Waiting The World (Vincent X Reader) (Dead plate)

2: Learning The Ropes

The first sound to greet me on this new day is, unfortunately, the unpleasant screeching of my alarm. Waving goodbye to the sweet release of sleep, I force myself to stand, stretching as my knees threaten to give out. Steadying my shaky legs, I walk to the bathroom, still groggy. Five in the morning. Why not even earlier? I complain silently, before quickly chastising myself. You're lucky you even have a job. Be grateful, you pathetic whine. 

Shaking my head, I hop in the shower, quick to adjust the temperature to my liking. The poor mindset is in part from my resentment of mornings, and part from the words that always echoed where I was. But now isn't the time to psychoanalyze myself; I have a job to get to, and fast. Drying myself off in a hurry, I walk straight past the mirror, grabbing the suit previously set aside.

The arm sleeve was folded at a strange angle, but other than a few wrinkles here and there, It should be good to go. Tugging it on to my still damp body, I button up the dress shirt, smoothing it to my figure. It will do. At least, I hope it will. The owner of this bistro seems very strict, off of his ad and voice alone. Risking a glance in the mirror, I sigh. The words, insults, flood my mind, doing their best to break out. But the sight of me in a suit almost makes me want to smile. I... Don't look half bad.

Checking my notebook again, I find the address of my new job. It's just up the street. Within biking distance, even. I make my way to the door, grabbing my keys and stepping out. The hallway is dimly illuminated, with cheap, practically dead fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling. Running down the stairs, I step out of the depressing building and into the calm light of the rising sun. With this view every morning, it might be worth getting up early. My mind runs off as I unlock my bike, hopping on it and pedaling down the sidewalk.

I almost miss it, but the building stands out like gold in a stream; La Gueule de Saturne stands tall and proud. Locking my bike, I check my watch. 5:54; not as early as I'd like, but at least I'm present. I slowly push the doors open, revealing an absolutely stunning restaurant. Near the register, a relatively tall man stands, black hair gleaming in the morning light. His chef's uniform clings tight to his skin, professional and pristine. As I walk in, he turns to me curtly.

"Y/n, I assume? I don't think we had a proper introduction."

I stand there dumbly for a second, before snapping out of my daze as he sticks his hand out, presumably for mine.

"I am Vincent Charbonneau, the owner and lead chef of La Gueule de Saturne."

After a second of hesitation, I take his hand, shaking it firmly before clasping my hands behind me. It's a nervous habit of mine, but people rarely notice. I put on my best smile, still hesitant to look in his eyes. The way he holds himself; it's almost as if he's showing his superiority over me, rather than speaking it. After he stares at me in silence for a moment, I clear my throat, forcing myself to seem calm.

"I did come a bit early, sir, so I could... Learn the job better. Would you show me around, sir?"

Ah, yes... Follow me.

My words seem to snap him out of a trance, as he briskly turns away and signals for me to follow. His hand wipes over the counter near the door, the register placed perfectly straight.

"Here, you'll greet customers, before seating them here."

Before I have time to ask questions, he moves on, his thin hand pointing to the booths and tables around the restaurant, all lined up. As he heads to the back, he continues.

"You'll see groups as big as four, which will obviously be seated in the booths. Pairs of two go at the tables."

He stands stiffly next to the window leading into the kitchen, where chefs run to and fro. Without acknowledging them, he nods to the kitchen.

"This window is where you put orders for the customers in. You won't need to worry about memorizing specials daily, since the menu changes daily. There's only four plates: appetizer, side, main, and dessert." As I stand there silently, sucking in the information, he continues, teaching what order the chefs prioritize food. Dessert, side, main, appetizer? Why put the thing ordered last in front of everything else? I decide not to question it; I'm not a professional chef, after all. My attention stays on Vincent, nodding when he looks to me to see if I'm listening. He looks so tired. I wonder why? His skin is pale white, a stark contrast to the startling purple eyebags. Yet you still manage to be afraid of this man.

 I'm brought out of my thoughts as Vincent heads into the kitchen, making me follow quietly. The chefs stand over stoves, waiting for instruction in the main room. Off to the left, two doors stand; one seems to be a freezer, and the other one, I suppose, is Vincent's office.

"Try not to bother the chefs too much as they cook. Any questions?"

I stand silently, my gaze fixed to the floor. Shaking my head, I murmur,

"No, sir."

"Good. there's still some time before opening, so you can clean up the main area more."

And with that, I'm set loose.