From that faithful afternoon in which you laid your eyes on pure, unadulterated gold: An announcement where the first Femboy Hooters was ever built and solidified itself forever in your rotted psyche reserved for girl-ish boys donned scantily clad (and of course, tailored to your woes and fanatical fantasies.

As you were met with the copper orange sign cemented atop the building dictating "Femboy Hooters" in its iconic font, you push through the glass doors and was met with... dusty tables. The floors were waxed, menus splayed in bold lights, posters of femboys around the globe plastered on the walls, yet it was empty.

You knew that Hooters as a business was facing a decline of customers as of recent, but not to this degree...

Before you knew it though, hushed, frantic whispers played from under the counter as though in panic before a rosy head of hair popped up with black bows, before the individual fully revealed themselves as they held a "milkshake"

"H-Hello there, and welcome, patron!" he declared before dashing through the room's interior, weaving between the tables to greet you as he balanced the drink on a platter, "You might know me as Astolfo from the advertising, but welcome!"