Happy New Year! A new year means a new chapter, so I hope you all like it! ~BlueVanilla79
Shielding her face with her hands and arms, she ducked to avoid the blinding flashes of the paparazzi's cameras, or rather, manipulators. The electric blue lights almost seemed to burn when they touched her skin, forcing upon her vision an obscured view that looked like that of an old film, skipping frames from here and there.
"Smile, Cherry!"
"Cherry, over here!"
"Come on, Cherry, don't hide!"
These voices echoed in her ears, impossible to drown out. They were an avalanche, readying themselves to tackle her at any given moment; the incessant cries of fans were a broken siren, screaming out for an eternity.
This was the life that Cherry lived on a daily basis, only in different locations with different groups of people. The cycle was the same: wherever she went, no matter what time or place, these people would show up and plague her with their questions, worries, and unreasonable requests, and she would have to cope with this peskiness of theirs until she was able to safely escape to her car and attempt to secretly drive home.
And to be honest, she was tired of it all. Yes, having many supporters was very much a wonderful thing indeed, but the longer she stayed in the industry, she learned that being famous was more of a depressant than a stimulant. Some of the individuals who claimed that they were supportive of Cherry would be the masterminds behind whatever horrible rumor that was recently spread about her, and through a number of experiences, Cherry had learned this lesson the hard way.
Cherry was whisked inside the swivel doors by a set of hands that, shooing the on-lookers away, pulled her into a nearby elevator.
"Miss Jam, you have got to stop walking in public by yourself - it's much too dangerous!" said her publicist.
"That's why I wore a disguise this time, Vivianne."
"Well, it certainly didn't work."
Cherry looked down at her slacks: she'd put on a pair of yoga pants and a baggy t-shirt, not forgetting a pair of shades to conceal her eyes, yet the public still recognized her as the pop sensation Cherry Jam. Considering that she'd always cared about her appearance, she thought that she would look like a commoner in this new set of clothes.
"I thought it would," she replied, and Vivianne pressed the buttons on the keypad.
"Doll, I do hope that you remembered to bring a change of clothes."
Cherry felt her sides to make sure she'd worn her actual outfit underneath her camouflage; however, she felt nothing but bare skin and recalled that she was supposed to bring her other outfit with her from her car. She hadn't had time to because the obnoxious paparazzi had distracted her.
"Uh-oh," she managed.
Vivianne gently placed a hand to her forehead. "Oh my. Cherry, really?"
"Don't panic, I can fix this." Cherry removed her baseball cap and turned it forwards. "Better?" she asked, slightly giggling to herself. It wasn't like it mattered, anyway: she was going to last place that she wanted to be at the moment.
Her publicist rolled her eyes. "Oh Cherry, I've always wondered about you."
She was led into the headquarters of the Berry Glitz and Glamour network, then welcomed by a long table of staff members who all acknowledged her with the cheesiest, most artificial welcomes that she'd ever seen. They bounced up and down in their seats with a considerable amount of enthusiasm, but she knew that it was all just an act. In actuality, they were probably some of the messiest people in the industry.
The head of the staff was a stout woman with a ginormous pair of glasses settling on the bridge of her nose who had applied more makeup than her face could handle. She dressed in all sorts of crazy colors and designs and had but a single earring in her ear, apparently to keep up with the latest trends, despite her age.
She shook Cherry's hand in all sincerity, and Cherry knew better than to trust her, but she returned a sly smile. She suddenly became glad that she experienced her little wardrobe malfunction, that she'd show up to the interview as if she'd cast her cares into a furnace. If she pretended that she was a complete slob and disrespected the board of members, there was a ninety-nine percent chance that her reality show would be cancelled, and she could be released from her boss's lingering threat.
"Welcome, Cherry! Please, take a seat."
Cherry sat at the very end of the meeting table, propping her feet on its surface and folding her arms behind her head. Attempting to make her audience flinch, she sniffed her armpit and scrunched her nose at its nonexistent odor. However, the chubby woman's smile only intensified.
"Cherry, I must say that we are most excited that you've finally decided to accept our offer. I must ask, what made you decide to change your mind?" asked the head, Rhonda Speckleberry.
"Yeah, well, I thought it would be a great way to make some more money, you know what I mean?" Cherry slouched more evidently and started picking with her toes after she removed her right shoe. Some of the other members appeared a bit sickend and dissatisfied with her answer, which was the response she'd hoped for.
Another of the members clasped her hands together. She cleared her throat. "Well... you certainly have a different persona when you're off stage, don't you, Cherry?"
"Sure thing. Everyone always sees me as this prim and proper pop star, but I think it's time that I reveal the real me, don't ya think?" she thickened her southern accent, intentionally replacing some of her words with slang. At that moment, she tapped her throat and managed to release a drawn out wet-sounding belch, which was such an awful noise that some of the staff scooted their swivel chairs away from her. She grinned with pleasure.
A clearing of someone else's throat echoed behind her shoulder, and she turned to see her boss looming over her with a death stare engraved upon his face, Vivianne, who stood by the door, doing the same.
Cherry internally cowered to herself: she had to admit to herself that she was sometimes terrified of her boss, who had the power to ban her from his company like a needle frays a thread. But now was the time that she had a say so in things, she mentally decided. It was time that she stood up to him, the individual she'd worked with nearly her entire career.
Mr. Pearce turned her chair so her legs would fall off the table, then took a seat to her left and placed his briefcase on the pine wood table. "I apologize for being late," he began. "Have I missed anything important?"
"No, no, not at all. I was just getting to know Cherry," replied Rhonda.
He cast Cherry another glare. "Yes, about that, I am so sorry if she's caused you any trouble. She's been under a lot of stress lately."
"No! There's no need for that! She is such a darling! Cherry, if we can just discuss a few legal matters, you're hired!" Rhonda clapped her plump, soft hands in delight, the friction of her bracelets creating a clinking noise.
Cherry raised her eyebrows in horror.
"You are absolutely perfect for the reality show, doll! A successful pop artist who has a side of her life that she hides from the public - genius!"
Mr. Pearce appeared relieved, but Cherry was mortified. What was supposed to be her trick on the company had a boomerang effect on her, and now she was the fool of the joke? Even after she acted like a pig and an idiot so she wouldn't get hired?
"No, I was lying to you! This isn't the real me, honest!" she cried, and removed the cap from her head.
"Even better! I can see it now: Cherry Jam, a proven liar. Dear, if you can just sign this contract and accept these conditions and our offer for your pay, I promise you that we will make your dreams come true."
Cherry was prepared to jump over the table and strangle that woman's short neck, but Mr. Pearce stopped her midway and placed his hand over her mouth while she shouted derogatory things. "She'll accept the offer!" he stated, but Cherry said otherwise through muffled hums.
A thick stack of papers slid towards her direction as well as a fountain pen, and after Cherry had regained control of her tongue and stopped screaming into her boss's hand, she was prompted to look over the information at hand.
She skimmed through all one hundred-something pages of the contract and wondered how in the world she was expected to read all of the fine print in its too-small-to-read writing, then flipped to the last page, which required her signature. Above the line was a negotiable set of numbers for her pay check, and they tempted her to go ahead and sign her name.
If she received that much just from shooting a television show, she'd have more than enough to pay her expenses and still have some left over to do what she pleased with it, even though that was just the minimum for her pay. Perhaps a reality show isn't as bad as you thought, her mind told her. After all, you can live your life to a much higher degree than you did before, and all of that just for letting a few cameras follow you around? Come on, Cherry, have I not taught you better? Your friends will understand: they always do, and you know it. Go on, pick up the pen.
Cherry slowly picked up the fountain pen. The back of her mind told her the opposite of what the former told her, but she knew that if she didn't comply with the show, she would be fired and possibly wind up on the streets. And now that Berry Bitty City was gone, too, she couldn't go back to her old teaching job, although it didn't pay much to begin with.
With the fountain pen in her left hand, she hesitantly signed her name in the margin. The black ink dried with permanence, binding her to the contract. After giving her signature, Cherry felt indifferent about her current situation and her life as a whole. Had she really made the right decision, choosing fame and fortune over a normal life? No matter what she thought at the moment, there was no turning back for her at that point.
The staff clapped in unison, and Rhonda stood from her chair. "Congratulations, Cherry! The only thing left for you to do is to decide what you want to call your show, and we'll take care of the rest."
Cherry was passed a sheet of paper with a list of titles, and she circled the one that stood out to her the most: Cherry's Jam. She forced a half smile while the others continued to celebrate, but she couldn't help but wonder deep inside if her whole life was just a big mistake.
The meeting concluded, and Cherry paced back to her car with Vivianne and Mr. Pearce when she was instantly attacked by paparazzi and half-crazed fans yet again. This time gossip reporters rushed in as well, nearly smashing their microphones into her face as they tried to nose into her business, but Cherry only replied to a couple of their questions with a simple "yes" or "no" because that's what she'd been trained to do.
Cherry reached her prius and unlocked it while people continued to snap pictures of her from a distance.
"Cherry, I don't know what you were thinking with that little game you were playing, but it seemed to work," said Vivianne.
"Yes; what on earth were you thinking?" added Mr. Pearce.
Cherry paused. "I did what you wanted, so can you at least act happy about it?" she snapped, really not supplying a proper answer to either of their questions.
She started her engine and left the two of them standing on the side of the street.
The car ride was a very long one. The arctic air conditioning froze Orange's skin, and through the pimply goosebumps and the persistent hiccuping, she fought with all her might not to scream for help.
She tapped her foot and yanked on her seatbelt in a way that looked like she was choking herself inbetween involuntarily hyperventilating, her chest going up and down, up and down. And all the while, the princess, or rather her captor, sat still with her posture perfectly aligning the back of her seat, her delicately aggressive hands folded across her lap. She still never ceased to keep her nose in an upturn to retain her pride, but the deadness of the air didn't seem to bother her.
How did she get herself into this mess? All she did was help those two men with product recommendations, and now she was suddenly the princess' prisoner?
She should've known to bite her tongue - she'd always had a problem for that sort of thing. While Strawberry was the strong, wise leader, Blueberry the brainiac, Lemon the artistically creative one, Plum the jokester, Raspberry the compassionate one, Cherry the charmer, and Huck, well, was just Huck, she felt that she didn't fit into a specific category. Or did she? Everyone always looked at her as the audacious one who wasn't afraid to speak her mind. That was it. She was outspoken, a bit too much for her liking, and she'd gotten herself into quite a bit of trouble because she couldn't control the impulse to always make a remark. To think that she wouldn't be in this situation had she not eavesdropped on those two security guards. However, how was she supposed to know that they were the princess' henchmen? She was only trying to help.
Her eyes became glassy and she now rocked back and forth, releasing a squeaky yelp.
"Goodness, child, calm down! You're acting like you're going to an execution!" Beatrice finally yelled.
Orange sat back, untangling the seatbelt from around her neck. "Sorry."
"It's quite all right."
Orange waited with impatience for the princess to explain why she had to be subjected to going on a car ride with her, but Beatrice only resumed her previous activity of sitting back in her seat while casually observing the city through her window. Orange turned away and prayed that whatever she was being called for was for good reason, but if the princess herself issued a meeting with her, she couldn't help but think that the outcome wouldn't be good.
Feeling her weight shifting backwards, she raised her head to discover that the limousine drove onto a long, winding path that only spiraled upwards and past those dreadful iron gates that she'd hoped she never had to re-enter.
The princess' palace? What kind of trouble was she in if Beatrice chose her home, of all locations, to take her? Whatever the reason, she did not have a good feeling about it.
The driver parked the vehicle under a bamboo awning, and just as Beatrice had extended her hand to Orange prior to her initial invitation to talk with her, she performed the same action in which she led her out of the limousine. In fact, it was more of a forceful gesture than a choice; when the princess initially invited Orange after she'd exited the general store, Orange came up with an excuse so she wouldn't have to go, but upon Beatrice's orders, she was forced to climb aboard against her will. And now a half-hour later, she was back at the estate that she'd just visited the other night, but she saw it in a different light this second time around. Most of the decorations from the birthday party were missing, and the daylight revealed parts of the estate that she hadn't noticed before.
Beatrice wove her arm around Orange's, and even though the princess wore sleeves, her skin felt like a popsicle, aiding in the goosebumps forming on Orange's arm.
She led her along a stone pathway, her heels clacking against the ground as a row of staff lined the way and greeted her with a monotonous "Welcome home, your majesty." One of the butlers opened the door for the princess and her special guest, and in an instant, the bustling of several more employees occupied Orange's train of thought.
Berrykin maids vigorously scrubbed the marble floors with large sponges, wiping their brows in the process, while others of them scurried down the halls with fresh laundry and bathroom supplies. The taller of the workers gathered streamers off the floor and from the walls, and still a number of others handled the dishes, most of which they sterilized or threw into the trash. Vacuum cleaners roared throughout the entire palace, blaring out any noise that could otherwise try to audibly compete.
The princess explained that they were still cleaning up after the party and stated that the process could sometimes extend to about a week, then motioned that Orange follow her up one of the four optional staircases to a little sitting area.
The palace was just as Strawberry had described it, Orange realized, with more chandeliers than one could count, expensive china in glass cabinets, and extravagant paintings by some of the most renowned artists to top everything off. It was quite an admirable home to live in, but didn't Beatrice grow lonely every now and then?
"The mansion was well-lit, but there were still those dark areas that the light couldn't reach," Strawberry had described once they'd returned home from the party. "And if you look closely, you'll notice an old painting of Beatrice and Princess Berrykin. Some of the colors are faded, but what strikes me as odd is that Princess Berrykin's face is scratched out of the picture, as if someone took a blade and stabbed her image until it wasn't there anymore." This particular detail sent horrible chills down Orange's spine, and while she tried her best to avoid looking into the crevices of the ceiling to spot that haunting painting, she found her eyes searching for it anyway. Apparently it was well-hidden, for she couldn't spot it at all.
The princess sat on the loveseat directly across from her with expectant eyes. Orange only blinked once, then staged a cough into her fist. She darted her face away from Beatrice, admiring the scenic views that lay beyond the window that replaced one of the walls, then took notice of a small pot of tulips sitting on the lamp table beside her. Most of their petals had withered away, and it made her sad, reminding her much of her deceased home when one of the petals hit the ash gray soil.
"So," the princess began, "I assume that it was out of place of me to bring you here so suddenly, but I can assure you that I did it with good intentions, so you can stop looking all tense, child."
Orange breathed a sigh of relief, her prayer answered, and managed to shift from her stiff position, but speech-wise, all she could muster was a stuttered "Okay" inbetween a hiccup. She always hiccuped when she was nervous, ever since she was very young.
Beatrice pursed her thin lips and studied her. "Why do you act so fearful of me, dear? I want to be your friend," she coaxingly said, but the sweet cornsyrup of her voice didn't convince Orange that she was being truthful. It was unlike Orange to act shy, but she brought her knees to her chest and hid half of her face with them, even though this action wasn't very proper of her to do in front of a ruler.
The princess sighed with irritation and shooed away a maid who questioned her about which curtains she wanted strung in the living room. "I'm most fortunate that you and your friends could come to my birthday party this year," she tried again, this time making the tone of her voice a little more realistic. "Did you have fun?"
Orange solemnly nodded.
"Good, then. Have you yet had your eighteenth birthday?"
"Uh, yes, your highness. I did back in May, actually." Orange retracted her knees some, though she clearly still exhibited an invisible shield of defense. Maybe Beatrice was telling the truth; maybe she wasn't in trouble after all. "How were you able to keep up with my age after all these years?" she added.
"Do excuse me for that. The redhead must have told you about our little encounter the other night, has she not?"
"She did - erm, your majesty."
A smirk spread across Beatrice's narrow face. "Ah, I see. What else has she relayed to you?"
"She said that you knew us several years ago," Orange replied.
"That is correct; I recall seeing you when you were still down here," she placed her hand close to the floor, approximately a foot-and-a-half from the ground, "but my, how you have grown up since then. The years just seem to fly by." She motioned with her hand to create a swatting gesture to emphasize her point. "So tell me more about your home town. It must have changed significantly since I've last seen it."
Orange seemed to relax at the mention of Berry Bitty City, that is, when she thought only of the fond memories in the town that she shared with her friends, kindled with the daily adventures they shared in the quaint area. She couldn't quite put into words the way that it made her feel inside, that warm, fuzzy feeling that made her want to travel back in time to relive the excitement, the nostalgia.
She described to the princess in great detail what a typical day in Berry Bitty City was like, almost as if she were actually still there. Where every thing was placed in her store she relayed, the local post office being stationed in the back and the cash register sitting at a perfect forty-five degree angle. The joy that overcame her whenever her friends came to visit, who felt like sisters to her, and the tranquil evenings they'd spend together after they'd finished working, lying by the berry patch as the faint breeze tickled their eyelashes. The overall serenity and the sweet, crisp scent of the orchards and honeysuckle that were within the town, in high contrast to Berry Big City's foul odors and lack of sanitation. The fact that everyone cared for one another and that they could always turn to each other for help, no matter what the situation.
The princess leaned in closer as Orange spoke, gently folding her eyelids like she was experiencing what was described, like she wanted to partake in this paradise that Orange told her about. She seemed to calm and didn't think to interrupt once as Orange continued to speak, lasting for what seemed about a half hour.
But as Orange's story progressed and she advanced to the past year, her mood began to darken when she told Beatrice of the troubles that began to threaten the town and the lack of income as a result of them. She cut herself short after she'd mentioned having to move to Berry Big City, how their dreams had shattered concerning the saving of their town.
Beatrice sat up, clearly out of her trance now, and looked at Orange with newfound concern. She appeared worried, even if it was only the slightest bit, smoothing the tawny bangs covering her forehead and assuring herself that her tiara was still in tact. She seemed indecisive at first, but then she said, "Well, perhaps we can change that."
Orange perked up in her seat. "What do you mean?"
Beatrice pressed a buzzer on one of the bracelets on her wrist, Orange, who otherwise would have never been able to tell the device from an ordinary piece of jewelry, intently observing it. One of the guards from outside arrived within a matter of a few seconds.
"Yes, your highness?" he inquired.
"Take me to the chamber," she ordered.
The guard looked from the princess to Orange. "Are you sure, your majesty?" He didn't seem very trusting of Orange.
"Yes, I'm sure."
"What's going on?" Orange asked, alarmed, but Beatrice only shushed her, then tied a scarf around her eyes and instructed her to get the small plant from the side table.
She could only feel the slippery floor beneath her and a pair of hands on her shoulders; aside from that, she was completely blinded and tried to trust her ears for a sense of direction.
She heard more vacuum cleaners and dusters as she passed, but eventually the noises seemed very distant, and she couldn't hear anything but the eerie echoes that trailed behind her.
Loud cellars opened and closed and she heard locks, keys, and alarm systems being disabled and reset until finally the firm hands on her shoulders who she assumed were Beatrice's halted her. Orange felt the hard knot on the back of her head being untied, and the shield that once blocked her vision was removed.
She had been led into a dark room with a single large spotlight inserted into the ceiling, and all else was blacked out except for the glowing security monitors and observation cameras.
Orange turned a full three hundred sixty degree circle before she asked, "Where am I?"
"You're here to see the Preservation Soil, dear," Beatrice simply stated, as if the matter wasn't a big deal.
In shock, Orange nearly dropped the plant she was holding but then remembered that it was there and dropped her jaw instead. "The Preservation Soil?!" she repeated, and stumbled a bit.
Beatrice nodded and directed her towards a huge glass case that was the size of a queen bed and as deep as a bathtub. The container was covered with a thick glass lid, and she guided Orange a few feet closer to the compartment and pointed downwards. Orange did just that, and when she did her eyes widened with such astonishment that she strained them.
A cerulean substance lay in the tub, but it wasn't just any typical substance; this one sparkled with what mimicked tiny gems, and a faint white glow emitted from it as a whole. It had the texture of garden soil, but it couldn't have been dirt - soil was brown, not blue. The dirt-like concoction spun on mills, falling over itself like mini ocean waves and back into the contents of the rest of the tub.
Orange began to press her hands on the glass after she'd sat the plant down, but the guard snatched her by her wrist. "Don't touch that - it'll burn your skin off."
Frightened, Orange pulled away. "Is this the soil?" she questioned the princess.
"Yes, indeed. Do you wish to see how it works?"
Orange eagerly nodded like a child.
With a remote-like device, the guard opened the lid of the tub, and the effects of the soil were all the more marvelous when he did. It hit Orange in the face with its bright beams, and suddenly she smelled a sort of fresh fragrance that she had never smelled in her life, one that couldn't be described. If an individual were to describe it, though, the scent would have been said to smell of freshly picked flowers and berries, some of a different kind, unknown to man.
Beatrice retrieved the deceased tulips and a very tiny measuring spoon and diligently dipped it into the majestic soil. She hardly scooped any of it out, and at last she poured the cooking utensil's contents all over the poor plant's dirt. At first nothing occurred except that it now had a shimmery essence about it, but then Orange really saw what took place. The brown, paper-looking leaves buried themselves beneath the surface of the soil, and replacing them were newly formed leaves that sprouted and already produced flower buds.
Orange was mesmerized, delicately stroking her fingertips over the new leaves to see if they were real. She looked over her shoulder and into Beatrice's eyes. "Why are you showing me this?" she asked, almost in a whisper.
The princess gave her a wily smile. "I thought I'd just do something nice."
Orange observed the plant once more. "Can I keep it?" she quietly pleaded.
"Why, of course not!" Beatrice's voice boomed. "Do you realize how much this plant is worth now that it has been restored?" She began to put the supplies away, ensuring that she didn't waste one speck of the soil, took the plant from her, and the protective cover was closed.
Orange frowned. Didn't Beatrice tell her right before she took her to the chamber that there was something she could do for Berry Bitty City? Or was she imagining things?
"Can't you give me just a teensy bit of the soil, your highness? Just enough to save Berry Bitty City?" she persisted a second time.
"Why, for someone to take it from you while you're heading home? I don't think so."
Orange became frustrated, and it showed by the vein that rose just above her left eyebrow. "Don't you care that me and my friends and your sister have somewhere to live? If we can just return home-"
"Ha! If it weren't for my sister screwing things up, you wouldn't even call Berry Bitty City home."
Orange snarled. "Your highness-"
"I'll tell you what: if you can tell me what your name is, I may consider changing my mind."
Orange looked at her dumbly. Of course she knew what her name was. "That's easy. It's Orange Blossom," she replied.
Beatrice burst out laughing. "Oh, wow! I don't know who she thinks she's fooling with these games she's playing!"
Orange only stared at her. Was something wrong with her psychologically, or was that just her personality? The princess' rapid mood shifts threw her off track: she'd gone from calm to downright hysterical in a matter of minutes. Was that a normal thing for her?
The princess collected herself from her fit of laughter. Orange contorted her face in anger. "Why are you laughing at me? My name is Orange Blossom. What's so funny about that?" she clarified.
"Yes, sure, of course it is," the princess suppressed a few last chuckles, and the sarcasm in her voice was apparent. "Just tell me one more thing: where is my sister currently stationed?" Her tone was serious now.
Orange looked horrified. As much as Beatrice complained about Princess Berrykin, why would she bother to tell her where she lived?
"I- I can't say," she replied.
"Ah, as I suspected. Not a word to utter from that mouth of yours, I see. Typical! Why do you expect me to share all of this sensitive information of mine when you can't even tell me something as simple as where my sister lives?"
Orange began to step backwards when the princess moved closer to her.
"You all are just the same. You're nosy and intrusive yet so weak when you're confronted. The redhead acted just as you are now at the party, refusing to speak one word to me, yet I found her snooping through my desk. That's why I don't fall for those deceitful tricks of yours; you're conniving little pests, just like you always were and destined to be. I pity you."
At this point, Orange was fuming. She discovered that Beatrice had an even shorter temper than she had, and that just served as fuel to ignite her own. Her tongue burned with rage: how dare she insult she and her friends like that, and after they'd just met? Despite how angry she was now, she had to tame the fire that burned inside her. However, she just couldn't control it anymore.
"You know what, your 'highness'? Maybe we act like that because we've heard of what a ruthless person you can be! I'll admit, I was afraid of you at first, but I'm not anymore!" The last part was clearly a lie, for she still cowered when Beatrice approached her.
"Who told you that I'm ruthless? Was it Princess Berrykin?" Beatrice gave Orange the hawk's eye like she had at the celebration, and she stole the answer from her mind: yes.
"I see. Felix, take her away, I wish to be left alone."
"As you wish, your highness."
Before Orange could get a word in edgewise, the scarf was roughly tied back over her face, and when she tried to struggle free of his grip, he slung her over his shoulder while she screamed and shouted herself hoarse.
Sighing to herself, Blueberry tossed the thirtieth newspaper that she'd read that day onto a messy stack on the carpet. She'd been reading newspapers all day in search for a job, but none of them presented fields that would be easy for her to pursue. Most of them were too far away or just simply unrealistic, such as a volunteer sports announcer, and she did not have a strong enough voice to even bother applying.
On the other hand, Lemon and Raspberry paced back and forth in the tight space with their cell phones, contacting every salon and boutique around their portion of the city. To their dismay, not one of the businesses were looking to hire any new employees, so they, too, were about ready to give up.
Plum stayed in the same spot all day, sitting hunched over her computer by the island.
Blueberry stood from the deflating inflatable couch and nearly tripped over the mess she'd made. "Plum, have you found anything yet?"
"No, not yet," said the girl with the purple ponytail.
Blueberry went behind her and peeked at the screen, but Plum had minimized it just in time. "Hey, you're not looking for jobs," Blueberry accused. She swatted Plum's hand off the mouse and retrieved the page. "Dance videos? Really, Plum? You need to focus!"
"I know, I know, but I just miss dance so much. All of this job hunting is exhausting."
"You haven't even searched for anything."
"Exactly. Just watching other people do it makes my head hurt."
Blueberry was about to give another one of her detailed lectures on why people obtain occupations, but before she could, Strawberry entered the apartment. Her hair was in a matted bun and she was covered in food particles and condiments, but she appeared cheerful and, despite her filthy state, plopped onto the couch with a pleasant sigh.
Blueberry spun around. "Oh, so you found a job?"
"Yep, at a hamburger restaurant. It only pays minimum wage, and I haven't officially gotten hired yet, but it was exhilarating to be able to cook again." She nestled into one of the pillows like she was on a fluffy cloud. Even though she appeared to have been overworked, she was grateful to have the opporunity to do what she loved again, even if it wasn't exactly the style that was her forte.
Lemon stuck out her bottom lip. "Aw, lucky! Raspberry and I can't seem to get through to anybody."
"Hey, has anyone seen Cherry? I thought she said she'd stop by tonight," mentioned Raspberry.
"She changed her mind and said that she'll stop by tomorrow." Strawberry stood when she realized she was smudging the furniture. "But I haven't heard from Orange, though. The last time I saw her was after I'd gotten hired."
"Maybe her new employers love her so much that they quit their jobs and let her take over their business," Plum joked.
Before anyone could interject, the front door slowly creaked open, and Orange Blossom emerged, her eyes wide and never once blinking, her lips chapped. The girls jumped in a panic.
"Orange, what happened to you?!" Strawberry took her by her shoulders and led her to the couch. "Blueberry, fix her a glass of water."
Orange sat motionless, and when she accepted the water she only let it dribble down her chin.
"Orange, you have to tell us what happened," Strawberry sternly repeated.
"I-I saw it. The Preservation Soil. And now I think the princess hates me. I said some things I shouldn't have."
Strawberry slapped her face into her palms, releasing an exasperated moan.