A groggy mid-20s woman rolls out of bed with murderous intent towards her alarm before the mind wakes up just enough to stop her from destroying another phone. Thankfully it turns off in just one swipe; her temper might remain calm this morning.
Now standing in a daze by her desk (the alarm mustn’t me anywhere within reach of a lying position), she wakes a little more and begins going through the motions of morning routine: boot up the computer, head to the kitchen to start the kettle for some instant coffee, stumble back into the bedroom to put on a work uniform, dash out to the click of boiled water, and bring the elixir to a cluttered desk of papers, electronics, and old cups while the combined might of windows 10 and the process of coffee cooling to drinkable temperatures test her patience.
She rubs her baggy eyes and distracts the frustration with brushing her dark unkept brown hair.
When the computer is finally ready she abandons the brush with half-done hair to load into a few games of wizard poker before work. Despite how tired she gets, Emma (as the name-tag would tell you; she prefers her online alias of G4m3Godd3ss however) will always fit in some gameplay; her competitive nature is unfulfilled by the mundanities of ‘normal’ life.
At least, in her meager experience.
The games go poorly, each a consecutive streak of losses to be blamed on RNG or poor matchups. One particular match, the land one she shouldn’t have started as it cut far too close to when she has to leave, ends with the smug gloating of XxTROLL88xX after an extensive stalemate. Emma, already sour from the previous games, becomes exceedingly pissed at both losing and leaving 30 minutes late. The spamming of preset words like “hello”, “good game” and “oops” (the only forms of communication available in wizard poker) filtered through an angry mind can only be registered as the absolute rudest gestures possible. She of course breaks into real life cursing through gritted teeth as she grabs her coat and bag. “I HOPE YOU FUCKING DIE IN A FIRE YOU ASSHOLE” She swears under her breath as she fumbles her keys trying to lock the apartment door. The vitriol only increases when she reaches the bus stop having forgotten to tie her hair back in windy weather.
The phone games she plays on the trip do little to improve her mood. Her boss, however, isn’t even there when she arrives and the guy who’s shift was supposed to end 40 minutes ago is meek ol’ timothy. Small blessings.
“sorry I’m late. I’ll bring you a lunch next time our shifts overlap”. This isn’t the first time, but he’s made peace with that; the world has already crushed his spirit and he has his own story to deal with. It helps that Emma is true to her word and always makes up for her shortcomings in some way or another. Timothy prefers that over raising conflict or changing the status quo; he’ll learn a lesson about that during the adventure that follows him to campus, but that’s another story. Emma takes over the shop.
It’s a dreadful morning, now that Emma is forced to breathe in her surroundings as the sole employee at this food service chain on a slow, grey-skied April Wednesday. Over the course of the morning her thoughts bounce between how pointless being here is and how much she’d rather be gaming right now; despite the frustrations it’s the only thing that even comes close to easing the hollow feeling in her soul these days.
“Seriously where the fuck are the customers?”
Just before she’s about to do something about her paranoid irritation regarding the empty and silent façade of a bakery, a patron enters.
Storytelling Mimic 