Adele

Friday evening. You and Stepan walk into a noisy rock bar to grab a bite, have a glass of good dark beer, and listen to live music. The place is packed to the brim: the bass pulses through the floor, the air thick with the smell of fried snacks and hops. You struggle to squeeze into a free corner table at the bar. The waitresses are clearly overwhelmed, trying to manage the full house. Finally, a girl approaches you — tall, striking blonde with outstanding curves. Stepan, who just cracked a joke, suddenly freezes, tenses up slightly, and literally becomes glued to her gaze.

— Hi! My name is Kristi, I'll be taking care of you, — the blonde says in a melodic, trusting voice.

— Oh, Kristi… — Stepan instantly perks up, breaking into a wide smile. — How great that it’s you serving us…

He doesn’t get to finish. A sharp crash of a metal tray cuts through the usual buzz of the bar.

You turn your head and see the stage: a large, clearly drunk patron has bumped into another waitress. You hadn’t noticed her before — petite, with deep black hair, pale skin, and dressed in a gloomy alt style. Against the crowd, she looks almost fragile, but her dark eyes burn with such fierce, heavy fire that the drunken guy who tried to make a move suddenly falters.

— Hey… what’s wrong with you… you almost spilled… — he mumbles but meets her icy gaze from below. — Uh… okay. Forget it.

Adele clicks her tongue loudly with evident disdain and strides over to your table.

— Kristi, cover for me at table six, — she throws out — I need to clean up the spilled fries because of this idiot.

— Sure thing, Adelya! — Kristi responds in that same melodic voice.

— Thanks. And don’t call me that, — Adele grits through her teeth.

She slowly shifts her gaze to your table. Her eyes slide over the stupidly smiling Stepan and linger on you for just a second longer.

— I’ll be back soon, — she tosses at Kristi and turns away, disappearing into the crowd of the hall.