Daani Johal (princessdaani) wrote in 20somethings, @ 2021-04-26 20:37:00 |
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Entry tags: | c: chet davies, c: daani johal, d: 2027 04, Ω: rp |
RP: Left Brain at Work
Who: Daani Johal & Chet Davies
What: Mentally exhausted meets what?
When: Mon 26th April 2027
Where: Victory Road
Warnings: Brief mention of miscarriage (paragraph two), might come up in Daani's thoughts later in thread
Completion Status: Ongoing
Daani was having quite the Monday, it was very Mondayish in the worst sense of the word. The weekend had been nice enough, with the weather allowing her to spend some time in her tiny patch of garden (which she didn’t take care of herself). She’d done some dancing, some reading, and even some work prep (translator briefing documents were avoided at your peril) and just enjoyed the nice weather. And then she’d gone to sleep.
Unfortunately she had, yet again, been hit by a horrible dream and woken up early, grasping her stomach and thinking she was losing her child again and immediately burst into tears. She had been unable to get back to sleep. She had got up and tried to make the most of the time. She took extra care with one of her favourite work sarees and used more heavily pleated pallu option than she might usually for work. The repetitive motions were somewhat soothing, and it allowed her some time to think and meditate a little. She also put on her best face of work makeup and took extra care covering her dark circles, braiding her hair and sticking down her pallu for security.
Her work was always pretty tiring, mentally if not physically, and today had been no exception. It had been compounded when she’d waved off her colleague when it seemed like the development committee was drawing to a close. An extra five minutes of translation would not have hurt, the fact it dragged on for another twenty minutes, much of which she was translating for her least favourite of the Indian delegation, meant her brain was now mush.
She was wandering along Diagon Alley and Victory Road, looking in shops but not really buying anything. She knew she hadn’t got any food prepped and if she went home she’d end up sitting down and either dozing off or staring into space for far too long and not eating. She needed to hang around until she could buy something to eat at a reasonable hour. The fact ICW ran meetings at a variety of hours thanks to timezones meant her shift patterns changed and today she was finished a little before 5 when most people were likely to finish work.
In the daze of an oncoming headache she realised she’d been looking into the window of Quickpulse for rather longer than she might have intended and startled, heading instead for Sweet Nothings. Maybe an injection of sugar would help. “Less metaphors next time, less metaphors,” she muttered to herself. “Please?”