Ugh, I forgot the disclaimer last chapter. So here it is.
Disclaimer: I do not own Red Dead Redemption, but I do own Debbie and this plotline that I've concocted. This isn't necessarily AU, and takes place after the original storyline by about 100 years, but does contain spoilers from the game. Rated T, because I'm paranoid.
And in response to CuteKitten, yes that skeleton was Jack. Thank you for reviewing.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
A hand thrust itself from under the blankets, slamming on whatever button lay on top of the bleating alarm. The sound continued, gaining intensity and become increasingly irritating, until a face dragged itself from the pillow and the hand finally located the switch. Blessed silence.
The face dropped back into the pillow, black hair strewn wildly where it wasn't held tightly in by a large braid. Another day to get through. More chances for that idiotic man she was competing with to sabotage her life- again –and less time to find that next big scoop of a lifetime.
She seemed perfectly happy to go back to sleep, but scratching claws on glass was just loud enough to reach her under the bedcovers. A groan and a jaw-cracking yawn later, and Debbie was on her way to the tarantula's glass box. It scuttled around on the sand like a crab, and she smiled down at it serenely. "You hungry, boy? I think there might be a lizard or two left..." with that vague remark, she wandered to the wall in which there were several small shelves.
She pulled on a leather glove and held the shelf's handle for a moment, holding her breath. Then, in a quick movement, she slid it open, snatched up the little skink that scurried about inside, and slammed the shelf shut again. Her prize was clutched in a fist; a tiny lizard, the size of a pinkie finger. The girl smirked and sauntered to her pet's cage.
"Here you are, precious," she cooed, dangling the lizard by its tail over the lidless area. The tarantula, seeming to sense or see that food was just above its head, reared up in what to an animal expert would seem aggressive. But not to Debbie. The skink fell, and was snatched up in a split second. But Debbie wasn't there to watch; she was already stumbling, yawning, to the kitchen.
One and a half hours later, Debbie was struggling with the revolving door at the ground floor of her workplace. The cursed things simply refused to move when she pushed them, pulled them, or just ran into them. The administrator inside finally came to help when she was at the point of allowing her head to drop onto the glass in defeat.
"Just in time, Ms. Stillwell," Debbie said dryly as she was led inside holding the girl's hand, feeling about ten years younger. "As usual."
Ms. Stillwell smiled obliviously and flounced back to behind her desk. The girl was completely clueless, nearly as dumb as the big oaf Sam that loitered around outside the building, leering at anyone he thought might be dangerous to his employers. Debbie had felt that creepy stare as she was wrestling with the door. It wasn't like she could dismiss him, though; he's the only security this place has.
"The boss wants to talk to you-"
"Tell her I'm busy at the moment," Debbie snapped, irritated already. The red-haired administrator peered at her with huge eyes, very easily intimidated. "Y-yes, miss..." the girl managed, reaching timidly for the phone on her desk.
Of course, there wasn't really a job for her to do. Right now the news was slower than Ms. Stillwell's attempts at long division. That was what she did; Debbie was a news reporter for the newspaper 'Sydney National Newspapers'. She was constantly in fear for her position, being the youngest employee of Mrs. Barbett, the boss of SNN. And her partner wasn't exactly helping at the moment...
"Debbs! How 'ya doing?"
Speak of the devil.
A short man waltzed up to Debbie with a smirk on his face. That meant trouble, and she internally winced when he got close enough to sling a fake-friendly arm over her shoulder. He bent down and breathed into her ear, making the small hairs on her skin curl and shrivel in disgust. A few co-workers sauntered past; pretending to not be eavesdropping. Their all-too-curious eyes gave them away too easily, however.
"You know, Dibs, there's a space for you as a Janitor- might wanna take that chance before you get laid off indefinitely," he teased, still smirking. Debbie gingerly unwound his arm from her shoulders and stepped away, mentally cursing the shower she'd rushed that morning. Maybe having a bad smell would have scared him off.
"I'm going to be a reporter, Ian, and you aren't going to scare me away from that," she growled in her gruffest voice. He shrugged and wandered off with the air of a man satisfied with his efforts. Debbie blinked; he was acting weirder than usual today.
She shrugged it off and headed straight to the coffee machine. It was free for employees, and she took full advantage of its caffeine. Thank god no-one had banned caffeine as an illegal drug yet. That didn't mean anything though; she distrusted most politicians, and every move the prime minister made seemed a little suspicious to her.
On the way, she dropped her handbag twice, had to avoid a co-worker laden with food for their 'friends' and forgot where the machine was again. It had been at least half a year since Debbie had achieved her dream of being a reporter, but she simply couldn't remember every bit of information the boss and everyone else thought she needed to know. Fortunately a friendly passersby paused in their morning shamble to the office and pointed out the way to the bathroom, the coffee machine and her cubicle.
"Thank you," Debbie muttered and shuffled off in search of bean-flavoured water.
Her day included chatting to the other girls that worked in other cubicles near her own, scouring the internet for anything vaguely interesting that might work as a news story, and wondering if she should buy another tarantula for her baby. A female, to have eggs with, or a male, to be a wimp and get beaten up. Either one would be a great way for her baby to blow off steam.
As the hours passed, she watched the clock with a tired eye. It mightn't be obvious to someone that didn't work there, but everyone was cooperating and doing their jobs with the same vigour as bees under their queen. That made the boss the bee queen. Debbie shared that joke with her workmates and grinned in delight when they laughed in approval.
Finally the time struck six o'clock, and she tossed the remains of her lunch in the closest bin; a half-eaten tub of yoghurt (she actually hated the stuff, but apparently it's good for you) and the plastic wrapper of a sandwich she'd managed to snag from the vending machine during a ten-minute lunch break. Who puts sandwiches in a vending machine, anyway? The thing had tasted horrible.
Of course she got lost again. This time the bluey from downstairs led her to the elevator, smiling with empty eyes and whispering to her about how annoyed the boss was. Debbie scowled when she realized that she'd forgotten to visit the boss's office during the day.
"Oh man, she's gotta be really upset with me... can you do me a favour?" she asked with a pleading tone of voice. Ms. Stillwell pretty much melted at the genuinely nice display and fell over herself to get the phone and help with whatever the news reporter wanted. She was stupid, and made a bad name for red-heads everywhere, but was innocent as a baby and wanted to please people just as much. "Oh thank you so much! Now, um, could you please-"
"Tell the boss that you had urgent business and couldn't see her for reasons other than selfish personal issues?" piped up Ms. Stillwell in a knowing voice. Debbie was very surprised at this, but shrugged and nodded. "I'm amazed, mate- how did you know?"
"Oh don't worry, you're the third person I've done this for today alone!" she trilled and hurriedly typed in a complicated number that made Debbie's head spin just by watching.
"Anyway, I, uh... have to go. I've got a mouth to feed at home. Bye!" She said very quickly and hurried into the revolving door in a flurry of plaits and impatience to get home. It was like that old phrase went; give her an inch, and she'll take a mile.
