Disclaimer: I own nothing here that could, conceivably, get me in trouble. Author's notes at the end, guys. And I love you all. Kisses!
-=+=-
There's just something about lying on your back, eating Cheez-Its straight from the box, staring out the window on a rainy Tuesday morning that makes me feel…I dunno, like a-
"Lazy lump of nothingness?"
Sorry, I have a tendency to speak (and sometimes shout) at myself at random moments.
Hi guys. I'm Apple. Not really, but that's what my parents call me; something to do with my favorite baby food.
Naturally, my Japanese friends here in Domino City call me Ringo. To tell you the truth, that kinda bugs me too, but whatever.
My real name is Fontaine. Yes, Fontaine Whithead. I hate that even more than I hate Apple, so I guess you have to trade off something, right?
I attend night classes at Domino City Tech University. I'm studying to get a degree in computer maintenance, but what I really want to be is an ARTISTE. I love to paint stuff and build stuff and cut stuff up and glue stuff to other stuff…
I'm free all day today, maybe I should-
Oh, snaps and dang. I just realized it's Tuesday morning, and Tuesday is the day I interview for a new part-time job downtown.
"Why am I doing this to myself? I don't even want the job that bad."
Even though I don't want it, babysitting my own siblings for Mom and Dad doesn't put food on the table.
"I could always go back and live with Mom and Dad..."
Oh, no, that's not an option. They kicked me out because of the whole learn-to-be-independent thing they heard about at their last self-help seminar. Curses, why can't I have normal parents who just let me-
"Be a normal college student who doesn't have to pay rent on an apartment her sophomore year?"
Oopsie, there I go again.
Now, time to get up. Remember, job interview, so dress to impress…
So, tank top, jeans and bare feet? I know myself so well.
I hate shoes, by the way. On occasion I wear sixty-year-old Birkenstocks my Grammy used to wear when she was a hippie, but only when Mom threatens me with my life.
Dad, thankfully, doesn't really care whether or not I wear shoes, as long as I'm not "out with a strange boy", as he likes to remind me every week.
-=+=-
So anyways, I hit the street once it's stopped raining, but everything is drippy and moist. I kinda wish I could run back in to my apartment and grab my hoodie, but there's no time. I'll be late if I waste time fooling around…hmm, what to do?
Guess I just start walking to the train station. If it's not meant to be, I won't get the job, right?
As I'm walking, a car stops on the road beside me.
"Hey, pretty lady, wanna ride?"
Oh, no oh no ohnoohnohnohnohnohnooooo… WAIT! Calm down, breathe deeply, don't panic, eyes forward.
"No, thank you."
Nicely handled, Apple!
The guy doesn't leave. "Hey, Apple, did you hear me?"
Hang on, I wasn't aware any male predators knew my nickname. Or spoke with such adorable British accents.
I turn to see it's only Bakura. Aww, he's so CUTE.
"Jeez, man, you almost made me have a panic attack!" I laugh.
I run over and hop into his red convertible. "Thanks, man!"
"No problem. Where are you headed?"
I groan. "I've got a job interview on the east side of town. Can you drop me at the New Age day care, or is that too far?"
He laughs. "Don't be silly, Apple-chan. For you, I'd drive anywhere."
"So, where are YOU off to, Bakura?"
"I've gotta get to MY job. That stupid pizza place is going to be the death of me." He makes a face.
Poking him in the shoulder, I grin. "At least you get free pizza on Wednesdays. Besides, you're cute when you're covered in flour."
He blushes and laughs, kinda self-consciously. Oh my God, he is soooooo cute when he blushes.
See, me and 'Kura go all the way back to the third grade swing set. We've been friends since EVER.
After about twenty minutes of driving and chit-chat, we finally arrive. I step out of the car, shut the door, then lean in the window. "So, we hanging out this weekend, or what?"
"Dunno, I might have something going on. But I'll try to make an appearance…"
I frown at him. "You'd better, you know you're like my best friend ever."
He smiles in that soft way, you know, that cute way he does sometimes. He's like a marshmallow Peep, or something. I just wanna bite his head off, he's so cute!
"See ya, 'Kura." As I turn to walk towards the building, he says, "Hey! How are you getting back to your apartment?"
"Train, I guess. No big deal."
"Just be careful, okay?" He sounds a little concerned. "Don't talk to any weirdoes, or anything."
"I KNOW, I KNOW. Go to work or YOU'LL be late, you loser!"
Laughing, he drives off, honking the horn before he disappears around the corner.
What a great guy, huh? He's one of the coolest people I know.
Back to the task at hand, though.
Crossing the pavement as quickly as possible, I cut through foot traffic, working my way towards the giant building with "KCorp" emblazoned all over it.
"Jeez, talk about overcompensating."
Finally, I reach the revolving glass door that is the front entrance.
Alright, I know I'm late, and this is a job interview and everything, but I can't resist running around in the revolving door for a few minutes. I mean, those things are just so much fun!
Dizzy and giggly, I head in a loopy line to the receptionist's desk.
"Hey, I'm Apple Whithead. I'm here for-"
"Mr Kaiba has been waiting for you," she interrupts, tapping her perfect fingernails against her clipboard impatiently. "He's in room 306A on the sixth floor."
Well, okay then. "Thank you, ma'am, for your hospitality, and please do have a pleasant day," I gush, turning on the charm.
No dice. She looks unamused as she files some paperwork. Okay, so people here don't like words of affirmation. I'll just have to get used to it.
After wandering for a bit, I finally find the elevator and ride it to the eighth floor, walk down two flights of stairs (well, why not?) and wander a bit more before finding room 306A. With a deep breath, I throw the door open.
Dark. I think the light's off. The only shred of luminescence is from a window at the back of the room, its shades slatted to let in just a bit of light.
Silhouetted, almost framed in the window is a tall, lanky dark figure. I guess that's Mr Kaiba? He's just standing there.
An overhead fan is lazily stirring the air above our heads.
You know what? This is exactly like what I imagine the private eye's office is like in detective noir novels.
I stand in the doorway, waiting for him to say something.
Finally, he lifts his head, and a pair of cold and strikingly beautiful blue eyes meets mine.
A deep voice cuts the atmosphere in the room like a knife. "You're late."
-=+=-
Authors notes: Overwhelmed by the positive feedback I've been getting here (jeez, at mediaminer NOBODY reviews my stuff) I've decided to take on yet ANOTHER project; this time, I'm re-vamping a two-year-old story from my Quizilla days. This fic is the product of that deranged little experiment.
New chapters to follow as I find time. Don't be surprised if things just get edited, too. That's the way I roll, dudes.
And thanks for everything so far!