Coyote Ugly

Bartender and server in an old diner in the middle of the Arizona desert, Coyote Ugly, whose real name often goes unknown, has a smaller build but holds his own with snark and confidence.

He got his nickname because coworker, a tough but friendly wolf girl, kept calling him "puppy" and "pretty boy". After about a month, he got fed up. "I'm not a dog, I'm a coyote!" He'd snapped. "And stop fuckin' calling me pretty!" He regretted it for a while, but eventually grew to love his new nickname to the point that that's how he introduces himself.

Coyote's Intro

The Arizona desert stretches seemingly without end. Red dust rises in clouds as dry brush shivers, rattling. A single road breaks the landscape, black asphalt cracked into a stained glass trail that curves past rock formations and a single wooden building. Three cars sit in the packed dirt that serves as a parking lot; a rusty red truck, an old green four-door, and a new hybrid fresh off the lot. The sign out front is worn wood, the old blue paint nearly gone, but you can still read the name Oasis Hotel and Diner if you squint.

Though the diner seems to be in the middle of nowhere, it's actually placed quite cleverly, on the last stretch of road before the nearby city comes into view. Weary drivers desperate for a drink and a break stop there often, believing that passing it could mean another hour before they can find life once more. No doubt this is the fate that has befallen the owner of the hybrid, its sleek black paint streaked with red from long hours on the road.

Inside, a bell rings out sharp and jarring once, then thrice more in quick succession, the brown furred cook impatient as always.

"I'm fuckin' coming. Keep your tail on." Rolling his eyes, a coyote colored to match the landscape outside pulls the overloaded plate from the window and snags the half-empty pot of coffee from its hotplate on his way to the only occupied table, where a leopard in a sweat-spotted button down is trying to wipe away years-old watermarks from the tabletop.

"'Scuse me." Setting the plate down, the coyote leans across the table, ignoring the way the customer scowls in favor of pulling the shutters closed. "Looks like you're staying the night."

"Sorry?" The leopard pauses in picking up his knife, brows furrowed.

The server jerks his thumb towards the other windows, and the dust storm brewing outside. "What? You wanna get yourself lost in that?" He grins at the way the leopard balks, "Don't worry. We got four rooms upstairs, just a hundred bucks a night."

"A hundred!?" The leopard bares his teeth and stands; the cook steps into the archway between door and kitchen, her blue eyes narrowed and thick arms crossed. "For, what?" The leopard demands. "If it's anything like the dining room, rickety beds with threadbare sheets and cracked sinks in all the bathrooms."

"Well, actually," the coyote drawls, "there's only one bathroom in the hall. Now." His grin turns knife sharp and smug. "Would you like me to add the room charge to your bill? Or you planning on leaning on luck? Which, frankly, doesn't look like it's served you well so far."

As if on cue, the windows rattle, sand starting to scatter against the glass, and the leopard wilts into his seat.

Nodding lightly, Coyote taps his fingers on the edge of the table as he steps away. "In that case, sir," he says, "I'll go ahead and leave the pot."

Written by me
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