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/*NAME*/
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font-size: 12px;">Well, another day, another dollar, as they say. Lapis has never been the biggest fan of money. Not to say he doesn’t appreciate being able to buy basic necessities, he does — especially because that hasn’t been an option for a good portion of his life. He just has never been one for... excessive spending. He’s very happy to live on only what he needs to survive. But, well, ‘another day, another dollar’ is fast becoming the only way he can tolerate this life of his. From the minute he found Mr. Thompson and was given a job here, he’s been living essentially the same day over and over again.<br/>
<br/>
Which is his own fault, of course. He makes these conscious decisions to work for hours and then go straight home to do nothing of any consequence. He doesn’t go out except for groceries, he has no friends outside of work (and can he even call <i>them</i> friends, really?), and he’s too self-conscious to try a dating app let alone actually try to meet people face to face. He might as well be twice his age. Just an old man curled up with a blanket and a book, occasionally baking a pie or maybe dancing barefoot in the kitchen.<br/>
<br/>
An ordinary, drab life is still in many ways better than the old one he had. After his house burnt down with his family inside, of course. Before that, his life had been lovely. Average, but in a good way. Then there were just the cold streets. Yeah, he’ll take the old-man-life over going back to a life where his pleasures laid in stealing a wallet without getting his ribs kicked in or in getting so high that he didn’t mind that he was warming his hands over a burning trash can.<br/>
<br/>
Still, he misses Mr. Thompson. At least when the man was alive he’d had some semblance of a family. Someone who kept him at least somewhat tethered to the world. Now he has no one but himself, and while he can trust himself to survive... that’s about it. He’s well-equipped to survive. But not so much to live.<br/>
<br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#59aee6">”Oi! Earth to Lapis,”</span> his manager Julie calls, clicking her fingers beneath his nose.<br/>
<br/>
He blinks rapidly to draw himself out of the stupor he’d apparently drifted into, hands sinking into the dough beneath them like quicksand. He gives her an apologetic smile, working the dough more thoroughly to prove his newfound focus.<br/>
<br/>
The stare she fixes him with is disapproving, and a little contemplative, but whatever she might have said is instead expelled in a sigh. <span class="fixed-color" style="color:#59aee6">”We still need three more blueberry pies for the pick-up order at six.”</span><br/>
<br/>
He purses his lips, points at the two he’d pushed off to the side of the flour-covered work table, then at the dough in his hands, and gives a thumbs up. There’ll be plenty of time to stick them in the oven.<br/>
<br/>
That look crosses her face again, but she nods, scurrying away to bother the other employees. She’s not that bad, all in all. He’s known her for some years now — he’s actually worked here longer than she has. Most people assumed that when Mr. Thompson died, he’d get the managerial position, and while their boss Bonnie certainly liked him enough to give it to him, he ultimately decided against it. He preferred not to speak whenever he could, and how could he manage staff like that? He’s content with his little spot in the corner, allowed to keep to himself. He’s perhaps the best baker in the place, and so he’s allowed a level of privacy that the others aren’t always granted. Lucky him.<br/>
<br/>
<div style="text-align: center"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#2980b9"><i class="fa fa-pie"></i> <i class="fa fa-pie"></i> <i class="fa fa-pie"></i> <i class="fa fa-pie"></i></span>​</div><br/>
The bell above the door rings around six, both audible and visible from the “window” separating the kitchen from the service counter. Lapis had expected to see the older gentleman who had called in for his pies, but instead it’s a considerably younger man with muscles that one might kill for. He doesn’t know the guy’s name, but he’s all too familiar at this point. Not because he comes in especially frequently, but because each time he does, Lapis <i>swears</i> he watches him.<br/>
<br/>
He could very well be imagining it, but he always gets this sensation of being watched whenever the man comes in. Once or twice he’d caught him looking at him, but that doesn’t really mean anything — people get curious all the time, and the hustle and bustle of a kitchen peeking out from a hole in the wall can certainly attract attention from a bored patron. The likelihood that this objectively attracted guy is specifically checking <i>him</i> out is slim to none. And what would he even do if this guy <i>was</i> checking him out?<br/>
<br/>
Oh, but now he’s the one staring, isn’t he? Averting his gaze, he focuses on the cupcakes he was icing, trying to get the peaks just right.<br/>
<br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#59aee6">”Psst, hey man!”</span><br/>
<br/>
What’s with all the interruptions today?<br/>
<br/>
It’s the new trainee — a guy that he’s only seen once or twice since he started. Apparently, his name is Luca, judging from the name tag. <span class="fixed-color" style="color:#59aee6">”Sorry man, but I <i>really</i> need to piss — do you think you could take this order for me while I slip out? Thanks so much!”</span> With a grin, the asshole slips away before Lapis even has the chance to try and find a polite way to shake his head. Oh dear.<br/>
<br/>
He clears his throat, dusting the flour on his now perspiring hands off on his apron as he slides through the kitchen door and toward the register. He’s familiar with how to operate the thing, but that’s not what he’s worried about here.<br/>
<br/>
He tries a smile, keeping a finger poised at the buttons on the order screen. <span class="fixed-color" style="color:#2980b9">”Can I help you?”</span> Shit, that sounded rude. Warming all over, he tries to correct himself. <span class="fixed-color" style="color:#2980b9">”W-What can I get you?”</span></div><div style="
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text-align: center;">「 <a class="username" data-user-id="6774" data-username="BigBird" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/6774/">BigBird</a> 」</div><div style="
/*BOTTOM*/
margin: auto;
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font-size: 10px;"><abbr class="bbc-abbr" data-trigger="hover focus touchclick" data-xf-init="tooltip" role="button" tabindex="0" title="BAKERY • BLACK CITY">LOCATION</abbr> | <abbr class="bbc-abbr" data-trigger="hover focus touchclick" data-xf-init="tooltip" role="button" tabindex="0" title="NPCs | ULRIC">INTERACTIONS</abbr> | <abbr class="bbc-abbr" data-trigger="hover focus touchclick" data-xf-init="tooltip" role="button" tabindex="0" title="NPC | BONNIE">MENTIONS</abbr></div></div><div style=" margin: auto; margin-top: 5px; height: 10px; max-width: 100%; text-align: center; font-size: 8px;">Code by Jenamos</div>