It was a warm, but cloudy day in the city of Arendelle; somewhat unusual for early February, but who could predict the weather anymore? It was only going to be warmer and warmer, and Elsa took precautions, not wanting to have a repeat of what she had to endure four years prior.
Elsa, now a poised 25, couldn't stand the heat very well. She remembered being able to sprawl in front of a TV while everyone in the house was raving about it being 40C just outside, but those days came and went more than eight years ago. Now, excessive heat would only serve to fuel her anger further, clouding her mind and making her unable to do anything but lay on a bed and pant, hoping that the night would come soon and take the edge off. She distinctly remembered lying alone in her bed, positioned under a window in the corner of the room, draped with just a light cloth, her back pressing against the delightfully cold white wall. Her mind swirled in unknown directions as her head sank further into the blazing hot pillow; she remembered flipping it over and suddenly hearing a whooshing silence, a sign that her neighbor once again turned the mini split AC off.
That was almost four years ago, soon after Elsa moved in to her first apartment, alone. The neighborhood was… in a state of decay, but by now she knew most nooks and crannies well enough. And there were no significant dangers in being outside at night; a park renovated about ten years ago that took a five-minute walk to get to would always have someone, and was well lit. The occasional drug dealer, always working in a secluded area behind a circle of big bushes, notwithstanding. She liked the peace and quiet that only nighttime strolls could provide.
The first time she visited this country, her parents were very apprehensive. Granted, American education isn't the best, but they at least had Wikipedia or YouTube to see that Balkans stopped being a warzone more than twenty years ago, that she wouldn't get eaten alive or raped. She returned unscathed from her first trip, admittedly fascinated with the food and being able to walk and move without needing to have a car. A much more relaxed taxation system also seemed interesting, as her Software Engineering degree allowed her to be as flexible as she wanted, given the right employer.
Her first bout of interest started after experiencing Half Life 2 and other Source engine games on her old laptop, something that few people in her life would understand even if she tried to explain. For that reason, she usually answered with "I wanted to see the world, I guess." Most people didn't pry after that.
She found the nation to be in an interesting state; from what she read, it couldn't have continued to exist – and yet, everyone was going on their way, shops were bustling, markets were open, children could be seen playing. Although not big and in every way worse than Broadway, there even seemed to be a musical theatre in town, providing a sliver of cultural events. She loved Broadway.
Everyone seemed to trudge on from the past, much like Elsa. In fact, no one seemed to be bothered by it anymore; those that lived through it, didn't want to think, and those who were born after, never even experienced them, and had other things in mind. The country remained poor because of corruption, but with a hefty international pay, Elsa had no problem sustaining herself in such a low-cost environment.
Since that one hot summer left Elsa unable to think, she vowed to get AC in her apartment, one way or the other. Trying to convince the landlord for her first flat was a futile attempt. Back then, it was the only one she could find at short notice, and with just a freelance job and a bit of remaining money on the side she didn't have much to reason with. The landlord rejected her idea of raising the rent every month to pay for a simple on-off mini split, so she pursed her lips and cooled water bottles and towels in her fridge, barely hitting the deadlines while swaying in a dark room in front of her old laptop.
Now, all that seemed like a distant past. The window of her work room looked upon that same park, but at a much better angle. The job she miraculously accepted a year after moving allowed her to become upper-middle class here. Her current apartment had three rooms, a spacious kitchen and a toilet with a motion activated granite sink. Aside from her work room, the second one was her bedroom, furnished with a custom-made bed and a mattress that cost more than the average salary. Beside the bed (which was big enough for two people) were a few drawers and a stylish lamp, representing a mix of snowflakes and icicles, glowing either a warm or cold white. She had to import it. Beside it, lay a tablet, charging. In the corner on the opposite side were cupboards, painted an unassuming beige.
On the wall across the bed hung a spacious OLED TV, a gallery model whose price made even Elsa reconsider at first, but after seeing it in person, she had to have it. To someone else, a TV would be a TV, but she knew that such a picture would just not be there on lesser models. There was no one to tell her not to, now, and it was her money, made in literal sweat.
Recounting her possessions, she knew that she should be feeling proud for having made it on her own. Very few people go through with what they say during a nuclear-level fight with their family, and still succeed.
A deep, growling sound in the distance pulled her from her thoughts. She immediately recognized the low, guttural sound of the heat pump's compressor starting up on the terrace of the third, unused guest room. She was feeling a little chilly, but that's just how she liked it in July. All rooms except the bathroom were fitted with a wall-mounted fan coil, connected to the heat pump; she could set the temperature of each room as she saw fit, both for heating and cooling. The heat pump was one of her most prized possessions, along with her PC and gadgets. An inverter heat pump, at that.
Content with the thought of having a technological wonder working for her comfort, she plopped into her Aeron and continued working after a brief pause. Soon, code, documentation and messaging apps were again distributed on three monitors, a soft melody playing from the stylish speakers to her left and right. They had enough bass for her comfort. Sadly, she couldn't get away with a subwoofer – the building was older and not that well acoustically isolated.
A figure on the screen waved. "Bye," came from the speakers. Other faces soon reacted with their own greetings as well.
A cheery "Bye!" came from Elsa, spoken into a mic on an arm, mounted to the edge of her table. It was another custom piece, made from steamed walnut wood, very dark and appealing in color, lacquered in water-based polyurethane on Elsa's explicit request. She didn't want the oil based one to be used, as she read it would off-gas in the years to come, as well as yellow over time.
She stopped fiddling with her braid and ended the call, pushing the mic arm away.
"Thank fucking God…" she said to no one in particular. "Break prod once again and I'll fucking wring your neck!" she growled.
She looked at the digit clock under her main monitor. The small figurine next to it seemed to be unperturbed by her troubles. 17:54. They all overstayed almost an hour because certain someone decided to force push his code straight to production. Elsa opened her email client and started drafting a stern email to her superior, demanding that the permission loophole be finally closed, following yet another incident. She CC-ed the perpetrator for good measure. In the middle of it, her phone, which lay on the table, sprang to life with a lively tune.
An unknown number, starting with +1. Elsa blinked.
Slowly, she weighed the possibility of it being a prank call, but it seemed like it was truly coming from the USA. The little contact she kept with her family was through Skype, of all things, because she knew that they would have to log in only for her. And their last log in status would reflect that.
Her mind raced. Did she even put her phone number on there? She didn't remember. Then how does-
She found the answer in the form of a dusty memory, almost forgotten. Looks like they finally decided to use the number she gave them when she left. Little did they know that it was just a proxy number she could configure at any time to pass the call on to her real number, which she never shared with… them. Still, she paid the subscription every month automatically.
She sighed through her nose. It seems that they finally decided to call it, didn't they?
Tough luck. Her birthday wasn't until December. She silenced the call and let it taper off, returning her focus to the letter. The phone screen soon popped up again, showing one missed call. Elsa sent the email and looked down again, then scoffed.
The automated blinds jerked and started moving down. An LED strip behind the table lit up with a warm hue. She cursed the long meeting again. It was already six o'clock, and she had to quickly eat before taking a pill from the bedside drawer.