The Bartender

Chapter 7: Host at a Bar

Bodies and aching souls—all under the roof of a single building that was radiating a red glow. Everywhere, there were pairs of men in suits and women in vibrant, light dresses and women with other women, and they were scattered around the premise. By the way that each pair was lovingly draped on each other, you would assume that love was in the air; however, it was far from it. It was all a ploy of pretentious affection, love with boundaries and conditions.

Artificial love.

 Yet, despite this, those involved didn't seem to mind and almost relished in their temporary relationships with their artificial lover.

At the bar in the far back, like usual, stood a barista and bartender, both who were idly standing by. After all, their talents weren't the ones that were made to be showcased. 

Especially not in here.  

As they rinsed their already sparkling cups, the barista turned to her mentor. "I never really understood these kinds of bars," she murmured, careful to make sure no one else could overhear their conversation, "I don't know why anyone would be interested in something like this. It's so fake—it's not pure. Is this even within guidelines?"

The bartender only kept his smile. "As long as it gets the job done, it's fine."

"But there's no telling who's here for what purpose!" she exclaimed. Heads turned. In a hushed voice, she continued. "You can't just assume that they have the same intentions that we do. I'm sure that some people are here to do the exact opposite..." She gestured to the crowd. "I mean, look at this. What they're doing is unholy!"

He laughed. "And you're saying that what we do isn't bad?"

She threw him a look. "We're not seducing anyone."

"But we are giving them a sweeter type of poison," he stated, "and I think that at a certain point, that is just as bad. Proof of that is the fact that we almost had an accident the other day."

"But we didn't. And that's the point."

He shrugged. "It was still a closer call than we would like."

From the crowd, a woman in a skin-tight red velvet dress emerged. Flipping her curled blonde locks, she sat down at the bar and rested a thin elbow on the counter. On impulse, the bartender gave her a glass of blue cognac, the typical request of the workers. With a slight smirk and a sip of her drink, she asked in a sultry voice, "Hard at work, you two?"

"I wouldn't say that, miss. What about you?" replied the bartender.

"I've already gone over my quota for today." Lifting three fingers, she declared, "Already three today. Isn't my work incredible?"

Nodding, he agreed, "Yes, yes—indeed, that is incredible." 

Her eyes sharpened. "And what about you?" She leaned forward. "How's the master and the apprentice doing? Have you reached your quota yet?"

"No..." the barista murmured. But then, with more vibrancy and energy, she declared confidently, "But we have time! The night's still young, so I'm sure A— the bartender and I will reach it eventually." She lifted a finger. "There's always at least one who comes to us, and we only need one."

She laughed. Seeing a figure move in the background, she murmured, "But are you sure you can save him?" As she took a sip, she smiled. Resting the glass back on the counter, she said with slight amusement, "Looks like he's already coming this way. Good luck saving him, you two."

Within seconds, he reached the bar.