Trash & Snacks

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To the new anons:

You are Trash, a 25 y/o waitress with blonde hair, great muscles, and a knack for blackmailing people, right now working at the gym-staurant “The Great Lady”. Or at least pretending to.
You finally got things going with Snacks, the cute girl with the big, blonde messy hair with horns in it, and in a somewhat rushed turn of events you ended up living with her in one big-ass abandoned military aircraft. She’s the dishwasher. Your personal loveball. Kind and shy, you’ve made a point to help her deal with her social issues. Which, ten minutes earlies, made her crush a dish between her hands when you said “heya”.

In this quest, we help our girlfriend overcome her fears and demons. Either that or we establish a secret ninja society, devoted to licking bald guys in the nape.

The restaurant has a saloon, with fancy tables and gym machines scattered and mixed in no particular order. A square of walls hide the small runner’s aisle in the upper-left corner, in which the boss has it’s cabin to keep close tab on the poor fuckers (besides the cameras). The aisle leads to the kitchen, a prime example of anarchy and feral instincts, and right next to that clusterfuck of chaos and screams, Snacks washes dishes and saves food in a tiny room between the kitchen, and a wide room for prepping food.

Some of the staff you are already familiar with:

>Cross Boss
The Boss. Wears a silver helmet with a prominent black cross going across; you assume she sees from there. Hers is the voice of a guy who’s happy about getting paid 500 bucks not to say anything about a stolen Corvette. Has a dense armor all the time, and can lift anything in a quarter of a mile radius thanks to an invisible muscle, called the GOG gas.
She hardly gives a fuck, lately.

>Vaal
The new receptionist, a great actress. You tried to assert dominance by gropping her boobs at the docks, and she pretty much “raped” you in the warehouse. Blonde and tall, she has a Pikachu tied in the roof. Pedro has been calling her “Cintia” as of late, but it seems “Goofy” prevails. Crazy and bizarre, she seems awfully nice lately.

>Umo
A defective himehorn, all white with white horns and red eyes, always dressed in winter clothes. She’s 4 feet tall, tasked with overseeing that the whole place doesn’t blow apart on its own more than three times a week. So far, she’doing great.

>Pedro
Bald, kinda short guy. Raises Preah, drinks less, a waiter as well. Ex soldier.

>Preah
Long, purple hair, with strange metallic devices all over her body, Preah looks like a 21 y/o girl but has the mentality of a 7 y/o. An Arma without GOG gas, she currently works as a runner.

>Harambe trio:
Carlos, Marcos, and Bobo; one white and two black guys. Yesterday, they summoned Morgan Freeman and crushed the restaurant. Highly unpredictable, yet harmless on their own right.

>This Guy
You got shit on everyone, he has shit on you. Big, wide afro, you do what he wants. End of story.

>Maki
The barman.

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And now, we wait for fuckers to show up, with pizza or soda.

OH almost forgot, new rule; only choices that can be done at the moment will be taken into account. Man, that megapost took a whole week to pull out.

Bumpin.

>>500704
Guess I need a logo or something. Any ideas besides cocks, dildos, turds, and cute anime girls?

Where's the action prompt. And wtf is this >>500062

>>502306
I was /very/ bored. Still waiting for the guys to show up, to I guess I could send the starting post now and wait.

>>502191
Harambe without dicks out.

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This time you don't even grimace at the sound of crushed dishes, echoing all the way from the aisle to the table you are currently sharing with your costumers.

"Sowwy!" you babble to the guy from the table across gesturing at you to come, a chunk on chicken falling from the corner of your lips. "M'eating!"

He sighs and rises, stacking the empty dishes of his wife and kids and heading for the runner's aisle. It makes you blink, they usually just leave them there.

"Lady, shouldn't you be working?" the old woman at your right suggest, in a subtly scowling tone. She doesn't know this is break time, and judging for Umo's facial expression right at your right she might not be aware, either. You just chew in her face, blankly.

"Trash, I won't ever ask you for common sense or propper etiquette-"

"Fhenk iu." you accidentaly shoot out a piece of chicken right at her face. Umo doesn't flinch.

"-but -CLAAAAASH- Alina isn't doing very well now, and at this rate we end up without dishes /or/ without dishwasher. Now, I don't know what you did to her-"

She steps back as you blast all the remaining chicken and rice while laughing. Face all red, you barely hang on into the table.

"This meal is on the house." Umo deadpans at the old granny and her two big sons across the table. They nod.

"SORRY! SORRY!" you don't dare to look up, feeling Umo's stare almost piercing your skull.

She sighs. "Just warning you."

It's not exactly a warning you needed; Snacks has been actively avoiding you ever since "that". She left breakfast for you, Vaal, and the Leaderhorn, and went to the restaurant very in the morning on her own, and would crouch, turn or vanish every time you went to drop the dishes. Hmm...!

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AIGHT, this is what we got for now. Any ideas?

>>502407
Embrace our inner ninja and stealth hug Snacks into submission.

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>>502410
Oh, air vent... the things it told you. If Leaderhorn is your friend, then the air vent is the unsure girl at school that tells you all if secrets, because she wants to stablish a sense of belonging. Secret you nod at with your arms closed, in silence... well, not this time. Because it ends in the docks at the resturant, and while the fall from the exit to the wood planks is a tad tall... let's just say you have your means.

Entering through the back door, Snacks back soon pops in sight. She's... working very fast, actually, you watch her for a little while and notice some times things slip from her hands. No wonder, with all that speed... she even turned when you crouched behind the trash can, yet one second too late. You stretch your feet, take slow breaths, sharpen your eyes and teeth, grasp the sticky floor with your hand... and then, like the puma...

"Snaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaackks!!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!"

It ends with you hugging her in the floor, Snacks struggling wildly a few seconds before freezing up entirely. You let go of your grasp, allowing her to slowly, slooowly turn her head towards you, before swallowing and spawning a trembling smile from you.

"T-Trash! My, you... shouldn't be so sudden ...!"

>>502422
>Hug her again.
>Tell her you like spontaneity.
In the lewdest way possible.

And just start being super lewd.

>>502434
"Snaaacks! Snaaacks!"
Shaking yourself against her, you hold Snacks to you, the two of you still on the floor. You glance at This Guy staring for a quarter of a second behind the table, he goes away shaking his head.

"Snacks? I like you. Snacks?" your very own, personal loveball's smile is petrified under her brown, wide open eyes. "Snacks?" you get closer to her ear. "I'd suck dry every inch of you. /Every/."

Snacks's swallow is so audible it actually startles you... you hear dishes piling up, but it seems they are leaving them in the front desk of the kitchen. You slide a hand under Snack's shirt, slowly making your way up... but she doesn't even flinch. Blinking, you let go and look at her. She's... crying?

>>502450
Smack's feeling have been hurt.

>Cry
>Cry alot
>Attempt to apologize while crying
>Run away while crying at the highest possible decibel and say "I'll just leave you alone if that's what you want."
>Try to avoid her as much as possible while still crying.

>>502453
*Snacks

Autocorrect is evil.

>>502453

You release the frail girl as you sit ext to her head, your face still looming over Snack's."It's ok, it's just...!" she starts, but stops once tear hits her face. After pausing in shock, she looks up, and another tear hits her in the nose as she looks straight at your wet eyes.
More soon follow, none of you moving.
"...T-Trash?" she mutters, more scared than dazzled.
"...Sorry!"
She rises swiftly, actually bumping her head with yours.
"aw"
"IT'S OK! I'M OKAY! HEY!" she beams a happy smile at you, grabbing both your arms and shaking you. "Don't worry, I'm just kidding with you! I-I think it worked, maybe it worked too well? Right?!" she laughs, still shaking you a bit too much.
You tear her grasp from you, leaving her blank, as you stand. "SORRY!" you leap from the table, taking some dishes with you on the way, making a loud clanking sound as you fall. You almost slip on them. ""I'll just leave you alone if that's what you want!" you scream atop of your lungs as you rush away, tackling everyone in the way, even managing to stomp This Guy against a wall; they all had this startled look on their face.

You exit the restaurant, and hide yourself under the docks. Tears still flowing.
>>502450
I fucking hate youHAHA

>>502467

>Wander around crying until it's really late

>Go home still crying obviously.

>>502476
You run laps around the restaurant, crying as you do. Every now and then you check your cellphone; your time is improving little by bit. Two hours later you stop to rest a while and cry, then summon your knife, cut a tree, and squat it while crying. Then you deadlift the log as tears drench your hands, you bench-press the log as your cheeks get wet and shiny once you get too tired....
Gasping, dry, and red-eyed, at least you got fucking ripped. You check your surroundings; somehow, you ended up at the deserted plaza under the watchtower, brown and broken bicicles and airship hulls sprouting from the green grass.

You stand, shake yourself up a bit, and walk home.

>>502494
>Once we get home walk in

>If snacks is in commence plan a

>Stare at her silently for a solid couple seconds

>Tears well up in our eyes again

>Run upstairs to room

>Keep that door from opening.

>Dream sad dreams
If not

>Walk up to room in silence

>Still find way to lock door.

>Dream sad dreams

>>502512
NIGGA YOU CAN'T CHOOSE WHAT TO DREAM, WHAT ARE YOU

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>>502514


Though seriously the
>Dream sad dreams was mostly a joke

>>502512
As you hover your hand in the squarely-shaped sensor, a powerful, cold chill runs from your arm to the rest of your body; you dread. It takes some will to push across the fog inside, but you manage to hit the green square almost in anger.

The door opens.

You walk inside, slowly looking around, attempting the less sound that can be done with each single step...

Nobody replies.

You take a look at your cellphone; Snacks should be coming home in only one hour.

Still sliding your feet, you manage to find your room; head clouded, eyes still red and spicy, you lean in the bed and let go off all control of your body, bouncing briefly against the soft feeling. Then you rise; walk to the door, close it, lock it via command, and drag your almost lifeless body towards the bed, repeating the process.

You don't want Snacks. You don't want to think now.

All you pray for, is for your mind to be merciful tonight.

It is.

>>502530
Well OP I sadly must rest.

If this thread is not kill by then I shall return

>>502530
Wake us in the middle of the night and realize all we wanted was a Snack.
Go into her bed and... "Get some."

>>508769
Your eyes lit open, as if you heard a scream. There was no scream. The same familiar white ceiling greets you, dimly lit by the light of a passing hovercraft through the window, it soon sinks you again in darkness. Still in your pajamas, you sit in bed and glance around; you are alone.

And before you notice, you are heading to Snacks room. Once over the mesh bridge, you briefly glance at the engine room below before taking the corner.

It's the green door; the one with golden symbols, perhaps a reminder of elfs. You pry it open, slowly; thought the darkness, you can hear Snacks breathing.

>>508792
>Climb in her bed.
>Hug her hard enough to wake her up.

>>508800
If you had to name one thing you completely rely on, you'd name the Leaderhorn. It would be a lie; the answer is "stealth". Daydreaming as you slide, you unravel the darkness where the breathing comes from. It's right in front of you, still blurry. As you loom your claws at Snacks, a puzzle of mixed emotions hits you all at once. And you wonder... what happened? What the fuck happened? Why did that happen, it was all so well, it was going so nice...

Why did that had to happen?

You close your eyes shut so hard they hurt; this is never going away. It'll remain a scar, every day the flatter, but it will be there.

You bury your head in a scratching feeling; Snacks is facing outwards. Sliding a hand under her head, another close to her waist, you hug her hard and steady until her limbs go hard, and then soft again.

>>508851
>Bury her head in our chest
>Fall asleep

>>508888

>>508888
Slowly, you make her roll over your arm; she does so almost like a wheel. You kiss her forehead as you wrap her head in your chest, feeling like the single candle in a world of darkness.

After a while, a muffled word goes through your drowzy head. "Bossy?"

>>508906
We're obviously not sleepy enough yet.
>Look for alcohol and get black out drunk.

Who needs a liver anyways?

>>508919
You blink hard and once before gently resting Snacks head on the pillow, you feel her sit on the bed as you turn and slam your feet on the floor. Glancing at the engine room as you walk over the mesh bridge again, you make your way to the kitchen.

Behind the heavy white door, there's cold, fruits and milk, yet no beer. You sigh, aware of the light steps behind you, yet not turning.

>>508927
>Sigh in frustration
>Punch the fridge
(Try not to obliterate it)
>Chug milk

>>508933
You sport a faint smile before you punch the top of the fridge, which opens on the recoil. Somehow, you remember hearing a faint shriek somewhere behind you, perhaps a few seconds ago... you drown the chance in milk. It tastes metallic, some slips and flows through your neck. After the small box weights half than it did some seconds ago, you slam it inside the fridge and close the door shut. You turn and stare, your faint smile vanishing. Snacks was standing behind you, cowering; her eyes dimming behind the golden hair, her hands under her chin as if she was about to claw her own face. She seems to be muttering.

>>508947
Someone saw us drinking milk from the carton.

This shame will never be forgotten.

>Try to grab the milk it's our only friend now
>Retreat to the room
>Lock that shit.

>>508947
Apologize and ask her if she wants some milk too.

>>508959
And she keeps at it, while you stare her down. You just turn from her low-pitched voice, your whole head a mess of silent shouts and wonders. It's annoying. As you sneak past her, Snacks is still whispering sweet things at the nothingness, and when you glance over your shoulder, a fair distance away, she still seems at it. You walk to your room; it's the closest by. A soft sound tells you the door has locked behind you. Finally you just stand there; taking another sip.

It takes you longer to finish the milk than the knocks to echo behind the techy door.

>>508961

It opens in its own, despite ill or omen. Snacks just stands there, one balled up fist still hovering near her face, as you turn to look at her. You stretch the box of milk at her; she takes it with both hands, then looks at you blinking.

"Sorry." you manage.

>>508985
I think snacks has lost it.

>Run back to the kitchen
If she still follows us
>Run outside
Running from the problem is the only solution.

>>508992
Your shoulders clash as you rush past her and run across the aisle. Biting your lips, you don't turn back; thinking could be deadly now.

Back at the kitchen, the fridge is throbbing with fruits and butte, among a lot of food you fail to put a name on; your diet, while healthy, was an endless circle. You settle for a banana and bite it with the peel on, no footsteps to be heard. Nervously, you take the yellow off and bite and chew, yet no sound is felt by your radars.

Ten minutes go by. You find yourself sitting on the floor, by the wall inside the kitchen eyes fixed on the white drawer under the table right in front of you.

Half an hour goes by. Nothing happens.

>>509016
>Huddle in the corner
>Mumble like we just witnessed a demon until daybreak.

AIGHT, I'm finally dizzy enough to take a nap. G'night evilanon, wish me 3 hours of good fucking sleep before college.

>>509025
Night OP

>evilanon

I don't know what you speak of.

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>>509026

>>509021
Writang!

>>511406
Damn straight.

>>509021
The floor feels cold under your butt, but you endure to let it warm up; ten minutes later, you hardly feel your ass anymore. It doesn't matter. Eyes fixed on the floor, it's like you can see boots at the very top of your sight. There's not a girl with a round face and square glasses under a short, utter black hair in front of you, she's not wearing gray, artsy armor scattered over a black, latex-like layer all over her body until her neck.

"You know, I keep taking leaps of faith."

Yet you mumble. It's like your teeth were a prison, and you werent't paid enough to care about the words.

"Horny told me you should eat more than one banana a day. So I did, right in front of her." you chuckle. "It can't be bad, right? I mean Its bananas, monkeys eat a lot of bananas, bananas aren't poison that's so silly."

You don't look up.

"Besides Horny goes full paranoia at times, even in that kind of details. Shouldn't have left her alone for so long. Nah, she's not mad; that was just her way to make me feel she cares. Making me puke."

You chuckle, again, the sound almost like a broomstick scratching the floor.

"I don't know."

You sigh; then take out your uniform and fold it under you. Now it's your back that feels cold. Focusing on the tingling feeling of your ass coming back to life, you soon dwell deep inside your head.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Your eyes lit open at once. You blink; this is the kitchen. A moment later of blissful ignorance, all rushes down at once and you find yourself frowning.

You check the clock. Work was due two hours ago. Then you glance to your side, at the table; there's a dish filled with croissants and donuts, next to a glass of milk and one of orange. You'd rather not mix them.