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 Posted: Tue Jan 12, 2016 8:25 am
Sweet pea
What's all of this about?
Don't get your way all you do is fuss and pout
You're the only reason I keep on coming home
- Sweet Pea, Amos Lee
Solo
(Word Count: 1512)
“WE’RE GOING TO BE POOR, AREN’T WE?”
The shrill screech echoed throughout the halls and somewhere downstairs, wrapped around a corridor in a small drawing room, a startled maid dropped the vase she was fervently polishing. The expensive decoration shattered into hundreds of pieces, but the sound of the crash paled in comparison to the high-pitched screaming coming from within the library upstairs.
“I KNEW IT - I KNEW IT WHEN WE CAME TO THIS STUPID CITY THAT YOU WEREN’T TELLING ME EVERYTHING, I KNEW THAT WE WOULD PROBABLY END UP DESTITUTE AND HAVE TO LIVE IN SOME SHABBY LITTLE THREE BEDROOM A--”
“Priscilla Sophia.”
The pinkette paused from her pacing and stomping, curls bouncing against her head with the abrupt halt. He’d used two names - going to a third, or even the fourth, had their own levels of severity. Daddy clearly wasn’t in the mood to put up with her tantrum, but fudge it all, what did he expect with this kind of demand from her? Especially if they were still as rich as they were yesterday or the day before.
“Daddy.”
Her voice didn’t sound nearly as stern or terrifying as his but her weapon of choice lay within her talent to sweet-talk her father, not scare him into cooperating like his talents exceeded in. There was a reason Maxwell Stratford was a renowned CEO and multi-millionaire, owner of a dozen companies and feared by hundreds, even thousands of workers. Billionaire, maybe even. Priscilla never cared how much money her father had, just as long as there was always some at her disposal. Which never seemed to be a problem, until her father got another annoying little notion in his head, like this one.
“Daddy, I don’t understand why I have to do this. Can’t I just do some things around the house? Or maybe work in one of your offices?” Her fingers wrapped around the leather back of the nearby chair. The library was full of stuffiness - leather smell for miles, shelves of books wallpapering three of the four sides. She hated this room, but it was one of her father’s sanctuaries… when he was around to enjoy it. The pink nail polish dug into the chair. “What’s the point of already having money if you’re making me get a job? It’s pointless.”
A job. Ugh.
The word alone sent a wave of nausea through her, evident on the scowl she wore across her face. It didn't match the cute, black mini-skirt or the adorable pink blouse she'd bought only yesterday while out shopping. A long strand of pink pearls graced her neck, gently bouncing with every tilt she made back and forth against the recliner. Pretty girls were meant to be appreciated for their looks, not their ability to answer phones, file papers or - God forbid - flip burgers. Everyone had their place in the world and her place was right here, in the Stratford home, happily spending her father's money until the day she died.
“Priscilla, please.”
Exasperation was an understatement when it came to dealing with his youngest child. Maxwell had spoiled her and knew he was reaping the consequences of two decades of it. She’d been a surprise for him and his third wife later in their lives - God rest her soul. Prissy looked so much like her and he had a sneaky suspicion that her similarity in appearance to Sabrina’s is what helped her get away with murder for the last twenty years. But all of his other children were grown and had left the figurative nest to create their own fortunes and families. All four of his sons had made names for themselves, proud extensions of the Stratford line. Eight grandchildren, strong limbs on a growing family tree. All four of his older boys were independent, no need for any of his money or guidance at this point.
Except Prissy.
He didn’t mind her staying with him; if anything, it provided him much cherished company on the week or so he was able to stay at home and out of the international offices. An empty home was depressing to return to, so even if she was prattling about trivial things, she was still there, keeping him company. His baby girl. She was still a fledgling, all in all, a spoiled little sweetheart that had him wrapped around her little finger. But he knew he needed to instill a sense of responsibility in his angel. Her older half-siblings had no interest in caring for a younger sister and he was pushing sixty-five this year. As much money as he had, there wasn’t enough in the world to keep him around forever and she’d need to look after herself once he was gone.
“Having a job, in this case, isn’t about money but about learning about maturity. Accountability. Responsibility.”
The documents strewn across his desk continued to go ignored as aged eyes watched his sweetheart sulk, her hands looking ready to strangle the poor piece of furniture she clung to. He sighed. “And you have proven to scare off my workers - just because you’re my daughter does not mean you can force the others to do your appointed tasks for you.”
History had proven itself time and time again, when he’d made previous effort into getting her on the track to maturity. Being under his watchful eye (and employment) wouldn’t work this time.
One hand stretched out, taking hold of a pen. The cold metal distracted him from caving in to one of the only Achilles Heels he had left in this world. She was standing still, one tear working itself down her cheek. It wasn’t going to work this time.
“You have a week to put in applications. A month to get a job. After that, I’m freezing all of your accounts.”
“D-Daddy, b-”
“A week, Priscilla.” His voice rose, cutting her off. “As long as you keep the job, your cards will stay open and paid. Lose this one and you’ll lose more than your job.”
She grew quiet. He’d never threatened her like this before, so she was clearly struggling with a response. Finally, she whimpered softly, “....for how long?”
A greyed eyebrow rose. “How long? Your job?”
Pink hair bobbed as she slowly nodded. She’d never held a position for longer than several months - surely he couldn’t expect her to stay at a dead-end horrible place forever?
He remained quiet for a moment, mulling over her question. Finally: “A year. You keep a job for a year and we’ll go from there.”
Another tear trickled down her face. She was really putting on a show, this time. He could feel his heart breaking as she cried - but this was for her own good. If he had to be the “bad guy”, then so be it. Had he a choice, though, he’d fire a dozen people and watch them cry before seeing his own child, his baby Prissy, cry.
Priscilla, however, didn’t know what she was going to do with herself. A job? For an entire year? Where in the world could she find employment? She’d never applied for a job before, not that she hadn’t been offered some befo….
That was it!
There were several shops in the mall that had offered her a job before, mostly young men wanting her to linger and stick around while they worked...but that could work. That could really do the trick. Mall jobs didn’t take up but a couple days a week, right? Maybe? And if she found some poor sucker to do most of the work for her, a year could be a pain in the butt, but a tolerable pain in the butt. Plus, it was the mall. After woooork shopping. Maybe even discounts, if she played her cards right.
“Okay, Daddy.”
The answer nearly shocked him, that she didn’t throw another tantrum at his ultimatum. There was a reason, after all, that he no longer kept expensive breakable items in his library. She watched his face grow quizzical, but he said nothing.
“I’ll start looking tomorrow and let you know when I find one.”
She finally moved from behind the chair, approaching his desk. His hand clutched his pen, as if readying it for a makeshift weapon. Leaning over, she wrapped her arms tightly around him and squeezed a hug before planting a chaste kiss on his cheek. A year would take forever, but maybe if she gave in and got it over with, he’d leave her alone about finding work ethics and whatnot and she could go back to her daily, routine, normal life afterwards. One could hope, right?
“Love you, Daddy.”
He returned the half-embrace, then resumed his paperwork review as she half-sat on the side of his mahogany desk. “I love you too, Priscilla. You’ll understand why I’m doing this...one day.”
Arms crossed over her chest. She doubted that, highly, but what other choice did she have?
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Posted: Tue Jan 12, 2016 2:37 pm
Solo
(Word Count: 1517 ) Things were not going according to plan.
She pursed her lips as she stepped on to the escalator, hand reaching out to take the scuffed up, definitely in need of polishing rail. The silver bangles on her wrist jingled softly, barely audible, yet the sound still annoyed her. Everything was annoying her today - her meticulously chosen outfit, the stores she’d been carefully scouting out for work, the slightly chilly temperature in the indoor mall. Everything.
Her other hand clutched to the designer handbag resting on her hip. Within its beautiful pebble leather exterior lay her wallet, which guarded the two cards she would soon be kissing goodbye if she couldn’t pull herself together. She had a few more days to at least submit applications to stores, but she’d yet to find one tolerable enough for her to stomach.
Clothing stores had been her first stop. The first one had made the mistake of touring her in the backroom and once the salesgirl had started explaining the inventory process, Priscilla had lost interest. The second store failed to offer a good enough incentive to peak her interest, the third clearly did not have enough decent clothing for her to even try to pretend to sell. The fourth, which she’d truly thought she’d found her place in, had rejected her for her lack of experience. Rejected. Her?
The moving steps continued to descend and her hand left the filthy rail to once again adjust the sunglasses on top of her head. The open skylights above aided the sun in shining down on all the seemingly happy shoppers, but Priscilla Stratford found it little more than irritating to have sunlight in her eyes as she allowed the stairs to lower with her on them.
Arriving at the bottom, she sighed as she stepped off. There was always the other mall in Destiny City, but that one was fairly outdated in comparison to this one. Something about gang attacks or something had turned the area into more questionable territory. No thanks.
She could feel the grumpiness further bubbling up from within her, eyes narrowing as she watched a gaggle of older women walking the mall, talking amongst each other. The teenagers were in school, leaving the mall generally empty, save for the adults who had nothing better to do than to work or walk the mall. Errands, shopping - either sounded more fun than looking for a job. Those old biddies seemed to be enjoying themselves… it wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t.
Bad moods meant only one thing. She needed a pick-me-up.
Glancing up, she studied the shops around her. She was on the east side, which meant…. there! Rose eyes fell upon the quaint little cafe bakery in the corner. The Sugar Cube. If she couldn’t land a job, the least she could accomplish would be satisfying her sour mood with a little sweetness. A cookie wasn’t going to do the trick this time, but maybe a petit four could. Or a brownie. Decisions, decisions.
Black heels autopiloted themselves into the store, beeline set for the glass counter showing off the delicious, fresh baked treats. The array was comforting, the chocolates and sugars calling to her, beckoning for her to taste them, to forget about her worries and future money troubles with a slice of cake or bite of chocolate. With it being a weekday and the kids still at school, the cabinets were full to the brim, just waiting to be plucked and served for her.
“By yourself today, Prissy?”
She glanced up, eyeing the brunette who was smiling at her, his elbows moving to lean against the cabinet’s top. He was several years older than her, but still relatively good looking. More good looking than a guy should probably look for working as a barista in a cutesy cafe.
“Danny!”
His name tag read “Daniel” (and always had) but Priscilla felt it sounded too old, too boring. He’d never complained, not that she would have corrected herself. He was supposedly the owner’s nephew or something (why else would he choose to work there, she wondered) and always seemed to be there for at least a couple hours every day.
Not that she went to the mall every day.
Just most days.
“What can I get you today, princess?”
She liked it when he called her that. Really, she liked any sort of pet-name, but being called a member of royalty seemed quite up her alley. But today, not even sweet names would cheer up her mood. Which was sad, because he seemed to be pretty ready to cheer her up.
Sighing, she shook her head. “A job, would be nice. And maybe…” her finger trailed the glass until it rested over the strawberry cupcake, “...a cupcake? Those look yummy today.”
He didn’t immediately reach for the cupcake, rising up from the countertop with a quizzical look. “A job?”
The hand left the glass, moving to give a wave of dismissal as she straightened up from leaning over. Her gaze hadn’t met his yet, or else she’d see his intent staring. “Daddy says I need to get one - most of the stores around here aren’t worth working for.” Still oblivious to his lack of cupcake-fetching, she moved towards the cash register and set her purse up on the counter in front of the computer.
She wasn’t going to mention being rejected. That was the clothing store’s problem, not hers, for not knowing what a potential amazing employee they could have had on their hands. Yeah, that was a tidbit she would leave out, when Daddy asked her about her attempts at applying for jobs.
“What about working here?”
Her absentminded digging through her purse paused, the young woman looking up from her search to stare at the barista. Wait, what did he say? “A job...here? At The Sugar Cube?”
Eyes moved around to take in the shop she’d frequented often. A lone person sat in the corner, playing on their laptop as they sipped on a tea. She knew the menu practically by heart, she’d had the drinks and the snacks...but working there? Was that something she could do? The counter and register seemed simple enough, but as far as making the pastries and drinks…. “I don’t...BAKE or...anything like that…”
Leaning behind the counter, he fished out a notepad and a pen as he explained, almost as if he hadn’t heard her comment, “We just lost our waitress - Maude had to move away, so now there’s an opening for her old position.”
Her nose wrinkled at such an awful name. But waitressing here, of all places, didn’t seem like such a bad idea. They didn’t serve much more than pastries and sweets - maybe an occasional sandwich now and again - it could be easy work for easy money and it would get Daddy off her back. Win/win situation. “But I don’t bake.”
“You don’t have to bake, Prissy.” He laughed at that, shaking his head. “You need to be able to run the register and deliver food from the back. Clean up a table or two. Make sure the display looks decent, that sort of thing.”
She gave him a wary look, but the offer sounded more appealing than anything else she’d looked at for the last couple of hours.
“Do you have an application?”
“Pft.” It was his turn to wave his hand dismissively, giving her a grin as he slid the notepad and pen in her direction. “The job is yours, if you want it. Uncle Tom doesn’t bother coming up here very often and left me in charge of filling in her spot. If you want it, it’s yours. I just need your info so I can go over it with him to make it official.”
His grin was infectious, because in no time at all, she was grinning right back at him. She jotted down her information,sliding it back to him and then watching him pocket the information in his half-apron. Getting to work with this studmuffin wouldn’t be half bad, especially if he did most of the work behind the counter. That was definitely a plus.
Forgetting about her cupcake entirely, Prissy gave Danny a quick hug of gratitude and black heels were soon clicking their way out of the cafe. This was almost too easy. A simple job run by a guy who could probably care less of what she did...not that too much seemed to be required of her in the first place. All the sweets she could eat (not that she asked if employees could eat any - she planned on doing that anyways) and she now had an excuse to go to the mall (not that she ever really needed one to begin with).
A giggle escaped her lips as she suppressed the urge to hop for joy. Her credit cards would be safe! This was FANTASTIC!
She’d just landed a job...now it was time for some celebratory shopping!
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Posted: Wed Jan 20, 2016 10:22 am
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Posted: Wed Jan 20, 2016 10:23 am
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Posted: Wed Jan 20, 2016 10:25 am
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Posted: Wed Jan 20, 2016 10:26 am
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Posted: Wed Jan 20, 2016 6:42 pm
She's walkin around all over the town.
Needs somebody to notice but the goodness gets her down.
She's happy to choose somebody to use.
Good gone girl she's got nothin left to lose.
- Good Gone Girl, MIKA Solo
(Word Count: 507)
Palming the pen in her hand, the young woman studied the silver cap. It had a symbol engraved on the top - a single candy piece. Fitting, really.
The whole concept was still foreign to her, a notion difficult for her brain to wrap around. She was always more than just beautiful Priscilla Stratford. She was Sailor Dia - she was an ancient soul, a senshi, reborn to fight the powers that needed fighting and to regain her place....where?
What was she supposed to do?
Perfectly plucked eyebrows furrowed, her teeth absentmindedly biting her bottom lip. Grendel had gone to lengths to explain a lot to her, but there was still a great deal of mystery behind all of... all of this.
Gripping the pen tighter, she closed her eyes and slid off of her bed. Both feet planted firmly on the ground, she whispered softly, "Dia Prism Power - Make-Up!"
In a whirlwind flourish, designer pajamas were swiftly removed, transitioning into the same beautiful black dress and candy cane stockings as she had recalled nights prior. Bare feet were encased in tall, black heels and she could feel the weight of her hair having grown tenfold from its normal length. A black hole had grown on her chest and forehead - symbols of the true purification, the reminder of what she was fighting on the behalf of. Of the side that had saved her.
It felt powerful. Almost seductive. She was someone else - staring at the mirror was like staring at a beautiful stranger. The eye color was the same, as was the hair color, but it was someone else entirely staring back at her.
Lifting one hand up in the air, she closed her eyes and concentrated. Once again, a small gumdrop fell into her palm and the corrupted senshi was quick to begin rolling it between her fingers. If she was going to utilize this attack, as painless as it was, she needed to practice her aim.
"Candy Coating!"
The gumdrop sailed in the air, aimed directly at her reflection's face. It faltered, hitting the mirror's shoulder and splattering into a pile of sticky pink goo.
"Miss Prissy?"
Her head jerked to the door, the maid's sweet, innocent voice muffled by the wooden barrier. The doorknob jiggled. Thank the heavens she'd been clever enough to lock it earlier.
"Not now, Amelia!" Her voice was curt, almost a yell. Naturally, someone would just have to find a reason to disturb her during these private moments.
"B-But Miss," The voice on the other side of the door struggled, clearly unsure if she should continue, "Your father is on the phone for y-you."
Sighing, the senshi once again closed her eyes, this time concentrating on powering down, as Grendel had taught her. Black dress and stockings disappeared, replaced by the light pink pajamas set. Hair shrunk, returning to their normal, curly length as black ribbons faded into thin air.
Sigh.
She would have to practice later... and, judging by her aim, she had a lot of practicing still to do.
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Posted: Thu Jan 21, 2016 11:58 am
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Posted: Sun Jan 24, 2016 6:17 am
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Posted: Sun Jan 24, 2016 6:19 am
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Posted: Sun Jan 24, 2016 6:19 am
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Posted: Sun Jan 31, 2016 6:31 pm
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Posted: Wed Feb 03, 2016 9:26 am
Solo
(Word Count: 520)
Eleven days.
It would be eleven more long, drawn-out days until she finally achieved that pinnacle age that every young girl dreamed of. Twenty-one.
Adulthood's golden gates were now in front of her, the beautiful crystal key to unlock it dangling like a carrot in front of her. Being able to drink was a nice perk, though alcohol always made the prettiest people do the most tragic mistakes (as seen frequently on YouTube and Instagram). No, what she was excited for was the entitlement that came with the age. Twenty-one. She was about to be a full-grown, gorgeous adult instead of the child her father kept referencing her to be.
Better yet, the fourteenth fell on a Saturday this year. A weekend of exciting, wondrous potential...now if she could just figure out what she wanted to do, on this most special of days.
Daddy was already out of town. He knew it, he'd apologized, he'd offered to take her with him, to enjoy the sights of San Diego or whatever fudgin' boring city he was in this time. Sight-seeing was only fun when you were with someone. He would send an assistant to go shopping with her, or a security guard to keep her company while she explored.
Sigh.
Fingers clicked on the mouse, opening another tab on her browser. Finding the perfect outfit for the perfect day had also been a challenge, but it was difficult to pick out something to wear when she didn't even know what she'd be wearing it to. How frustrating. Frustrating and...
Lonely?
The realization dawned on her. She was lonely and the mere notion of it drove her into a rage. Her - Priscilla Stratford - lonely? The popular girl with the most friends on Facebook at boarding school. The one with all the date requests from her friends' brothers, her roommates' cousins, the one...
Lonely.
Wrinkling her nose, she tossed the mouse back onto the desk and pulled away from her chair. This...this was upsetting. She didn't like to think about the fact that there was practically no one around to spend this special day with her, aside from the dull staff around the house. And maybe Grendel, if he popped his little blue head by.
Pulling out her brand new cell phone (thanks, inconvenient run-in with her first Negaverse Lieutenant), she collapsed dramatically on her bed. There had only been a few numbers that had made it onto her new phone, but enough to have her scrolling down to glance through them.
Eyes settled on a particular name that made her both sigh and perk up at the same time. Was she really that desperate? Really?
Yeah, yeah she was.
Punching the keys in, she shot a text out. Pausing, she added.
She stared at the phone for an entire minute. Then a second. Then a third. No response. Her button punching began to grow more forceful.Text the answer is, u'll be hangin out with me cuz i kno u don't have a bf. k, tkx - see u nxt Saturday ho
Something.
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Posted: Mon Feb 08, 2016 12:08 am
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Posted: Mon Feb 08, 2016 12:43 am
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