I don't own Total Drama Island, or any of its characters or places. And no, "lol-king" does not exist… to my knowledge.
Lack of Practice
"Oy! Boy! I asked for a frappuchino, idiot! This is a caffeine-free latte!"
"Fine, then. I'll get it on it."
The man walked back to his small booth in the Starbucks. No matter where one went, you'd find one.
Such was the case for this job-seeker.
Turning his head from the man who demanded a different variety of odd coffee-milk-cream-things, Noah rolled his eyes and muttered a "when this chain flops" underneath his breath.
Not like he really WANTED to work at this filth-ridden dump, anyways. He was on top of the world. President of student council, straight A's, and he's just beaten that blasted "lol-king," high-score holder from his resident town, in Space Invaders. Of course, such things did not pay.
So he settled in a place where you could be cynical, and get a wage.
Paradise, in Noah's words.
The clanging of the entrance door's bell attached by a manager during a sprucing-up dangled. Shortly afterwards, a teenager entered. Noah looked up from the book he managed to sneak into the café.
The know-it-all eyed him. Black hair, camo clothing, relaxed eyes… it's a musician, all right.
The newcomer walked to the front of the ordering center. Noah forced a look of slight interest onto his face.
"Welcome to Starbucks. May I help you?"
The black-haired teen just smiled, and shook his head. "No, I'm just traveling around here. I'd really appreciate a map of this town. Doesn't seem to be any lying around these parts, so I figured I'd give this place a shot."
Noah's face reverted to it's cynical self. "We don't carry maps. If you needed a map, you could've checked at a gas station before traveling. Typical," he sighed, then went back to his so-called work.
"Now c'mon, man. Take it easy, it's not that big a deal. Could I at least get some water? Gets kinda hot…" the guy shrugged, still grinning.
Noah sighed, then got a paper cup from the dispenser. After filling the container with water, he handed it to him. "There ya go. Water's free, mind you, so you've managed to sneak out of paying."
The camo-wearer took a seat at a stool nearby the table. "So… what's your name? It's not often I meet people in other cities that actually give a damn what I care."
Noah turned to the musician. "Names don't matter when you know you'll never meet up with anyone again."
The musician frowned. "Whoa, pessimistic much, dude? You've really gotta learn to relax a bit. Let me help ya."
With that, he pulled out a guitar case Noah somehow missed when the stranger entered. He opened it, and pulled out an acoustic guitar. He strummed a few chords, adjusting his fingering and strings.
He started to strum, nothing special or recognizable, just improvisation. Noah watched, unimpressed. It sure wasn't anything to gawk at. He did, however, catch the logo on his guitar. The label stated "Trent" on it.
Still playing, crowds of customers wandered over to watch the musician at his work. They cheered, handing over various coins and bills as thanks.
He played one last chord. The crown cheered, and the went back to their seats, talking of what they just heard.
"Whaddya think? Pretty good, huh?"
Noah, once again into his book, looked up and glanced at Trent. "Can't say I'm impressed. I've heard my gold lab bark better tunes when begging for ribs."
Trent shrugged, placed his guitar in his case, and left holding the water. Cries of farewell reverberated around the café from the listeners to his playing.
Noah didn't get it. A nobody can do something in tone day, and he becomes famous.
On the other hand, you practice and perfect talents, and you work at a chain of coffee shops.
Noah hated karma ever since that happened.
