His temples pounded almost as much as his feet did, heaving a deep sigh as he wiped off the laminate countertop that was beginning to peel along its edge at the small diner he worked at well after the sun set past the horizon. Night shifts were the fuckin’ worst, and he would’ve much more preferred to work them while at the Snuggly Duckling, but seniority trumped whatever the hell he wanted. Given he had been one of the last to be hired there, he had little say in when he worked or even how often, for that matter. That was why he had to take the second gig when the opportunity presented itself, so he could make enough at the end of the week to afford the apartment he, Mimi, and her little friend shared. He didn’t want Mimi trying to bend over backwards to worry about how they’d afford it all, plus food and utilities and everything else they may need that that good-for-nothing king didn’t think of.
Seriously, how the hell would he, or any of the VKs, make it in Auradon when everything was so damn expensive? They weren’t born with a silver spoon up their asses like the rest of the royal inbreds, so Val felt the pressure to work twice as hard to be only half as comfortable. He had gotten off his first shift at the Duckling and was well into his shift at the diner now when he heard a familiar chime over the door that signaled to him that someone had come in. The place was relatively empty now after a loud, drunken crowd of AU students had stumbled out after ordering an exasperatedly large amount of food that they only barely touched, topping the whole shitty interaction off with a tip so small he had half the nerve to throw it back in their faces. He didn’t, though. He had to scrounge what he could if he’d ever buy anything his sister would like for the holidays, so if it meant swallowing back the urge to throttle a couple of asshole customers, then so fucking be it.
“Sit wherever you want,” he said as he kept his eyes downcast, finishing up with what he was doing. Once he was done and cleaned up, he grabbed the menu and approached the customer, wondering just where he could find a couple of pills to pop that’d ease his headache when he settled in front of the table and, in lieu of a greeting, handed them the laminated menu and said, “What do you want?” raising his gaze only then to finally look to see who he was talking to. Okay, perhaps he could’ve said it a little nicer, but he was tired and his head hurt. Sue him. Besides, it was way past an appropriate time to expect to get the cheery, ass-kissing waiter who still somehow had the will to live, so it’s not like they didn’t know what they were getting. “To drink,” he clarified, “what do you want to drink?”
