Table Of One (Open)

[Francisco Ibáñez]

There was such a difference living in the states, than living in Spain. In Spain, Francisco had everything he could ever want. He had servants to make his food, to clean his room, to wash his clothes, to prepare his wardrobe, to sample all his food in case it was poisoned, and even to escort him around. But in America, he did not have these things. He was all alone in a big world. luckily, he had an eye for fashion, though most of his wardrobe was of much higher taste than he had seen walking around the school. Ripped t-shirts and torn jeans were not fashion. It was what separated the rich from the poor. Having holes in your shoes was nothing to be proud of. The male moved about his dormitory, looking over his things as he smoothed out his clothes. He quickly changed and made sure that his bed was made and looked perfectly still. He fluffed his pillows and utilized the duvet as if his sheets would escape without it. When all was perfect and tidy within his dwelling, the young lad moved from the room, making sure to lock it behind him. Burglary was something he had heard many rumors about, but made a mental note to add more locking mechanisms to his door. He would pay the school whatever fee was needed to feel secure. The last thing this blasted place would need was to hear from his father that he was unpleased with the facility. As he moved from the doorway, he maneuvered his way down the hallway. A bunch of young men were sprawled on the floor, some shirtless. They must have had a raging party, no doubt. But Francisco held his head up high and moved past the hung over crew. He clenched a book tight against his chest, making sure these losers would not try to steal the literature he was reading. The Doberman made his way out to the fresh air. He looked left and right, seeing the crazed young lives living and being their own crazy selves. He snorted to himself, disgusted in their animalistic behavior. They might as all be living in the wild, killing their food with their bare paws and breeding like rabbits among the school grounds. He had no doubts that was exactly what was going to happen here. Some poor foolish girl would fall for the charms of a loser, get impregnated by him, and then be stranded all alone.

He could see the vehicles racing down the street. He saw some others flagging down the yellow cars with a black checkered pattern on them. He had heard of them before, taxi cabs. But his mother insisted they were covered with parasites and germs. If he was even to sit inside of one for a minute, he would contract some sort of deadly disease. He would not be dying this way, not here and not now. Looking down the sides of the streets, he could not decide which way to go and alerting a stranger would not be good. He would be kidnapped the moment he spoke to them with his thick Spanish accent. He looked like money and he probably smelled of it as well, no need to draw anymore attention to the young prince. Francisco decided to wander down one path from the school. He stayed to the sidewalk, even though fools were rushing in between cars and traffic. Someone could get killed doing that. He held his head high, wandering down the street as he made his way to find something to eat. Too many places smelled like cooking grease. It was disgusting and overpopulated the smell of all the other foods. Hot dog vendors tried their might to get him to eat their mystery meat filled sacks. But Francisco would not be partaking in such things. Instead, he would find something this his stomach would actually enjoy. If he was lucky, he was going to be able to find a restaurant that catered to the European countries. He wandered the streets, making sure not to bump or even touch any of the civilians who wandered as well. Some of them chatted up a storm on their cellular devices, not paying attention to anything, while others had loud conversations with their partner. Americans, so loud and boisterous. Everything he had heard about them seemed far more than true, but horrifyingly accurate. It was not until the sweet smell of fresh Roma tomatoes and thinly chopped oregano wafted to his nose.

The Doberman closed his eyes, allowing his nostrils to guide him to the delectable scent. The male made his way still, until finally he found it. He opened his eyes to see the large sign above his head. "Italia Amore". It sounded just like something from Italy itself. Being a Prince, he was able to explore all of Europe. Italy had been a favorite, after Spain, of course. As he looked up, a large smile grew across his muzzle. He opened a door for himself and walked in. He did not like the feeling of having to open a door for himself, but he knew he would have to get over that quickly. He walked up to the podium, seeing the beautiful hostess before him. "Hola, mi nombre es Francisco y necesito una mesa para uno."¹ The hostess stared at him as if she had seen a ghost. He was not speaking Arabic or Swahili. Surely Americans had heard of the Spanish language. He shook his head and gave a tender smile. "My apologies... Where I come from, everyone speaks Spanish... I will have to... uhh... how do you say? Get used to it? But I am Francisco and I am needing a table for one person." He looked to her as she nodded and smiled to him, now being able to understand his words. She grabbed a menu and led him over to a booth. It seemed a little odd that he would be placed here, but he did not mind it. The cushions of the seat were pleasant as he rested his rump to sit. He picked up the menu and she asked if he would like a drink. He scrolled over the text with his eyes, looking at all the options. He moved to look at the listing of wines. "I would like one glass of your finest Roscato." She asked to see his ID, and he pulled out his passport. "My apologies, I have not yet received my identification card, but this has my fecha² on there." he said as he pointed to his birth date. She nodded and looked to him with a smile. She immediately left saying something in a mumbled tone. But he paid no mind to it. He looked over the menu and tried to think about what he should get to eat. After having decided on the Four Cheese Raviolis covered in the Primavera sauce, he pulled out his novel and began reading.

Translations:
¹ - My name is Francisco and I need a table for one.
² - date

[Jaclyn Grace]

Jaclyn Grace I thought of angels choking on their halos. ///////////////////////////////////////////// Jaclyn woke early that morning, doing her usual routine, exercise and dancing to her music. She wandered around her dorm with an unpleasant smile. She hadn't found work yet and her father had cut her off, no food for her. She grumbled and pulled on a pair of blue jeans, she needed to get out and forget about the hunger in her stomach. She tugged on a revealing shirt, making sure it was nice and tight against her skin. She ran a brush through her hair and then pony-tailed it, her hands running smoothly over her body as she looked in the mirror. "Lookin' good, sexy!" She cooed, clicking her tongue and then snapping her fingers at her reflection. She tugged on her ponytail and then looked down at her outfit. It was her favorite piece to pick up a little sugar. It was a black shirt with a low neckline that showed just enough of her chest. It was made from lace and so it clung to her tightly, blue jeans with rips at the knees. Now she just needed shoes. She didn't want to look super tall, so she grabbed her favorite pair of black boots. After all, who could go wrong in black? She walked out of her dorm and rubbed her hands together as she walked. She was bored and needed something fun to play with. She made her way across streets, whistling to a few lucky guys who managed to look her way. A glint in her amber eyes, she would shake her hips slightly at them, eyes wandering away and to the next victim. She flashed a few toothy grins, eyes wandering back and forth. God... I need something to eat... She thought quietly, shrugging her hunger off and continuing to walk through shops and streets. She brushed passed a young man, taking his wallet and grabbing what she would need for breakfast. She approached a fruit stand and paid for a couple of apples. They would do until she could find someone with richer taste. She bit into the apple, chewing slowly as the sun grew higher in the sky. When she was down with the apples, she threw the cores onto the street, not caring who would have to pick them up later. Her eyes wandered to a restaurant, it was simple and yet fancy. She smiled, another one of her precious looks crossing upon her face. Bingo! She moved to the door and slipped inside, watching a hostess approach her. Doing a quick glance around, she took note of the people and the ones without a 'date'. "I'm so sorry I'm late! Just here to be with my date!" She sneered at the hostess and moved quickly to the booth that was occupied by a doberman anthro. She plopped onto the opposite side of the male, her hand shooting into the air and waving the waitress over. She flashed a fake ID and then smiled. "I'll have what my date is having." She waved her hand once more to be rid of the waitress. She stretched out her legs and crossed them, leaning against her part of the booth. She shifted and smirked, finally looking at the male. "And who the heck are you?"