Where's Ocellimon? Iona Brings Her Fists to a Digimon Fight!
Jul 2, 2022 1:16:06 GMT
Post by Iona E. Mason and Ocellimon on Jul 2, 2022 1:16:06 GMT
((This is an NPC for Me Thread. Please see digimonforumrp.freeforums.net/thread/9287/ocellimon-brings-fists-digimon-fight for details. If you'd like to be involved as a player character in any way, please ask.))
Iona was tired. Why? The work wasn't that tiring. It was just serving coffee at the cafe. Over the past year of having to survive an incarceration facility for teenage boys--where it was dog-eat-dog and she had arrived as an overfed lap mutt--she'd honed her body to handle so much more than that. And yet, her muscles strained and almost buckled underneath the contortions of her face and body. She pressed her middle and forefinger to her neck to feel her pulse. It was rapid.
"Order up!"
Iona snapped out of it, slightly. Just enough to continue doing her job. Pick up the cups, set them down at the patrons' table. Smile. "Will you be needing anything else?" Smile. "Arigato!" Smile. Pocket your measly tip. Try not to think about how unbearable it all was. Try not to feel your own heartbeat.
This was the job Iona's parole officer had helped her to get. She knew she wasn't the only one working here who had been in the system, but she didn't feel much camaraderie with any of them. She just wanted to go home, but she wondered if her body would relax even then. Sleep was getting more and more difficult. She'd returned home to find her father gone, the rent paid through to the next year. But Iona still had bills to pay in his absence and a court-ordered requirement that she find a job, lest they throw her in with the adult population now that she had aged out of the juvenile.
Iona did the whole routine down to the very last, obviously forced smile. Her face felt like stone. She had to struggle to twist it into the smile she donned as she set the cup of coffee down next to the latest patron sitting in her section.
"Is there anything else you will be needing?" Iona asked the patron, in a strained, monotone voice. She stared down her patron, trying to gauge their level of satisfaction level, a behavior that might come across as threatening to some. But this patron, in particular, was remarkable in ways Iona had not yet realized; for the being whom she was addressing was...
Iona was tired. Why? The work wasn't that tiring. It was just serving coffee at the cafe. Over the past year of having to survive an incarceration facility for teenage boys--where it was dog-eat-dog and she had arrived as an overfed lap mutt--she'd honed her body to handle so much more than that. And yet, her muscles strained and almost buckled underneath the contortions of her face and body. She pressed her middle and forefinger to her neck to feel her pulse. It was rapid.
"Order up!"
Iona snapped out of it, slightly. Just enough to continue doing her job. Pick up the cups, set them down at the patrons' table. Smile. "Will you be needing anything else?" Smile. "Arigato!" Smile. Pocket your measly tip. Try not to think about how unbearable it all was. Try not to feel your own heartbeat.
This was the job Iona's parole officer had helped her to get. She knew she wasn't the only one working here who had been in the system, but she didn't feel much camaraderie with any of them. She just wanted to go home, but she wondered if her body would relax even then. Sleep was getting more and more difficult. She'd returned home to find her father gone, the rent paid through to the next year. But Iona still had bills to pay in his absence and a court-ordered requirement that she find a job, lest they throw her in with the adult population now that she had aged out of the juvenile.
Iona did the whole routine down to the very last, obviously forced smile. Her face felt like stone. She had to struggle to twist it into the smile she donned as she set the cup of coffee down next to the latest patron sitting in her section.
"Is there anything else you will be needing?" Iona asked the patron, in a strained, monotone voice. She stared down her patron, trying to gauge their level of satisfaction level, a behavior that might come across as threatening to some. But this patron, in particular, was remarkable in ways Iona had not yet realized; for the being whom she was addressing was...
