The Blonde at the Bar (DNF)

Chapter 1: Street Rats

Hey guys:) Welcome to my first story. I appreciate any feedback you guys have for me:) This is a DNF fanfic. I will not be including TW's on chapters to avoid spoilers SO, here is your list of trigger warnings to keep in mind during the story. If you are uncomfortable with these topics this story might not be for you:) you have been warned. Read at your own risk.

TW's: death, gore, violence, blood, strong language, sex, suicidal thoughts, homophobia, abuse, adultery ETC. 

also none of my friends are into this kind of stuff so I don't have anyone to edit my work, that means please ignore if there are a few spelling or grammar mistakes:( that's all for now, ENJOY:)

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"You missed a spot!" Rang the heavily southern coated voice of George's supervisor, Mr.P, "Being colourblind isn't an excuse to leave smudges." 

George scoffed as he continued to scrub away at the same glass he'd been cleaning for the last 10 minutes. He didn't understand why every single glass had to be polished each day before opening. The small bar hardly drew in more than it's 15-20 regulars each night.

"When you're done, take out the ol' trash and finish preppin for open, I'm headed out for a smoke." The old man called out from the doorway.

As soon as Mr.P's plump figure had disappeared through the doorway, George set down the cup and rag and leant against the bar counter to massage out his hand cramp. He often wondered why still worked here. The hours were long, the management was a scam and the pay was next to nothing. But he needed this job if there was any hope of him getting out of this dump of a town. Besides, it's not like anywhere else would hire a 'street rat' like him. 

George spent the next hour and a half dusting and cleaning before retiring to the men's washroom to change into his 'uniform.' He stripped down to his boxers and slid on a pair of stained black dress pants, attaching them to his waist with a tattered, second-hand belt that he'd had to drill his own holes into so it would fit his slender shape. He gingerly pulled an un-ironed, white collared shirt over his torso and lazily tucked it in to one side of his pants. George took one last look in the mirror, ruffling his shaggy brown mane with his fingers and then he pushed through the swinging doors back into the bar. By the time he'd finished, his colleague, roommate and best friend, Nick (but most people called him sapnap) had arrived. He greeted George with a friendly smile and wave.

"Georgie!!!" He squealed, laughing as George flinched at the hideous nickname.

"Quit calling me that, the last thing I need is for a name like that to catch on around here." George barked, giving sapnap a light shove

"My sincerest apologies little G." Sapnap replied in his mock baby voice.

George grabbed his buddy by the collar and the two friends engaged in a playful fight, Sapnap easily overpowering George and pinning him to the countertop until he tapped out.

"Quit fuckin around you little shits, what do I pay you for." Mr. P called out from the back room.

"You don't" The boys called back, giggling at their in-sync responses.

At 6pm, the old silver bell hung above the door began to ring, signalling that the first customer had entered the bar. Slowly a steady trickle of people began to fill the bar and George and Sapnap got to work.

Around 10pm, a red-haired woman waddled her way into the bar, and a tired George and Sapnap played a quick game of rock, paper, scissors to decide who had to serve her. George, having lost, shuffled his sore feet over to the other side of the bar, mustering a high pitched, falsely energetic voice and a stupid grin to greet her.