The Long Road Home (Open)

Making money had become more of a hobby then a means of survival over the years. At first it was a challenge, back in the early days when she was concerned when, or if she would get a next meal. Recently it had become a chore, but she never stopped earning. She knew what it was like to be down to her last pennies, and she had vowed never to let it happen again. This had made her money savvy after years of practice. She tried not to spend any unless she had too on essentials. Food, a roof over her head, and clothes, lots and lots of clothes. She only had one thing to her name, an old beat up gray car that she loved to death. She named it Steve. Of course, Steve had naturally belonged to someone else. Someone who was still probably looking for him. But that was not her problem. She rarely drove Steve far, she preferred to walk. It gave her a chance to pick up an extra bit of cash on her way. Of course, she had a lot of wallets to throw away at the end of the trip. She did not bother with keeping the credit cards, to easy to trace. She hated technology; it made picking wallets all the more difficult. With her slim fingers, she was a natural. It was not all bad though. She had seen all of America, and she had been to all the famous places. For all its flaws, she loved her life. She was wanted for theft in at least two states, and auto theft in Oklahoma. Even dear old Steve belonged to some grandma in Arizona. She was not born into money; she was not actually born into anything. She was abandoned when she was a few months old. Nothing was ever given to her. Everything she has is because she fought for it. Anastasia knew better than most that nothing comes easy in life.

Anastasia had been out visiting a few friends, and more importantly pulling a big job. Things were going well with The Parkers; they kept her busy with work. However, she did have other informants to good opportunities. When she had the chance to make a profit she took it. After leaving Texas, she found herself driving aimlessly through Louisiana. Taking random road after road she found herself back at home in Miami. Then Steve started making a familiar noise just after she reached the city limits. She knew what was going on, and pulled over to the side. She popped the hood, and the steam rapidly escaped. It was the middle of the night, and she had tossed her last burner phone months ago. Besides whom would she call? She got out, taking her backpack and keys with her and continued down the road. About half a mile down she found herself at a busy bar and grill. She knew a thing or two about restaurants; after all, she had worked at more than her share. It was easy money and she used her unique ability to make extra tips. Even if the customers were aware of it or not. She also knew that with that many cars, it must be either the hot spot or the only spot to get food. For a few miles. She adjusted the strap of her backpack that held all of her possessions and went inside.

It was comfortable and familiar and the hostess seemed busy so she found herself a seat. The place was packed, and the two waitresses that were working looked overwhelmed. Anastasia picked up a menu and started narrowing down what looked good. She sat there patiently for the next fifteen minutes without anyone approaching her. It was not as if she had any where to go. However, the delay was starting to wear on some of the other customers. Some were swearing, others were leaving, and most of them looked drunk. A flustered red head was tied up with a booth of drunken frat boys, and the other waitress, a blonde was carrying five plates and trying to navigate the bar to get them to their destination. Anastasia sighed, realizing that if she wanted anyone to come around to get her order in the next hour she needed to help. So, she stood up, and tied her hair back. She walked the table where the two men were yelling and swearing the loudest. She had looked over the menu a few times, so she was familiar. “What can I get you tonight?” She asked with a professional smile. She memorized the order, and found a notebook on the host table. She went around the room taking orders, with no one realizing what she was doing. Finally, she wrote her own order down last.

Table nine was swearing about needing more ketchup. Anastasia rolled her eyes, what kind of a person lost their minds over ketchup. She danced around all the people, with their chair stuck out at odd angles and grabbed a bottle to give to them. At least they might tip better if their food was delivered promptly. Anastasia had become a professional waitress over the years. She quickly and easily walked through the bar, dropping off napkins, and ketchup bottles. A lot of people were complaining about how thirsty they were, most of them already being drunk. She did not feel comfortable enough to serve the beer, but she did pick up two pictures. One with tea, the other with coke. She started walking around and filling up glasses. Sure she wasn’t getting paid, but it made her feel better to be busy. She hated being still, it gave her too much time to think.. When she was busy it made her at least feel useful. The guy behind the counter cooking did not seem to notice or care that some stranger kept dropping off orders and picking them up.

Finally, she gave up, and sat down at her own table but not before making sure her order was being prepared. Simple burger and fries should have been easy enough. She could only hope she would not have to be the one to go pick up her own order. Then again if no one had noticed her yet, she was likely able to get away without paying. It was not as if she had not worked it off already, and she would never feel guilty about stealing. It was her profession. Time passed by idly, and she became bored again. Her hands began to twitch and she gave up and got back up to go and see if her food was ready. If not then she was ready to cook it her damn self. Anastasia was not one to complain, and she understood that the actual waitresses had their hands full with the drunks. She was used to fending for herself, and it took more than slow service to annoy her. She took a few orders, and refreshed a few drinks before heading up to get her food. When she finally did set down, she realized that she herself wanted ketchup, but she was in no mood to battle the crowd for it.

TAGZ: Open
WORDZ: 1,208
OUTFITZ:Clicky
NOTEZ: First Post. Got kinda long.
CREDITZ:KENZIE! STEAL AND SHE WILL SHOOT YOU IN THE FACE!