Please PM me if you would to collaborate with me on the below or any other long form RP, so we can discuss which way we're headed....
I'm fifty feet tall, lumbering toward a small house as if it's a model in one of those miniature towns that my parents used to take me to when I was a toddler. There's someone sitting on the roof, they look like... me. Hang on, it is me.
I open my eyes slowly, letting the light seep rather than flood in. My alarm is going off; Taylor Swift's Anti-Hero playing on the DAB. Well that explains the dream at least, but not why Monday morning has come around so fast. I'll get up in just a minute, at the end of the song, maybe after the next one.
I open my eyes with a start; there's a heavy bassline that sounds as if someone's trying to break my door down. “Elise, you better be getting up, your alarm's been going for 20 minutes!” The Voice shouts from the rough direction of the bassline.
“Okay, okay!” I throw out a response and sit up in bed, looking at the clock: 0650.God that's early. My 'nightshirt' clings to me; a retro 1966 England football shirt. I stand up, almost awake, and take a few steps toward my bedroom door, which has stopped shouting at me. I open the door and a familiar face stops itself from shouting again just in time.
“Elise, come on don't fuck this up or you'll be going back to live with Mom and Dad” My brother stands already dressed, looking smart and handsome as ever in his suit and tie. I dip my shoulder into his chest and push past on the way to the bathroom and lock myself inside.
The mirror stares sleepily back at me with two big brown eyes; a pretty face smattered with freckles framed with long straight black hair. I force a smile and white teeth grin back. “Come on Elise, you can do this” I give myself a short pep talk as I lift the shirt off over my head and push my underwear to the floor, stepping out of them and into the shower. I gasp when the hot water first splashes onto my small but well shaped chest, then relax turning to let the water flow down the back of my petit frame.
Thirty minutes later I'm stepping out of the front door of my shared flat. Minty fresh breath and a clean, well presented look in my charcoal suit. My skirt is just above my knees and my jacket open to show my perfectly white blouse unbuttoned just enough to show the top of my bra but not any cleavage, leave them wanting more!
The tube journey is as I'd imagined it would be, unwanted bodies pressed up against me as I struggle to reach above my head for a handhold. The jostling of the train as it closes in on my destination forcing unwanted contact. My nose doesn't belong in that armpit and whatever that is poking me from behind doesn't belong in the small of my back.
I step off the tube at St James Park. Fuck it, I'm supposed to go to Vitoria. I walk the 10minute stroll among the mostly white collar folk that are headed for their office jobs. I can't help but feel good about myself with the pleasant smiles from the suit wearing guys, not that I need their approval of course. The blue collar men are less subtle, ogling openly in their high-vis overalls and builders hats. I can't help but feel disappointed when I get to my destination without a single wolf-whistle.
After reporting my arrival to reception I'm told where to go (in a good way) and end up in a waiting room with three other women, dressed in worryingly similar clothing to myself and one guy who is visibly nervous about being in the same room as three women. He is looking at the floor, trying desperately not to look at any legs, faces or God forbid, chests.
One by one we're called into our interviews and one by one we spend our thirty minutes doing what we can to get the personal assistant job. The girl interviewed before me leaves looking sad, she smiles at me as she leaves, are signed, defeated sort of smile. I almost hope she gets the job. Almost, but my brother needs me to pay half the rent on our flat, so you know... Fuck her.
Ten a.m. and I'm sat in a coffee shop, sipping a flat white. I hope I did enough in the interview, but only time will tell. I swipe through my messages, friends wishing me good luck, Mom and Dad both with their own words of support and telling me I can let them know all about it when I see them next. It's sweet, but I'm 21 and well aware I should have had a job ages ago instead of taking advantage of Mom and especially Dad. I'll make it up to them.
A cookie arrives at my table, delivered on a bright white plate by a contrastingly dark hand. I look up a little startled to see an adorable wide smile “I thought you'd like this” The Smile says. I pause, about to go through my blurb about avoiding carbs and not eating until midday, but instead I just say “Thank you” and smile back. He pauses as if waiting for me to say something else but eventually heads back to the counter muttering something about writing his number down.
I take the opportunity and leave, while his back is turned. Cowardly I know, maybe I'll go back and apologise at some point, but not today.
Oh for fuck's sake; I forgot the cookie!
It's eleven a.m. before I walk up the stairs to my shared flat, the neighbour crossing downstairs the other direction nodding to me. He's quite a bit older than me and my brother but obviously used to be a looker. I'm pondering that when I finally open the door to the flat. It's quiet inside and after all the noise and activity of the morning it's bittersweet. I both miss the bustle and personal interaction but am also happy for the solitude.
I slump down on the sofa and grab the remote control, clicking on the tv as I kick off my heels.
Fuck me, daytime TV is so shit. There must be something better to do with my time.
I'm fifty feet tall, lumbering toward a small house as if it's a model in one of those miniature towns that my parents used to take me to when I was a toddler. There's someone sitting on the roof, they look like... me. Hang on, it is me.
I open my eyes slowly, letting the light seep rather than flood in. My alarm is going off; Taylor Swift's Anti-Hero playing on the DAB. Well that explains the dream at least, but not why Monday morning has come around so fast. I'll get up in just a minute, at the end of the song, maybe after the next one.
I open my eyes with a start; there's a heavy bassline that sounds as if someone's trying to break my door down. “Elise, you better be getting up, your alarm's been going for 20 minutes!” The Voice shouts from the rough direction of the bassline.
“Okay, okay!” I throw out a response and sit up in bed, looking at the clock: 0650.God that's early. My 'nightshirt' clings to me; a retro 1966 England football shirt. I stand up, almost awake, and take a few steps toward my bedroom door, which has stopped shouting at me. I open the door and a familiar face stops itself from shouting again just in time.
“Elise, come on don't fuck this up or you'll be going back to live with Mom and Dad” My brother stands already dressed, looking smart and handsome as ever in his suit and tie. I dip my shoulder into his chest and push past on the way to the bathroom and lock myself inside.
The mirror stares sleepily back at me with two big brown eyes; a pretty face smattered with freckles framed with long straight black hair. I force a smile and white teeth grin back. “Come on Elise, you can do this” I give myself a short pep talk as I lift the shirt off over my head and push my underwear to the floor, stepping out of them and into the shower. I gasp when the hot water first splashes onto my small but well shaped chest, then relax turning to let the water flow down the back of my petit frame.
Thirty minutes later I'm stepping out of the front door of my shared flat. Minty fresh breath and a clean, well presented look in my charcoal suit. My skirt is just above my knees and my jacket open to show my perfectly white blouse unbuttoned just enough to show the top of my bra but not any cleavage, leave them wanting more!
The tube journey is as I'd imagined it would be, unwanted bodies pressed up against me as I struggle to reach above my head for a handhold. The jostling of the train as it closes in on my destination forcing unwanted contact. My nose doesn't belong in that armpit and whatever that is poking me from behind doesn't belong in the small of my back.
I step off the tube at St James Park. Fuck it, I'm supposed to go to Vitoria. I walk the 10minute stroll among the mostly white collar folk that are headed for their office jobs. I can't help but feel good about myself with the pleasant smiles from the suit wearing guys, not that I need their approval of course. The blue collar men are less subtle, ogling openly in their high-vis overalls and builders hats. I can't help but feel disappointed when I get to my destination without a single wolf-whistle.
After reporting my arrival to reception I'm told where to go (in a good way) and end up in a waiting room with three other women, dressed in worryingly similar clothing to myself and one guy who is visibly nervous about being in the same room as three women. He is looking at the floor, trying desperately not to look at any legs, faces or God forbid, chests.
One by one we're called into our interviews and one by one we spend our thirty minutes doing what we can to get the personal assistant job. The girl interviewed before me leaves looking sad, she smiles at me as she leaves, are signed, defeated sort of smile. I almost hope she gets the job. Almost, but my brother needs me to pay half the rent on our flat, so you know... Fuck her.
Ten a.m. and I'm sat in a coffee shop, sipping a flat white. I hope I did enough in the interview, but only time will tell. I swipe through my messages, friends wishing me good luck, Mom and Dad both with their own words of support and telling me I can let them know all about it when I see them next. It's sweet, but I'm 21 and well aware I should have had a job ages ago instead of taking advantage of Mom and especially Dad. I'll make it up to them.
A cookie arrives at my table, delivered on a bright white plate by a contrastingly dark hand. I look up a little startled to see an adorable wide smile “I thought you'd like this” The Smile says. I pause, about to go through my blurb about avoiding carbs and not eating until midday, but instead I just say “Thank you” and smile back. He pauses as if waiting for me to say something else but eventually heads back to the counter muttering something about writing his number down.
I take the opportunity and leave, while his back is turned. Cowardly I know, maybe I'll go back and apologise at some point, but not today.
Oh for fuck's sake; I forgot the cookie!
It's eleven a.m. before I walk up the stairs to my shared flat, the neighbour crossing downstairs the other direction nodding to me. He's quite a bit older than me and my brother but obviously used to be a looker. I'm pondering that when I finally open the door to the flat. It's quiet inside and after all the noise and activity of the morning it's bittersweet. I both miss the bustle and personal interaction but am also happy for the solitude.
I slump down on the sofa and grab the remote control, clicking on the tv as I kick off my heels.
Fuck me, daytime TV is so shit. There must be something better to do with my time.
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