Eshtaol
Crimson On Her Side
Eshtaol had become accustomed to boredom by now. She had grown used to everything being the same, accepted that for the rest of her foreseeable future - her foreseeable future being until she turned eighteen and found a better job - she would wake up to the same things every day, work at the same place doing the same things every day, and fall asleep knowing that nothing would've changed in the morning. It was, to be fair, mostly her fault - admittedly, she could've put more thought into running away to a place that held nothing of interest or legality to anybody below eighteen - but she made no apologies; she'd accomplished her goal, and now it was just a question of waiting for something exciting to show up so that she'd have something to look forward to each day besides returning to this hellhole to watch holodramas.
Until something happened, however, Eshtaol was patient: she would remain contentedly in lower-class Coruscant and walk home with her keys between her fingers as makeshift weapons and pray that she'd get tipped well at work, because what else could she do? Besides, it wasn't all bad; she got her fun at work, in little ways. Earning more than the lady who'd spread rumours about her, slipping in insults so clever and subtle that they slipped right by and the victim only realised ten minutes later. It was petty and useless fun, but then bartending was a petty and useless job, so by that standard it was a respectable pastime.
Today though, it was the weekend. Eshtaol couldn't say they were a fantastic break from the rest of her week, but provided that she earnt enough on any particular week that she had some to spare after paying the rent for her flat, there was always the prospect of buying new books or holomovies or music, and consuming the entertainment before lying on her bed and daydreaming. She'd managed to successfully earn enough from tips to afford herself a trip to the bookstore; even better, this particular bookstore's manager was kind-hearted enough that so long as she bought something, Eshtaol could spend all day browsing and not get chucked out.
That morning Eshtaol had slept in, then had breakfast at a cafe to avoid the judgemental couple living below her. She'd dashed back to her apartment to fetch last week's extra budget, then plaited her blonde hair back in an effort to look less...scraggly. Now she was at the bookstore, browsing merrily through titles. Perhaps she'd look through non-fiction for once; she could probably find something interesting there.
[member="Darth Abyss"]
Until something happened, however, Eshtaol was patient: she would remain contentedly in lower-class Coruscant and walk home with her keys between her fingers as makeshift weapons and pray that she'd get tipped well at work, because what else could she do? Besides, it wasn't all bad; she got her fun at work, in little ways. Earning more than the lady who'd spread rumours about her, slipping in insults so clever and subtle that they slipped right by and the victim only realised ten minutes later. It was petty and useless fun, but then bartending was a petty and useless job, so by that standard it was a respectable pastime.
Today though, it was the weekend. Eshtaol couldn't say they were a fantastic break from the rest of her week, but provided that she earnt enough on any particular week that she had some to spare after paying the rent for her flat, there was always the prospect of buying new books or holomovies or music, and consuming the entertainment before lying on her bed and daydreaming. She'd managed to successfully earn enough from tips to afford herself a trip to the bookstore; even better, this particular bookstore's manager was kind-hearted enough that so long as she bought something, Eshtaol could spend all day browsing and not get chucked out.
That morning Eshtaol had slept in, then had breakfast at a cafe to avoid the judgemental couple living below her. She'd dashed back to her apartment to fetch last week's extra budget, then plaited her blonde hair back in an effort to look less...scraggly. Now she was at the bookstore, browsing merrily through titles. Perhaps she'd look through non-fiction for once; she could probably find something interesting there.
[member="Darth Abyss"]