The Night Shift: A Red Dead Redemption 2 AU

iii. No Substitutions

Mia had been at Outlaw just shy of two weeks. She was pleased to find that Dutch had been right, during her interview; she'd fit right in to the upscale environment that was the Outlaw dining room, naturally polite but with the clever cheek its guests had come to expect.

For what she didn't know, she got the hang of quickly enough. She learned wines and what went with them, well above and beyond her basic understanding of "red wine = red meat; white wine = white meat." She learned how to greet esteemed guests whose salutations extended beyond Missus, Mister, and Doctor. Perhaps most importantly, she learned how to keep track of a four-top's drink orders without a notepad, singing little, made-up songs on repeat in her mind until she could get to the system and punch them in.

It helped that everyone she worked with was kind, helpful, and patient. When it came to the back of the house, Mia soon realized that Karen expected some sparring at the expo table, and she rose to the task; their conversations reaching a heated point over missing sides or late entrées until Karen's face cracked into a grin, and she'd diffuse their argument with a tousle of Mia's hair or bump of her hip.

Sian would signal from the pass when bread was at its freshest, and Mia would grab baskets of the stuff and chat with the talkative patissière at a brisk, backwards walk, back towards the dining room. She'd made the mistake of getting stuck in the middle of one of Sian's spirited diatribes early on, the bread cooling in her hands a reminder of how much time was really passing.

Javier sang quietly to himself while he cooked, and Mia always tried to eat her provided dinner close to his station, whenever she could swing it; the Spanish songs a calming island in the busy kitchen.

In the front, Mia quickly felt kinship with her fellow servers, Mary Beth and Tilly, the three murmuring dining room gossip to each other, or providing tiny comforts when they ran into difficult customers. And John, her first friend at the restaurant, whose constant teasing only belied a deep, brotherly care for the serving staff. Mia liked to think he looked out for them like he wished he could for Abigail, his girlfriend on day shift.

Dutch himself held court at one of the Outlaw booths for most of the nights, a rotation of well-dressed guests there at his personal invitation. His boisterous laugh would occasionally ring out, but his keen eyes never left the dining room, Mia noticed. Though, whether luckily or unluckily, Mia hadn't yet figured out; Mary Beth almost exclusively served his table.

The guests, of course, also had their quirks. There were the out-of-towner foodies who'd planned trips into the city around their hard-won reservations, their faces beaming with excitement. There were local elites, the mayor and her entourage, one night, or businesspeople entertaining their clients.

But regardless of who the guests happened to be; from around the corner or across the country, at least one table per night would ask her the same question, one Mia learned quickly how to fend off.

Can we meet the Chef?

That Thursday, it was two women asking as they settled their bill. Mia noticed the sparkle in their eyes, that they were mere yards away from local culinary icon, Arthur Morgan. But other than preshift meetings, where he'd dispense a few gruff, carefully chosen words from the back of the group, or the odd time he deigned to bring a dish out to guests doing tasting – their eyes lit up every time, Mia had noted – he was a silent fixture in the back, one she herself barely saw.

Mia offered a conspiratorial smile to the women and quipped, "We'd have to let him out of his cage," and, thankfully, the two laughed. To soften the blow, she'd ask Dutch to say hi, and ever the charmer, he'd unfold himself from his booth and make his way over with a cluster of shot glasses and fine whiskey in his hands, introducing himself as the owner and thanking the guests for coming with a toast. It was a consolation prize, but welcomed, every time.