Seeking For A Job

The town in the early morning was different from the night — softer, more awake. Shops opened their doors, the smell of coffee and baked goods floated through the air, and people hurried to jobs, heads bowed against the lingering chill.

Jeremy kept his head low, hands stuffed into his pockets, moving through the streets like a shadow slipping between the cracks of the waking world.

He had thought it through — to find something else doing that will make him blend fully into the society. He'd be known as an ordinary young boy during the day and then at night, become whatever he wanted to.

He walked through the street for a quite long time, and when he got to the place where he had met his first scene of a vampire feeding on a human, he stopped. There were people surroundung the body... They seemed to be the dead victim's relatives and a different group of people. They looked like — investigators.

If there were investigators in this world, then Jeremy made as mental note to watch out for them.

He passed them, continuing his journey. After walking around for quite some time, he found himself standing in front of a small bar squeezed between two crumbling brick buildings.

The sign above the door was faded and crooked, but still readable:

"The Rusty Fang."

He almost laughed at the name.

Inside, the bar smelled faintly of old wood and stronger things best left unnamed.

A few early drinkers nursed cheap beers at the counter while a heavyset man with graying hair wiped down tables half-heartedly.

Jeremy hesitated only for a moment before stepping inside.

The man behind the counter noticed him immediately, his narrowed eyes sizing Jeremy up from head to toe.

"You looking for trouble or work?" he grunted.

Jeremy shrugged. "Work, if you're offering."

The man snorted, tossing the dirty rag over his shoulder.

"Don't get many your type asking that first thing in the morning."

He studied Jeremy a little longer, then jerked his head toward the back.

"Talk to Mara. She's the boss."

Jeremy nodded and made his way toward a door labeled "Office."

He knocked once before stepping inside.

Behind a battered wooden desk sat a woman who looked like she had seen everything the world had to offer — and had decided she was unimpressed by all of it. Short, wiry, with sharp gray eyes and a permanent frown.

Mara glanced up at him without much interest.

"Name?" she asked.

"Jeremy," he replied simply.

She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms.

"You got any experience?"

"Enough," Jeremy lied, keeping his voice steady.

Mara seemed to consider this for a moment before shrugging.

"We need someone to clean tables, haul crates, keep the drunks from killing each other." She pointed a finger at him. "You start tonight. Screw it up, and you're out the door faster than you came in."

Jeremy gave a small nod.

"Good. Be here by eight," Mara said, already looking back down at the paperwork on her desk.

"Excuse me," Jeremy said, not leaving yet.

"What else do you want?" Mara asked, deepening the frown on her face.

"I have other jobs I do at night," Jeremy said. "I am looking for a day job. One that I can do only in the daytime."

"I see..." Mara mumbled. She thought about it for a while and then spoke up. "If that's what you want, then no problem. Meet James, he'll tell you what to do next."

Jeremy nodded and then left the office.

Outside, James was waiting at the door. It seemed like he had heard everything... He didn't like pleased about it.

Jeremy noticed instantly but said nothing about it. "Mara said you'll tell me what to do next," he said to him. "I'm all ears."

James scoffed, it was barely inaudible but for Jeremy, it was loud and clear — even his odd hatred towards him could not escape Jeremy's eyes.

"Now listen," James began. "If Mara is around, she's the boss, we take orders from her. But when she's out, I become the boss, so you must take orders from me... And it happened that Mara is always on the road so... You should know when not to mess with me."

'A warning?' Jeremy thought, staring blankly at James who was lost in what he was saying.

"So whenever she's not around, you must obey me... Do everything I command you to do without complaints. If you disobey, you'll be punished..."

'I take orders from no one... Not even the Lord himself.'

"You will only be in charge of washing the dishes, going errands, and cleaning the whole place. You are not required to join in any major tasks like serving the customers or preparing foods. You are....."

Jeremy listened with tired expression and when finally James was done, he sighed inwardly.

"That will be all for now. You can get to work if you like," James said and threw the towel at Jeremy who caught it.

"I should...?" He asked.

"Start cleaning, of course! And be fast before the customers begin to arrive!" James said and went away, into another section of the bar.

Alright, here's the continuation based on your plan — keeping Jeremy outwardly calm but inwardly brewing something darker:

Jeremy tucked the towel into the side of his pants and picked up a bucket and a mop resting in the corner.

The bar still smelled of old wood, smoke, and something sour clinging stubbornly to the walls. He worked without complaint, wiping down tables, clearing empty glasses, scrubbing stains off the scratched floorboards. The minutes dragged, slow and heavy.

The front door creaked open.

Jeremy heard it before he saw it — the slow, deliberate steps of boots crossing the floor. He didn't look up immediately, focusing on scrubbing a stubborn patch of dried beer stuck to the floor.

A shadow fell over the table he was cleaning.

"You missed a spot," a rough voice said.

Jeremy glanced up.

A man stood there, tall and wiry, with a smirk plastered across his face. His jacket was worn leather, his hair greasy, and his eyes... his eyes gleamed with the kind of cruelty that needed no excuse to reveal itself.

Without waiting for a response, the man kicked the mop bucket deliberately, sending the dirty water spilling across the freshly cleaned floor.

Jeremy straightened slowly, gripping the rag in his hand a little tighter.

His face remained blank, almost bored. Inside, however, a slow-burning flame had started to light.

"Clean it up, kid," the man sneered, laughing as he turned and strutted toward the counter like a dog marking territory.

Jeremy stared at the puddle for a long second, breathing in slowly through his nose and out through his mouth. He forced his body to relax, his muscles to loosen.

'Don't draw attention,' he reminded himself. 'Not yet.'

Without a word, he fetched another mop, cleaned the mess in slow, careful movements, even when the man kept glancing over his shoulder to sneer at him, obviously hoping to get a rise out of him.

Jeremy gave him nothing.

But deep inside, he was already making plans.

Plans that involved that same man bleeding, crying, and begging before he finally ended him.

A slow death.

A silent one.

One that wouldn't be traced back to him.

He finished mopping and set the bucket aside, his blank gaze sliding over the man like he wasn't even worth noticing.

The man clicked his tongue, disappointed.

"Maybe you ain't got a spine after all," he muttered to himself.

Jeremy turned away, his face carved from stone.

Inside, he was already countingg down the hours till nightfall.