We need you, they'd said. It's important, they'd said.

This was the last time Jason agreed to help anyone at all ever. They'd made it sound like it was a difficult job, one no one else could do. They'd told Jason they would be eternally grateful. That they'd do anything if he only accepted. That he'd be their hero. They'd buttered him up and he'd fallen for it, the absolute idiot. Now here he was, looking completely ridiculous and serving drinks with ridiculous names at a ridiculous café.

The apron hugged his shoulders too tightly, the stockings were itchy, and the tail hung awkwardly from his skirt. His skirt! He was serving tables in a goddamn catgirl maid costume! And the heels! How did anyone walk on these?! He deserved triple the pay just for having to work out the advanced physics necessary to not trip while balancing drinks on a tray.

"Your order," he groused as he set down the food, not looking at the customer. The pink cat ears sat awkwardly on his head, framed by puffy red bows. He'd never live this down. His life was over. Over! How was he ever supposed to walk the streets again with any semblance of dignity after this? "Can I get you anything else?"

Just kill him again already. Take a crowbar to his skull. Take twenty crowbars to his skull and leave him in a warehouse to explode. Anything was better than this.