A loud hearty laughter was heard through the fancy door, followed by nervous responses and mumbled words from the waiters, which was then followed by a weird low growling sound mixed with giggles and the sounds of multiple shoes tapping against the floor. It wasn't worth checking to see what was happening out in the dining area, it would have been too unusual to describe, and it's not like Noemie ever bothered to look. The only context that was needed was that one of the servants rushed in, frantic looking and with some sweat slipping down her neck to the white collar of her uniform. The door was jutted open with her body in between it and the door frame.

"Please tell me the cake is ready." She spoke nervously.

Roman finally turned his face to see everyone, showing the finished cake.

It was covered in the bloody frosting, with a bloody "Happy Birthday" writing on the top, yet still somehow neat.

He passed it to the nervous waitress whose nervous face mixed into that of a relieved but still nervous one, she tipped her head to him in thanking and rushed back out the door after getting a good hold of the plate of it. The noises outside turned from this growling laughter and nervous mumbles to sudden fake happy noises and a normal laughter, then followed by the usual ritual song that people sang in a group to a person in the middle sitting in front of a cake or some other fire-lit offering, and then clapping. 

The Roman guy who finished the cake, slipped off his gloves, tossed them into the trash can, then began to unbutton his chef's jacket as he walked to the door leading to the locker room. 

The lady and the other boys did nothing to stop him, so when he stopped to look over his shoulder at the soft looking man, they all became nervous. 

"There, my job is done." He said with his low and hollow sounding voice, empty with a lack of passion or empathy. 

"The rest of you should go home as well now, don't bother worrying for the other two, they failed to show up, they know what's to come." 

The scary baker man then turned back, still working on undoing his chef jacket as he entered the locker room, the lady didn't move, but Gavin did, following after Roman's actions, and it was just the lady and the soft looking man in the kitchen. 

"Aren't you also going too?" Elias asked her. 

Noemie kept looking towards the door to the dining area, taking off her sweaty gloves. The sound of rubber with the clicks of her shoes against the floor made for a nice sound, even the sound of the gloves being taken off and thrown into the trash can sounded soothing in a way.

"I'm going to stay and clean the dishes; you should go home."

"Why? I should help you before I go-"

"I like to clean alone. Go home, be safe." The lady insisted as she gently took his shoulders and ushered him to the locker room. 

He wordlessly obeyed as his sincere eyes looked back at her, then left as he joined the other men in the locker room, though, that Roman guy earlier probably left by now as he was the most eager.

Noemie stood in front of the door to the locker, turned, and walked over to pull a box of gloves out of a drawer from one of the stations, the same ones used for cooking, then after she put on a clean pair of gloves, she went to another drawer to pull out a white plastic box, it had a red plus sign on it.

The sounds in the dining room grew louder.

Footsteps from soft rhythmic clicking of casual walking, to quicker paces.

Voices from muffled and whispering to growing louder before the words could be clearly heard, all different words with the same meaning. Stop. Don't.

Overpowered by a growling laughter, and crashes of plates, silverwares, and the toppling of a chair. Some waiters ran into the kitchen, heavily breathing as some hid underneath one of the tables or in the corners of the room, the lady took the box with the red plus sign on it and slid it over the kitchen island countertop to them.

More heavier footsteps are then heard from the dining room, growing louder and louder, a heavy object making hard contact with the floor, several louder thuds.

Silence.

Noemie, who stood still as she heard all the commotion, finally moved, pushing open the door to reveal the messy dining area. 

The customer who was eating happily like a canine king earlier was down on the ground, face pressed like a mop down by the shoe of a much bigger figure in a suit, wearing all black. The large figure in the suit had the patron's arm crossed over on his back, the other was pinned down by the figure's other shoe.

One waiter that looked to be about the same age as Noemie, lighter brown hair than hers, was kneeling on the floor, his left hand was gripping onto the bleeding bicep part of his arm, the blood steeped through the white sleeve of his outfit and was puddling around his fingers. Noemie was also familiar with him too.

It seemed that some of the other waiters fled out the other door that led into that place, leaving only the bleeding waiter and the ones waitress who stood behind the suited figure. She was probably the one that called them. 

The lady's breathing grew but she held herself together, walking over to retrieve the bleeding man on the floor and help him up into the safety of the kitchen. They ignored the commotion that would happen behind them, where the suited figure would dispose of the naughty customer, and the waitress would follow the lady and the injured waiter inside the kitchen to retrieve the other staff in hiding. 

I say figure because the one in the suit also had a mask on, the bodyguards tend to hide their identities so that their only recognizable features would be their size, I think the waiters should do that too.

In the kitchen, Noemie helped the bleeding waiter in and got a stool next to the kitchen island for him to sit down and lean on. The waitress scanned the room for all the waiters who ran and hid. 

"It's okay everyone." She clapped her hands together to call attention.

They peaked their heads out from underneath the tables, or out from under their arms or knees.

"He's down, I got one of the guards in to help. Let's go clean the mess, the sooner we finish, the sooner we can leave."

She planted her hands on hips, exhausted as the others rose to their feet and she had them move out, there was a hesitancy seen in all of them as they either avoided eye contact with their injured coworker, or just gave regretful side glances at him. The waitress gave a head nod to Noemie as she opened the plastic box with the red plus sign, then left to go lead the others.

It was all finally silent again; soothing noises of things being swept up or stacked outside the door as the lady grabbed some napkins, then a pair of scissors and had the injured waiter slowly remove his hand from the wound. 

The whole sleeve was soaked in blood, it was freshly red, and the smell was so strong that it was like if a person could smell the blood pouring out of their own nose.

Noemie gingerly grabbed a piece of the area above the wet fabric to make an edge that she could cut, and carefully trimmed while the man almost curled over and used his other hand, free of pain, to tightly grab the edge of the counter. The sleeve was pulled down after Noemie had trimmed all the way around for it to come down and reveal the entire arm to her, blood darker than what was on the fabric, seeped through some holes in his arm and ran down.

She took the napkins and spare towels, ran them under the nearest sink and dabbed them onto the bleeding holes. The waiter curled over in pain even more, hissing and groaning. 

Two curved lines opposite of each other, making very curved, half circular flaps opposite of each other but it seemed that the patron didn't get a good enough grip to really bite a chunk off, likely thanks to the fabric. The two sides of torn apart flesh are just barely peeking out and can be pushed back in easily. The woman sighed in relief at this. 

"It's not deep, just needs pressure but no stitches necessary." She told the man, who was trying to control his breathing as she laid a wet towel on top of the bite mark.

"Let me give you something to hold or-or bite down, while I, disinfect it." she began to back away and find something. 

This lady was not good at comforting. 

The bleeding man reached weakly to grab her sleeve, gritting his teeth and in a state of holding his breath and tears. 

"I don't need any of that. Please Just, please, get it closed." He rocked his head back like he wanted to knock it against something. 

His wincing eyes opened up at her nervous face, the lady gulped and shrugged, avoiding eye contact as she grabbed some wide rolls of bandages, a tube of medicine, and cotton balls from the box. She had him let go of her sleeve to go retrieve a bowl of soap and water.

The wet towel was removed, a rag dipped in the soapy water was used to clean up the bite marks, Noemie dabbed it as carefully as her hands would allow. Still, every bit of contact brough the man pain as he lowered his head and grabbed onto her shoulder, squeezing it tightly but it didn't bother her, both her hands were still free to use.

"This, those, bastards, leaving me, as bait." He muttered underneath his breath, almost muffling it into her shoulder as she got closer to his wound.

Noemie said nothing as she used cotton balls to dry up the area, and then wrapped it up using the bandage roll. It's like tape almost, as she didn't need to use anything to make the edge stick after cutting. she observed the roll and how small it was getting, making a mental note to get more later.

Some customers just can't help but want to have a bite of raw meat, and impulsive thought that happens often. It rarely happens to a chef, and I've yet to see it happen to a guard just yet.

The man still had plenty strength in his legs, and after the pain lessened and the bite mark bandaged, instead of helping the other waiters, he shook his head and offered to walk her out of the place, as a way to abandon the other waiters when they left him. 

"Bastards can take care of it themselves, I need to heal, and it's their fault for it." He said as he limply raised his right arm a little. 

His waiter uniform no longer looked like a uniform, but his scarlet corset vest was still fine, curving finely around his waist. The white shirt underneath would have to be replaced. there might also be stains on his pants but considering they were black, no one would notice.

"I still have to clean the dishes." Was all the lady responded with. 

"You're staying late again?" The man cocked his eyebrow at her. 

"Someone has to clean the dishes, and I'm hoping the manager looking through the cameras won't choose to kill anyone for not volunteering." 

The injured waiter sighed and shook his head, obviously showing that if it were up to him, he would sooner take his chance to leave, not doing someone else's job. He patted her on the shoulder, thanking her for wrapping up his wound, and left out through the door. 

There were sounds of glass being swept up outside, quickly being buried by another layer of sound from the large sink in a separate station. The kitchen was very large, so the lady made her round, sweeping the entire room, collecting all the bowls, tools, trays, and utensils that were used that night, and place them all in the sink.

The previous man's voice was heard in the dining area before one of the waiters. Not the man from before, just a different one, came into the kitchen and walked up next to Noemie, clearly there to help her while also bringing in the dishes that the dog-like man didn't break. She just gave a small smile, not making eye contact with them, just noticing an extra pair of hands pick up some soap as she turned on the faucet. 

"Did Everett send you?" She asked, still not looking at her new helper. 

"Yeah."

They scrubbed all the dishes together and placed them in separate stacks to dry. No sink has ever looked so red before, but neither has any other kitchen looked so red and rusted, more like a torture chamber then a food prep place. Actually, no, that wasn't the right wording. 

The room and all its equipment are very nice and in good shape, it's not that the place is rustic, it's tinted. 

The places where people live and where people work are separated in a way. If a person in this city wanted to have a house, they would have to live a good distance away from the city, and if they wanted to live closer to their work areas, they would have to live in those extremely large buildings that can house multiple people or families, sort of like a dormitory but more private. Noemie lived in one of these, a gray looking building with line textures on the tall stone walls, but it had a nice design, plenty of outdoor balconies for a bird to perch. I think there was something at the top as well, but I was usually too weak to go up, Noemie has never really felt like visiting the rooftop either.

The way the woman climbed the stairs to her apartment door, sometimes she exhibited the grace of a doll modeled after a model citizen, at least until she unlocked her door and went inside. 

She gently slammed her door shut and would collapse to her floor, every night after her shift at the restaurant, revealing all the regret, fear, and nausea she felt after trying to stay strong. 

She would leave everything she dropped onto the floor and leave a trail of clothes leading to the bathroom as she quickly entered the shower, like it was a desperate attempt to wash away her sins, or to clean up any scent of blood or blood stains that she may have acquired.

The water was steaming hot this night, either to serve as a slight punishment to herself for having cooked some unknown person's body into a fancy meal to please someone she could consider a monster, or because the heat may drive away her memories of her most recent night shift. The third option would be that she may find the hot water comforting like a hug, human bodies were warm after all. 

The woman stands in the shower as she mercilessly scrubbed at her skin until the scratches were red, and scrub at her scalp until she reels her hands back and notices the red tips of her fingers feeling incredibly sore. The rest of her body would also be ruthlessly scrubbed, from her shoulders, down to her ankles, until the hot water was no longer bearable against her clawed skin. Funny enough however, all that scratching wasn't really injury inducing, she'd have very soft and smooth skin afterwards.

The things that would follow afterwards varied, depending on what she had to do or how many patrons she had to cook for, or how big the meat was that she had to deal with.