[origfic] Mikaela (pg)
itsproductivity , day 12. Quick post before I sleep, my throat feels like sandpaper and I think I'm made of phlegm. (There is more fic to come, alas.)
Caveat: Origfic, so pretty much shit.
Mikaela blows a bubble in her gum and taps her nails on the counter; crosses and uncrosses her legs, waiting for the doors to open. On her left, Jessica is applying nail polish-sparkly silver-and gossiping with David who's next to her; on Mikaela's right Kyle is talking to his girlfriend, cellphone glued to his ear.
Which leaves Mikaela with no one to talk to until the store opens. She twirls a strand of brown-black hair around her finger and stares through the glass doors at the crowd of people milling around outside. Most of them are talking, because unlike Mikaela they have social skills. Except for one man.
The man's got brown, sun-streaked hair, and very green eyes, and he's leaning on his left forearm, up against the glass. He's wearing a pinstriped suit and sunglasses on his head, nestled in artfully tousled hair. He looks like he's in his late twenties, maybe, and he's pretty hot, Mikaela thinks. Maybe he's a model.
She snaps her gum and daydreams; with another ten minutes before they open, and no sign of any of the others talking to her, she may as well stare at the hot guy.
She decides his name is Dean (he looks like a Dean. Her ex was called Dean; he was really hot but kind of retarded-maybe this Dean is more intelligent) and that he has a girlfriend named Irene; that he's a model for Versace and Dolce & Gabbana (hey, glamour is something sorely lacking, in this job) and that his favourite colour is orange-it's a little game Mikaela likes to play. Pick a person, and make them someone you could like.
'Dean' fiddles with his cuff-links and taps on the glass, aimlessly; turns his head and he has a great jaw-he probably 'experimented' when he was younger and the image of him making out with another (equally) hot guy is making her a little too happy for work so she directs her brain to another concept-he likes classical music, maybe, and Irene's a top 40 girl.
Mikaela settles back in her emphatically-not-ergonomically-designed chair and perves.
Kyle's watch goes off; he gets up and pulls the doors open. The man walks through, and up to her aisle. “Three tickets,” he says, and gives her his credit card.
Caveat: Origfic, so pretty much shit.
Mikaela blows a bubble in her gum and taps her nails on the counter; crosses and uncrosses her legs, waiting for the doors to open. On her left, Jessica is applying nail polish-sparkly silver-and gossiping with David who's next to her; on Mikaela's right Kyle is talking to his girlfriend, cellphone glued to his ear.
Which leaves Mikaela with no one to talk to until the store opens. She twirls a strand of brown-black hair around her finger and stares through the glass doors at the crowd of people milling around outside. Most of them are talking, because unlike Mikaela they have social skills. Except for one man.
The man's got brown, sun-streaked hair, and very green eyes, and he's leaning on his left forearm, up against the glass. He's wearing a pinstriped suit and sunglasses on his head, nestled in artfully tousled hair. He looks like he's in his late twenties, maybe, and he's pretty hot, Mikaela thinks. Maybe he's a model.
She snaps her gum and daydreams; with another ten minutes before they open, and no sign of any of the others talking to her, she may as well stare at the hot guy.
She decides his name is Dean (he looks like a Dean. Her ex was called Dean; he was really hot but kind of retarded-maybe this Dean is more intelligent) and that he has a girlfriend named Irene; that he's a model for Versace and Dolce & Gabbana (hey, glamour is something sorely lacking, in this job) and that his favourite colour is orange-it's a little game Mikaela likes to play. Pick a person, and make them someone you could like.
'Dean' fiddles with his cuff-links and taps on the glass, aimlessly; turns his head and he has a great jaw-he probably 'experimented' when he was younger and the image of him making out with another (equally) hot guy is making her a little too happy for work so she directs her brain to another concept-he likes classical music, maybe, and Irene's a top 40 girl.
Mikaela settles back in her emphatically-not-ergonomically-designed chair and perves.
Kyle's watch goes off; he gets up and pulls the doors open. The man walks through, and up to her aisle. “Three tickets,” he says, and gives her his credit card.