president gas man!
Another day, another morning where she was woken up at an ungodly hour (7 AM, for your information) buy that stupid, god damn iPad. Yeah, it was a gift from her governor and all of those officials, seeing as she hadn't been able to do much in the way of monitoring the city from HQ before, but now she was being flooded with e-mails and calls and all amount of ridiculous things from both the iPad and the Blackberry, which also chirped away next to her. With a sigh she threw her legs over the side of her bed, running her hands through her hair after rubbing her face rather vigorously, trying to wake up some. The iPad keeps chirping with every incoming message, the Blackberry vibrating so many times in succession it eventually falls off of her night stand. Her private Blackberry, the one she's always had for her friends and family to contact her, wrapped in a bright skin so that she could tell the difference in a pinch, is noticeably silent. Ever since she'd taken on all of the new projects at the Harbor, and Hampden, and the Grand Prix, she's been more than over whelmed with work things. It seems like all she's done lately, and finally, it occurs to her how she can go without doing work again. Quietly, she picks up the iPad, still spouting out a happy little jingle despite her displeasure, as well as the chronically vibrating Blackberry, and wanders into her mother's room for a moment, before going outside.
Standing in the grass, she throw both down in the still dewy grass, uncaring if her high technology was getting wet, and cocking the gun she'd snarked out of Mary's room. Bam. Bam. Both screens are cracked. But the iPad is still ringing, and the Blackberry still vibrating.
"AHHH, FUCK." There's no other way to describe the let down that is rubber bullets at the moment, no doubt a way that someone was preventing Mary from killing someone prematurely. With a growl, she stomps back inside, grabbing a sledge hammer from an nondescript closet, and dragging it back towards the door outside. It's with great effort that she swings the thing up, but it eventually comes crashing down into the iPad, its dying blow, as it were. As the remains crackle, she laughs, whooping.
"Yeah! Take that, bitch!" Lining up, her tongue sticks out of the side of her mouth as she tries to judge how she ought to line up her hammer against the Blackberry.
(Baltimore's protest against being a working woman is underway. Feel free to wonder what is wrong with her, or join in. (: )