My Grand, Frozen Heart Part 2
This was unusual, for I was in high spirits. My happiness surpassed my last submit, which became a pebble compared to how I felt. I got on a cyan t-shirt, which felt amazing, with some dark blue skinny jeans and my big coat. Practically galloping down the flight of stairs, I soared out the house and straight to work. "Bauklötze" had been stuck in my head today. I was lip singing it in the car, waiting for a co-worker who was still in high school. Grant grant came hulking in, holding his grey and green shirt in one hand since he always procrastinated.
"Hurry up slowpoke." I said through the passenger window.
Plopping down, he said, "I know." His bare, fleshy chest was a bright, peachy color. He wasn't muscular, but rather a bit tubby.
"Gotta lay off them cupcakes Grant," I said, patting his jelly belly, "otherwise you'll be a cupcake." Grant was a human, indigenous to the planet. But since "The Change" happened people began becoming animals in appearance through this mix of genetic alterations, and surgery.
Once we arrived to the complex, we have discussed about the company's plans to market the new product. I worked for a large corporation that sells merchandise specialized for each breed of "humanoids".
"Welcome to Entof!" Great, the "maid" of the company can't shut her yapping mouth. "Do you boys need anything, we got doughnuts, coffee, muffins. Oh, did you submit the plans for tomorrow's marketing campaign? And did you..." I blocked her out, especially because she's probably the most annoying bunny alive! Even Grant had that face of boredom. "Precious, we know you're precious to us, but I think there's a customer at the front desk." She turned around, then, with small, petite steps, she scurried over to the client.
After the meeting, which was a successful idea, Grant; his girlfriend Malice, who was a brown fox; and I headed out to lunch. Madison wore a white t-shirt and blue skinny jeans. A pair of convers to finish off her daily job of picking an outfit. Location of food was at a near by diner called "The Aged Chron". Inside were four booths to the left, and two regular tables for four in front of the entrance. To the right were the bathrooms, and along the back is the kitchen and service area. The theme colors were dark brown for the cushions, grey for metals, and beige for the countertops. The orange-tinted windows had blinds, which let in a warm light into the building. It's very cozy here and often where I come to be alone, so I'm a regular to this old shack in the city.
Sitting at a booth, Malice picked up the alcoholic beverages and said, "Anyone up for whiskey shots?"
"No thanks. I-I-I don't drink." I said hesitantly.
"Oh well, more for me and ma vie." She said, smiling with her head leaning on Grant's shoulder. He kissed her hair, then winked at me. With widened eyes that said "ok then", I tilted my chin to the right and scooped my head to look to my left. Outside on the street were a few cars parked, owned by the few people here on their lunch breaks, too.
"Hey guys, I'm Jeff and I'll be your waiter." Said the ram. He was fairly built, good posture, broad shoulders and horns. He had a gentle yet elegant face, and soft green eyes. "You want the usual Neath?" I nodded. "You guys?"
"We'll have the steak and grilled onions with a side of fries." Grant ordered.
After scribbling down on his notepad, he looked up and said, "Anything to drink?"
"Whiskey!" Exclaimed Malice. Almost a bit too loud, which juddered the atmosphere. He left with a grinned nod. "What? I did say we're going to have whiskey sho- oh. Oops." She said, giggling.
"What?" Asked Grant.
"I didn't say shots." She said, half laughing hysterically, but still audible.
"Oh golly." I said, placing my forehead on my right hand, which stood on my forearm resting upright on the table. All three of us were laughing when the waiter came with our food. That was the longest time I've laughed since my mother died when I was seven. When she was around, I was always by her side, and talking to her about my day at school. Often, I'd sleep near her, but father wasn't proud of me by doing any of the previous. Once she died, he became aggressive, and often turned to me as an outlet for everything. From anger to sexual frustration, I'd be the front lines, bombarded by blow after blow, daily. Six years after my 8th birthday, I've transitioned from blow jobs and hand jobs, to being the bottom. That continued until I was eighteen, finally leaving that hell and to start a new life. I found myself warping back from the past and to a face of a medium rare steak and cheese Philly, a tall glass of sweetened, iced tea to wash it down.
"We're going to have a few drinks at our house, you should come!" Said Grant enthusiastically while lifting a steak-pierced fork to his lips. He sounded like one of those preppy girls in the tone, with a hint of obnoxious jock thrown in.
"Um, what for?" I asked, a bit anxious for their response.
"For our new friend of course!" He said, ruffling my hair. Great. I have good fur, but the dandruff is something unfathomably difficult to remove. I even use a really good anti-dandruff shampoo for dogs.
"Alright, I'll be there after work. Tonight, right?." Half smiling when I said it.
"Tonight." They said in unison.