Speed Dating - Chapter 1 [Young Teens]
Apr 30, 2011 21:10:04 GMT -5
Post by Stephen Gage on Apr 30, 2011 21:10:04 GMT -5
There were remarkably few occasions for which Stephen got to don a bow-tie. This was one of them. He'd bought it on the cheap ages ago, another souvenir he picked up along his travels, as was his custom. An annoying custom, to be sure, as bric-a-brac took up most of the storage space his modest apartment offered, but one he enjoyed nonetheless. This particular tie, simple and black, he'd gotten at a little shop in Nevada, off in the middle of nowhere from his more urban perspective. Evidently, as the old couple who ran the shop vouched, they kept such things in supply for the couples that were off to Vegas for their shotgun weddings. Good show, Henderson's General Store, good show.
He'd been informed that a uniform wasn't necessary. This was, after all, speed-dating for teenagers and all he was doing was performing the services of a waiter. But Stephen had always been something of an excitable man with seemingly complete disability to take anything entirely seriously. So, with Anya's blessing, he'd dressed himself to look the part of a classy waiter. White shirt, black tie, waistcoat, black pants. Riley would have a laugh, no doubt. Hell, Stephen himself would as well. But if a good time was had, and maybe some teenagers were embarrassed, what real harm could be done?
Riley had picked him up and, true to form, laughed like mad at the sight of Stephen dressed as a waiter. A quick peck on the lips shut him up quickly enough, and the two were walking into the event before long. Anya orchestrated beautifully, all pep and sunshine. The badges were distributed, Riley rang his bell (a tremendous task indeed), and Stephen set about ensuring that the teenagers were properly fed, watered, and prevented from sucking each other's faces off until they at least left the building.
To most sensible individuals, speed-dating would be a fairly awkward endeavor. And indeed, to the teenagers, that seemed to be the case. Stephen, however, paid no particular heed to however uncomfortable his young charges might be. He strode up to the table closest to him, that tremendous smile of his displaying that he was enjoying his given task. It was a lonely sort of table, its sole occupant frankly seeming as though he was in need of a strong drink rather than water. He bore a red shirt, some familiar revolutionary on the front of it. What was the name... Che. Che something. Guevara, that was it. Stephen raised his eyebrows pleasantly, setting about to his work. "Can I get you anything..." he said, his eyes darting down to the tag on the boy's chest. "Tom?"
He'd been informed that a uniform wasn't necessary. This was, after all, speed-dating for teenagers and all he was doing was performing the services of a waiter. But Stephen had always been something of an excitable man with seemingly complete disability to take anything entirely seriously. So, with Anya's blessing, he'd dressed himself to look the part of a classy waiter. White shirt, black tie, waistcoat, black pants. Riley would have a laugh, no doubt. Hell, Stephen himself would as well. But if a good time was had, and maybe some teenagers were embarrassed, what real harm could be done?
Riley had picked him up and, true to form, laughed like mad at the sight of Stephen dressed as a waiter. A quick peck on the lips shut him up quickly enough, and the two were walking into the event before long. Anya orchestrated beautifully, all pep and sunshine. The badges were distributed, Riley rang his bell (a tremendous task indeed), and Stephen set about ensuring that the teenagers were properly fed, watered, and prevented from sucking each other's faces off until they at least left the building.
To most sensible individuals, speed-dating would be a fairly awkward endeavor. And indeed, to the teenagers, that seemed to be the case. Stephen, however, paid no particular heed to however uncomfortable his young charges might be. He strode up to the table closest to him, that tremendous smile of his displaying that he was enjoying his given task. It was a lonely sort of table, its sole occupant frankly seeming as though he was in need of a strong drink rather than water. He bore a red shirt, some familiar revolutionary on the front of it. What was the name... Che. Che something. Guevara, that was it. Stephen raised his eyebrows pleasantly, setting about to his work. "Can I get you anything..." he said, his eyes darting down to the tag on the boy's chest. "Tom?"
