Leave the F.F.F.F.

Mellow morning light softly shines in through your dust-embedded old window. You wake to the loud, harsh, electronic sound of the 1990 alarm clock you picked up at a garage sale. Blinking sleepily, you open your eyes and roll out of bed. Your heavy blanket remaining sprawled across your mattress in an unmade mess. You place once bare foot against the hardwood floor and then the other. You stand up and sleepily shuffle toward the bathroom.

You take your toothbrush and lazily brush it against your incisors. The cracked mirror accurately shows your reflection. Your brown hair is an uncombed mess, your eyes are barely open, and you're wearing nothing else other than a pair of plain white panties and an oversized grey t-shirt with a logo on it.

It was a year after your escape from the F.F.F.F.. It wasn't much, but you had obtained a job working as a florist's assistant, and had managed to take out a loan in order to purchase a tiny little run-down house on the outskirts of the city. You barely made enough to get by, but it didn't matter. You were happy.

You finished brushing your teeth, and began working on your hair. Then you ate breakfast and got dressed into your uniform. It was a simple uniform consisting of a white shirt and black skirt, along with a tough green apron with a white floral pattern in the corner.

You dragged your bike out of the garage (more like a side storage room, it was too small to hold anything more than a small car) and pedaled to work. After about 20 minutes, you arrived at a small home-owned store with a greenhouse to the side. The bell jingles as you open the door, and step into the cozy atmosphere of the store. Vibrant colors and scents from the multitude of flowers on display pop as you step foot on the wooden floorboards. You smile, and walk over to the register.

"Good morning, May!" A voice calls. "How are you today?"

A woman with long, green, flowing hair is standing at the register. She's not particularly voluptuous when it comes to her rounder areas, but her figure, demeanor and posture more than make up for it. She's wearing a uniform as well, but it doesn't really fit her refined and mature personality. [Palutena, Kid Icarus]

But there was more to her than that. She might look human for the most part, but in place of her arms were green-feathered wings with a single claw in the center. In addition, you couldn't see them behind the counter, but she had feathered calves ending in yellow feet with black talons, and a tail sticking out from above her skirt that was composed of several green and white feathers. Her name was Palutena, she was a harpy who had been released after the fall of the F.F.F.F. along with the rest of Alex's experiments, and she was both your manager, and your lover.

"Tired, as always." You reply.

"We've got to do something about that work ethic of yours." She scolds. "You're supposed to act like you're happy, it attracts customers."

"I don't recall signing up for a burger joint." You reply. "Besides, I work in the greenhouse, YOU'RE the one running the register!" She smacks you with her wing claw. She hit you with the blunt side, but it still hurt. You rub your head in pain. You jab her playfully in the side as you pass her, and walk into the back room to begin prepping for the day.

And so your life went on. The store didn't grow too much in the following years, but it didn't matter. You were happy, and you were stable. Alex was busy being fucked in a box somewhere. You married Palutena and moved into her house together. It wasn't much better than your old place, but it didn't really matter. What else could you really ask for in life?

[QUIET ENDING ACHIEVED]