B1C1: The Cowboy and the Warlock

Out of the frying pan and into the furnace—my morning just went from bad to worse. It was pathetic enough that I slept through my alarm, waking up half slouched on my gaming desk with drool coating the W key on my keyboard. But I also missed the bus and had to cough up a whopping thirty bucks for a ride to get to work today. Honestly, I considered not even showing up. I was late for work for the 14th time this month, and I refused to blame my crippling addiction to Chaos Divide MMORPG because of it. Could you blame me? You could? Well, you shouldn’t! Life was boring, and I had more fun leveling up my tinkering war goblin than going out there, working a 9-5 six days out of the week. She was a spunky and feisty little thing, and undoubtedly my alter ego. People told me that with the amount of hours I’d put into gaming, that I should stream. But the internet was the Lion’s Den, and I didn’t want to get my head bitten off by a whirlwind of critiques that’d further lower my already fragile self-esteem.

I wasn’t the prettiest girl on the block, and I stopped trying to give fashion an honest effort to make up for it. I was on the shorter side, barely grazing five feet, with a wild mane of red curls that was downright untamable. Granted, it hadn’t seen a stylist for years, so my go-to hairdo was a high messy bun that birds kept mistaking as a nest. I had freckles splattered across my cheeks like a Pollock painting and wore glasses with a prescription that could give a pair of binoculars a run for their money.

It was Monday, and I was rushing through the back door of Frank’s Place — a small diner off of Blizzard Street and Embark Road. I was forty minutes late, and my boss Mr. Rogers was already standing at the corner of the kitchen with his Mc D’s coffee, on the hunt for latecomers like me.

I jumped like I wasn’t expecting him to be there.

My eyes found the three buttons on his shirt holding on for dear life to keep his stout belly contained before they looked up to his face. As always, I was distracted by his greasy mustache, as it made him look even more like Wario.

“Late again, Freya?”

I pulled the strap of my backpack over my shoulder and slid my huge pink headphones away from my ears. He wasn’t buying the innocent smile I had on my face as I tittered sheepishly and said, “Sorry, boss.”

He sighed defeatedly. “It seems to me that this job is a joke to you.”

“No, no,” I sputtered, waving my arms in front of me as if I could swipe away the finality of his words. “I do appreciate this job, Mr. Rogers, I really do!”

“How many times is it now? I’d lost track. Between the tardiness, your clumsy kitchen accidents, and your extended bathroom breaks, I’m running out of reasons to keep you on, Freya. Your heart is not in the business of hospitality. And you know our motto—“

“Service with a smile, always worth your while,” I chimed in, reciting it like the pledge of allegiance. It was etched into my brain from the countless times I’d been reminded of it.

“And yet.” His bushy eyebrows furrowed, “You can’t seem to treat your job as anything more than a way to fund your gaming habit.”

In truth, he wasn’t wrong. Well, not entirely. The smell of grease and burnt coffee barely masked the underlying scent of my unfulfilled life. But what choice did I have? I was a nineteen-year old college drop out. I lived with a dapper if not over the top middle-aged man who demanded to be called Captain Reginald, and who frequented a place called the Steam Pot. And before you ask, I am not talking about Korean BBQ & Hot Pot…. He was technically my foster father for almost five years now, and the only reason I stuck around was because I couldn’t afford my own place in the city. My real parents died ten years ago in a car accident… and a bizarre one, too. The story spoke of flashing white lights, gaping crater holes, and literal tears of time and space. All which seemed too extravagant and exaggerated for me to believe. After I lost them, I felt like my whole world fell apart. It was an endless struggle of being juggled from one foster home to another. But I guessed anything was better than Sunny Side orphanage….

Not to say I didn’t try bettering my situation. School was top priority no matter which social services rep I talked to. So I tried it. It just… wasn’t for me. The systematic nuance of it all was like an endless cycle of rinse and repeat. I was drowning in textbooks thicker than my forearm, trying to memorize data points of no relevance, long equations that were soon forgotten, and names of historical figures barely known. It was like I had signed up for a lifetime subscription of information overload with no tangible returns.

I tried my hands at a couple of vocational courses too. Art school, music conservatories, and even did a stint at baking. But none stuck. Nothing could hold my interest for long before the monotonous drag of it all seeped back in. I felt like I had a different calling, and nothing I did ever satisfied that itch, especially working as a waitress at some dilapidated diner at the corner of Nowhere and Nothing Special. This job was just a means to an end, a way to keep Captain Reginald off my back about being productive and paying my way.

“Earth to Freya?” Mr. Rogers cawed, and I blinked blankly. He slammed his cup of coffee on the counter and grunted. “My god woman, are you daydreaming again?”

“N-no! I was listening!”

“I said, would you rather be somewhere else?”

“Somewhere else?” I echoed, my heart hammering in my chest. As much as I detested this job, being without it was a terrifying prospect. There was nothing incredibly special about me, and my resume was painfully unimpressive. The thought of trying to land another job again was making me physically ill….

“Well?”

“No, Mr. Rogers.” I sulked. “I’ll do better.”

“Three days,” Mr. Rogers’ voice cracked. “That’s all you get, Freya. If I don’t see improvement, I have no choice but to let you go.” He sighed. “Now get to it. You have a table that’s been waiting on you for 20 minutes now.”

He finally left me alone after that. I changed into my apron, and then I looked out of the prep window to see the old couple that made it their business to ruin my morning on a regular basis.

The husband I could tolerate, but his bitter crusty wife, on the other hand, was another story. She had a habit of testing my patience, or should I call it a hobby? A prim, pinched face woman who demanded perfection in every cup of coffee and plate of scrambled eggs. She could spot a crumb out of place from across the room and would summon me over with her shrill voice, demanding it to be cleaned up immediately.

I let out a breath of air, rolled my shoulders back, and put on a fake bright smile before pulling out my notepad. I was about to head out to take the she-devil’s order until I noticed the waitress Bowba three tables down from mine, talking to a man who clearly wasn’t from here.

He had an entire cowboy ensemble on from head to toe, from his tan Stetson hat to his polished alligator skin boots. A dusty leather jacket hung on his broad shoulders, and he wore a short clean shaven beard. He had an angular face and a bright smile, with enough jokes that could make Bowba laugh all morning.

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A real lady’s man for sure. He gave off hodophile seasoned vibes, someone who wasn’t a stranger to being on the road. Despite his undeniable charm, there was something about him that felt off. I could feel the intensity of his persona from here, and I had mixed feelings about it. Yeah, he was different, an anomaly in this small-town diner. But there was an air to him I couldn’t put my finger on. It left an off putting taste in my mouth I couldn’t describe…

“The other girls went over to say hi,” Michael, my fellow co-worker, whispered over my shoulder as he walked by me with a tray of breakfast for his table. I turned my head over to him with a stark expression on my face. He wouldn’t believe me if I told him that I wasn’t stargazing, but I said it anyway. To which he replied, “No? Not your type?”

I rolled my eyes. “So he belongs on the cover of American Cowboys, big deal.”

He chuckled, then turned around to use his back to open the double doors leading out to the front house. “Sure, Red.” He smirked. “Well yer better get a tail shakin’ before Mrs. Margaret chews yer ear off,” he said with a pretty good southern accent that made me giggle.

“Her name is Gertrude, smartass.” I snorted. Michael was about the only guy I could be my cheeky self around, but I was jealous. He always got the easy tables, the big tippers, and the customers with the simple orders. He said that it was his outlook, and that I should try focusing on the customer’s nicer qualities.

Right….

Gerty didn’t have a nice bone in her body, but I wasn’t going to let her ruin my entire day. So I walked out of the kitchen with a pep in my step and went over to her and her husband, who already had a cup of coffee to his lips. “Good morning!” I beamed. “I apologize for the delay. Traffic was criminal this morning! I’m glad to see that one of our servers got you some coffee in the meantime, would you—”

“Well, it’s about time,’ she snapped matter-of-factly. “We’ve been waiting for an eternity. I thought you’d gone off to take a nap.”

“Nope! No napping here.” I grinned, not letting her attitude affect me. “Just eager to serve. So, what delicious special can I get you started with? Our blueberry pancakes? Omelet melt? How about our King’s Breakfast with 20% off? It’s the least I could do for keeping you waiting.”

Gertrude eyed me suspiciously, with her painted-on eyebrows furrowing. I wasn’t giving her any pushback today, no caving into her demand for a strife. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting her to be absolutely speechless as I caught her off guard this morning with my… politeness.

Her husband chuckled, a sound that was more of a surprised cough than anything. “Well, I’ll be,” he said, shaking his head and taking another sip of his coffee. “Freya, you’ve finally tamed my Trudy.”

“Don’t you my Trudy me, Harold,” she snapped at him, but that comment awoke the witch within. He opened the floodgates of her wrath, and I was drowning. That woman complained about every little thing. My nails, my hair, the shade of lipstick on my face. She didn’t miss a beat to berate me, even making comments on my apron being an off-shade of white, thinking I hadn’t washed it. The woman was mad, going on and on and on. The routine was comical at this point, but I didn’t care to listen to any of it. My mind went off to the discussion a few tables over, Bowba’s laughter catching my attention.

“My, you’re a pretty lil’ thang, aren’t ya?” he said, complimenting her in a slight southern accent. His voice was charming to say the least, and his attraction to Bowba was predictable. Long blond hair, tall and curvy, bright blue eyes—Bowba was a magnet to all of the single men who walked in here on a regular basis.

She giggled in a half blush and said, “Thank you! You’re so sweet!” She complimented him in a deeper, similar accent. Bowba was from Georgia, and moved to NY for her father’s real estate business.

“I’m not from here, but this little joint was a recommendation,” he admitted before taking a sip of his coffee.

“Oh? Where ya from?”

He grinned. “Someplace far. You wouldn’t know it.”

She tossed her hand to her hip and gave him a playful sass. “Try me.”

“Hello?” Gertrude cried out, making me snap out of it. “Did you listen to anything I just said?”

“Even I haven’t been listening to anything you’ve been going off about,” Herald said, and I stifled a laugh.

She gave him a dirty look as he grinned behind his drink, and then she turned back to me. “Young lady, you’re trying my patience!”

“We’ll have the regular for both of us,” Herald said, ordering for her. He probably felt sorry for me, and I happily took his pity as fast as I could to save my sanity. The couple visited this place religiously, so I knew their order like I knew the back of my hand.

“Such a shame I’m gonna have to watch ya go,” the mystery cowboy said to Bowba as he finished paying. “You’ve been awfully kind to me.”

“Well shucks, you can always swing by Frank’s anytime you find yourself on our side of town!” Bowba said sweetly. I brushed past her, catching the fella’ at the corner of my eye. For some reason, a chill swept me when we made eye contact for that split second, and it felt like my heart just skipped a beat.

“All right, sugar,” he said as he turned back to his waitress, tipping his hat to her as he got off his seat. “Farewell, now.”

He walked right out of the diner casually, with his hands in his pockets as he whistled a tune. I scrunched my face and continued to stare at him, not realizing that Bowba was standing behind me talking to Michael next to the POS stand. I tried to mind my business as I entered my table’s order, but my nosy side couldn’t help but eavesdrop. “Mighty handsome, ain’t he?!” She giggled, brushing her arm against Michael. The blondie was beyond herself. “I should have asked him for his number!”

He scoffed. “Bowba, he’s old enough to be your daddy.”

“Oh, stop hatin’!” she teased. “He’s 35 at most!”

Just as she said that, someone walked in.

First, a cowboy. Now, a tall ass figure in a suit of armor?

Did I miss a cosplay convention?

Cindy, the hostess, approached him at the foyer, already holding a menu to her side. She asked him how many in his party, and all of a sudden, this strange bolt of lightning came out of his hand!

I hadn’t taken him seriously until he did that! Bowba tripped into me, losing her footing. I barely caught her in my arms, Michael helping me stand her up as her face went pale. “Oh my God,” she said in a shaky whisper, her breath leaving her. The dining area was stirred as the bolt continued to pulse energy in his open palm, but no one jumped out of their seats just yet. The guy summoned a huge staff with an orb on the crown of it. The orb was giving out this strange heat, and inside of it, currents of what looked like electricity were firing rapidly.

His deep gravelly voice sucked the air out of my lungs, as he boomed with numbing authority, “Echu, kame-zan. ImparrrRRAaahh….”

Okay, now was time to panic!

A wave of energy permeated the diner and caused an instant uproar. The staff he was holding pulsed, the orb on the top of it glowing like a miniature sun. Chaos broke out faster than I could blink. Terrified guests began to scatter for any accessible exit, knocking over chairs and tables in their rush for the kitchen. But the moment between him summoning his weapon to him triggering an attack was a fraction of a second. I swear, it felt longer. Time froze as a white beaming light swallowed the world around me, and an infernal heat washed everything out of existence.

I was being swallowed into the void of death. There were no two ways about it. My final moments were in a diner I hated working at, being killed by a cosplaying man of barbarian proportions.

And then, something….

As abruptly as it had begun, the light receded. The heat dissipated like a released breath. I felt my body solidifying, reshaping….

Freya…

A voice, it was calling to me….

It sounded ethereal, almost angelic. A mesh of different pitches and tones interlaced into each other softly, but as it continued to address me, the voices fell deeper and sounded gravelly, with a chilling tremor that began to scare me:

Child of the Dark

Concede to your destiny….

Name: Freya Raseni

Age: 19

Race: Dragon

[Evolution Stage 1] Dracapod

Level: 1

Universe: Thaerya, Sector: K-2-10

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