* -- date with the night

[andy doyle]

as the last of the customers were ushered out of the front entrance by the young and pretty hostess in the black dress that made her ass look like a lumpy pancake, andy lynne doyle practically collapsed at an empty table near the back, beyond exhausted, beyond drained, and beyond ready to get the shit out of there. it had been a long and tiring day, extra tiring for her since she had worked a double shift (one of the workers, cindy bellefluer, had called out sick; andy suspected she was probably getting nailed in the ass right now, that lying fucking twat), but the good news, besides the fact that she had just saved a bunch of money on her car insurance by switching to geico, was that they had made a fucking kill that night. it was a holiday or some shit like that, andy didn't really know and she sure as balls didn't really care (five months so far living in montreal and she still couldn't be bothered to learn customs or traditions or anything like that), but whatever the case, the cash register was fit to burst and she was greatly comforted by the soft pressure of the wad of that night's tips in her pocket.

her tips and some of cora's, of course. it was to be expected.

clearing her throat, andy huffed lightly and shifted in her seat, careful to avoid putting too much weight on her aching feet--which reminded her! she snaked the toe of her flat between her ankle and the heel of her other shoe and pushed until the shoe popped off, then did the same with the other foot. sighing in relief, she twisted her lower body until one of her legs was resting atop the other and she didn't have to bend over and break her back to massage her poor, throbbing feet, which she did with much relish. after a few minutes of pedi-pleasure, she straightened her legs to root through her pockets and retrieve, what else, her cigarettes. she fumbled one between her lips and lit it quickly, inhaling deeply and bulling the smoke through her nostrils. smoking laws? in canada? pfft, fuck that shit.

christ, she was tired. she was tired and bored. she was tired, bored, and ready to go home and crack open that bottle of jose cuevro she kept in the cupboard above the sink. but, alas! woe, woe, woe was andy! she couldn't go home just yet. there were more cigarettes to be smoked, maybe a couple extra bucks she could lift from the cash register (shit, like anyone would fucking notice), and if she played her cards right, maybe she could even convince carlisle to whip her up something quick and tasty.

mmm, speaking of carlisle--he was a tool. well, shit, what else could be said about him? that motherfucker was too...too...well, he was something, that was for goddamn fucking sure. and the fact that he had his mouth constantly on topher's balls totally pissed her off, too. for fuck's sake, those two were gayer than a purse filled with rainbows, and they didn't even fucking care what other people thought. if anyone asked andy (and no one ever did, but shut up), she would say topher was just going through a phase; he'd get over it, he'd grow up and move on to bigger and better things, like andy. carlisle...probably not. he was doomed to be an ass-kissing, ass-eating shitheel for the rest of his life, and there was nothing he could do about it.

if andy believed in pity, she probably would have spared some for him.

on second thought, probably not.

still, that didn't take away from the fact that that pencil-dicked ass bandit could fucking cook. despite all of his short-cummings (haha, get it), that queen knew how to work a kitchen, which was why andy could tolerate his presence. after all, he was no cora west, her sworn enemy. no one could top cora on the "scale of things andy finds annoying". she tallied it up every year, like the guinness book of world records, and every year cora was at the top of that list. mosquitoes usually came in a distant second, but this year, strangely enough, collapsible lawn chairs claimed second place. eh, whatever.

goddammit, all of this thinking about carlisle had gotten her extra hungry. now he was going to have to feed her, closed kitchen be damned. shit, she'd make him take her to a fucking burger king and he could man the kitchens there. probably churn out some pussy-ass ritzy french cuisine or some shit on one of those enormous, greasy broilers...shit, she was getting off track again. knock it off, andy!

tapping off the ashes of her cigarette over the tablecloth (one of the busboys could get it), andy craned her neck towards the kitchens and cried, "hey, carlisle! are you still in there? c'mere for a second, i gotta ask you somethin!"

NOTES

[/size] aaah! graphics! idgaf if they suck, i just wanna get that shit outta the way. hargleblargle! ps cora is a bitch. jsyn. also, this post is shit. puuure shit. i have zero fucking inspiration. fml.[/font]
COUNT[/size] eight hundred and twenty-four.[/font]
OUTFIT[/size] coming soon![/font]
TAG[/size] carlisle and cora.[/font]
MUSIC[/size] the yeah yeah yeahs - date with the night.[/font][/left]

[carlisle scarborough]

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So tonight had gone extremely well, if Carlisle did say so himself. And oh, did he say so himself. In fact, he had told almost everyone (“Does this mean we get a raise?” asked one of his busboys. “Haha, fuck no,” Carlisle replied, moving on to the next person as quickly as he did the first) and to their dismay, this only meant more work for them. Cleaning up was Carlisle's favorite part of the day. It meant that his kitchen would return to its normal, sparkling state in which made him oh-so happy. Almost as happy as enchiladas cooked by his very own Mexican (which he had yet to obtain) or maybe a Star Trek marathon with his so-not-gay best friend Topher Lane. He was a bit more partial to the Enchiladas, but he would forever tell Topher the opposite. After all, what was a secret between friends other than another cigarette between Andy Doyle's fingers? Speaking of which, she was stinking up the restaurant. Again. What the bitch? Honestly.

“Andy!” he yelled from the kitchen, wiping down the stainless steal table used to prep vegetables. “Put the cancer stick the fuck out,” but he doubted she could hear him over her exclusively and overly loud mind. Sometimes she just floated away to her own world and by sometimes Carlisle meant always. When wasn't that messy-haired girl in dreamland? Most likely thinking of Topher, which Carlisle felt was disgusting. Who knew what she was doing to the poor man in there. It probably involved a lot of licking and Canadian sex moves. Oh, wow, now he needed to get the bleach out.

Cora came bouncing up to him. “Cora, guess what?” Carlisle said, pouring the dirty cloth water down the drain. “We made bank today, gimme some skin,” he said after putting the small container down. He put her fist to his, twisted it, and then ran it up her arm. He called this the pop, lock, and zip. Cora was the only person he shared it with. Or so he told her.

There was nothing better than seeing his hard-working employees resting. Actually, there was. And that was them cleaning. He clapped his hands twice in an orderly fashion. “I know we're all tired, but those tips weren't for nothing,” Carlisle said, his voice at a higher level than normal so everyone could hear him. He stood in the kitchen doorway – the one that lead out to the dining area. This is where he found more than half of his workers sitting and rubbing their feet. Among them was Andy Doyle – stupid bitch.

“Why aren't you following Lionel's example?” the round-faced Chinese (or was it Japanese? Oh, whatever. He had slanted eyes) teenager with extremely greasy hair and glasses looked up at him. He also had a broom in his hands, but that detail obviously wasn't as important as his personal appearance. At least he was wearing the usual black slacks, black apron, white button up, and black shoes. “He's doing an excellent job – Good job, Lionel,” and the boy looked so over-joyed that Carlisle thought he might explode. He yelled something like “Ya-tah!” and raised his arms in the air, nearly hitting Cora in the head with the broom.

“Yeaaaaah,” Carlisle continued, raising an eyebrow at Lionel and sticking his lips out before resting a hand on his plaid button-up. Who the hell cared if he didn't abide by the dress code? It was his restaurant, right? Right? Right! “Anyway, just another thirty minutes and you lovely people can all go home! And Andy too!” there was nothing like dissing his least favorite worker to complete a night full of mind-blowing profits. Also, he loved that she had to wear her hair in a bun. Oh, and the skirt? Classic. Usually, Andy looked like a hobo. She still did, of course, but a very well dressed hobo. The reason she even put up with it was that Carlisle would fire her if she didn't follow the policy and wear the uniform, and the reason she even cared was because she felt an undying hunger. This hunger could only be quenched by making Cora's life miserable. Or trying to, at least.

Carlisle offered a smile and then proceeded back into the kitchen, where he picked up an apple and took a much-deserved bite. Apples were his favorite fruit. There was just something about their glossy ruby red that made him increasingly elated. But he wasn't weird, okay? Nothing could spoil this moment. Except maybe what came next from the dining area, which was Andy's annoying voice, thick with the smoke of her cigarette she hadn't bothered to put out. “Hey, Carlisle!” she yelled. The apple bits in his stomach began to churn. He couldn't decide if it was because of the smoke or her voice. “Are you still in there?” she cried some more. She needed to shut the fuck up. “No, I flew away on Topher's back,” he yelled back, but she continued. “C'mere for a second, I gotta asking you somethin'!” Carlisle rolled his eyes, bending his head back to stare at the ceiling for a second before he – against his better judgment – trekked out to the dining area once again. He inspected her physical situation. Her flats were off (if only she wore heels) and her leg was propped up against another. A few ashes from the cigarette lay on the table.

“Kay, first of all,” Carlisle began. “Put your shoes on. Second of all, I don't care if you have the best news in the world. I don't even care if you saved a bunch of money on your car insurance by switching to Geico. And put that cigarette out,” he took a bite of his apple. “So this better be good, or I'm going to have to ask you to give Cora back her tips,” and he should have anyway, but he knew how much Andy loved money. He also knew how much Cora had made that night, and with her bubbly spirit and cute appearance (yes, Carlisle had slept with her once, if you were wondering) she was a much more popular collector of tips than most of the waitresses there. Andy wasn't exactly people-friendly, to put it nicely. So naturally, Cora had made a lot more than Andy had or probably ever would in one night.

Or ever.

But hey, anything could happen. He was standing here asking Andy what she wanted, wasn't he? And truth be told, the only reason he was actually doing said standing was because tonight had been so fan-fucking-tastic that he could have kissed Andy. Yes, kissed those cigarette-sucking lips. Because life really couldn't get any better.

Not counting Topher being there to bask in Carlisle's glory.

But hey, you couldn't have everything in life, could you?

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----status, completed.
----outfit, the jacket's off somewhere wondering what it did to be so neglected.
----music, half lit by steven (better be) strait.
----count, 1,164 words.
----notes, let this epic party beginn.

[/sup][/color][/size][/font]

[cora west]

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pie was one of cora’s favorite dessert items (next to frozen yogurt, of course). it reminded her of summer days when her mother would get into one of those moods of hers and decide it was crucial to spend the day baking with her only daughter rather than ignoring and criticizing her. those times were the few happy memories she had of her mother, and they were now, unfortunately, all gone. cora had moved away, and her mother had moved on – to not paying attention to her.

but, cora was used to it – she didn’t really think of it much, anyway. all she thought about these days were important things, like topher and desserts and work and zombie movies.

right now, cora was thinking of one of those things with a sense of depression about her. because, see, the pie she was so longingly staring at was, most likely, going to be thrown away – it had been neglected by customers during the restaurant’s opening hours, most of them opting to have a slice of their famous chocolate cake instead. “oh, pie,” cora sighed, staring into the window that the pie was clearly visible through, “nobody loved you enough.” as if the pie could hear her.

but the restaurant had done exceptionally well that night – financially, anyway. recently touted in one of the local magazines as the “best new restaurant of 2009,” scarborough’s had experienced a significant influx of diners in the past few weeks. luckily, there seemed to be no apparent end in sight to this newfound fame.

“andy!” carlisle’s voice pulled cora out of her dessert-related reverie, “put the cancer stick the fuck out.” the blonde turned and almost laughed – like andy would ever listen to carlisle. cora was pretty sure that the only person andy would ever consider listening to was andy herself, and unfortunately andy didn’t always make the best decisions. like when she chose to wear her hair the way she was – the girl looked kind of like a hobo.

“carly, i told you,” cora began, approaching her boss, “if you want andy to listen, you have to learn mind control.” it was true – she had told him that before.

carlisle didn’t seem to care much, though – understandably, of course. he’d made quite a bit of money that night. “cora, guess what?” he asked her with an air of excitement that cora had never actually heard before, “we made bank today, gimme some skin.” cora followed his movements pretty exactly, having had months of practice at their “signature” pop, lock, and zip move. it was kinda their thing. kinda.

cora had, actually, shown it to topher.

“so, wait, what am i supposed to do?” topher asked, his enormous eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

cora sighed. they’d spent an hour practicing the move, and topher seemed no closer to understanding it. “you just…here,” she attempted the move again without his input.

topher sighed. “this is too hard. i’m going to disneyland instead.”

and they had gone to disneyland!

anyway. back to the point.

“i heard!” cora exclaimed with a bright smile, “you’re not gonna go all hotshot on us now that you’re a rich bitch, right?” she was joking, of course, but it would be pretty horrible if carlisle actually did. cora was confident that he wasn’t that type of person – besides, he had her and topher to keep him with one foot firmly on the ground.

although the restaurant had closed over thirty minutes ago, the staff still had to stay around to clean up and make sure everything was in order for the next day. cora had done a pretty good share of helping out, but there seemed to be – as carlisle pointed out – one shining worker who defied all odds. “why aren’t you following lionel’s example?” carlisle asked everyone, although cora was pretty sure that the question was mostly directed at andy. “he’s doing an excellent job – good job, lionel.”

cora smiled at lionel, agreeing wholeheartedly with carlisle’s comment. “yeah, good job lionel!”

lionel appeared completely ecstatic over this news – so much that he threw his hands into the air forming a rather victorious stance, and screamed “ya-tah!” at the top of his lungs. this would have been okay if he hadn’t also been holding his broom; as he threw his arms into the air, the broom very nearly smacked cora right in the face. she was able to duck just in time, though, and she escaped unscatched.

“yeaaaaah,” carlisle said, looking at lionel with an eyebrow raised. “anyway, just another thirty minutes and you lovely people can all go home! and andy too!”

cora had to laugh at that one – it was no secret that carlisle didn’t exactly like andy all that much. why he’d hired her in the first place, though, she would never know.

she shrugged it off and went back to her work – clearing the pie and other desserts out of the kitchen for the next day. “hey, carlisle, i’m taking out the garbage!” she called to him from the dining area – apparently andy had called him back into the dining room for some reason – and headed out back. in reality, cora secretly took the leftover food to the local homeless shelter after she got off work, so she was really just taking some things to pack into her car for later. she didn’t actually know why she didn’t just tell carlisle, but the point was she didn’t. so there.

after packing the various desserts into her car and throwing out the actual garbage, cora trekked back into the restaurant – just in time to hear carlisle tell andy that he would be forced to “ask you to give cora back her tips.”

“hey, what?” cora looked at andy and carlisle, eyebrows furrowed. she couldn’t say she was surprised – it wasn’t exactly above andy to steak tips from her.

status: finished.
tag: andy and carlisle.
outfit: this! with longer hair, of course.
length: 994 words.
music: i will survive by cake.
notes: my post is kinda horrible, but whatever.

[andy doyle]

from the dining hall, andy could hear carlisle puttering around in the kitchen like a bored and lonely housewife, straightening up, putting things back where they belonged and maybe, just maybe, even washing the dishes? this was a foreign concept to andy, of course, the professional walking hurricane, and even at her old waitressing job, when she had been forced to work until closing, she had managed to sneak away from cleaning up just in the nick of time. she never knew why the manager had let her get away with it...probably had something to do with the fact she had jerked him off at a halloween party or something, who knows. the point is, as carlisle lamely demanded for her to put out her cigarette, andy's eyes rolled skywards. "cancer stick? who in the fuck even says that shit anymore? christ, you're gay." still, she stubbed out the lit end on the underside of the table (sneaky, sneaky!) and even managed to wait before lighting another one. omg apocalypse.

as carlisle continued to tool around in the kitchen like the cheap homo that he was (what? shut up, it made sense to andy), the vaguely good mood that andy found herself in, executable only by a hard day's work a wad of cash in her pocket or a jaegerbomb just ripe for the chugging, was shattered in only a few seconds as a grating, shrill, distinctly feminine voice floated out from the kitchens, into andy's ears, and began choking her brain: cora west's voice. already, andy could feel the hot and dull presence of anger in the pit of her belly. already this bitch was pissing her off. many had tried to put the pieces together and figure out just why in the hell cora and andy were such terrible enemies--why couldn't they get along? why couldn't they just bury the hatchet and act like normal fucking adults? what the hell was their deal?

well, if anyone every bothered asking andy, she'd be more than happy to shed a little light on their feud. cora had what andy could never, ever obtain: a strong and unshakable relationship with one topher thomas lane. sure, andy and topher were good friends--they were great friends, according to her--but cora and topher had something special, and it wasn't fair. the way she felt about topher...it made her feel sick and exhilarated and passionate and good and clean, all in one sitting. she had never felt like that about anyone or anything in her entire life, and she reckoned she never would, but topher had his eye on cora. oh, andy knew. yeah, he never said out loud that he was in love with cora, but andy knew. so she did her part in their silly love triangle, and that was simply to make cora's life a living hell, and if that meant stealing her tips, cutting her hair and "accidentally" bumping into her in front of a flight of stairs, then so be it.

also, what she made in tips and double-dropping wasn't too shabby, love triangle be damned.

andy rolled her eyes again as cora excused herself from her's and carlisle's little pow-wow (which was about the dumbest thing she had ever seen, of course) to take out the garbage. "yeah, honey," she called out, loud enough for cora to hear, "you g'on and take out that trash. be real fuckin sure t'get yourself in that dumpster nice'n tight, or else the garbage man won't see you in the mornin and you'll fuckin hafta sit around for a whole week." too easy. hurp a durp. as soon as carlisle sashayed himself into the dining area, andy immediately brightened--after all, it wasn't too hard for her to be the kind and caring individual when she wanted something. "heyyy, darling dearest. wanna do me a favor? are the kitchens closed?" she climbed out of her chair and, regrettably, slid her flats back on, wincing at the deep ache in her bones. ugh, barely twenty-three and already she felt like an old woman. this job was balls.

yet, before she even had time to ask for her favor, carlisle launched into some bullshit speech and listing off "things that andy had done already to fuck up". her sweet demeanor dropped as she locked eyes with carlisle and frowned. "uh, okay, first of all, you fuckin needa be watchin how you fuckin talk t'me. i won't be havin none of that 'you do this, you do that, don't do that but do this' bullshit. you get me? you may be my boss but you won't be fuckin tellin me what t'do with my fuckin free time, my fuckin cigarettes'n my motherfuckin hands. so the fuck what if they happen t'land on that stupid twat's money--" her rant, thank god, was cut off as cora manhandled her way back into the conversation, yet her punishment would be swift and terrible. andy rounded on the poor (fake) blonde, lighting a cigarette in the process and gesturing with her hands when appropriate. "yeah, no one fuckin asked you in here, alright? you can leave now. go on! get goin! you're gonna get locked outta the dumpster! don't be late, shitheel!" yeah...it looked like andy wasn't going to even consider giving back that money, so it was probably best to just drop the whole thing all together or risk a fist to the mouth.

once andy had a decent pull on her cigarette, she seemed to calm down almost immediately after. raking her fingers through her wild mess of hair, she decided that probably taking the initiative would be the most effective way to get food in her belly. omnomnom! she closed the gap between herself and carlisle, then looped her arm around his middle and guided him back into the kitchen, where the sharp tang of bleach met andy's nose. "oh, lookit that!" she remarked with a grin, majestically sweeping her hands across the stoves and griddles and ovens and sinks, "kitchen's open. i'll give you...hold on--" she paused to pick through the lump of money in her pockets, select a handful of wrinkled bills, and slap them down on a nearby counter, where, afterwords, she hoisted herself up on the flat surface to sit, rest her feet, and swing her legs as if she were a small child sitting in a much-too-big chair. "what is that? it's--is that thirty bucks? eh, fuck it. i'll give you three of, uh, whatev'r the fuck that shit is to cook me some dinner. i'm hungry as balls and i don't got no food at home, so have at it, julia childs." pushy? you bet! it's probably best to just do as she says, carlisle. don't kick up too much shit.

NOTES

[/size] you guys, i don't think andy is a fan of cora. :[[/font]
COUNT[/size] one thousand one hundred and fifty-one.[/font]
OUTFIT[/size] coming soon![/font]
TAG[/size] carlisle and cora.[/font]
MUSIC[/size] new look - function of your love.[/font][/left]