the paper for listings, wandered around town looking for places that were hiring and that was how she’d come across Boudin. It looked nice and classy and certainly not somewhere where she risked getting her ass grabbed (because she’d been fired before she came here for snapping a man’s fingers for touching her after she’d warned him), or for being fired by management for how she reacted to having somoene grab her ass without her permission. Dressed as best she could be; fitted jeans and boots with a tank-top covered with a blue shirt and her hair in a braid, she walked into Boudin and took a deep breath. Scents bombarded her from every direction but she focused on the moment, trying to remember the techniques she’d taught herself following her turning so that she didn’t get overwhelmed. She saw a woman - whom she assumed was Marie - and walked over with a bright smile on her face. “Marie, right?” she asked, hint of an accent wrapping around her vowels, “I’m Bree, here to talk ‘bout becoming one of your waitresses?” “Bonjour, Bree,” Marie smiled, gingery eyes burning on low, with a friendly kind of warmth. She motioned toward one of the tables, abandoning the task of rolling silverware for the time being - there was enough, so she was basically all set. “I’m Marie, yes. Let’s have a seat? And can I get you a drink or anything?” Of course, that might involve a little sampling of food as well - because she wanted the waitstaff to be able to pick up on the nuances of the flavors and all that, and also have their favorites so they could make recommendations. Plus, being that Marie was once a waitress herself, nothing was worse than having to lie to customers about how good the food was (‘that’s a popular choice’ was often code for ‘not my favorite, tastes like shoes’). Therefore, she’d be on the top of her game here (and should anyone grab Bree’s ass, well, she was free to break more than their fingers). “Just water’d be fine for now, thank you,” Bree replies politely. She twisted her thumb ring and tilted her head, watching Marie curiously. Not human but also not wolf. There were a lot of “Not Humans” out there and Bree was only just learning how to identify them by scent. It was harder than she thought, considering it required her to use the abilities she disliked so much. She figured she should at least start with a water just in case she ended up trying other things as the interview went on. Taking the offered seat, Bree cast an eye over the bar and tables that she could see. “Real nice place you got here,” she remarked. “Got a good feel about it.” Marie got them two ice waters - and also a little something extra for her interviewee. “Thanks, cher,” she grinned at the compliment. “Just made this too, it’s fresh from the oven - let me know what you think.” This referred to bread pudding - it was a staple in the French Quarter, a classic Creole dish that came about because of thriftiness. Meaning, figuring out how to make use of stale loaves of bread besides tossing them to the birds or into the trash. There was really no wrong way to do it, but Marie tended to serve hers warm with a whiskey sauce. Old reliable. “So,” she gave Bree a spoon. “You’re new to town? How’re you settling in?” There was no mistaking the way that Bree’s stomach rumbled a little when the bread pudding was put in front of her, or the way that her eyes lit up in response. She took the spoon and tapped the back of it against the table briefly, offering Marie a little grin. “Y’all working out my weaknesses already. Desserts are something I can never say no to.” She waited, not wanting to be the first one to dive into the pudding though that restraint lasted all of thirty seconds before the spoon was sinking into the food, the scent that was already overwhelming becoming even moreso as she took the first spoonful and closed her eyes, relishing the taste. “Fuck that tastes good.” Clearing her throat, she looked sheepish for swearing. “Promise I can keep language pretty PG13 when I’m workin’,” she said. “I’m settlin’ in okay, thanks, still tryna get used to the place.” Living at the B&B was fine but she was already - a few days in - struggling with being in an area that was communal. “Hoping to stick around.” “I’ll take that f-bomb as a good sign,” Marie chuckled; a little sailor language didn’t bother her, and wouldn’t bother the average Boudin customer either. You had to be spicy to handle this spice, after all. Though it was nice of Bree to offer to be mindful. “Well, it’s not so bad - it takes some time to settle in since there’s such a variety of people here, but ultimately I’m personally glad I made the move.” She sipped her water, flipping to a fresh page in her notebook - she had the girl’s resume, but jotting down notes helped her focus sometimes. “So, just give me an overview on your knowledge of Cajun and Creole food and drinks and all that.” If she didn’t know much at all but could learn quickly, that was fine too - the question was a decent opener, however. “Spent four months workin’ in a handful of places in New Orleans, almost right on the riverbank. Kinda fell in love with the ‘Gator platter there. Guessing y’all don’t really get that out here though, huh.” She listed off a few other meals that she’d really loved when working there, barely sleeping as she saved enough money to pay for the trinket she wore around her neck that pulsed softly with magic. “Can’t go wrong with grilled catfish, either.” She tilted her head, taking another bite of the food before she put the spoon down as an attempt at exercising self control. She curled her fingers around the glass and lifted it to her lips, saying as she did, “I can make a mean Sazerac, if needed, but I ain’t really got the necessary skills to be workin’ behind a bar.” Oooh la la. Marie was impressed, the elegant arches of her eyebrows poking upward as she scribbled a few things down. “We do serve an alligator gumbo here - I’ll have a little sample for you next time you come in,” she promised. It was rare to find someone who outright appreciated the taste of gator - it was tender and flavorful, and actually did tend to mimic chicken quite a bit. “I get the gator from a fresh meat and game store nearby, past the barrier obviously.” Summerview was great, but it wouldn’t have everything she needed to prepare her recipes. So she had to reach here and there for a few necessities. “And there’s a bartender to do proper drinks, no worries there,” she assured. “Though a Sazerac is the staple to know.” It was the official drink of Nawlins. “How do you deal with problematic customers?” Bree’s eyes lit up again. “Really? Man, I was worryin’ that I wouldn’t be able to eat it again. Ain’t no hardship praisin’ food I actually like. Try tellin’ customers when you work in a shitty diner to try the Heart Attack burger with a smile on your face knowin’ it’s just fillin’ their arteries with shit and it tastes like crap.” The question around problematic customers had Bree pause. As far as she as concerned, it very much depended on the kind of problematic customers. She paused, sipping at her water and then nodded her head, taking another bite of the pudding in front of her. It was moreish, what could she way? “Depends,” she replied honestly. She didn’t know what Marie was, so lying wasn’t on the table. “On what kinda problematic they’re bein’. For the most part talkin’ them down tends to work quite well, askin’ specifically what’s wrong and approachin’ the chef, bartender or manager to make sure we can get it fixed. Ain’t no guarantees I won’t be breakin ‘fingers if my ass gets grabbed, but this doesn’t look to be that kinda place.” Taking a breath, she tapped her fingers on the bar in a moment of anxiety, brief but there. “Tend to get a lil’ testy ‘round the full moon, if you know what I mean.” Marie caught on to the ‘testy’ part and what that meant, definitely. Considering that she was surrounded by so many liars on this island (and unfortunately had to lie sometimes herself, for the sake of moving things along with her spy network; some others simply lied because they could), a person who was forthcoming about what they were was a refreshing change of pace. “I understand,” she assured, a spoonful of bread pudding going into her mouth. Savored and indulged. Mmm. Next to banana cream pie, this was probably her favorite dessert (or breakfast, if you wanted to be generous). “You just let me know if you need any time off or anything, around then.” It wasn’t easy being a werewolf - they were children of the moon, in a sense, a slave to those cycles. They couldn’t help what they were anymore than she could help having to seduce her meals to survive. “And trust me, I used to waitress too - “ She rolled those amber eyes, “...I broke plenty of fingers. There are always scummy men, no matter the place.” Not to mention punched a few unsavory patrons in the dick, but anyway. If she caught anyone groping her waitstaff, she’d literally throw them out on their ass so there was that too. “The shifts might be long,” she added. “Since I’m doing a lot of the cooking myself, and dishwashing - it’s a small little place, I don’t really intend for it to blow up.” No, Boudin was a cozy, colorful escape room on the boardwalk; The Long Way Down was brash and bold in a different way, and In Vino Veritas was all class. “You’re fine with long shifts?” “Will do,” Bree answered honestly, though she was a little surprised. It hadn’t been wise, she thought, to advertise to employers that she was a werewolf so most places frowned on her calling in sick the night after the full moon. Some months were rougher than others, but it was good to know she could contact Marie if it had been rough and not have to put it down to ‘women’s problems’, which made most male employers clam up awkwardly immediately. “I should be okay but y’know, sometimes it’s a rough night.” Nodding again, Bree spoke once more, “Real used to long shifts, ain’t got a problem with them. I like bein’ busy, keeps me outta trouble.” Her lips curled up into a warm smile with just a hint of mischief. Plus if she was busy all the time and surrounded by people, if her pendant were to fail her - she fiddled with the purple crystal that hung around her neck idly, reassured by the warmth of it - she’d at least be safe. “Kinda got used to workin’ for those who got elbow deep in stuff as much as their employees. It makes a good person to work for, y’know? What’s the shift pattern like?” she asked, curious to know if she’d be doing seven days a week, or if she’d get a couple of down-days. “I can give you a mix if you want - lunch shifts are typically 11 ‘til 2, dinner shifts 5 ‘til close, so you’d do lunch and dinner, full-time hours, five days of work per week. Two days a week off,” Marie said. She didn’t believe in working people to death - they needed a couple days to recover, servers especially. Those that were on their feet all the time. “If you want something like a breakfast and then a longer break til the dinner shift, that’s fine too. Like I said, I can mix it up.” Boudin did a bit of everything - breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks in between. The beignets and chicory coffee were the breakfast staples, whereas for dinner she planned to serve a lot of gumbo and low country boil. Po’boys were more a lunch thing. “Any other questions for me?” she asked, open to most anything. “Sounds good, the mixin’ of shifts, I mean,” Bree said, downing half the glass of water in one go before she rolled the glass between her palms. “I don’t think so, I mean, is there anythin’ specific I need to know ‘bout the folk that work here?” She asked, trying to phrase how to cover the ‘what are you’ question without being rude. About the ones who worked here? Well, her bartender was apparently a spy (perhaps an inept one, but still classified as such regardless). But Marie wasn’t so crass as to share that information. Danny could think he hadn’t been found out in his first week of residence in Summerview. “Not anything in particular,” she said. “We just get a lot of different types of clientele - everything from centaurs to gifted humans. There’s variety on the island, so there’s variety in the restaurant too. I like it that way.” And she didn’t discriminate - everyone deserved a chance, no? If they fucked that up, then that was on them. Marie rarely gave second chances though, so fucking it up was not in their best interest. “But it’ll be great to have you on board, Bree. You can start tomorrow if you’d like - I’ll show you the ropes.” “Sounds good to me,” Bree said with a warm smile, finishing her water. “What time d’you want me to arrive?” She had a surge of relief ripple through her at the thought that she’d have a job, some way of maintaining her stay here. “An’ do y’all have a dress code here?” “Make sure your feet are comfortable, that’s about it,” she grinned. “I’ll have an apron for you, but you’re free to wear whatever else you’d like. And you’ve waitressed before so you know what to wear and what not to wear.” Marie didn’t require short shorts with ass cheeks hanging out, or anything that showed off the tits - this wasn’t Hooters or anything like it. Mon dieu, no. “Come by around 4, I’ll prep you for your first dinner rush.” She liked the girl. Yes, this was a good decision - and she had a good feeling about things, for once. |