#time to ride the girlposting wave

[xxxdragonfucker69xxx]

Working fast food is not exactly a stretch of the brain. I mean, it's exhausting, and every moment a customer is about to do something stupid and make you and your coworkers break out the fucking mop bucket again, but the actual routine is mind numbingly dull. Some days it feels like BaobaCo has reached its squid-mascoted tentacles down your throat to feed you the words.

It's got you by the throat again. "Hi, welcome to Baoba, how can I help you today?"

The girl drums her fingers on the counter. She's wearing a black facemask screenprinted with wolf teeth, or maybe something gnarlier, big tusks. Real edgy. Kinda cute. She hums. "I'd like a rose milk tea, half sweet, with black jelly, please."

Your fingers punch the keypad mechanically. "Rose milk tea, half sweet, black jelly. Any snacks for you today?"

The girl hums again, though the mask hides her exact expression. "Mm... hold on." And she reaches into her pocket and fishes out a doll.

A little marionette thing, face carved with the same wooden tusks as the girl's mask, but otherwise beautifully made; its little limbs and fingers all articulated. It sits in the girl's palm as if leaning comfortably against a tree. "What do you think?" the girl asks it.

The doll's head tilts sideways. Its little marionette jaw clacks open. "Get the popcorn chicken," it advises in the girl's exact own voice. "You'll need the energy in the coming fights."

The girl nods seriously and slides the doll back into her pocket. "Add one popcorn chicken, please."

Rote habit overrides bemusement and your fingers punch the order in too. "That'll be 130.5 wen, please."

The girl reaches into her pocket again, frowns, rummages around a little. Her hand's caught on something. She pulls a little harder, and a little harder and finally yanks, and her whole arm falls apart.

The hand tumbles out of her pocket, metal ball-and joint threaded with all the little threads that must pull the musculature. Her forearm too, dangling from her upper arm. An elbow-cap or something twists free and threatens to tangle in the now exposed threads.

The girl stares down at her arm, ignoring the shrieks of literally everyone in line behind her. She looks back up at the menu again. She sighs, deeper than you have ever heard anyone sigh, almost as deeply as you feel it in your soul right now. She looks back down at you. "Sorry. Better make that two orders of popcorn chicken."

+++

FLYING PUPPET FIST

a martial arts style available in

TEN THOUSAND DAYS FOR THE SWORD