"Waiter! Eh, Waiter! Over here!" An annoying nasally voice called out behind Train. He cringed.

Okaayyyyyyyy. So when he said things weren't too bad he might've exaggerated things a bit.

So far, A rich snob and his group of other rich snots were getting together to make his life a nightmare.

"Waiter! Waiter! Over here!" He had stopped hoping they were addressing someone else as he was the only server this part of the restaurant.

Patience, 1,2,3 You are above this, don't let those snots control your mood….

"Waiter! Eh, This guy deaf or what?"

Train plastered a fake smile on his face and made his way to their table albeit rather reluctantly.

"Hello, What would you like to order?" he asked pleasantly.

The group leader, a teenager with a face which seemed to be overtaken by pimples sneered.

"Well, I would like to order a few things but since this is a restaurant I can't get them here can I?"

His cronies started to chitter beside him. Train personally didn't get the joke and didn't bother to understand it.

"So anyways what can we have ere' today?"

Why don't you look at your menu you cretin?

"Well, options are listed in the menu sir."

"Well, options are listed in the menu sir." The pimple-faced teen mimicked. "We don't read that stuff it's your job ain't it."

No it isn't you snot-nosed little sh…

"Well, if you are staying here long I would personally recommend the croissants and dip or the toasted sandwich but if you are not staying here long," Which I feverently hope is the case : "Then a simple beverage would be in order."

"I would have the croissants and me gal would like them fancy bread things."

Your gal, eh? I wonder how much you're paying her.

His 'gal' was a blonde girl with a rather pretty face that had wrapped herself around her boyfriend.

Train suddenly felt s strong sense of pity towards the young girl. No doubt she wouldn't have agreed to go out with that acne-troubled boy without the help of a daily pay-check. He didn't blame her though, the guy probably thought talking like a 50 year old gangster with a mental disorder would boost his street-cred.

"anything else sir?"

"Well, my since my friends don't' want to order anything I guess you're free to go."

Train nodded and exited there quickly.

"Did you see the way he was talking all posh-like, like where does he think he is? London or what?" that sentence was followed by sniggers, though they sounded forced in Train's ears.

Briefly, he longed for the days in Karl's care where any one around his age and older feared him and no one dared to address him without the utmost respect or else have a knee swiftly introduced to their titch and quackers.

Not, like that's ever gonna happen here.

"Traiiiiinnnnn." A low scratchy voice sounded behind him.

Train felt a chill run down his back as he turned to face the manager.

The manager was a very…remarkable person so to speak.

She was small, had beady eyes, sunken cheeks, stringy hair, a chin that happened to be pointy yet broad at the same time, and bad taste in clothes. (Almost as bad as Train) She also liked to point out things Train had done wrong in less than polite tones. Train could bet she had never heard of the word nice.

But what irked Train the most was her ability to creep up on him so damn...silently.

Most of the time Train was not alerted to her presence until she opened her crabby mouth. Which was not good for a former number of Chronos.

So in short, she had the makings of a Chronos number and the attitude of a pro wrestler.

"Yes?" He replied warily.

"Why aren't you serving table 7?!" She screeched.

Table 7?

"That table is not being used." He replied slowly.

"Yes it is! Or are you trying to say I'm blind!?

Why... that's exactly what I was trying to say.

"Of course not."

"Then go over there and do your job!"

Train visibly fought the urge to whip out his gun and give her a few rounds of Hades.

"Yes, ma'am."

He turned to go to table 7 and what he saw made him stop in his tracks. There was a familiar trio sitting there in what seemed like a heated argument.

One was a young girl with short blonde hair and a calculating gaze and there was a man and a woman.

Th man wore a white tuxedo and the woman had barely anything on and had short purple hair, which at first glance a passer-by would deem dyed. (Which it probably was.)

Rinslet! Why you slimy…I can't go there!

"Is anything the matter,Traiiiiinnnn?" The old Bat croaked.

"No of course not." He forced a smile and slowly made his way to the table.