Kate remembered the first time she saw the dress...
It was a year and a half ago at the Highland Mall where she and Mallory were doing some last minute spring break shopping. The pair managed to rack up a few finds among the trendy shops, but no real score of any significance. Choosing to split up mid-afternoon allowed them to cover more ground. Mallory of course, headed off to the beachwear section. Kate spent some time browsing racks of bright floral print dresses. Bored with the selection, she turned around with an unsatisfied sigh...
And there it was.
Like something out of a dream, the shimmery red dress hung on display before her. It felt as if the lights shone especially bright just for it, and it alone. As a result the crimson fabric practically glowed; appearing somehow to be in motion even as it hung there. The fit was everything Kate could hope for and then some. Transfixed, the shapely brunette never batted an eye. Not even when the purchase put a hefty dent into her credit card.
Sleek and sexy enough for parties and clubbing, the venerable dress performed just as flawlessly at the occasional formal event. It was the “go-to” core for many an occasion and left Kate stunning no matter how little time she had to prepare. Last week at the Delta Omicron Gamma social, her pride and joy remained as supple and bright as it had 18 months ago, that magical day in the mall.
Which is why the huge jagged tear down half the right side had her furious. The dress was ruined. 'Damn that selfish bitch!'
“Mallory!” she screamed; doing so with all the force her slight frame could muster.
The dorm room echoed with her fury, before falling back once more into ill silence. Kate stood alone, shaking after the stunning, yet impotent display. For the leggy blonde (THE object of her anger) was halfway across town; no doubt hanging off Peter's arm, or Jasper's... or BOTH. The latter brought about a fresh bout of frustration. For her so-called “Bestie” had an awful habit of getting too touchy-feelie with Kate's beau; the blue-eyed Jasper Collins.
But that was always the case with Mallory. In one way the young woman brought the best... or at least the most out of Kate. In another, the self centered she-bitch took whatever, or whomever she wanted.
Still frozen at the same spot she found her ruined dress, Kate mentally ran through the many “Pluses and Minuses” of her life with Mallory Watkins. As of late it seemed the minuses waay outnumbered the pluses. Still, there was no doubt the shy, impressionable little wall flower she had been wouldn't have blossomed into the confident outgoing beauty Kate had become without her roomie's tutilage.
But, at what cost.
Rattle Jingle RattleRattle Click
The tell-tale sounds of keys in their notoriously stubborn lock alerted the fuming brunette to her roommate's return. It was like throwing gas on a fire.
Kate launched into Mallory with a sudden intensity that surprised both of them; laying open countless built-up offenses and slights. For her stunned counterpart's role, Mallory merely stood there wide-eyed, clutching her keys defensively. But you can only corner a wildcat for so long. Eventually the girl let loose with her own (Not unsubstantial) rage.
And so it proceded, until a mutual glaring silence settled between them. It was Kate who broke it.
“I wish I'd never been you're roommate.”
To which Mallory raised an eyebrow;
“Yeah, who would've helped you as much as I did? Huh?”
“Anybody! Anybody would've been better than you.”
Cocking her hip, the fiery blonde pointed accusingly back.
“Name one.”
Kate hadn't really thought it through. Sure, there were a lot of girls in their dorm. Each had their own personalities. Some would be a definite “No”. (She hated to admit) But as for desirable alternatives she was coming up unexpectedly short.
As if sensing victory, Mallory began to get smug, and that was something Kate couldn't handle at the moment.
“Tracy Peters!” she blurted before she even realized it.
Mallory's eyes truly widened this time.
“Tracy Peters?” she shot back. “Little miss Fuck The World?”
She accentuated the latter with air quotes.
“You do realize she walked away from her courses three weeks ago. Don't you? Her pissed-off parents were here getting all her crap.”
Stung but not defeated, Kate struggled for something to counter with.
“Well, maybe she wouldn't have left if she had a roommate to support her?”
“Really? That's the best you got? Fine. I wish you two would've been roomies instead! In fact, I... ...”
“... would like a pack of Marboro 100s.”
Kate blinked; confused not by just the odd statement, but by the strange man standing before her making it. No longer in her dorm room, she somehow found herself in what looked like a convenience store; behind the counter of all places. 'What the fuck is happening?'
“Um, Miss? I'm kind of in a hurry.” The stranger prodded.
Kate barely heard the man and processed even less of what he said. None of this was making any sense. She was supposed to be arguing with Mallory. She was supposed to be safe in her dorm room. Too many questions were coming waay too fast. Yet despite this, she found herself reaching up without looking, to snag a pack of cigarettes... ones that just so happened to be exactly what the man had asked for.
“That'll be seven fifty.” she replied, automatically.
Then, just as naturally, Kate keyed in the sale on a register she'd never even seen before and handed the man his change. Only after he thanked her and left, did she start to hyperventilate.
'What the fuck?! What the fuck?! What the fuck?!'
Kate needed air, needed room, needed time to think. Desperately she dashed down some random isle.
“Hey Deej! I'm going out back for a smoke.” 'Who in the hell is Deej?'
From somewhere a couple isles over came a slightly muted response.
“Again?! You just had one ten minutes ago.” the voice whined. “C'mon, don't do this to me. Roger is gonna be pissed if I don't get the Jack Links display done.”
But it was too late. Kate had already snatched up a ratty purse (Apparently hers) and made it through a pair of double doors leading to the back. The traumatized brunette didn't smoke, hated smoking, and frankly couldn't stand the smell or taste. Yet here she was, expertly shaking out a fresh cig just as she stepped free of the building. Ignoring the “NO SMOKING 50ft FROM ENTRANCE” sign, Kate lit up and had her first deep drag since 5th grade... or mere minutes ago. (Depending whether she chose to believe her memories or the comment from a stranger she'd never even seen) Three or four drags, equally as long, followed.
“Ahhhh” she sighed, smoke streaming outward.
The act of going through the motions, not to mention the nicotine served as some sort of distraction duty. Well, as much as could be expected. Kate at least no longer felt like Alice falling down the hole. In fact (And this is the strangest part yet) as she worked her way through the cigarette, she had to admit she felt... normal.
It was the routine. It felt familiar to her. Somehow Kate knew exactly where an old coffee can the smokies were forced to dump their butts into sat. And sure enough tucked discreetly around the corner; there it was. She recognized Mert's and Louisa's cigarette remains both by the brand and the other girl's distinctive lipstick.
'What the hell?'
Try as she might, Kate tried to explain this sudden schism. But all her efforts, came up dry. One second she'd been glaring at her roommate, and the next she was here. 'And smoking... for Chrissakes'
“Fuck me!” she cursed; surprised at the rare vulgarity... although somehow it too felt right.
A sudden chill brought goosebumps.
It was while rubbing them down Kate spotted the tattoos. 'What the...?'
Holding “Her” hand up, the shocked young woman could do nothing but gawk at the unfamiliar colors and patterns. Small, intricately penned roses sprouted from a long twisted vine of thorns; forming a full sleeve. Tracing a finger along a specific portion of its winding path, Kate made out expertly hidden letters; F T W.
“Fuck The World”
It had been Tracy Peter's favorite saying. No way could this have been a coincidence. Not when she and Mallory had just been talking (Screaming) about the troubled 21yr old.
Clang
Half driven out of her skin by the sudden sound, Kate turned to see the expectant face of DJ Hammond.
“C'mon Kat!” He urged with a tip of his head. “Everything's starting to back up.”
Seeing no other obvious alternatives, Kate followed the young man back inside. Retracing her steps, she threw the ratty purse down, typed in her code, and began waiting on the half dozen or so impatient customers lined up in front of till #2.
After the rush, Kate began the mind-numbing tasks of cleaning up, restocking, and other menial labor. The multitude of things like wiping down counters and prepping the coffee maker were done on autopilot. Actual memories fitting these actions proved elusive.
Halfway through scrubbing dried mustard off the condiment section cupboard she was startled out of an apparently deep reverie.
“Kat!” shouted a rotund little balding man. “Didn't you hear me? I said your shift was up.”
With a nod, Kate dropped the rag and shook off her gloves.
“ 'Bout fucking time!” she cursed.
Kate... or “Kat”, as she was apparently called couldn't believe the words that gushed out of her mouth seemingly as if on their own accord. For her, swearing had always been something of a rarity, even during shouting matches. The brunette considered it to be petty and cheap. 'My life or not, I'm not going to behave like some trailer trash'
With a grin, baldie shook his head and walked away.
“Never thought I'd ever have to remind you of that!” he quipped over his shoulder.
“Fuck you RD, Fuck you very much” flowed the word vomit from her mouth.
“Yeah yeah...” he replied, apparently used to such nonsense. “Just don't be late Thursday or I'm docking ya a full hour.”
This time Kate held her outburst in check. It burned like acid in her mouth. Still, despite all her efforts, out came a flip of the bird aimed directly at her manager who, by some slip of fate failed to catch it
'OMG what is wrong with this girl?'
Kate wasn't exactly sure she wanted to find out.
Roomies Alternate Universe
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Roomies Alternate Universe
by Tornasunder » Tue Nov 10, 2015 5:07 pm
- Tornasunder
- Transformation Master
- Posts: 153
- Joined: Tue May 29, 2012 7:12 pm
Re: Roomies Alternate Universe
by Tornasunder » Tue Nov 10, 2015 5:13 pm
Transportation was apparently a rusted out Lumina. It smelled of stale ashes and made horrible grinding noises when she turned the key. But it started. Kate threw the lever in drive, felt the tired car hesitate, then ease out of of the spot. Before she knew it she joined the thinning rush hour traffic headed East down Lyndale Avenue; totally oblivious of the destination that lay ahead. It was that same autopilot thing that had carried her through at the MiniMart. Kate vaguely reasoned there must be a driver's license somewhere in the ratty purse beside her with an address, but felt too drained to even look.
Even fighting off the next cigarette urge proved too much. Hell she already had the flame to the tip before even catching on to what she was doing. Besides, the relief a few deep pulls provided quelled any rebellion. 'At least for now'
It wasn't long before the bright lights faded. Turning at Lake Street, Kate took in the rapidly declining state of the neighborhoods... and the residents therein. By Lake and Waters she had reached a level of shadiness her former self wouldn't have braved in the daytime. Houses were badly in need of paint, and often with one or more plywood covered windows. The shudder that ran through her body made this unfolding scene all too real and visceral. It's one thing to see such a place on an episode of Cops, and quite another to live it.
Kate found herself turning the wheel to pull into one of the rarer two-story houses. It was then she almost acted on the urge to flee; sending her rattling heap racing off somewhere, anywhere but here. Instead the engine died with a natural turn of the key, leaving poor Kate in sudden eerie silence.
Clutching her purse protectively, the freaked out brunette practically scurried up a set of narrow rickety stairs clinging to the side of the two-story home. The stairway appeared foreign to the building, as if thrown haphazardly on at a later date. (No doubt to make additional rental space out of the second floor) At the top of the stairs the former “Queen of the Stairmaster” stood wheezing as she shook out a set of keys. A worn-looking one found it's way into the slot.
Empty darkness greeted her.
Standing in the dingy entryway, Kate expertly flipped on an unseen switch, bathing the area in a weal yellowish light. Hesitation played across her face as she surveyed an the grimy kitchen complete with stacks of dirty dishes. Off to the side, the living room with it's tattered furniture and faded worn carpet didn't appear any more appealing. 'When is this nightmare going to end?' She missed her dorm, missed her Audi... hell, she even missed Mallory at this point.
Creak
“Hello.” Kate offered weakly. “Anybody home?”
Good thing nobody answered or she would've probably ran screaming off into the night. With silence being her only answer, the troubled brunette's tension eased somewhat. Dropping the purse unceremoniously on the kitchen (More of a kitchenette) table, she followed on autopilot through the narrow hallway.
The bedroom that she entered could best be described as punk gothic. Everywhere dark and harsh artwork was strewn about. Strange bands the “real” Kate had never heard of decorated the walls. 'Who the Fuck is Bauhaus?'
Walking as if in a dream, she explored the room, fingering the odd piece of jewelry here, or discarded clothing there. In the closet, Kate failed to find a normal outfit. Everything hanging was like a dark and trashy form of clubbing gear that had seen better days. Not a single pair of shoes passed her rather liberal taste test.
It was then she spotted the mirror.
Kate recognized it as the one her grandmother had given her when she was but a little girl. It had seen better days, but the slightly crooked K.D. she'd carved into the oak furniture as a child still remained, confirming it was indeed hers.
It was a good thing the mirror was familiar... because the image reflecting back proved anything but. Wide, darkly made up eyes stared disbelievingly back. Pale and gaunt, this image lacked the healthy muscle tone she and Mallory had struggled so hard to achieve. Despite this, Kate now sported a bit of a potbelly that looked totally out of place. Putting a hand there, she tried her usual flex. Nothing much happened. Gone were the familiar taut abs. What little remained was flabby and covered with a swath of pale pudge.
Shrugging out of the Abram's Mini-Mart T-shit, Kate cast it aside then shimmied out of the tacky matching slacks. Feeling naked and vulnerable she wasted no time grabbing a pair of nearby shorts. To her surprise the crotch had been cut out, replaced with a swath of Cheetah patterned cloth. Kate immediately wanted them off. But, if her initial perusal of the closet was any sign; there was nothing any better.
A faded black top with overly long sleeves concealed goose-bump covered arms, and 'Thank Gawd' Kat's tats. With nothing but her fingers showing, Kate could almost imagine she was her normal self. But there was no denying the truth.
“I need my fucking cigs.” she murmured.
Three drags in, a sudden muffled racket began pouring from Kat's purse. 'It's her phone!' A leap fueled by morbid curiosity had the frantic young woman digging through the ratty monstrosity just as some singer (Perhaps female) began a screeching monologue.
Out came an elderly Samsung SIII that had seen better days. Fully intending not to answer, Kate rotated it in her hand intending to see who the caller was. Her hands, however had other plans.
Swipe
“What?!!” she challenged harshly... taken aback by her own venom.
“Who let the bag out of the Kat?” returned an equally harsh female voice.
Kate recognized it immediately.
“Trace?” (She'd meant to say Tracy, but by this time such discordance hardly surprised her)
“Who the fuck else?” Tracy replied. “Told ya workin' at that shithole would rot your brain. Anyways, Rahm and Hektor will be there so nab some coke along with the brews. Don't forget either. You know what happened last time.
A chill ran up Kate's spine. She didn't know, and for the second time today didn't want to know. These Rahm and Hektor characters sounded like bad news... and it was doubtful the coke being requested came from a can.
“Kat?”
Kate had desperately wanted to talk to Tracy Peters to see if she could help or shed some light. But this... she never expected anything like this.
“Yo. You there?”
Instead of answering, the bewildered brunette simply stood there; heart hammering in her chest. What happened next seemed so surreal, even though she made the choice herself.
Bip
No sooner did she hang up than Kate typed in an all too-familiar number. A very welcome female voice answered on the second ring;
“Hello?”
“Mom? It's Kat, um... I mean Kate.”
Click
“Hello?”
Nothing.
Kate gripped the phone so hard the plastic creaked.
“Hello? Mom?” she tried again, desperation evident in her voice.
Again, only dead air greeted her.
“Fuck me!”
Kate redialed, this time biting her lower lip. One ring, two rings... six rings later, no answer; not even an answering machine. Just as she was about to give up (Quite literally) a faint click could be heard. It was followed by the hushed and hauntingly familiar voice of Mrs. Daniels.
“Katie? Is that really you?”
“No, its her ev...” she began sarcastically, before biting down on her own tongue (Painfully I might add) to suppress the snide comment. 'I can't believe I was going to say “her evil clone” She'd have hung up for sure.' Kate clenched her quivering jaw, trying to fend off any more word vomit. It created a bit of an uncomfortable silence... but it was better than the alternative. 'Is this what Schizophrenics feel like?'
“It's me Meg... Uh, Mom.”
On the other end, Megan Daniels caught her breath. 'My baby called me Mom' It felt so wonderful to hear her daughter again. Having the girl not scream and hurl accusations at her about being a sell-out and a capitalist pig made it even better. 'Ever since she met that spawn of the devil Peters girl...'
“It's so good to hear your voice Honey.” The elder woman prompted.
'You don't know the half of it' Katie thought to herself.
Suddenly, feeling alone and overwhelmed, the distraught young woman longed to be held and comforted.
“Mom.” She all but whimpered. “Can I come home?”
The silence was deafening, and seemed to last forever. Finally a pained reply followed;
“Honey, you know your father and I talked. We can't give you any more money.” It came as a heartfelt apology, yet it hit Kate with all the force of a sucker-punch to the gut.
Morning couldn't have come quick enough.
At best, Kate managed a sort of fitful half-sleep on the lumpy worn out mattress. Not that the most luxurious King-size would've helped. Left frazzled and heartbroken from begging her mother to come home, the tormented brunette then kept getting bombarded by calls from Tracy and numerous other spooky strangers. Only after shutting off her cell-phone and yanking out the phone wire from the house base did she get any quiet. But it was an uneasy quiet.
At least inside.
Outside, increasing sounds of belligerence and discord began to further shatter Kate's world. Holed up in the dingy apartment made her feel incredibly lonely and small. Even the seemingly stout deadbolts began to appear flimsy and weak.
There under the covers Kate desperately tried to convince herself the sudden loud cracks that twice sent her bolt upright in bed were just fireworks or backfires from cars.
Even fighting off the next cigarette urge proved too much. Hell she already had the flame to the tip before even catching on to what she was doing. Besides, the relief a few deep pulls provided quelled any rebellion. 'At least for now'
It wasn't long before the bright lights faded. Turning at Lake Street, Kate took in the rapidly declining state of the neighborhoods... and the residents therein. By Lake and Waters she had reached a level of shadiness her former self wouldn't have braved in the daytime. Houses were badly in need of paint, and often with one or more plywood covered windows. The shudder that ran through her body made this unfolding scene all too real and visceral. It's one thing to see such a place on an episode of Cops, and quite another to live it.
Kate found herself turning the wheel to pull into one of the rarer two-story houses. It was then she almost acted on the urge to flee; sending her rattling heap racing off somewhere, anywhere but here. Instead the engine died with a natural turn of the key, leaving poor Kate in sudden eerie silence.
Clutching her purse protectively, the freaked out brunette practically scurried up a set of narrow rickety stairs clinging to the side of the two-story home. The stairway appeared foreign to the building, as if thrown haphazardly on at a later date. (No doubt to make additional rental space out of the second floor) At the top of the stairs the former “Queen of the Stairmaster” stood wheezing as she shook out a set of keys. A worn-looking one found it's way into the slot.
Empty darkness greeted her.
Standing in the dingy entryway, Kate expertly flipped on an unseen switch, bathing the area in a weal yellowish light. Hesitation played across her face as she surveyed an the grimy kitchen complete with stacks of dirty dishes. Off to the side, the living room with it's tattered furniture and faded worn carpet didn't appear any more appealing. 'When is this nightmare going to end?' She missed her dorm, missed her Audi... hell, she even missed Mallory at this point.
Creak
“Hello.” Kate offered weakly. “Anybody home?”
Good thing nobody answered or she would've probably ran screaming off into the night. With silence being her only answer, the troubled brunette's tension eased somewhat. Dropping the purse unceremoniously on the kitchen (More of a kitchenette) table, she followed on autopilot through the narrow hallway.
The bedroom that she entered could best be described as punk gothic. Everywhere dark and harsh artwork was strewn about. Strange bands the “real” Kate had never heard of decorated the walls. 'Who the Fuck is Bauhaus?'
Walking as if in a dream, she explored the room, fingering the odd piece of jewelry here, or discarded clothing there. In the closet, Kate failed to find a normal outfit. Everything hanging was like a dark and trashy form of clubbing gear that had seen better days. Not a single pair of shoes passed her rather liberal taste test.
It was then she spotted the mirror.
Kate recognized it as the one her grandmother had given her when she was but a little girl. It had seen better days, but the slightly crooked K.D. she'd carved into the oak furniture as a child still remained, confirming it was indeed hers.
It was a good thing the mirror was familiar... because the image reflecting back proved anything but. Wide, darkly made up eyes stared disbelievingly back. Pale and gaunt, this image lacked the healthy muscle tone she and Mallory had struggled so hard to achieve. Despite this, Kate now sported a bit of a potbelly that looked totally out of place. Putting a hand there, she tried her usual flex. Nothing much happened. Gone were the familiar taut abs. What little remained was flabby and covered with a swath of pale pudge.
Shrugging out of the Abram's Mini-Mart T-shit, Kate cast it aside then shimmied out of the tacky matching slacks. Feeling naked and vulnerable she wasted no time grabbing a pair of nearby shorts. To her surprise the crotch had been cut out, replaced with a swath of Cheetah patterned cloth. Kate immediately wanted them off. But, if her initial perusal of the closet was any sign; there was nothing any better.
A faded black top with overly long sleeves concealed goose-bump covered arms, and 'Thank Gawd' Kat's tats. With nothing but her fingers showing, Kate could almost imagine she was her normal self. But there was no denying the truth.
“I need my fucking cigs.” she murmured.
Three drags in, a sudden muffled racket began pouring from Kat's purse. 'It's her phone!' A leap fueled by morbid curiosity had the frantic young woman digging through the ratty monstrosity just as some singer (Perhaps female) began a screeching monologue.
Out came an elderly Samsung SIII that had seen better days. Fully intending not to answer, Kate rotated it in her hand intending to see who the caller was. Her hands, however had other plans.
Swipe
“What?!!” she challenged harshly... taken aback by her own venom.
“Who let the bag out of the Kat?” returned an equally harsh female voice.
Kate recognized it immediately.
“Trace?” (She'd meant to say Tracy, but by this time such discordance hardly surprised her)
“Who the fuck else?” Tracy replied. “Told ya workin' at that shithole would rot your brain. Anyways, Rahm and Hektor will be there so nab some coke along with the brews. Don't forget either. You know what happened last time.
A chill ran up Kate's spine. She didn't know, and for the second time today didn't want to know. These Rahm and Hektor characters sounded like bad news... and it was doubtful the coke being requested came from a can.
“Kat?”
Kate had desperately wanted to talk to Tracy Peters to see if she could help or shed some light. But this... she never expected anything like this.
“Yo. You there?”
Instead of answering, the bewildered brunette simply stood there; heart hammering in her chest. What happened next seemed so surreal, even though she made the choice herself.
Bip
No sooner did she hang up than Kate typed in an all too-familiar number. A very welcome female voice answered on the second ring;
“Hello?”
“Mom? It's Kat, um... I mean Kate.”
Click
“Hello?”
Nothing.
Kate gripped the phone so hard the plastic creaked.
“Hello? Mom?” she tried again, desperation evident in her voice.
Again, only dead air greeted her.
“Fuck me!”
Kate redialed, this time biting her lower lip. One ring, two rings... six rings later, no answer; not even an answering machine. Just as she was about to give up (Quite literally) a faint click could be heard. It was followed by the hushed and hauntingly familiar voice of Mrs. Daniels.
“Katie? Is that really you?”
“No, its her ev...” she began sarcastically, before biting down on her own tongue (Painfully I might add) to suppress the snide comment. 'I can't believe I was going to say “her evil clone” She'd have hung up for sure.' Kate clenched her quivering jaw, trying to fend off any more word vomit. It created a bit of an uncomfortable silence... but it was better than the alternative. 'Is this what Schizophrenics feel like?'
“It's me Meg... Uh, Mom.”
On the other end, Megan Daniels caught her breath. 'My baby called me Mom' It felt so wonderful to hear her daughter again. Having the girl not scream and hurl accusations at her about being a sell-out and a capitalist pig made it even better. 'Ever since she met that spawn of the devil Peters girl...'
“It's so good to hear your voice Honey.” The elder woman prompted.
'You don't know the half of it' Katie thought to herself.
Suddenly, feeling alone and overwhelmed, the distraught young woman longed to be held and comforted.
“Mom.” She all but whimpered. “Can I come home?”
The silence was deafening, and seemed to last forever. Finally a pained reply followed;
“Honey, you know your father and I talked. We can't give you any more money.” It came as a heartfelt apology, yet it hit Kate with all the force of a sucker-punch to the gut.
Morning couldn't have come quick enough.
At best, Kate managed a sort of fitful half-sleep on the lumpy worn out mattress. Not that the most luxurious King-size would've helped. Left frazzled and heartbroken from begging her mother to come home, the tormented brunette then kept getting bombarded by calls from Tracy and numerous other spooky strangers. Only after shutting off her cell-phone and yanking out the phone wire from the house base did she get any quiet. But it was an uneasy quiet.
At least inside.
Outside, increasing sounds of belligerence and discord began to further shatter Kate's world. Holed up in the dingy apartment made her feel incredibly lonely and small. Even the seemingly stout deadbolts began to appear flimsy and weak.
There under the covers Kate desperately tried to convince herself the sudden loud cracks that twice sent her bolt upright in bed were just fireworks or backfires from cars.
- Tornasunder
- Transformation Master
- Posts: 153
- Joined: Tue May 29, 2012 7:12 pm
Re: Roomies Alternate Universe
by Tornasunder » Tue Nov 10, 2015 5:18 pm
“Doesn't this fucking bitch own a single decent outfit?”
Kate had spent the better part of the morning trying to find something presentable to wear on her journey home. She'd have better spent her time searching for Leprechaun's gold. The most decent thing she could find still left numerous tattoos out for all to see and rode a good six inches above her knees.
In the mirror Kate inspected her make-up job. It was a bit heavy handed and whitish, contrasting sharply with the dark around her eyes. She didn't remember putting on the liner, let alone so much of it. The effect was to make an already deathlike complexion even more pale.
“It'll have to do.”
Shaking her head, Kate laced on a pair of boots before realizing how inappropriate her choice was, but by now felt too drained to care. Besides she wanted... needed a cig.
It was no surprise the stereo didn't work. Not that Kate needed to be entertained. The gas gauge needle bobbing precariously near Empty as she pulled out onto the interstate provided all the distraction she could handle. For some time all Kate could do was watch, curse, and pray. That is, until the needle actually dipped below the E.
“For Fucks Sake!”
Beaten, Kate swung into the next turn lane to present itself and headed for the closest station. Then, flipping off both her stuck signal lever and the old lady she'd just cut off, pulled up to an empty pump.
It was then that serious math began.
The troubled brunette knew there was another 130 miles or so to her parent's house. That meant she needed at least eight gallons of gas to get there. (With the way the battered car smoked and stuttered, even that poor mileage estimate might be too positive) Gas was $3.19 a gallon; so that meant roughly $26 bucks worth. Counting every bill and scrap of change in Kat's purse garnered a grand total of Thirty dollars and fifty-three cents. Enough for the gas sure, but with only two cigarettes...
Flick
Ok…make that one cigarette left, there was no way she was gonna make it.
'I miss my Mom. I miss my Platinum card. I miss my LIFE!'
Gripping the steering wheel for all she was worth, Kate pounded her head into it. Not enough to really cause damage, but enough to hurt. 'OWWIE' Ok, so surreal as this all may be, it was indeed real.
“Why me?”
Receiving no answer she instead stared down at the errant ashes that had fallen onto her lap during the blows. Rather than be horrified, or feel the overwhelming urge to wipe them off, Kate instead flicked the remaining ones desperately hanging on, out the window. That it was right by the gas pump's NO SMOKING sign made it more of a sick joke. 'Fuck it'
A rapid succession of drags later, the dark lipstick stained butt succumbed to an expertly flick into a nearby can. Kate then entered the convenience store and walked up to the counter; dumping the menagerie of coins and bills in front of a mildly offended clerk.
“Gimme a pack of the cheapest cancer sticks ya got, an prepay pump five with what's left over.”
Kate endured the judgmental once over by miss prissy pants. Everything about the girl screamed conformist. From the prim and proper blouse, pressed skirt and vanilla hairstyle, this girl no doubt followed the rules. 'Probably paying tuition to some sell-out college' she mused.
That this girl was cut from the same mold (albeit a little less well off) as Kate had been less than 24 hours ago never entered her mind. Instead Kate swiped the pack of cigs off the counter and replied with syrupy sarcasm.
“Thanks a fucking shitload!”
As an afterthought, Kate swiped a Slim Jim from the far-side isle end cap as she left. 'Don't these empty sacks realize you never put this shit outta sight?'
Her horrified former self flared up at this latest indiscretion. Unable to justify an actual crime, Kate's conscience rebelled so strongly it actually caused her to stumble just shy of the door. 'This is wrong! I need to bring it back.' 'But what would they say?' 'I have no money, I can't pay for it.' 'The elitist bastards have it coming, charging nearly six bucks for no-name shit brand cigs.' 'Besides I haven't eaten since who knows when.' Indeed Kate's belly felt so hollow it could be inside out. 'Maybe I'll pay them back when I get on my feet?' 'Yeah, that's What I'll do.' Steadied by her decision, Kate resolutely pushed open the door and headed to the pump.
It had to be her imagination, but she could almost swear Kat's mocking laughter echoed somewhere off in the dark recesses of her mind.
****
45 miles south of her destination the crappy Lumina finally gave out. To it's credit, the pitiful thing chugged along farther than it should have before leaving her stranded. Kate spent the next 20 minutes on the side of the road trying to figure out what to do. Calling her Mom was one option, but did she dare? After all the reassurances about not wanting or needing money, this would definitely start things off on the wrong foot. Kate had the idea her alternate self had badly taken advantage of her parents. 'The last thing I need is Mom having to bail me out.'
Funny she worded her thoughts that way, for not seconds later...
Kate had spent the better part of the morning trying to find something presentable to wear on her journey home. She'd have better spent her time searching for Leprechaun's gold. The most decent thing she could find still left numerous tattoos out for all to see and rode a good six inches above her knees.
In the mirror Kate inspected her make-up job. It was a bit heavy handed and whitish, contrasting sharply with the dark around her eyes. She didn't remember putting on the liner, let alone so much of it. The effect was to make an already deathlike complexion even more pale.
“It'll have to do.”
Shaking her head, Kate laced on a pair of boots before realizing how inappropriate her choice was, but by now felt too drained to care. Besides she wanted... needed a cig.
It was no surprise the stereo didn't work. Not that Kate needed to be entertained. The gas gauge needle bobbing precariously near Empty as she pulled out onto the interstate provided all the distraction she could handle. For some time all Kate could do was watch, curse, and pray. That is, until the needle actually dipped below the E.
“For Fucks Sake!”
Beaten, Kate swung into the next turn lane to present itself and headed for the closest station. Then, flipping off both her stuck signal lever and the old lady she'd just cut off, pulled up to an empty pump.
It was then that serious math began.
The troubled brunette knew there was another 130 miles or so to her parent's house. That meant she needed at least eight gallons of gas to get there. (With the way the battered car smoked and stuttered, even that poor mileage estimate might be too positive) Gas was $3.19 a gallon; so that meant roughly $26 bucks worth. Counting every bill and scrap of change in Kat's purse garnered a grand total of Thirty dollars and fifty-three cents. Enough for the gas sure, but with only two cigarettes...
Flick
Ok…make that one cigarette left, there was no way she was gonna make it.
'I miss my Mom. I miss my Platinum card. I miss my LIFE!'
Gripping the steering wheel for all she was worth, Kate pounded her head into it. Not enough to really cause damage, but enough to hurt. 'OWWIE' Ok, so surreal as this all may be, it was indeed real.
“Why me?”
Receiving no answer she instead stared down at the errant ashes that had fallen onto her lap during the blows. Rather than be horrified, or feel the overwhelming urge to wipe them off, Kate instead flicked the remaining ones desperately hanging on, out the window. That it was right by the gas pump's NO SMOKING sign made it more of a sick joke. 'Fuck it'
A rapid succession of drags later, the dark lipstick stained butt succumbed to an expertly flick into a nearby can. Kate then entered the convenience store and walked up to the counter; dumping the menagerie of coins and bills in front of a mildly offended clerk.
“Gimme a pack of the cheapest cancer sticks ya got, an prepay pump five with what's left over.”
Kate endured the judgmental once over by miss prissy pants. Everything about the girl screamed conformist. From the prim and proper blouse, pressed skirt and vanilla hairstyle, this girl no doubt followed the rules. 'Probably paying tuition to some sell-out college' she mused.
That this girl was cut from the same mold (albeit a little less well off) as Kate had been less than 24 hours ago never entered her mind. Instead Kate swiped the pack of cigs off the counter and replied with syrupy sarcasm.
“Thanks a fucking shitload!”
As an afterthought, Kate swiped a Slim Jim from the far-side isle end cap as she left. 'Don't these empty sacks realize you never put this shit outta sight?'
Her horrified former self flared up at this latest indiscretion. Unable to justify an actual crime, Kate's conscience rebelled so strongly it actually caused her to stumble just shy of the door. 'This is wrong! I need to bring it back.' 'But what would they say?' 'I have no money, I can't pay for it.' 'The elitist bastards have it coming, charging nearly six bucks for no-name shit brand cigs.' 'Besides I haven't eaten since who knows when.' Indeed Kate's belly felt so hollow it could be inside out. 'Maybe I'll pay them back when I get on my feet?' 'Yeah, that's What I'll do.' Steadied by her decision, Kate resolutely pushed open the door and headed to the pump.
It had to be her imagination, but she could almost swear Kat's mocking laughter echoed somewhere off in the dark recesses of her mind.
****
45 miles south of her destination the crappy Lumina finally gave out. To it's credit, the pitiful thing chugged along farther than it should have before leaving her stranded. Kate spent the next 20 minutes on the side of the road trying to figure out what to do. Calling her Mom was one option, but did she dare? After all the reassurances about not wanting or needing money, this would definitely start things off on the wrong foot. Kate had the idea her alternate self had badly taken advantage of her parents. 'The last thing I need is Mom having to bail me out.'
Funny she worded her thoughts that way, for not seconds later...
- Tornasunder
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Re: Roomies Alternate Universe
by Tornasunder » Tue Nov 10, 2015 5:25 pm
Knock Knock
The unexpected sound catapulted the brunette out of her seat.
“Can I help you... … Miss?”
Kate rolled down her window, watching helplessly as the young officer processed the sketchy image of the young woman before him. Her sense of helplessness increased hand in hand with his signs of wariness. But could she blame him?
'Self-righteous Law Encroachment Motherfucker.'
Well, if she couldn't, Kat sure could.
“Fu... uh, no... … … Thank you.”
It was all Kate could do to keep the word vomit down. The last thing she needed was to spout off to a State Trooper.
But the damage was done. One look at this woman's discomfort, and the way she struggled to speak was all it took to pique the man's interest.
“Is this your car?”
'No, dumbfuck. Daddy gave me an Audi worth twice your shitty salary.'
“Yes.” She replied almost steadily.
“Are there any Illegal drugs or weapons that I need to know about?”
Kate thought back to the phone call with Tracy and cringed. 'I hope not.'
“... … No. … ...”
“License and registration.”
Kate snatched up her purse like lightning and began to dig through it. Only out of the periphery of her sight did she witness the officer's reaction; namely, putting his hand on his gun and squaring his hips. She nearly peed herself.
“It, it... its in my hand.”
“Remove. Your. Hand. S l o w l y.”
Kate intended to do just that.
'Just don't fucking shoot me, you pissant mutherfuckin' dipshit dickwad asshole douchebag.'
Seeing the item that came out, the officer relaxed slightly.
That made one of them.
Kate took the little black pouch out, barely registering the jagged red Anarchy “A” on it before expertly flipping to the driver's license lodged within. Officer Douchebag took it.
“And your registration?”
Kate popped open the glove compartment half expecting the contents of a meth lab to come tumbling out. Instead, the usual clutter of fast food napkins, wrappers, and junk presented itself. One near the top looked official. Selecting that, Kate skimmed the top: Wayfarer Insurance. 'Booyah!' Kate handed it over. 'That's weird, I've always had Allslate.'
The officer read the paper over. His face held no emotion whatsoever. No doubt he could've made some serious bank as a poker player.
“So this is your car?”
Kate hated to admit it and missed her Audi more than ever. But the Kat in her wasn't about to be looked down upon by this asshole. 'What? Isn't it good enough for you?'
“Yeah. What of it?” You could practically taste the indignation.
“It says here, its registered to a Tracy Peters.”
'Oh Fuck me.'
“It's my roommate's.” She replied weakly.
'You mean I don't even HAVE a car?' Sure the Lumina was a piece of crap, but, at least it was something. 'What did that girl do to me?' she thought pitifully. 'I had a scholarship. I had plans... opportunity. Now I have nothing!'
“You didn't sound too sure there.” The officer challenged. “Don't you know?”
'Shitfuck!' 'Think girl. Think!' 'Where does Tracy live?' 'I don't think she lives with me.'
“Tracy is my friend. She... … used to be my roommate at school.”
She almost added:”Dickface” 'Uuggh!' 'Cut it out you bitch!'
Kate knew that sooner or later the word vomit was going to pour out and she'd be screwed. But for now, officer Poker Face simply stared. It was the way he did, however, made Kate squirm.
“Does Miss Peters know you have her car?”
'Sure she does!' 'At least I think she does.' 'Oh fuck, I ditched her ass last night.' 'Oh Fuck.'
“Uhm... I think so?”
Even Kate doubted the statement the way she said it. And by the looks of it, so did Mr. Officer.
“Wait right here.” He commanded.
Then a half turn into his march back to the cruiser, he paused.
“And stay in your car.”
“Sure thing... … … … pig.”
You could hear the crunch of gravel as the Trooped came to a halt.
“What did you say?”
Kate looked as innocent as possible. Her eyes still wide from Kat's unexpected influence at least helped in that regard.
“Sure thing... sir.”
The stoic man began to finally show some emotion (All bad), yet through sheer will, turned back to his car without a word. One could easily see the taut clenching jaw muscles and cords standing out in the man's neck, the sight of which chilled Kate's spine. As such she felt compelled to look away. 'What have I done?' At least the sound of retreating footsteps caused her to relax, which she did with an audible sigh and sagging of shoulders. It was also her undoing, for only through constant diligence could she hope to keep the Kat in her at bay.
“Oink Oink.”
“THAT'S IT! OUT OF THE CAR!”
Jail wasn't as bad as she'd imagined. At least there were no psychotic-looking killer types in the cell with her. The one girl present seemed harmless enough. In fact the way her nervous gaze darted towards Kate, it was obvious she thought Kate was the psychotic-looking killer type.
It didn't help that Kat's influence slipped out in the way of vile epithets and curses at seemingly random times.
Not until hours later, physically and mentally strung out, did the tormented brunette fall asleep.
CLANG
Half out of her skin, Kate leapt out of her bed streaming obscenities.
“Supper.” was all the terse guard allowed.
“'Bout Fuckin' time.”
Kate was surprised to be eating alone. Apparently the loud slam of the door was for her benefit alone. 'Alone' she mused. Even the sound of the word had a haunting quality as it reverberated through her psyche. Company would've been nice right about now in the sparse cell, then again Kat was here, and she didn't really need it. 'Prissy lil' Bitch anyway'
The next day, a distant and uninspired public attorney paid a visit. From his expression alone Kate could tell this didn't look good.
It only went downhill from there.
Turns out, ditching Tracey had been the last in a long line of straws her alternate self had inflicted. That her “Friend” had a vengeful streak also became painfully obvious.
Facing Felony Auto Theft (and other charges due to the presence of various pills in a cellophane wad (Kate never-the-less took the pathetic excuse of an attorney's advice and threw herself on the mercy of the court. The assumption being that admitting the guilt on the matter was a first step in a planned recovery.
Instead, the judge dictated a long and mostly spotty past, with this latest incident being icing on the cake.
His judgment, and the rapid institution thereof proved that despite popular opinion the court system could actually move fast... scarily fast. In no time Kate found herself swathed in orange facing 7 long years (3 with good behavior) behind bars.
Epilogue;
For once Kat's influence proved valuable.
The woman's no-nonsense anger and willingness to back up her words earned the wild-looking brunette some respect. At Sandstone Penitentiary she quickly learned it was best to join a group. Not quickly enough, but quickly. The scars (Both physical and mental) strengthened and solidified Kat's influence... and eventually presence. Kate even began going by Kat. Along the way she gained some friends... and a number of new Tats.
Days and weeks turned into months and years. Stress, hard living, and cigarettes hardened Kat's visage so much so that a wry ironic look remained even during the brightest of moments. Gone was the innocent wide-eyed Kate of old.
The optimistic “three years with good behavior” option evaporated like a sardonic laugh in the wind. And so it was, seven years later a much altered Katie Daniels left the MN prison and rehabilitation system.
Kat sure didn't feel rehabilitated.
Kat sure didn't look rehabilitated.
A bitter, semi-pissed off look remained on her face even in the best of moods. Many of the fine lines that had sprouted early on faded with the added 30 or so pounds brought on by less than healthy prison fare. Those that remained cracked deep whenever a powerful enough emotion presented itself. As such, Kat looked more like 40 years old than 28.
Bottom-heavy, dour, and sporting a felony record, the world of employment didn't exactly open itself up to Kat. Many places simply threw her application in the trash. One place, oddly enough, hired her right off. Coincidentally it was the rundown convenience the first Kat had found employment. Surprised by the development, she still found herself crawling back. Apparently her re-assimilation coach had taken the liberty to send the application.
Life at the convenience store proved more depressing than prison, but the willful Kat stuck it out. DJ, who'd been the manager when she got rehired, lasted the longest in the rapidly deteriorating neighborhood. His 6 years were followed up by Hal's 3, and Both Stacey Q. and Stacey W. each lasted a year.
Then on the eve of her 40th birthday, Kat Daniels, the bitter, pot-bellied, queen of the graveyard shift, became the last manager, the last employee to even clock in at that depressing shit hole. For at 11:53pm when she hauled herself out of the tiny plexi-glass cubicle to unjam the slushie machine, a strung out junkie shot her straight through the 32oz Blueberry she was holding... on through her aorta and out again in a spray of crimson mingled with purple.
Laying on the floor, watching the spreading pool of blood, Kate Daniels saw herself for who she was versus who she had been with a clarity never before achieved. It was then, in that divine crystal moment that she asked a question she'd asked every single day since her argument with Mallory.
“Why the fuck did I ever choose Tracey Peters?”
It was but a whisper that left the dying woman's lips.
'I was such an idiot!' she thought yet again, although some of the familiar anger failed to register as blood starved brain cells gave in. 'Anyone would've been better... Anyone, even...'
The unexpected sound catapulted the brunette out of her seat.
“Can I help you... … Miss?”
Kate rolled down her window, watching helplessly as the young officer processed the sketchy image of the young woman before him. Her sense of helplessness increased hand in hand with his signs of wariness. But could she blame him?
'Self-righteous Law Encroachment Motherfucker.'
Well, if she couldn't, Kat sure could.
“Fu... uh, no... … … Thank you.”
It was all Kate could do to keep the word vomit down. The last thing she needed was to spout off to a State Trooper.
But the damage was done. One look at this woman's discomfort, and the way she struggled to speak was all it took to pique the man's interest.
“Is this your car?”
'No, dumbfuck. Daddy gave me an Audi worth twice your shitty salary.'
“Yes.” She replied almost steadily.
“Are there any Illegal drugs or weapons that I need to know about?”
Kate thought back to the phone call with Tracy and cringed. 'I hope not.'
“... … No. … ...”
“License and registration.”
Kate snatched up her purse like lightning and began to dig through it. Only out of the periphery of her sight did she witness the officer's reaction; namely, putting his hand on his gun and squaring his hips. She nearly peed herself.
“It, it... its in my hand.”
“Remove. Your. Hand. S l o w l y.”
Kate intended to do just that.
'Just don't fucking shoot me, you pissant mutherfuckin' dipshit dickwad asshole douchebag.'
Seeing the item that came out, the officer relaxed slightly.
That made one of them.
Kate took the little black pouch out, barely registering the jagged red Anarchy “A” on it before expertly flipping to the driver's license lodged within. Officer Douchebag took it.
“And your registration?”
Kate popped open the glove compartment half expecting the contents of a meth lab to come tumbling out. Instead, the usual clutter of fast food napkins, wrappers, and junk presented itself. One near the top looked official. Selecting that, Kate skimmed the top: Wayfarer Insurance. 'Booyah!' Kate handed it over. 'That's weird, I've always had Allslate.'
The officer read the paper over. His face held no emotion whatsoever. No doubt he could've made some serious bank as a poker player.
“So this is your car?”
Kate hated to admit it and missed her Audi more than ever. But the Kat in her wasn't about to be looked down upon by this asshole. 'What? Isn't it good enough for you?'
“Yeah. What of it?” You could practically taste the indignation.
“It says here, its registered to a Tracy Peters.”
'Oh Fuck me.'
“It's my roommate's.” She replied weakly.
'You mean I don't even HAVE a car?' Sure the Lumina was a piece of crap, but, at least it was something. 'What did that girl do to me?' she thought pitifully. 'I had a scholarship. I had plans... opportunity. Now I have nothing!'
“You didn't sound too sure there.” The officer challenged. “Don't you know?”
'Shitfuck!' 'Think girl. Think!' 'Where does Tracy live?' 'I don't think she lives with me.'
“Tracy is my friend. She... … used to be my roommate at school.”
She almost added:”Dickface” 'Uuggh!' 'Cut it out you bitch!'
Kate knew that sooner or later the word vomit was going to pour out and she'd be screwed. But for now, officer Poker Face simply stared. It was the way he did, however, made Kate squirm.
“Does Miss Peters know you have her car?”
'Sure she does!' 'At least I think she does.' 'Oh fuck, I ditched her ass last night.' 'Oh Fuck.'
“Uhm... I think so?”
Even Kate doubted the statement the way she said it. And by the looks of it, so did Mr. Officer.
“Wait right here.” He commanded.
Then a half turn into his march back to the cruiser, he paused.
“And stay in your car.”
“Sure thing... … … … pig.”
You could hear the crunch of gravel as the Trooped came to a halt.
“What did you say?”
Kate looked as innocent as possible. Her eyes still wide from Kat's unexpected influence at least helped in that regard.
“Sure thing... sir.”
The stoic man began to finally show some emotion (All bad), yet through sheer will, turned back to his car without a word. One could easily see the taut clenching jaw muscles and cords standing out in the man's neck, the sight of which chilled Kate's spine. As such she felt compelled to look away. 'What have I done?' At least the sound of retreating footsteps caused her to relax, which she did with an audible sigh and sagging of shoulders. It was also her undoing, for only through constant diligence could she hope to keep the Kat in her at bay.
“Oink Oink.”
“THAT'S IT! OUT OF THE CAR!”
Jail wasn't as bad as she'd imagined. At least there were no psychotic-looking killer types in the cell with her. The one girl present seemed harmless enough. In fact the way her nervous gaze darted towards Kate, it was obvious she thought Kate was the psychotic-looking killer type.
It didn't help that Kat's influence slipped out in the way of vile epithets and curses at seemingly random times.
Not until hours later, physically and mentally strung out, did the tormented brunette fall asleep.
CLANG
Half out of her skin, Kate leapt out of her bed streaming obscenities.
“Supper.” was all the terse guard allowed.
“'Bout Fuckin' time.”
Kate was surprised to be eating alone. Apparently the loud slam of the door was for her benefit alone. 'Alone' she mused. Even the sound of the word had a haunting quality as it reverberated through her psyche. Company would've been nice right about now in the sparse cell, then again Kat was here, and she didn't really need it. 'Prissy lil' Bitch anyway'
The next day, a distant and uninspired public attorney paid a visit. From his expression alone Kate could tell this didn't look good.
It only went downhill from there.
Turns out, ditching Tracey had been the last in a long line of straws her alternate self had inflicted. That her “Friend” had a vengeful streak also became painfully obvious.
Facing Felony Auto Theft (and other charges due to the presence of various pills in a cellophane wad (Kate never-the-less took the pathetic excuse of an attorney's advice and threw herself on the mercy of the court. The assumption being that admitting the guilt on the matter was a first step in a planned recovery.
Instead, the judge dictated a long and mostly spotty past, with this latest incident being icing on the cake.
His judgment, and the rapid institution thereof proved that despite popular opinion the court system could actually move fast... scarily fast. In no time Kate found herself swathed in orange facing 7 long years (3 with good behavior) behind bars.
Epilogue;
For once Kat's influence proved valuable.
The woman's no-nonsense anger and willingness to back up her words earned the wild-looking brunette some respect. At Sandstone Penitentiary she quickly learned it was best to join a group. Not quickly enough, but quickly. The scars (Both physical and mental) strengthened and solidified Kat's influence... and eventually presence. Kate even began going by Kat. Along the way she gained some friends... and a number of new Tats.
Days and weeks turned into months and years. Stress, hard living, and cigarettes hardened Kat's visage so much so that a wry ironic look remained even during the brightest of moments. Gone was the innocent wide-eyed Kate of old.
The optimistic “three years with good behavior” option evaporated like a sardonic laugh in the wind. And so it was, seven years later a much altered Katie Daniels left the MN prison and rehabilitation system.
Kat sure didn't feel rehabilitated.
Kat sure didn't look rehabilitated.
A bitter, semi-pissed off look remained on her face even in the best of moods. Many of the fine lines that had sprouted early on faded with the added 30 or so pounds brought on by less than healthy prison fare. Those that remained cracked deep whenever a powerful enough emotion presented itself. As such, Kat looked more like 40 years old than 28.
Bottom-heavy, dour, and sporting a felony record, the world of employment didn't exactly open itself up to Kat. Many places simply threw her application in the trash. One place, oddly enough, hired her right off. Coincidentally it was the rundown convenience the first Kat had found employment. Surprised by the development, she still found herself crawling back. Apparently her re-assimilation coach had taken the liberty to send the application.
Life at the convenience store proved more depressing than prison, but the willful Kat stuck it out. DJ, who'd been the manager when she got rehired, lasted the longest in the rapidly deteriorating neighborhood. His 6 years were followed up by Hal's 3, and Both Stacey Q. and Stacey W. each lasted a year.
Then on the eve of her 40th birthday, Kat Daniels, the bitter, pot-bellied, queen of the graveyard shift, became the last manager, the last employee to even clock in at that depressing shit hole. For at 11:53pm when she hauled herself out of the tiny plexi-glass cubicle to unjam the slushie machine, a strung out junkie shot her straight through the 32oz Blueberry she was holding... on through her aorta and out again in a spray of crimson mingled with purple.
Laying on the floor, watching the spreading pool of blood, Kate Daniels saw herself for who she was versus who she had been with a clarity never before achieved. It was then, in that divine crystal moment that she asked a question she'd asked every single day since her argument with Mallory.
“Why the fuck did I ever choose Tracey Peters?”
It was but a whisper that left the dying woman's lips.
'I was such an idiot!' she thought yet again, although some of the familiar anger failed to register as blood starved brain cells gave in. 'Anyone would've been better... Anyone, even...'
- Tornasunder
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Re: Roomies Alternate Universe
by Junketh71 » Tue Nov 10, 2015 5:55 pm
The story is dark, but still well-written. I'm not sure if it is based on a show, but the characters - or at least the main character - have a feel of realism to them as well. I have really enjoyed following Kate's misadventures, I suppose. Pity that it had ended so badly, but I still enjoyed reading 'Roomies'.
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Re: Roomies Alternate Universe
by eggplant » Wed Nov 11, 2015 4:47 am
Looks to me by those ellipses that we can expect another choice and a re-boot. Perhaps this will become a series of sorts?
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Re: Roomies Alternate Universe
by her revenge » Wed Nov 11, 2015 6:29 am
Wonderful tale, dark, brooding and delicious. Thanks for posting
HR
HR
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Re: Roomies Alternate Universe
by Tornasunder » Wed Nov 11, 2015 7:23 am
Thanks for the feedback all!
I've listened to many discussions about how those we have around us influence our lives. People's habits, wardrobe, and outlook change inevitably with long-term close contact. Addicts who've found the courage to kick an addiction will most surely fall back into the habit if they re-associate with other addicts. And we've all seen the slender gal pack on more than the freshman 15 when partnered with a heavier room mate.
With this in mind, I got to thinking about the seemingly random pairings that go on in colleges (Despite filling out your profile). How would a shy, impressionable girl react to greatly differing room-mates?
I never decided whether to leave this as a "One Off" quickie, or delve into other alternate universes. By having the story "END" this way, I left my options open. I never like to end stories anyway. Eggplant was spot on with my thoughts on other possibilities.
I've listened to many discussions about how those we have around us influence our lives. People's habits, wardrobe, and outlook change inevitably with long-term close contact. Addicts who've found the courage to kick an addiction will most surely fall back into the habit if they re-associate with other addicts. And we've all seen the slender gal pack on more than the freshman 15 when partnered with a heavier room mate.
With this in mind, I got to thinking about the seemingly random pairings that go on in colleges (Despite filling out your profile). How would a shy, impressionable girl react to greatly differing room-mates?
I never decided whether to leave this as a "One Off" quickie, or delve into other alternate universes. By having the story "END" this way, I left my options open. I never like to end stories anyway. Eggplant was spot on with my thoughts on other possibilities.
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Re: Roomies Alternate Universe
by Tang » Thu Nov 12, 2015 3:42 am
Torna, yes, I used to think this when I was a student. Depending on which room you were allocated, you could end up with a completely different set of friends at college. People often get to know those who share the same kitchen or the same shower block particularly well. From my room I could see into the room of a man at a right-angle to my room. His room was numbered just one above mine, but because he was on a different wing of the building he went to a different kitchen and mixed with very different people, who were far more relaxed than the people on my corridor; I remember one woman who wore leather skirts and long boots based in that corridor, whereas in mine the women tended to dress as if it was still 1950s America. It would have been easy for me and the other man to have been allocated each other's room and so got to know very different people. On my corridor they really policed the behaviour of residents, even down to who they slept with. I do think there is room for a range of stories stemming from this one. I did see something similar when a very timid woman studying German ended up in a room bracketed by two self-proclaimed 'man-eaters' who sought to alter how she dressed and behaved almost as a project. For various reasons I was not around to see the final outcome.
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