In all the weeks spent serving tea, Fuu can honestly say this is the first time she’s found herself sprawled across a young lady’s lap, tea spilled all over the floor, and ceramic dishes in a shattered mess.
Oh, she’s dealt with the everyday lechers with grubby hands and toothless leers. They are usually the ones to blame and Fuu bears it with her usual grace and patience. But Fuu’s never found herself the focus of flirtation from a giggling young woman in pink, while her dour-faced friends watch with a mixture of curiosity and apathy.
“Umm,” Fuu says, ever intelligible, as she tries to wriggle herself free from her ungainly sprawl in Pink Girl’s lap. “I’m sorry about that. I’ll get you a fresh pot on the house.” Though, Fuu’s pretty sure she’d only fallen because she’d been purposefully tripped. Fuu’s too graceful to stumble on thin air.
Fuu tries to get up and the girl in pink helps by letting her hands roam over inappropriate places. Fuu blushes, but at least her first reaction isn’t to strike out and break her customer’s nose. That sort of thing is bad for business.
“Come on, Ty Lee,” one of the friends say in a bored tone, giving name to face, “let our waitress go. I’m thirsty.”
Ty Lee giggles again but lifts her hands, holding them up in the air and wriggling her fingers. “I’m not doing anything,” she says with sing-song innocence that Fuu doesn’t believe for a single moment.
And judging by the eye roll, neither does Ty Lee’s friend. “We don’t have time for your usual flirtations,” she continues as Fuu manages to scramble to her feet, only to crouch and attend to picking up the dropped tray and dishware. Incisive brown eyes glance at Fuu. “Even if you are finally showing some taste.”
The third woman, looking increasingly bored, starts toying with a throwing knife. “It depends on your definition of taste,” she drawls.
Ty Lee pouts cheerfully, if such a thing were even possible. “You guys are no fun at all,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest.
Fuu decides that now is the time to wisely make her departure, pretending that she hadn’t heard their conversation, fighting the heat that’s staining her cheeks. She scoops up broken pottery, and clutches her tray to her chest.
“I’ll be back with a new pot and a mop,” Fuu says, giving them a polite bow before hurriedly scurrying away, aware of three pairs of eyes watching her go. Geez, Mugen and Jin aren’t going to believe this.