World... Upside down?✔

Chapter twenty eight (Part two)

"Or maybe this is a sect of serial killers waiting for young people like us to haunt."

Oliver raises an eyebrow.

We all start to discuss about getting in or not but we stop after realizing that the door had already been opened.

A woman dressed as an butler gazes at us and tilts her head, examining us. Behind her, a warm light and classic music gets in. There's noises of people chatting, and the walls are coral pink.

We are all still, waiting for someone to say something.

"Are you.. the table service that we asked for?"

"Yes" Francis answers for all of us.

What?

She mumbles some words in another language. It seems like... german?

"Enter quickly and go straight to the kitchen, no one can see you dressed like that." She speaks and now I can notice her subtle accent.

"Actually..." Luke starts saying but the woman grabs his arm and tells us to go, really fast. Jesus.

This place is impressive. Gigantic. There must be, at least, 350 people on this room. The roof is tall and there's a lot of tables with people dressed in formal clothes talking, drinking, laughing.

There are chandeliers of gold and the band is in a small scenario in the back. There's a piano, violins, trumpets, double basses, and other instruments. Now they're playing jazz.

We pass behind the dark red curtain and get in what must be the kitchen. It is enormous.

There are a lot of people dressed as cookers going from place to place, walking fast.

I stay stunned in the entrance, I don't know what to do.

What are we doing here?

If we weren't very busy being impressed by this room, I'm sure we would be glaring Francis.

I am really never going out with him again.

The woman pushes us to a small room and gives us some aprons that seem themed to the place.

She looks at me and says: "Tie up your hair."

I obey and then she glances at our shoes in dissaproval, she sighs and gives up.

"Well, you" she points to Oliver "have the tables 7, 12, and 14. Be specially nice, they like pretty boys there. Do you know german?"

"No."

"Does any of you know german?"

There's a silence. Why would we?

She grabs her head.

"I asked specifically for employees fluent in the language. What kind of service do you provide?"

Nobody answers.

"Fine. There's no time for changes now. You," she points to Francis "you have the tables 37 and 28, they speak perfect english. And you" she points to Tyler "what the hell happened to your face?"

"I got hurt."

The woman seems to realize I've also got bruises, because then she says with no much patience:

"You two are staying in here. You're not charging what was said due to... not having complied with almost any established rule. You" she points to Luke "will have tables 8, 20, and 42. Still, the payment will be less than what was agreed. Now, go to attend."