Wondrous

Chapter 2

I felt the rain almost whisper in my ear as it tap danced against the glass ahead of me while my feet kicked below the register. It was a slow day, slower than most to my quickstep brains' chagrin. Out of everything life had spat out at me a boring day job had to be the worst. Every sliver of company lingo burnt my tongue like poison each and every time I was forced to blare it out at someone. Only thing that kept me around was the distance, that among one other thing that my mind had buried upon every passing day.
    Cyril, my manager for the past year and a half had taken off for what seemed to be his twelfth break, as I dreaded the inevitable stammering I would succumb to in the event a customer got rowdy. Perhaps that was the bright side to dark days like these, I pondered, oh how lucky I was that on days like today I wouldn't have to rely on a manager to manage. "Not the first time and most certainly not the last," I scoffed. 
    I tapped my knuckles against the aged tile in a tempo I played a thousand times like a veteran musician as I awaited the inevitable rush that came on days like these. They were always brief, but that one person just had to get their fix on whatever sugar coated whatsitsname had come out this week, and on the off chance it wasn't one of them then they'd likely just be snagging some cancer sticks from the wall behind me.
    The pile of dusty lottery tickets next to my feet, who now swung side to side in tempo with the beat my knuckles played, had now grown to the point that I could actively smell the dust that misted aloft. And I couldn't move it an inch just because one time anyone ever did the entire box got stolen, not that it'd make any sense considering the tickets had to be scanned out in order to be redeemable anyways.
    I felt my eyelids droop as I continued to dart their occupants about the store, scanning for any other points of interest to keep my brain just active enough not to fall into a deeper slumber than the nap Cyril was likely now 'ten minutes over break' deep into. I rubbed my nose to refute the stench of the dust below and clasped my chin against the palm of my hand. I was disavowed from bringing any sort of entertainment inside as it 'compromised customers interests', whatever that meant anyhow. "Corporate phrases it as if I had set my hand on fire and reached it out to guests begging for a high five, compromised," I rolled my eyes at the thought.
    A brief moment of reprieve greeted me as the click of the outside door alerted me to the presence of a customer, I straightened my posture as I felt my bones crack to form a smile who had been stuck in a scowl for the past twenty minutes.
    "I've been explaining this to you for weeks, Kazuyo is not neutral evil he's true neutral!" Cyril yelled into his phone as he strode into the main hall, my grin once again returning to form as my scowl again made itself known. Upon hanging up his riveting phone call Cyril then locked eyes with me before explaining how necessary it was that I take care of the evenings necessities as his back had been hurting and his feet were hurting and every single limb in his body was in so much pain and-
    "Works for me, I'll get it done," I retorted, as I had done for what felt like the thousandth time today.
    I cycled through the garbage, making sure shards of glass hadn't made it their cocoon as I felt my rubber gloves squish and squash before lobbing the bag deep into the cesspit we had to call a baler. Cyril none the wiser, I briefly prodded through our stockroom for any broken sets of food, groceries for this particular week had been getting slim and on a paycheck to paycheck lifestyle most of my earnings were dedicated to bills. 
    My eyes darted across each cart until coming upon a dusty set of teriyaki ramen whose lid was open just ever so slightly. I quickly scanned it and marked it as garbage before stuffing it deep into my shirt pocket. On my way to the front I snagged a cheap tea before inquiring to Cyril if I were entitled to leave, he then nodded begrudgingly as I was finally given the honored opportunity to eat partially opened ramen and a tea worth the earnings of a 5 year olds lemonade stand in the middle of nowhere.
    I muttered curses as I felt the heat of the ramen container tinge my finger tips, the soggy noodles proclaiming awful intentions to my tongue with every steaming bite. I finished it in half the time it took to make as I guzzled down my tea before engaging in the typical social media scroll. A swirl of blinding colors flashed my eyes every few seconds as I cycled between the accolades of Tsuko, who by now was in the top 15 runners in the nation, bound to compete for the olympics. I felt a bittersweet sense of happiness build in my chest, as while I was astounded to know he'd been doing so well this was the first i'd heard of him managing to get that far.
    Ima was more of the same, she didn't really get the whole social media thing and likened herself to the skills her family had when it came to the matter, which unfortunately were slim to say the very least. Her most recent consists of her reuniting with Professor Shugii two years after graduation, the photo in question showcasing her teaching the class she formerly excelled in.
    I felt time slowly making itself known as I was sent out of my stir back into reality, the alarm on my phone the furious culprit. As I rose to my feet and greeted Ciryl again I once again was tasked with the evenings' duties, the likes of which I had thought were done to the fullest, but like always they weren't up to Ciryl's 'standards'. I once again went down the list of requirements until five minutes after close I was given the sweet reprieve of being able to leave
    Only to remember, like always, that I'd be back all the same.
    Normally I'd dedicate my time off work to whatever was blaring online, but instead I thought I'd treat myself with a trip to a nearby dive. As I journeyed down the city streets I felt the rain pelt my umbrella to the point I nearly had to grasp it with both hands, whether this indicated my lack of strength or the severity of the weather was relatively off my mind.
The dive was small, cozy on some days and a mosh pit on others, all dependent on who was working as well as the weather. Sure enough I had the wherewithal to recall that an elder hell bent on keeping things on the up and up always worked Tuesdays, and the rain only further incentivized my need to partake in what I considered the finer things in life.
As I heard the squeaky door that led into the bar close behind me I scanned my surroundings to gauge how busy things would end up being. Fortunately for myself the only people that seemed to be partaking in the delights of the establishment were keeping to themselves in their own respective areas. Thereby leaving the barkeep completely open to any of the simplistic requests that I may or may not dispose upon. I felt the rickety stool wobble a bit as I sat down, removing my leather coat and placing it onto the stool to my left; this bar could somehow afford neon but not coathangers. 
"This joint's been open over a decade and you still don't have a place for coats Moiro?" I asked the barkeep who I'd grown rather fond of over the course of my stay in this part of town. He chuckled before signing back to me his theory of why exactly that was, Moiro was mute at birth and had only managed to snag a job here when he was young because of the owner being deaf.  I always loved that story, it's partially why I even invested any time into learning the language in the first place, that and exchanging notes on napkins grew tedious.
Moiro was old, but not an elder by any means, he signed inquiring as to my usual order, wiping his gray spectacles with a nearby rag as I heard the squeaky door behind me make itself known. I replied asking for my usual Old Fashioned, a bourbon with bitters and an orange peel to garnish, which usually was always either too big or too small to even play that big of a role.
The latest customer sat directly to my left before placing his baggage on the stool. He wore what appeared to be a formerly tidy suit with no buttons and had a neckerchief so scruffled he looked like he'd been in an accident. There was a stark bruise beneath his right eye and he kept wiping his nose which looked like it had swelled like a balloon. His watch however stood out more than the sorry state he was in, it had a beautiful silver sheen to it that glowed in such a way it nearly shined bright across Moiro's spectacles. The man straightened his posture before ordering a Mojito and eyeing up the baseball game that was broadcast hazily on a nearby monitor.
Moiro handed me my drink and then the man shortly afterwards, receiving a thank you from the both of them one after the other before the man requested that the channel be changed to the local news. I smirked at Moiro, well aware of his distaste of the 'damned media' that he'd always bark about whenever we'd chat. He begrudgingly obliged before turning his back and heading back into the kitchen defeated.
"Barkeep isn't much of a conversationalist eh?" the man snarkily remarked at me.
"You'd be surprised," I responded, the bitter tonic slithering down my throat like cough medicine.
The man and I exchanged awkward pleasantries on and off again before he explained to me the extent of his injuries. Apparently he was a competitive kickboxer, and his resulting injuries as well as his suit ended up that way purely from partying into the night following his win. He told me he was good, but not great and how he'd always wanted to fight in the upper echelons of the sport, but due to his late arrival into the game he knew he'd never make it all that far.
On days like these I recall hearing stories like these a hundred times over, I always appreciated them but I never managed to relate. The only time I had ever really been in a story worthy scenario dealt with an unfortunate incident that occurred deep into my attendance at the Academy. The likes of which mimicked the same fighting circumstances the kickboxer described, but nevertheless consisted of far worse connotations.  I wanted to explain to the kickboxer of my folly, but recalled how late it was, and how the Old Fashioned, my third this evening, was just creeping into my mind. He pushed and prodded for me to continue but I managed to leave him hanging, just like I had with most.
"Another time," I grumbled, before signing the relatively inexpensive bill, nabbing my coat, and making my leave. Just as I was about to rise to my feet, the kickboxer snagged my wrist and tugged me back into my seat.
"I'd rather you explain it now, please," his voice having altered from the formerly gravely fighter to a bizarrely flat tone. I was perplexed as to what in the world he was doing, but knew there's no way I'd be able to put up a fight, and sat back down.
    "Now, start from the beginning," he inquired.