|Joanie Wicker | The Wicked Witch of the West (wickedwicker) wrote in bellumlogs,|
@ 2010-07-16 11:46:00
|Entry tags:||glinda, wicked witch|
Who: Gabby and Joanie
What: A chance meeting
When: Mid-morning, probably around 9:30 or 10
Warnings: Swearing, cattiness, rhaeg, and any other nonsense Joanie comes up with.
At Hot Wire, nobody even bothered to hide the pecking order. As the youngest there, Joanie was always immediately saddled with the unpleasant and mundane tasks. If something broke, she got to try and fix it before ending up drenched, pinched, or zapped and needing to call a professional. She was in charge of inventory, and ran the autoclave more times in a day than the other artists usually did in a week. Though it frustrated her, she was able to at least grasp why this was - everyone else had already paid her dues, and she still owed them.
So that was why she found herself on the street when she should have been working, making a beeline for the nearest Starbucks. Old Sol and Heather had gotten to work that morning craving coffee and muffins. After bonding over this strange coincidence, they turned to Joanie and placed their orders. Old Sol had given her the money to cover all three of them, leaving her to simply get the goods and bring them back.
Normally, she wouldn't have minded this as much. After all, she got to take a walk away from work, which was always nice, and she was still getting paid. Add that to the free coffee and muffin she was slated to get, and Joanie was looking at the sunny end of a sweet deal. But it was hot, and the heat always made things worse. Luckily, the bruises on her arms had faded enough to allow her to wear T-shirts again, though she still ghosted her face in makeup. It was the bruise over her nose that had stubbornly refused to leave completely, leading to a peachy coating over her nose and cheeks.
Entering the Starbucks, she tried to ignore the feeling of all those little pairs of bohemian eyes on her as she strutted towards the counter. She fit the bill for the sort of indie wanna-be that frequented these places: black shirt, dark jeans, dark hair worn down, and ridiculously pale skin. As she crossed the shop, she noticed that most people there actually fit that "type." Most of them had computers, though some of them had books, and there was even a guy with a scarf in this heat. She resisted the urge to walk up to him and punch him in the face.
As she approached the counter, she noticed that there was one person there that seemed to stick out like a sore thumb. A giant mass of blonde hair stood in her way, seemingly existing for the sole purpose of being a road block on Joanie's quest for breakfast. With an irate sigh, Joanie cleared her throat and raised her voice slightly. "Uh, excuse me?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest. "Are you in the line, or not?"