Heyo, heyo. Update! So I'm from somewhere like just barely southeast of Portland and yahhh... just a little fun fact. About me. That y'all probably don't give a shit about. Maybe half a shit, I'm not sure. Anyhoo, DISCLAIMER: I never did, don't, and never will own Pitch Perfect characters and such.
"So... you're from Portland, Maine?" the interviewer asked indifferent to what the answer was.
"Um, yeah, yep," Beca spoke a lot when she was nervous, even if it was literally nothing being said.
"And why does it say here on you resume that you stopped working for three years, not in college, not record of a home?"
"Oh, I was just living with my grandmother and I guess I never put it down, I guess," she took a second to realize that she said "I guess" twice in one sentence. Well, fuck me up.
"And that you were arrested... once," he took way too long to read in Beca's opinion. "for underaged drinking?" He raised an eyebrow in amusement.
She let out a nervous laugh. "Well, that proves I'm not completely new to drinks."
The guy infront of her shook his head and smirked. "Why didn't you go to college though? You probably could've gotten a full scholarship and a half according to your grades."
Beca's jaw clenched and she suddenly became very concious of everything she was doing. Her flickered between the other man's. "I guess I never just got around to it." That was a big lie. She was just too poor. That's why she was applying for a position as a bartender at a place named Marty's. Even graduating class validictorian and earning multiple scholarships across the globe, she still couldn't do it. All through school she had been a great student, perhaps not the kindest, but once her dad passed she was young and didn't know what else to do than bury her head further into her textbooks.
"Hm. Last question about this, why do you put yourself under the stress of three jobs?"
"Well, time is everything and before I can continue my education," she wasn't planning on going through with college. "I need money and the quickest way to get there is when my stress is blasting through the roof. I don't need to waste time on a social life right now. I always pack lightly." She presented her speech with a genuine smile, proud that she had come up with that on the spot. "I mean, I'm not like super wierd though that people would buy a drink less to avoid me."
"No wonder you're smart. I think you got a pretty good chance with us," he sighed. "Just curious, what are your other jobs and times, just planning your schedule." He winked at her.
"Mondays to Wednesdays from nine in the morning until two I'm a waitress at the little diner down the street called Coffee and Junk. Then Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thrudays from four to eight I play piano in some guy's restaurant."
"Well that lines up perfectly for you to be her on Fridays and Saturdays, right?"
"Yeah, and thank you so much for even just putting some time for this interview," she took a second to look around the bar. "This is a really nice place." And she did mean it.
Getting back to her apartment, it was freezing. She had asked the lobby guy about getting some oil to shut the window that was about a foot and a half open, but no one had come. She guessed it kind of helped to get rid of some of the cigarrette smell.
When she walked in there was a note that had obviously been slipped under the door. "Do you like lasagna? Please answer and slip back under room 212, unless you want to knock. Thanks!" was written in probably the neatest handwritting Beca had ever seen. It almost looked like it had been printed out of a printer, but the girl studied it in her hand and could see slight differences between the letters. Damn, she thought. Looks like someone either really smart or really dumb... but they spelled "lasagna" correctly... so probably smart. She was alway great at finding patterns and being logical, maybe that was why she was a math wiz and not a history buff.
She wrote back in the scrawny handwritting she had always had, "yeP, laSAGNa's cooL. NOt coLd LasAGnA, bUT ya knoW. UM, whY thOUgh?" Beca Mitchell hated writing classes. Even more, ones where they had to write by hand. At a young age she never understood why capitalization was important so she would let her hand do whatever seems more convenient. Her teachers hated it, but she didn't give.
She went down the steps of the third floor down the the second to drop off the note. As she approached the door she could hear two women talking. "Bree, you eat all the ice cream? I really want me some moose tracks right now." Something about the voice seemed like she knew it from somewhere.
"Nope. And why would we have ice cream right now, it's like, below five. We live in Boston now, not Atlanta anymore, remember?"
Feeling kind of wierd for listening to the roomates' conversation about ice cream and weather, Beca slipped the neon yellow post-it that she had recieved under the door of room 212. As she started her way back down the hall she heard the door open after the first voice said, "Hey, they must've written back!" Beca for even her unknown reason jumped around the corner before the door was unlocked. "Hm. They probably left it while ago. But I swear I saw it move. Didn't you, Bree?"
Beca made her way back up the stairs and just sat out side her door. It was too cold to go in, but she desperately needed a shower. She was just gathering her courage to step under that freezing, icy water. She wouldn't pay a cent for hot water if she could. In the mind, hot water was meant for tea and coffee. Nothing else.
After realizing how stupid she was being for getting all comfortable, preparing to be very uncomfortable, it would just make her cold if she got used to the normal temperature of the hallway. She picked herself up, walked into the bathroom, took off her clothes, and stepped into the hell she was about to survive. She turned the faucet carefully, "Fucking shit!" she yelled as quietly as possible, although she kne it probably wasn't very quiet. It was a quick, cold shower. Once she had a stable amount of money, that would definitely be at the top of the list.
Beca changed into some new but cheap light jeans and a plain white t-shirt that she'd found at a small thrift store near the bar. Finally feeling like her life was somewhat normal, she'd bought a few other clothes, all the most basic she could find. She hated people who were overly extra. A lot. Kind of hypocritical that she swore at least once in every conversation she thought.
It was about eight in the night when a light knock came from her door. "Anyone home?" It was the second girl from the 212 apartment, Beca recognized. "I got something for you."
"Just a second." The brunette set down her guitar which she had been working with and hurried over to the door wondering what the other girl was going to be giving her. She opened the door to a intimidatingly tall blonde with a lasagna pan in her hand. The shirter woman's stomach growled noticably loud.
"Well I'm glad someone's hungry," she said with a warm smile. "I'm Aubrey."
"Oh, I'm Beca and you got some hella nice penmanship skills," she chuckled a little nervous about trying to make friends. "You wanna come in... or something, I dunno..." She stepped back to let Aubrey in.
"Well, actually that was- woo, it's chilly in here," she looked at Beca, giving a hard stare. "Who doesn't have heat?"
Beca moved back, a little afraid. "I think you mean 'whom," Her words barely audible. The blonde narrowed her eyes.
Suddenly changing demeanor she smiled. "I like smart people, I think we'll be great friends! But seriously, it's cold. You should come downstairs sometimes. Chloe and I always have out heat on in the winter."
"And Chloe is..." Beca questioned.
"Oh she's my roomate, my best friend for life," she laughed setting down the lasagna on Beca's kitchen counter. "She's the one who wrote the note. And this lasagna is for you! Chloe also made this."
"Yeah, it smells really good. Are you sure you wanna give this to me though?"
"Oh yeah. We always give new residents here food. It's like our thing."
"That's really nice of you guys," she stopped before taking off the tinfoil that was on top. "Do you mind if I, ya know..."
"Yeah, yeah, it's alright." Aubrey watched Beca take off the tinfoil and start to make a plate.
"You want a piece?" Beca really didn't want to give her any but she knew it would be wierd for her to eat while the other girl just sat on the floor with her in her kitchen because she had no table or chairs.
"Um, if you don't mind that'd be wonderful." Beca tore the tinfoil in perfectly two and molded perfect plates. "What about untensils though?"
Beca's jaw clenched and her eyes darted back and forth between Aubrey's. "I haven't finished unpacking. Sorry, I forgot." Her voice became very serious.
"It's alright. We could take this to my place and used real plates and forks if you want," they laughed and left together side by side.
When they got in it was polar opposite of Beca's apartment. It was about twice as big and was full of necessities and random little knick knacks. A section of a wall was filled with polaroids, another with paintings. What caught Beca's eye was the upright piano near a window. "Woah."
"Yeah it's a little messy, but that's alright." Aubrey lead Beca to the kitchen that was filled with mugs and pots and pans. They set down the food and started to eat. The taller girl only taking a small piece while the smaller girl took About a fourth of the entire pan. "Jeez, you gonna eat all that?"
Fork in mouth the brunette could only manage an "mhmm" and a nod. Aubrey just giggled. She got an idea, taking her finger, putting it in some sauce she told Beca she think she look really hot with make up on and skillfully place the sauce on the tip of the smaller girl's nose. Beca practically spit out her food on the word "hot" but she knew it wasn't normal to react that way so she laughed it off. It scared her to think that a woman- no even just a person told her she would look hot. She did not like it at all. "Thanks," she said sarcastically while wiping her nose and licking it off her finger. "I try my hardest."
They two laughed for a while, exchanging jokes, having a good time when a fumble and "Shit." came from the other side of the door. "Ooh, that's Chloe. You gonna love her!" Aubrey whisper-exclaimed.
The door opened and in came a woman with red hair and eccentric blue eyes. "Hey! I'm Chloe. Who's this, Aub?"
Beca's world stopped for half a second. All her focus was on her new friend's roomate. She'd never paid this much attention to even her second semester of senior year in highschool. "This is Beca. She just moved in upstairs a day or something ago," the blonde cut into the brunette's thoughts. The redhead stared back.
This was the same girl who Beca had wanted to prove that she was worth giving to. "Yeah, nice to meet you. I oughta get back to my place before..." she stopped at the doorway. "Thanks for the lasagna."
Before Chloe or Aubrey could respond she was upstairs in her one bedroom apartment, sleeping her coldness away.
Hehe, yeah? This, again, is Bechloe, not Mitchsen. Beca's a little intimidated by Aubrey, but I don't think I'll turn her into a psycho. Thanks to y'all for reading, following, favoriting, and giving feedback! It all helps me keep going, haha.