You Are My Muse I
Warning! There is some violence and implied smut, but it's not bad enough to actually mark it.
They told me I could be anything. They told me to follow my dreams and I will succeed. They told me dreams really do come true, if you believe, you can achieve! They told me, "I'll have the steamed lobster."
And boy, were they wrong.
The name's __(f/n)__, __(f/n)__ __(l/n)__. Yeah, I'm a struggling artist. They told me to follow my dreams, so I did and look where it landed me? That's right; I'm a low class, minimum wage, no-college-degree-because-I-dropped-out waitress at a high end restaurant, taking orders from a man who makes thousands every day.
"Alright, would you like an appetizer while you wait for your meal, sir?" you asked. The man arched an eyebrow, looking over at his perfect, big-breasted, long blond haired date and snickered, "No, but it looks like you might
" They both giggled and waved you off.
You balled your fists in rage as you exited to the kitchen. It's not that you weren't used to it, but you were sick of it. Once you entered the safe barriers of the kitchen you yelled, "One steamed lobster for yet another rich bastard!"
"Ma chérie, you must ignore zem." Your best friend, as well as the head chef, Francis cooed from across the kitchen. You stomped over towards him and sighed, "Francis.. They're just so arrogant! They have no idea what people like me have to go through." Francis chuckled as he grabbed one of the lobsters and tossed it in the boiling water.
"Oh __(f/n)__," he sighed as he set the top gently atop of the pot, "You must not let zem get to you. Zey do not know you, nor do zey know how much of a wonderful artist you are." He wiped a tear off your cheek and gave it a small peck, "Now, stop your tears mon ami and go take some more orders. After work you could come to my place and have some wine? Arthur's coming over too, it will be fun." You wiped your face and smiled saying, "Thank you Francis that would be lovely."
The day dragged on and the attitudes where prissy. By the end of your shift, you were ready to flop down onto your bed and scream. You hated them, all of them. You envied them. Their success, their flaunting of money, their lives
You wanted it. You craved it.. But no one would want to help a struggling artist. None of them. You walked up to the last table of your shift to find a lone man, scanning his menu.
"Hello there sir, my name is __(f/n)__, I'll be your waitress for the evening. Can I interest you in our special today? Steamed lobster with a side of wedged, garlic potatoes and some steamed asparagus." The man set his menu down and looked at you, giving a full view of his flawless skin with a mole that accented his bottom lip so perfectly, his shaggy, yet, slick hair, and his swirling violet eyes.
He kept a stoic expression and answered, "No danke you, I'll have the poached tilapia." You arched an eyebrow, taking his menu and asking, "What about a side?" The man simply took a sip of his red wine and answered, "I do not vant a side."
Is he drinking the cheapest wine we carry?
And did he just order our cheapest meal
without a side?
You nodded and walked into the kitchen for what seemed the thousandth time today and probably was. You walked up to Frances and said, "Somebody just ordered the poached tilapia
without a side!" Francis looked up from his latest creation and gasped a little too overdramatically for your taste.
"But nobody orders zat here? I must take a peek.." he scurried to the door like a little, giggling girl and peeked through the small round window of the door that separated the kitchen from the dining room. He waved you to come over and point out the man to him.
You pointed at the gorgeous, lone man at the table, taking small sips of his wine and staring in to space, deep in thought. Francis gasped and grabbed your shoulders, spinning you towards his face. You giggled and asked, "What is it Francis?"
"Do you not know who zat is __(f/n)__?!" You arched an eyebrow and shook your head. Francis looked as if he were to combust in a series of squeals as he squeaked out, "Mon Dieu! Only ze most extravagant, beautiful, fantastic violinist in ze entire world, Roderich Edelstein! Don't tell me you have never heard of him, ma chérie?" You only shrugged and answered, "Nope."
Francis let out an exasperated sigh and muttered some things in his native language; as he walked back towards his meal muttering, "Now, why would he be ordering such cheap zings?"
Roderich had a stuck up attitude, but you had to admit, he was very handsome. His devastatingly, devilish looks would put any man to shame. You handed him his bill which you snuck a quick peek at, noticing the price that read a whopping twenty five dollars. Yes, compared to Ruby Tuesdays, that's a bit ridiculous, but an average priced meal from this restaurant ranges from forty to ninety nine dollars.
He handed you exact change and then left. At first you thought nothing of it, still shocked from the event that had occurred, and then it hit you.
"He didn't give me a damn tip." You growled to yourself as you hung your apron up, grabbing your purse and of course, your trusty umbrella and pepper spray, while exiting the restaurant. You can never let your guard down in the streets of New York, especially since you lived in the lower class area and had to walk home.
You walked down the road quietly, minding your own business until you heard a muffled yelps and what sounded like kicking. You poked your head around the corner, instantly regretting it, as a tall, slender man with spiked up hair and a noticeable scar on the left side of his forehead had noticed you and left the defenseless man to walk towards you.
"Now, what's a little girl like y'doing out here at this hour?" You backed up into a brick wall and the man placed both hands next to your face, leaning his face in closer to yours. You could smell the marijuana and alcohol laced in his breath. "Y'know, y'a lot cuter up close.." You slowly, without the man noticing, snaked your hand down into your purse and wrapped your hand around the cold metal of the can of pepper spray.
The man took one of his hands and wrapped his slender fingers tightly around your waist, pulling his body roughly against yours. That's when you took your chance and sprayed him in the eyes. The man let go of you and screamed in pain and anger; you then grabbed your umbrella and began to repeatedly whack him with it until he fell to the ground, completely passed out.
Panting, you rushed over to the man that he had beaten and knelt to meet his face. Your eyes widened in shock as your eyes met the face of none other than, Roderich Edelstein. He looked up at you and coughed up more blood, staining your shirt and jacket.
"I have to get you somewhere fast.." you mumbled, wiping the blood off his face with your jacket. You picked him up and wrapped his arm around your shoulder so that he could regain balance.
" he mumbled.
"I'm not taking you there looking like this sir. My place is right down the street. I'll let you sleep on the couch." Roderich grumbled something incoherent to you, but obliged and continued on with you to your apartment.
Once you made it inside, after locking all three of your locks on your door and locking all the windows, you turned on your lights to the small one room studio apartment and led Roderich towards the small couch placed next to your Murphy bed. You rushed to the small kitchen and grabbed a hand towel to wet it.
You cleaned the blood off his face and neck. He cringed and hissed, "You live in such a small and ghastly place."
"Shut the hell up." You commanded. His eyes widened from your stern words.
"Do you know who I am?" he growled. You purposefully added a little more pressure than needed to his next cut and you scoffed, "A man who got his ass saved by girl." A faint blush made its way to his cheeks and he turned away only to find canvas after canvas of beautiful pastels and colors painted beautifully on them. His eyes sparkled at the vibrant colors that displayed such magnificent beauty.
"D-did you paint these?" he gasped. You looked over at your small studio to find the small stack of unfinished paintings that you planned on throwing out later.
"Yeah, why do you ask?"
beautiful." He said in a very low tone. You furrowed your brows, pointing at the unfinished pieces of art and asked, "What, these?" Roderich nodded, his eyes still glued to the pastels and water colors.
" you blushed, "Thanks.. Those are just unfinished pieces of crap though. If you want, I could show you my finished paintings?" Roderich nodded, smiling slightly.
"Do you zhink you could get me a glass of vater? I'm a little parched."
"Yeah, I'll grab a few blankets too; I also have a ton of oversized shirts I use to paint with, if you want to change out of your bloodied clothes
But I don't have any pajama pants that would fit you
"Oh no, it's fine lieben, I usually sleep in my undervear anyvays." You nodded and proceeded to gather all of the things for him. Roderich tried getting up, but clutched his torso in pain, falling back onto the couch.
"Verdammit." He cursed under his breath. You looked over at him noticing he was in obvious pain and rushed over to him again, brining blankets, a large t-shirt and a glass of water.
"What's the matter?" you asked. A hint of pink dusted his cheeks as he looked away and mumbled, "I-I can't get up
Do you mind
h-helping me?" You laughed quietly, "You know this is the third time I've helped you today.." He looked at you with confusion written all over his face, "Three? You helped me get out of a fight and you've helped me sit up..?"
You rolled your eyes to Roderich's stubborn and naïve nature, "I also helped you receive your meal which you just so happen to tip so graciously." Roderich blushed, ashamed as he averted his gaze again.
"Well, at this point, I don't even care anymore, so I'm going to take a shower and get ready for bed. I suggest you change now, as you can obviously see, my small and ghastly studio apartment doesn't have much privacy." You grumbled as you grabbed a towel from the towel closet and shut the door behind you and locking it.
Roderich chuckled to himself as he changed into the large white t-shirt. "She's a feisty liebe, I'll give her zhat." He then took his wallet out from his pocket and placed a one hundred dollar bill and a VIP ticket to his next concert gently inside your purse.
"Danke you.. __(f/n)__."