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LaPieta
Super-Earth
- Joined
- Apr 24, 2019
- Location
- Northeast US
Celine once again sighed and scoured the bartop, the red-brown wood gleaming immaculately back at her as it had the previous twenty times she’d scrubbed it this evening. The customers remained just as non-existent.
It was an Irish-style pub she worked at, tucked away in the corner of a hotel too luxurious to have anything so pedestrian as a design. Only the finest of anodyne beiges decked the halls of the larger building, the most decadent of unmemorable wall art festooning the lobby. There was even a sculpture of geometry by god—the peak of taste.
In contrast, her workplace was quiet, warm and paneled in rich lacquered woods, carved tastefully with little accents of scrollwork or lined with a simple pattern. Few clients graced the bar, given the presence of a more modern, cheaper bar merely across the street—the hotel set the prices on hers and would not budge on their gouging.
A shame; company, would be a welcome relief or at least something other than cleaning to keep her busy. Much of her life had been spent alone, to her dismay. She had never wanted that.
There was still a comfort in the place, however. A homey serenity as much a perceptible force as the heat from the stone fireplace that lay tucked in an alcove along the outside entrance.
Celine took a quiet pride in the stewardship of this establishment—it held a history far beyond that of whatever foreign investment group had taken custody of hotel building, imbued within the lacquer itself. As such, she tried to present herself well, long blond hair pinned back into a messy bun, a few short strands selectively left out to frame eyes blue as innocence
It was an Irish-style pub she worked at, tucked away in the corner of a hotel too luxurious to have anything so pedestrian as a design. Only the finest of anodyne beiges decked the halls of the larger building, the most decadent of unmemorable wall art festooning the lobby. There was even a sculpture of geometry by god—the peak of taste.
In contrast, her workplace was quiet, warm and paneled in rich lacquered woods, carved tastefully with little accents of scrollwork or lined with a simple pattern. Few clients graced the bar, given the presence of a more modern, cheaper bar merely across the street—the hotel set the prices on hers and would not budge on their gouging.
A shame; company, would be a welcome relief or at least something other than cleaning to keep her busy. Much of her life had been spent alone, to her dismay. She had never wanted that.
There was still a comfort in the place, however. A homey serenity as much a perceptible force as the heat from the stone fireplace that lay tucked in an alcove along the outside entrance.
Celine took a quiet pride in the stewardship of this establishment—it held a history far beyond that of whatever foreign investment group had taken custody of hotel building, imbued within the lacquer itself. As such, she tried to present herself well, long blond hair pinned back into a messy bun, a few short strands selectively left out to frame eyes blue as innocence