Post by isari on May 8, 2011 0:47:07 GMT -5
Isari was good at her tech stuff. That was what she did. It was what she had been doing ever since she was seven and her father had left her in the same room as his laptop. She had taken to it like a fish took to water, getting better as she got older. Even getting into surfing, her parents’ attempt to make her stop staying inside all the time on her computer, didn’t lessen her love for the computer world. Funny, given what a tecnophobe her mother was that she would take to technology the way she did. Her mother didn’t get it but that wasn’t what mattered, was it?
She had once had a leather jacket on to keep the chill out, and a sweatshirt on under that, but right where she was, in the warmth of the coffee shop, she had shed both layers. Which had left her in just a torn up white tee shirt with a black tank top underneath and torn up black jeans. They were rolled up a few times at the end which was the only way anyone could tell they were hand-me-downs. Isa hated wearing fucking hand me downs but whatever, she could deal with life. She would take what she could get.
Dimly she realized she’d have to call her parents later. That was part of the deal about them signing the form for her to go and take this job even though she was underaged, she had to call them at least once a week and it had nearly hit the week mark while she hadn’t been paying attention. If she knew her parents she knew that they’d be royally worried if she didn’t get off her ass and call them. Usually an e-mail worked with Pops, and he always replied to them in ways that made the icy little Shrimp laugh. But with Ma, she needed an actual call. Fuck. She pulled out her phone and rather than calling them right then, she made a note on her calendar for later, reminding her to call them when she was done here. She should have done it right then, but she had work to do.
Work only she could do for her band. Not that that was specifically true, but fuck it made her feel better to think it. She knew she was good, she didn’t have low self esteem about that in the slightest. She wouldn’t have gotten picked for the gig at only seventeen if she wasn’t good, would she have? She didn’t think so. Isa grinned a bit and then put her thoughts aside. Like she had been thinking, there was work to do. Work being the reason she had gotten away from the venues and the bands. She was too distracted there.
Another sip of coffee warmed her insides and she closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the taste. Fuck yes, she could get used to that. Funny, her mother hated coffee too. Safe to say the only thing the little spitfire had gotten from the woman was her infamous temper and attitude. That she had in abundance. French Vanilla swirled around her senses as she took another sip, taking another moment for her hands to warm against the chill they had had to deal with outside before she got to work on her latest masterpiece. A new set of tech for the band she worked for. Fuck, that was why she was here, wasn’t it?
Yes, yes it was. So time for her to do what she was here for. She plopped down the laptop bag that she always had with her and zipped it open. There it was, her baby. Highpowered and put back together better than before by none other than Isa herself just last night, she knew it was ready to work with her. It always was after all. Tiny, black-nail-polish-clad hands dug it from its safe haven up on to the table before her. She took another sip of her coffee before sliding it away from her, not wanting to chance it getting on her baby. Not like she didn’t have three others, but this one just happened to be her favorite and she’d prefer not having to take it apart again just because she spilt fucking coffee onto it.
She booted it up, turned on the programs she needed, and then her hands started to fly. Her hands may be tiny, but that was okay. She knew how to fly across her keyboard like no other, she was really full of herself today. She didn’t give a shit, she was amusing herself in her own head.
But that was when a shadow fell across her table. She scowled. Fuck. This entire damn place was mostly empty and some dipshit idiot felt the need to stand over her fucking table? What the fuck. She was pissed at the interruption. She hated when fuckers messed with her like this or looked over her shoulder at what she was doing. She didn’t give free fucking shows. She turned around, scowling up at the person who had messed with her and not in a good fucking mood about it if the way the word fuck came to lace through her every word was any indication. Can I fucking help you? she asked, not pulling any punches or being nice. The Shrimp was pissed.
Words: 954
Muse: Epic
Comments: Lol I never claimed she was nice...