Mississippi yawned against the cold – a defense that didn't do much other than let a blast of freezing air reach her lungs, coughing and spluttering. To counteract it, what else could she do? Take another drag of life from her cigarette. Her nose was stuffed up with some unknown illness and the only thing she could clear it with was nicotine and smoke.

Her fourth of the day, as it was, for someone who only woke up at nine and half-ran, half-staggered her way to work, late. It was lucky the Bossman knew she was sick and gave her a free pass; however, it might've just been because the business in the morning was slow as all hell – [i]she wasn't needed.[/i] Didn't that just describe her life in one neat, easy to swallow parcel?

Putting the cigarette out on the dank back wall of the cafe, Mississippi cleared out all of the phlegm from her lungs with one last, sustained fit of nearly choking to death and peeled off her gloves as she headed back inside to the heat of the tiny kitchen. The chef was working overtime, Jimmy was discussing something seriously important with Bonnie (the other, slightly more incompetent waitress) and then they turned to [i]look at her[/i]. Well, that was never a good sign. While she didn't feel that her job was at risk – she'd always been good with the customers, at least the ones who gave her even an inch of the respect she deserved – a stare like that rarely meant something good.

“You want to take half-a-day off, Missi?” she was asked. No, the answer was no; she had bills to pay, debts to [i]avoid[/i] paying and a whole lot of Christmas presents to herself that she could buy to make the holiday season a whole lot more interesting. 

Mississippi shrugged, sniffing slightly in response. “I'd rather not... but,” she started before raising her shoulders again to cut herself off. “My innards tell me I should reconsider that opinion.”

Jimmy emulated her shrug. “If you're short on cash after this, I'll lend you the dosh again for rent.” And Jimmy had always been like that, for as long as she knew him. A right bastard, sure, he rarely had a smile on his face, but she'd worked for him for years now – slept on his couch one or two times back when things were getting too tough to handle, when she hadn't had her own flat. 

Bonnie hesitated, twirling her blonde hair around her fingers. “You could take one of my tables, if you wanted,” the waitress said. Mississippi could clearly see her biting off '[i]and the tips[/i]' – most of her friends, she knew, rarely if ever tipped. From the sounds of the piano filtering through the old bricks even into the chrome kitchen, she had a feeling she knew who it was.

“Sure.” Mississippi meandered over to the ready-to-go dishes, nearly tripping over a mop and bucket as she went, and stacked them up on a dubiously clean tray. Two black coffees, grilled cheese and tomato soup combo, and a bowl of chicken noodle soup. It looked like [i]someone[/i] was feeling under the weather, judging by the drool-worthy bowl of chicken and noodle-y goodness. It was just about torture, given she hadn't had anything to eat since [i]yesterday[/i] morning, and carrying out to the front to find Kimbal and Kaya and – was that uh, the Russian? Alex or something? If she remembered correctly, they were all her neighbours. 

It was almost providential.

It seemed Kaya was busy earning a living with the piano. Well, at least she was trying. “Here you go, guys – all this lovely food here, probably just for Kimbal,” she said with a sly grin as she delicately placed the plates and bowls and cups down on the table. “Now, I'm on my break for the rest of the day, so how's it going?”

Mississippi stuffed her hands in the pockets, stilling the shaking from hunger and... something else she didn't want to think about until she had cash.