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Apr. 2nd, 2013
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PicFic 4/2
Apr. 2nd, 2013 09:05 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
Seven
"Let's grab a seat, tovarich. They'll bring our food out to us in a couple of minutes."
"And the number you are putting in the holder on the table?"
"That's so they know which table to bring the food to."
"There are only three other people in here right now. They cannot figure that out for themselves?"
"The numbers are more useful during rushes, I'm sure."
"Number 7. Interesting."
"Hmm? What's interesting about 7?"
"The number shows up quite often in different religions. There are seven deadly sins, seven virtues, seven sacraments, seven gifts of the spirit. If one is born the seventh son of a seventh son, they are supposed to possess the power to cure by the laying on of hands."
"Huh - I've heard of the seven deadly sins -"
"And sampled them all."
"Be fair - I try to avoid sloth."
"Granted."
"Why, thank you. But as I was trying to say, I can't say that I've really heard much about those other 7s. Seems like you did research into the number."
"As a matter of fact, I did. Curiosity, I suppose. A gypsy acquaintance was very into numerology and described me as a 7. That started it off."
"Is being called a 7 a compliment or an insult?"
"Like any label, it could be taken either way, but I will currently view 7 as a positive."
"And why is that?"
"Because our food has arrived."
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It was his first day on this particular job, dressed in a white tee-shirt, dark pants along with a stained white apron wrapped around his waist. He hefted a tub of dishes as he bussed the tables in the small, exclusive French-style bistro that seemed to attract a very special clientele.
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It was his first day on this particular job, dressed in a white tee-shirt, dark pants along with a stained white apron wrapped around his waist. He hefted a tub of dishes as he bussed the tables in the small, exclusive French-style bistro that seemed to attract a very special clientele.
( Read more... )
Oh Waiter! - PicFic 4/2/13
Apr. 2nd, 2013 03:13 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)

The young waiter glided effortlessly between tables, deftly avoiding the stray customers who tended to veer into the wait staff as they wandered in an alcoholic stupor.
Illya Kuryakin had donned the uniform of black jeans, white tee shirt and a pair of high top tennis shoes. The clothing items were skin tight and more revealing than the normally reserved agent would have liked. So far he was just grateful that he still had both items between him and the hungry crowed.
As he delivered a tray of drinks to a group of giggling college age girls he barely managed to escape without being pinched and fondled. It was all he could manage to maintain a friendly demeanor as he silently seethed at the rude and overly familiar antics of the inebriated women.
“Say, tovarisch, you must be nice to the paying customers. You wouldn’t want to lose your job at the Hot Bar.”
Napoleon’s voice oozed his enjoyment at watching his partner deal with the rowdy crowd. If he looked ten years younger, as the Russian somehow managed to do, he would have volunteered for this assignment and relished every minute.
“Very funny, Napoleon. I wish it were you out here being mauled by drunken college students.”
“Hey, I wish it was me too!”
( Go ahead ... )