[hr][hr][img]http://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/b3RmLjcyLmQ3MTBlYS5UR0YyWlhKdVpTQkNjbmxoYm5RLC4w/christmas-cookies.regular.png[/img] [img]http://i.imgur.com/efBIw2U.jpg[/img] [color=D8BFD8][u]Location:[/u] The Office --> Main Street[/color] [color=D8BFD8][u]Interacting With[/u]: [i]The Trash That is Her Very Life[/i] [sub][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PYuE2roIkH0]Rainbows are visions, but only illusions, and rainbows have nothing to hide. [/url][/sub][/color][hr][hr] Thank [i]God[/i] for editors. That was a joke, of course. No one in the industry, in any industry, was ever thankful for editors. Least of all editors that did not know or respect the simple courtesy of not ringing the phone every half hour. Some people might've been glad to have someone so concerned with their well-being but it only took one phone call for Vern Bryant to realize that the phone calls weren't to offer sweet words of recovery. The first call happened when Vern had just opened up the flood gates and let loose a deluge of blood that she hadn't seen since the first time she saw Carrie. At first Vern had assumed she would need to invest in some extra strength pads before she realized it came from her nose. In her defense, there was so much of it that it [i]could've[/i] come from anywhere. It utterly ruined her favorite shirt. Probably for the best, all told, it could do with a wash. The voice on the other end, as Vern was having the mother of all nosebleeds, her editor was screaming about the dailies. Dailies, the black and white comic strips that people ignore in favor of the sudoku or word jumble and crossword on the same page. She was behind. Normally she submits her strips weeks in advance but Vern was nothing if not lazy and the dailies in the advance bin had run fresh out. With her nose gushing like a tsunami of blood she was in no position to draw or hilariously comment on the singles dating scene. She let her editor, the man could yell with the best of them, tire himself out before she promptly hung up to clean herself up. That was Vern's life for three days, interspersed with headaches and a desire to die - though that could've been unrelated to the bloody aching nightmare that was her three day existence. And every time she was blessed with the ability to sleep the damn phone would ring - and not her mobile which was turned off lest she risk the urge to check her various dating profiles (seriously, how did so many people swipe left, was she that undesirable?) - this was the landline and the last time she unplugged the land line her land[i]lord[/i] had a piss fit. There was little to do other than listen to the angry messages of her editor as he swore up and down about how unprofessional Vern was being. She didn't ask for blood to pour and Aspirin to be as effective as natural cures. At least now she was recovered and could focus on her art work again. The first thing she did upon feeling better was turn on the television; it helped her relax and focus. Or so she told people that asked. In truth it just meant she spent more time watching soaps and daytime talk than actually drawing, inking, writing, and coloring. Of course, this time the television was focused on strange events around town. Vern scoffed as she read the news ticker. Meteorologists whining about some rain like this wasn't the pacific northwest. Glass shattering on main street probably just meant vandals. Maybe if someone had gotten cut by the glass it would be a story. Vern flipped channels...it was Sunday..Sunday programming was largely sports related...which meant it was a cartoon sort of day. When Vern told her prospective dates that she enjoyed a fair amount of cartoons she was met with the inevitable question about her age. Well fuck them if they couldn't appreciate animation. No amount of her praising it or stating how animation was her desire could salvage it and she was starting to think that she could be into theoretical physics and still her dates would want to bail before the entree was even served. Cartoons just provided the biggest, most obvious out. It bothered Vern that she was thinking so much about her love life, or lack thereof, but it helped put her in the proper mindset. Her bad experiences were 70 percent of her hit comic strip; the other thirty being anecdotes pulled from the internet and changed around to better fit a four to eight panel format. With a character singing about flexibility, love, and trust and Vern scoffing at it being a rerun, she turned to her work station. After brushing the empty fast food soda cups and wrappers for various snacks and foods were brushed to the floor, (where they would subsequently be forgotten to be taken out with the trash), adding to the pile that surrounded her work station like a heap of garbage and reminders of dinners from months ago, she looked at the splotch of blood that had stained her paper when she last tried to draw. No. A cursory glance showed that this was different blood. When did she bleed on her paper? It didn't matter really, she'd just get a new sheaf. It was at this moment, with Vern reaching for paper at her storage drawer to the right of her drawing table, that her vision was obscured by an onslaught of color. It was so bright. It was so sudden. It was so terrifying. Vern shouted and fell off her chair, falling onto her floor with an audible and very vocal thud. The impact was lessened considering she had a pile of wrappers from various eateries and potato chip bags to cushion her fall. Nothing seemed broken. Physically, anyway. What the hell was that? It was like someone just poked a colored marker in her eyes. Or some sort of weird flashlight. Laying on the floor, surrounded by the literal trash that was her life, Vern looked at her palms, initially wanting to make sure that her hands weren't harmed. They were here life blood after all. Another bright flash caused Vern to jerk her head to the left and focus on the yellow wrapper and wonder when the fuck she ate a McChicken. She hated McChickens. She always, ALWAYS, got two big macs and a fry if they were hot from the fryer (no one wanted those heat lamp pieces of shit) and a Sprite. Sometimes a McFlurry if she was in the mood. How old was that wrapper. She even saw another wrapper behind it, this one had flecks of lettuce on it. TWO McChickens? Vern was glad she wasn't feeling ill anymore because she might've thrown up then and there, and if blood was a bitch to get out, so too was puke in the hair and clothing. Not wanting to look at the foul garbage pile that she was currently laying in, though wondering if she could make a trash angel all the same, she turned her gaze back upwards, blinking as her eyes were met not with the water stains from the upstairs apartment and their shitty plumping and shower constantly breaking, but colors. Bright, vibrant, physical colors. Blinking didn't make them vanish nor did closing her eyes and opening them up again. But as she coughed, hands tightening and clenching involuntarily as she did, the colors vanished just as the phlegm sprayed onto the floor. That wasn't good - there was still some blood there, she could see it on her shirt. Might've been old. A quick poke of the droplet confirmed that, no, it was fresh, and now there was a bit of a smear near the neckline. Well, if anyone asked she'd say it was ketchup. But what the hell was that? Those colors. Why were they so bright? So... She needed some air. Being cooped up for...well about a week or so was clearly doing a number on her mental state. The main street was probably a fine place to clear her head. Nothing cheered her up like the common man doing menial labor. [color=D8BFD8]"My body smells like trans fats."[/color] she lamented as she smelled her arm, detecting a somewhat noticeable hint of Big Whopper McChicken and sadness. That was fine. It was all fine. Lifting herself out of her trash pile (and making sure to look back and see the little imprint she had made with the wrappers), Vern left the comfort of her trash heap and ventured outside. Her destination? Main street. Wherever the glass was. And then maybe McDonalds or something. She could really go for all beef patties with the special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions, all on a sesame seed bun. Oh what the hell. It was Sunday. She could have two. [hr] [img]http://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjcyLmVjZGEwOS5TMkZ5Wlc0Z1UyTmhiR1YwZEdrLC4x/kg-i-need-a.font.png[/img] [img]http://i.imgur.com/xiPAj0U.jpg[/img] [color=F0E68C][u]Location:[/u] The Apartment --> Main Street[/color] [color=F0E68C][u]Interacting With[/u]: [i]Verona's Finest Folk[/i] [sub][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ScC_pi3PJ9k]Let this be our little secret No one needs to know we're feeling (Higher and higher and higher) [/url][/sub][/color][hr][hr] It wasn't a hangover. It COULDN'T be a hangover for the very important reason that Karen didn't drink. Not since her twenty first birthday and even then that was less 'drinking' and more 'doing a couple of body shots off her room mate because she was awkward and succumbed to peer pressure'. Well, at least she no longer succumbed to peer pressure. She needed peers for that. Ffiona was a peer. But Fifi wasn't about to pressure Karen Scaletti into anything. But then what was the explanation for the throbbing headaches she had suffered through? The sleep was nice, but not when waking up meant a miserable time that college kids and immature adults equated with a really, really good night. It was telling that her first thought upon waking wasn't the hangover thought, but that she missed work. Work was fun! She got to talk to the whole community...or at least those that still bothered listening to talk radio in the morning. Her presence had to have been missed. Karen rose from her bed, her home, of sorts, for the past three days. It was a wonder she hadn't twisted and turned the sheets off the mattress, but Karen had always been a still sleeper. One of her mothers compared Karen's style of sleep to that of a corpse; Karen had taken it as a compliment but she wasn't sure now if it actually was. No use worrying about it now. Before doing anything else, Karen made her bed, taking time to make sure the bedsheets were tucked under the mattress and that the pillows were fluffed nicely. It was like a hotel service except there was no mint on her pillow. For the best, really; Karen never really cared for mints. When she left the comfort of her room she heard the mewling of her cats. Had she remembered to feed them? It had been a hazy few days that she honestly didn't remember. The mewlings she heard weren't those of anger. One of them was circling her feet while the other one glanced up from her position on the back of her couch. Why did she buy that stupid couch? It was pleather. She was one person, she didn't need a couch. She didn't entertain guests all that often. Still, she had to feed her babies. [color=F0E68C]"You two aren't the only ones hungry today."[/color] Karen spoke to her cats as she poured their meal and water into their proper bowls. It was early yet. And as Karen opened her fridge to find some suitable breakfast she learned the hard reality of her situation. She had more cat food in her apartment than people food. Milk and condiments stared back at her as well as a now-spoiled bit of leftover takeout after she was stood up on Monday's date. She couldn't eat that now. It smelled funny. [color=F0E68C]"Guess it's danish and coffee again."[/color] Danish and coffee was her typical order at the cafe she stopped at on her way to work in the morning. They knew her by order if not by name, which helped speed things along. The plucky Karen had fallen into something of a routine and she didn't even know it yet. A quick look in the mirror told her that she could go outside. Her eyes were a bit puffy but she looked entirely better than she had over the past few days. She put on a sweater; going out in her pajamas was a no-no, and neither was a short sleeved shirt. Too many questions with those. After sliding on a pair of jeans, they were cleaned an neatly folded in her drawer, and petting her cats good-bye, Karen was off. The outside, morning air was refreshing after the warmth and bedridden days of her past. The cool breeze whipped at her skin, making what bangs she did have on her short haired head whap against her forehead. She didn't mind. At least they weren't getting into her eyes. The walk was brisk thanks to her pace but as she turned onto the high street, where often she would enter stores and ask them to display another of her signs for various events, she gasped. There was so much...glass. What happened? Was this new? Had these places been robbed? This was a walking hazard! People could slice their feet. Karen rushed over to one of the business owners, she knew him well enough, but even he couldn't provide much in the way of answers. Well, that danish and coffee would just have to wait. She didn't know when others began to arrive, but once the police arrived Karen had already been up and down the street, assessing the damage and wondering just what could cause such a thing. Never one to waste an opportunity, however, Karen was one of the first to assist in aid, sweeping up glass into a pan and dumping it into the proper bin. As more and more folks arrived to help, Karen fell into a more advisory role, making her way up and down the street, pointing people towards stores that still needed help. It was a bit unorganized, but it had the makings of a community event all the same. Even though the situation was hardly celebratory, still Karen was there as she always was. There were few things that were constant in Verona but if there was one thing that everyone agreed on, whenever the community came together, Karen was somewhere in the middle of it all. This was no exception.