Inferno was absolutly stunning. The place had the perfect balance of class and club. The place wasn't packed but had a healthy crowd for the night. Music blared and Max looked out onto the light up dance floor. The theater tech in him started imagining the kinds of light setups he could do with such a sweet set up, but he needed to focus. He wasn't here for fun.

He looked up into the VIP section above. He couldn't see up there but he could make out movement. That's where he wanted to be. One day he was gonna make it. Call him a dreamer but that was the plan.

Tonight Max was wearing a button down shirt sucked into a pair of jeans. He still had his fanny pack but his hair was pulled up and tucked into the fedora he had perched on his head. He approached the bar and motioned for the bartender.

"I'm here to see Chief. I was told she was here tonight. Max said.

The bartender gave him an assessing look,

"Yeah hold on just a minute." He said polietly.

The bartender walked off and Max waited. After he had settled into his new digs upstairs he had inquired about employment. Devon had directed him to talk to Chief, the club manager, to find some work. It would be nice to have some steady income again, Haven was doing a lot to help Max get back on his feet but he didn't want to be taking advantage mooching off the hospitality

It was a slow night, the prawn was in her office working on a woodcarving when her phone rang. Jack hit the speakerphone.

"Yeah," the prawn greeted, continuing to whittle away at the sculpture.

" 'ey, Chief," the bartender greeted, "Some kid's here for you."

Though Jack was the club manager, Devon still pulled the strings. To think of herself as an authority felt almost unreal. Devon had come to her during one of her shifts at Chrysalis, which Jack initially refused. Managerial work? She wasn't exactly the socialite that managers sometimes needed to be.

"Al'ays 'een duh nuscle," Jack had explained, "Ne'er actually 'een duh Head Honcho."

"Chief" was just a moniker. She was the pawn of the club. Of Chrysalis. Her name stemmed from the physical intimidation factor, not any real authority. She was only a "chief" to the patrons. Devon cited her extensive experience with the mutant community and in the club scene, how those two combined had prepped her for the position. Besides, that was what training was for. When Jack expressed further apprehension, Devon buckled. Though he stated it was usually impolite to discuss paychecks upfront, he really wanted someone of Jack's skillset to run his club. A brief exchange over how much the managerial gig would earn her was enough to sway the prawn. It was more money than Xavier's and Chrysalis combined.

"Sine," the prawn had admonished, "I'll sink a'out it. I 'anna see duh 'lace sirst, doh."

And now, here she was, helping haze-- er, conduct interviews-- with employment hopefuls. God knew how she was supposed to do that with a speech impediment, but whatever. The prawn cast a slow glance towards the application and resume on the table, giving a quiet growl.

"'e down in a second," the prawn grunted, before hanging up. Well, might as well meet the new kid. She finished shaving a piece off of the sculpture, and tucked the woodworking supplies and all of the paperwork into the desk. She'd given it a once-over. Now she'd let her own personal judgement do the trick.

The prawn smoothed her clothes down with the palms of her hands-- a grey vest-and-slacks combo with a white shirt and sky blue tie. And, as always, a black surgical mask covering her gruesome mouthpiece. She was not required to wear the club uniform, as the boss, but still saw fit to dress the part. She left her office, and quickly made her way downstairs. A few quick turns down the hallway later, and Jack would come out of some unseen exit behind the bar. All seven-and-a-half feet of prawn walking efficiently towards the young man. Her lavender gaze was shrewd and unflinching.

"Nister Rose'ood?" she greeted, making her way around the bar, "Jacquelyn Dyer."

She extended her hand, as soon as they were close enough, "How are you tonight?"

Jacquelyn Dyer was an imposing figure to say the least. She was dressed like you would expect the manager of such a luxurious establishment to be and the surgical mask raised Max's curiosity. He was tall, like way tall and as he extended her hand Max had to tilt his head back to look into her eyes.

"Pleasure. I'm doing quite well. How about yourself?" He responded.

He wasn't scared, more nervous. He really wanted this job and even though he assumed Jack could pick him up and snap him in two the logical part of his brain reminded him that all he needed to do was not give her a reason to.

"To be honest I'm resisting the urge to hit the dance floor. This is one hell of a setup you have here. The Xynes 450 is class," He said gesturing up at the light system suspended above, " And the dance floor looks like it has a super receptive music synchronization software. This place is great."

Max had been to a ton of clubs, but the Inferno juat had sometjing special about it.He stopped fawning over the stuff as he reminded himself why he was here. He needed the job, not another stage to take on.

"Devon said you were looking for a waiter and some event staff. I'm willing to work whatever shifts you need and I live right upstairs so I won't ever call off." He said nervously.

The prawn tilted her chin at the smaller man. His eyes roved over her imposing physique, as often eyes tended to do, when she introduced herself. That's right, Max Rosewood. This is your interviewer. In a way, their kneejerk reaction to her was step one of the interview. This was a mutant club, after all, and if the manager's unsightly appearance sent you reeling, you wouldn't be fit for a venue that served other such mutated sorts. He didn't miss a beat. Good for him.

>> "Pleasure. I'm doing quite well. How about yourself?"

They exchanged a professional handshake.

"Doing swell," Jack grunted in response, " 'ell, shall 'e get right to it? 'anna get to know you, sirst. Has a see-ew kesh-tions to ask. Den, 'e'll see 'at you can do."

She'd get the phone out if he was having difficulties understanding her, of course, but it was always better to start talking in a standard way, first. Timing wasn't as great as it could be, when you relied on a piece of technology to do all the talking. The prawn gestured towards an open table, where there were two seats for each of them to sit. The kid chattered excitedly as Jack made her way towards the table.

>> "To be honest I'm resisting the urge to hit the dance floor. This is one hell of a setup you have here. The Xynes 450 is class, and the dance floor looks like it has a super receptive music synchronization software. This place is great."

"Sank you," the prawn said uncertainly, easing into her seat. She wasn't even sure if what the boy had said was English, but it sounded positive. This was an interview for waitstaff, wasn't it? If it were tech crew, she would've called upon one of the techy-sorts to check his know-how. (Besides, they didn't really need any techy-sorts, presently... they needed waiters.)

>> "Devon said you were looking for a waiter and some event staff. I'm willing to work whatever shifts you need and I live right upstairs so I won't ever call off."

Jack gestured casually to the chair opposite of her, amusement glimmering in her lavender eyes.

"O'en a'aila'ility is al'ays good," she said reassuringly. She flashed her phone to Max, explaining, "Dis is sore iss you has a hard tine understanding nee. Has technology dat does duh talking sore nee--" before setting the phone face-down on the table, "Just let nee know, and 'e real a'out it."

That being said, the prawn leaned back in her seat.

"So, Nister Rose'ood," Jack said. Of course, ther perfunctory first question of any interview, "Tell nee a little a'out yoursell-s."

Max tried to get a read of Chief as she led him to a table. She seemed pleasant and seemed to be giving Max a shot. She had a very thick accent that Max couldnt place from anywhere. He had gotten a bit carried away with his excitement about the club. He reminded himself to not let his mouth run wild here. He didn't need to approach this interview as a patron.

He sat and Chief showed him her phone explaining that it could talk for her if Max was having a hard time understanding. Max was a well spoken guy, but he had originated from the South, and he had met plenty of kids in public school that basically spoke a version of English Max thought had to be different than the real thing. He was already picking up some of the patterns in Chiefs way of talking, he would manage.

"I'm good for now but I'll let you know." He said pleasantly.

She asked him about himself. He always hated these interview questions. They were always a catch twenty two. You didn't wanna get to personal, cause then you're self obsessed, but if you just give information that's already on your resume, you're boring. He fought to find the middle ground and spoke.

"Well I'm from Virginia. Moved to New York cause I want to be a Broadway actor someday. I love music and dance. I'm pretty much just a simple generally happy guy. Life's too short to be miserable right?" He replied.

Like the young man before her, Jack also had a distaste for interview questions. Was there such a thing as someone who could use these questions to get a feel for a person? In the prawn's experience, she could get a good feel for a person just by being around them. But treating someone to coffee in order to assess if they were good for your business was not a typical approach to interviews. The prawn listened politely as the young man spoke.

>> "Well I'm from Virginia. Moved to New York cause I want to be a Broadway actor someday. I love music and dance. I'm pretty much just a simple generally happy guy. Life's too short to be miserable right?"

Jack's posture was open, one primary arm draped over the back of her chair. She cracked a smile hesitant smile from behind her surgical mask. He was an endearing kid, she'd give him that, but the information he provided was sort-of tangential. It had nothing to do with his job. His pleasant demeanor would help with being a server.

The prawn inclined her head, "Yes, you should al'ays nake duh 'est outta lice."

"'at sorta 'ackground do you has in acting and duh likes?" Jack asked politely, "I'n not one sore duh line-light, so I'n not sure 'at sorta skill it de-nands."

Here, she was giving the kid the opportunity to toot his own horn. Perhaps, should he see an advantage in doing so, he could even connect skills in performing arts to skills in being a server. While the prawn had a script, and while this was not necessarily part of it, it felt like an organic way to propel the conversation. Jack wasn't into the stilted feeling of interview questions, anyways.

Max tried to clamp down the nervousness he felt bubbling up inside him. He could perform in front of crowds, but sitting here trying to win a job had his palms sweating.

I'n not one sore duh line-light, so I'n not sure 'at sorta skill it de-nands."

It was a gentle push to get him on track. Subtle, but very kind. Max felt for a moment that perhaps Chief had a sweet soft side despite her tough exterior. He shuffled a little in his seat

"Well memorization is important, I could probably memorize a whole tables order without writing it down. Shows have long rehearsal hours where your busy so shift work is a piece of cake." He began.

He leaned in slightly towards the woman.

"To be honest from the looks of some of the clientele here it wouldn't hurt to have someone who knows how to deal with divas." He said with a small laugh and a little point.

He saw a woman sitting at a table off in the distance who seemed to be discussing her drink with the server with a flash of annoyance on her face.

"Like that."

>> "Well memorization is important, I could probably memorize a whole tables order without writing it down. Shows have long rehearsal hours where your busy so shift work is a piece of cake."

The prawn nodded as she listened, resting her head upon her chin. The kid was nervous. everyone was nervous at interviews, though. You had to be a sociopath to not be, honestly. The decision of the person before you could determine whether or not you would get a job. Good. He was connecting what he knew, to what he didn't necessarily. Good, good.

>> "To be honest from the looks of some of the clientele here it wouldn't hurt to have someone who knows how to deal with divas, like that."

The prawn smiled with her eyes, incling her head. She'd worked in the business long enough to have her fair share of said divas. Jack followed his gaze, briefly, before fixing him with a shrewd look.

"How 'ould you deal 'iss sun-one like dat?" Jack inquired, "A dissicult custoner. Let's say you accidentally gaze den duh wrong drink, and dey get nad at you?"

Chief asked how Max would handle difficult customers and he took a breath and considered his words.

"Depends on the customer I suppose. Some people you could just apologize to and make a joke and it's fine. Others are more difficult. That woman though." He said nodding towards her.

Most high society people look mostly the same to people of lower classes. It was only through years of dealing with people who place intense value on unimportant social stigma that you see that there are numerous tiny details that could tell you tons about a person.

His parents considered themselves high class. He'd spent enough hours sitting in on his mother's torturous lunches with the ladies she knew that he could analyze the clothes, hair, nails, and accessories of a person. He called it Snob Vision and he activated it as he looked at the woman.

He doubted her attitude had much to do with the service provided. Her dress and shoes weren't name brand, only her purse. Hence why she'd set it on the table. The other woman with her, she had the real deal going on, plus her jewelry was all real, while little miss aggrevated had mostly fakes on. She was probably just making a scene to show off to her friend.

He gave his head a little tilt.

"I'd apologize. Let her call me some name and then bring her the right drink, tell her next ones free. She'll be content that I'd sucked up enough and by the end she'd tip me big for helping her out." He concluded

He had the right idea—in this world, there were always the absolutes, in every facet of life—liberal versus conservative, Coke v. Pepsi, whatever. On each polar end, you had the diehards, with a majority of people falling somewhere in the middle. Customers were the very same—you had the exceptionally bad customers, who were absolute nightmares, and occasionally you had really lovely customers. But, for the most part, you just had… customers: forgettable, unobtrusive customers.

Maxwell’s response was accurate—usually an apology and fixing the issue would suffice. For the most part, people were understanding. But, in the case of women (such as those whom Max was addressing), required a little extra help.

“Or just sic nee on her,” Jack said offhandedly. Profit and revenue were, of course, concerns, so giving-out free anything should be a last-ditch effort. It should also only be offered by a manager or team lead. Jack watched for a moment, debating as to whether or not they needed her—no, the server had it under control, for now. They would come get her if it got out of hand.

“Let’s continue,” the prawn trilled, “’at’d you say your greatest strength, and your greatest ‘eakness are? Iss you had to choose one each...”

Max let out a chuckle at Chiefs suggestion. He could imagine just how effective the woman could be at intimidation tactics. He sure as hell didn't want to find himself on the receiving end of her prawny rage.

She asked him to state his greatest Strength and weakness. It was a tough question and he considered it carefully.

"My greatest weakness is....I care too much." He said with a little laugh, " No but seriously probably that I like to make people happy. To the point where I put it above myself. Strength wise I'd say I'm loyal. Once I'm on your side I will stay there."

He hated self assessing. It was always a pain having to look at himself with a constructive eye. He preferred to just do and think later. Perhaps he should have said that instead, however that probably would have been a bit of a checkmark in the negative box.

The rest of the interview proceeded fluidly-- Jack meandered her way through questions regarding Max's personality, what he might do in any given situation, and more in-depth questions surrounding his experience. There was some fumbling here and there (but it was an interview, for god's sake, everyone stumbled a little in interviews), but all-in-all, Jack liked the kid.

At this point, the prawn was leaning forward, elbows upon the table, and maw resting against folded hands. She wasn't one for ceremonious announcements-- instead, she fluidly moved into discussing pay and when the young man might be able to start.

"We start our ser'ers at nin-i-nun wage," Jack explained coolly. This was typically unheard of, in the service industry, but it was how Devon ran the business and a gesture Jack appreciated, "Which neans you'll start at ele-zen dollars, not including the ti's you get."

If Max wasn't catching her drift, she was offering him the position.

"So... is you're interested," Jack trailed, "We would, uzz course, need you to go t'rough sun training sirst... when would you 'e a'le to start?"

She even had a business card at the ready, if he needed to think it over. Jack was reaching into her pocket to fish it out, but her eyes didn't once leave the young man seated before her.

Max made it through the interview without feeling like shooting himself. He knew he wasn't answering all the questions the right way, or with the kind of enthusiasm or tact you only ever got after going to stupid seminars on interviewing well. Instead Max was just honest, and himself. After all it was what he did best.

, "Which neans you'll start at ele-zen dollars, not including the ti's you get."

Max hand to place his chin in his hand to stop his mouth from dropping open. Somewhere by the bar he swore he could hear the sound of a cash register ding. It was unheard of. At that pay rate if he was anything near a decent server he would be bringing in a decent enough paycheck each week.

-when would you 'e a'le to start?"

"I'm ready immediately so whatever works best for you," He paused for a moment, "And thank you for the opportunity."

Jack rose from her seat, at that point, and extended a primary hand to Max.

“ ‘e’ll ‘e in touch to arrange sore your training,” Jack said officially, extending her hand, “Sank you sore neeting ‘iss nee today. Look sore-ard to ‘orking ‘iss you.”

The two exchanged a handshake, and the prawn awaited for him to leave the venue before quietly returning to her office, ascending the narrow staircase, and closing the door. She had phone calls to make. She had to call the trainer, she should probably talk to Devon… those were the only two that came to mind.

Jack sat in the office chair, breathing a sigh of relief, before sliding closer to her desk and lifting the receiver of her phone.

[End]