Day from Hell.
With a single bright spot that possibly wasn't as bright as he imagined--but in the moment had been pretty damn nice. Yeah, he was definitely following through on that tonight.
Dudley popped home a quarter of an hour from quitting time, landing on cracked linoleum and instantly shivering. There was cold air piping in from somewhere like a damned blizzard, and he wasn't about to track it down. Had to get back before someone snitched he'd gone AWOL--although the main culprit of that had taken off an hour earlier. Thankfully. Vanessa had hounded him for way too long about his rendezvous in the back room, and he had the sick feeling she'd helped herself to a memory or two.
It was dark because he hadn't had the power turned back on yet--it didn't matter. He knew exactly where everything was, picked around the tattered couch he'd liberated from a college curb and the empty laundry basket. An important life skill for a teleporter, but one borne out of survival for more than one reason.
He found a duffle bunched up under the corner of his unmade bed, shoved in some clean clothes from the dresser, the closet, added some...overnight essentials...and popped back to Skybux.
In front of his manager.
At least he hadn't teleported INTO him. That would've been even more difficult to explain. Particularly if their tracheas had intwined--
"Mister Sinclair," the man said, the same monotone as always, no hint as to what he was about, save the crossed arms and tapping foot. "Is there a reason why these boxes haven't been unpacked?"
Oh fuck.
"We had a busy afternoon." True enough, but also I was playing tonsil hockey and time got away from me. "Check the till, man."
"You teleported out during a shift."
For what, less than two fucking minutes?? Some of his coworkers took longer than that to smoke on the fucking roof! "I needed--" he glanced down and noted with a growing sense of horror that the zipper was still open on the bag, a hefty container of lube front and center. He didn't bother to zip it up. It was too late anyway. "Toothpaste."
His manager twitched. Not his lips. His whole body. "We're running low on supplies and they're not easily accessible for the night shift. It's not their job. It's yours." He paused, a look drifting over the crates. "Unless you don't want it anymore."
He fought the urge to punch him in the face, because yeah, lights in the apartment meant he needed the fucking paycheck. "I'll get started."
"You'll finish it. Every box, Mister Sinclair. And no, I'm not paying you overtime, but you at least won't be fired for leaving the premises on the job." He walked woodenly away and Dudley cursed under his breath.
If he rushed, it would set a new precedence for how long unpacking and putting away this shit was supposed to take. Bad in terms of raising expectations for his normal shifts. But if he didn't--fuck it. Dudley zipped his bag and dumped it by the loading bay then sliced open several boxes in quick succession. He sure as shit wasn't hanging around here any longer than necessary, not with a date night on the horizon and Desmond pulling up at any minute.
With a single bright spot that possibly wasn't as bright as he imagined--but in the moment had been pretty damn nice. Yeah, he was definitely following through on that tonight.
Dudley popped home a quarter of an hour from quitting time, landing on cracked linoleum and instantly shivering. There was cold air piping in from somewhere like a damned blizzard, and he wasn't about to track it down. Had to get back before someone snitched he'd gone AWOL--although the main culprit of that had taken off an hour earlier. Thankfully. Vanessa had hounded him for way too long about his rendezvous in the back room, and he had the sick feeling she'd helped herself to a memory or two.
It was dark because he hadn't had the power turned back on yet--it didn't matter. He knew exactly where everything was, picked around the tattered couch he'd liberated from a college curb and the empty laundry basket. An important life skill for a teleporter, but one borne out of survival for more than one reason.
He found a duffle bunched up under the corner of his unmade bed, shoved in some clean clothes from the dresser, the closet, added some...overnight essentials...and popped back to Skybux.
In front of his manager.
At least he hadn't teleported INTO him. That would've been even more difficult to explain. Particularly if their tracheas had intwined--
"Mister Sinclair," the man said, the same monotone as always, no hint as to what he was about, save the crossed arms and tapping foot. "Is there a reason why these boxes haven't been unpacked?"
Oh fuck.
"We had a busy afternoon." True enough, but also I was playing tonsil hockey and time got away from me. "Check the till, man."
"You teleported out during a shift."
For what, less than two fucking minutes?? Some of his coworkers took longer than that to smoke on the fucking roof! "I needed--" he glanced down and noted with a growing sense of horror that the zipper was still open on the bag, a hefty container of lube front and center. He didn't bother to zip it up. It was too late anyway. "Toothpaste."
His manager twitched. Not his lips. His whole body. "We're running low on supplies and they're not easily accessible for the night shift. It's not their job. It's yours." He paused, a look drifting over the crates. "Unless you don't want it anymore."
He fought the urge to punch him in the face, because yeah, lights in the apartment meant he needed the fucking paycheck. "I'll get started."
"You'll finish it. Every box, Mister Sinclair. And no, I'm not paying you overtime, but you at least won't be fired for leaving the premises on the job." He walked woodenly away and Dudley cursed under his breath.
If he rushed, it would set a new precedence for how long unpacking and putting away this shit was supposed to take. Bad in terms of raising expectations for his normal shifts. But if he didn't--fuck it. Dudley zipped his bag and dumped it by the loading bay then sliced open several boxes in quick succession. He sure as shit wasn't hanging around here any longer than necessary, not with a date night on the horizon and Desmond pulling up at any minute.
Dreams come in a size too big so we can grow into them.
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SciFi & Chill [Closed] - by Blade - 01-28-2016, 02:20 AM
RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 01-28-2016, 01:08 PM
RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - by Blade - 01-28-2016, 02:30 PM
RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 01-28-2016, 05:41 PM
RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - by Blade - 01-28-2016, 06:40 PM
RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 01-28-2016, 10:01 PM
RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - by Blade - 01-28-2016, 10:47 PM
RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 02-01-2016, 10:36 PM
RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - by Blade - 02-01-2016, 11:32 PM
RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 02-02-2016, 12:20 AM
RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - by Blade - 02-02-2016, 01:06 AM
RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 02-02-2016, 01:29 PM
RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - by Blade - 02-02-2016, 04:32 PM
RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 02-03-2016, 12:39 AM
RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - by Blade - 02-03-2016, 04:54 AM
RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 02-22-2016, 06:15 PM
RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - by Blade - 03-05-2016, 06:23 AM
RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 04-15-2016, 01:08 PM
RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - by Blade - 06-12-2016, 02:19 AM
RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 08-01-2016, 11:01 PM
RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - by Blade - 09-24-2016, 02:23 AM
RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 03-15-2017, 10:41 PM