Erika Stieglitz Pregame Start
A look of quiet determination quickly turned to horror as her errant tap of the "hand" tool led Photoshop to inexplicably freeze. In a few moments, the screen of Erika's tablet faded to an animated "loading" loop primed to spin forever. The last time she saved her work, her "Large" green tea had been full; it was now completely empty, save a few ice cold drops clinging to the bag at the bottom. Exasperated, she barely restrained the urge to whirl her stylus across the room. Instead, she thrust it and the tablet back into her knapsack as angrily as one could afford to be with something so fragile.
Today was normally supposed to be a pretty relaxed day. Fridays she benefited from a spare period at the end of the day, and so she got to leave before most people. Normally this meant a detour to the café or the thrift store off 34th street, before the inevitable trundle home to vegetate for a couple hours. Friday nights were prime time to catch most of her Discord group: Alec's husband worked late and he was always the first online, needing the company. Sara was a retail manager up in Canada and Fridays were pretty much her only day to herself, so she was likely around well before Erika even got home. Alex and Keith were roommates out in New York, and they hit the server every day at six, almost like clockwork.
There were things to look forward too. The weather wasn't absolute and total garbage, if not slightly cool. The school day had gone by without incident; of particular absence was Ms. Clarke-Moone's obligatory, near-daily search of Erika's backpack. That one was spurred on by an errant whiff of cannabis she caught off Erika earlier in the year. She seemed to think Erika was on the "straight and narrow" now, instead of the truth that she'd switched from a pipe to a vaporizer. The day had been powered by a solid night of sleep and a decent breakfast. A snap bio midterm came back with 86% and a "Nice!" note in red ink from Ms. Yan.
There was every reason that she should just brush off the error that just dropped a bridge on a solid hour of retouching her last shoot. It was a frigid day, and the early morning frost had left a lot of opportunities for interesting shots in the low-light. They needed some work, but they were portfolio pieces for sure. There was plenty of time to work on it. It was one little bump in an otherwise decent day. No, she couldn't brush it off. They were so close to being finished. Someone in a better state of mind would point out she'd already done the work already, so it'd be easier the second time around. It would probably be even better than on the first try!
Erika knew most reasonable people would see it that way, and knew it to be right. It didn't matter. The whole day, in spite of itself, was a struggle to keep a demon at bay and this little fuckup set it loose. It crawled up her spine and sunk its claws into her shoulders, pushing her deeper into an all-too familiar place. Anxiety was a prism, through which everything else became horribly and uncomfortably distorted.
Good days became shit ones, for no good reason; at least, unless someone seriously considers "my miraculous piece of technology won't make art right" a good reason. The fact that she even was upset about it made her feel sick. That device was almost certainly made in near slave-labour conditions, and she had the gall to complain about it?
Maintain your vessel, Erika.
Right. She reached out and took a bite of the now-cold, untouched prosciutto sandwich in front of her. It was still delicious. More importantly it was food, which she often had to remind herself to eat. If for no other reason than she was rarely hungry, and often preoccupied with something else to do. Some days, like today, she felt too nauseated to force herself to eat. It was easier to take naps and complain about things she had absolutely no right to complain about.
You know that this meat probably came from some factory farm, right? You also paid an extra dollar because it has a fancy-sounding name and you like how it tastes. You're perfectly aware of the stupidly high carbon footprint pork has, aren't you? You're okay being part of the problem as long as your little moment-long impulses are fed? What is wrong with you? Hypocrite.
Fuck. The sandwich stared into her face, and she stared back. It suddenly seemed less like food and more like an uncomfortable assortment of colours and shapes. Erika placed it back on the plate and began to pick at whatever meat was left between her teeth with her tongue. Her eyes wandered to the front of the café, a small display case lined with pastries and already-wrapped sandwiches. Apparently they were Fresh! Every day when she left, a few of them still remained.
How much food does a place like this even waste? Don't they know about the absolute knife edge we straddle between plenty and a crippling food shortage? How can they justify wasting so much? How can I even justify being here?
Erika nervously played with a dread, one she'd adorned with a small Celtic charm. Much like the array of knit bracelets she wore on her wrists, it was something to fidget with. Her therapist suggested something tactile to occupy herself with when the physiological symptoms of anxiety persisted, as a way to wean off nervous energy. It "worked."
I know what'd work even better than that. It'd work almost too well, I know it. But there's a risk I'm too much of a fucking coward to take. Like a 85% chance of getting the shit kicked out of me, 10% chance someone runs away screaming, maybe 5% it works out. 100% chance of getting outed. Poor odds. No thanks; I'll just fill the empty void in my heart with consumerism.
Fidgeting worked. She had all kinds of coping mechanisms. They weren't perfect, but they made things better. Not fixed, but better - and There's Nothing Wrong With Better.
Thanks, Doc. I know you ripped that off of someone else, but it's a good line.
She blinked, realizing she'd been staring down someone at another table for a solid minute and a half. Unintentionally they were just behind the eco-crisis sandwiches and their face was the natural place for her eyes to wander.
Shit. We're all going to kill each other over water, like soon. And I accidentally stared at someone and they probably thought it was intentional.
If nothing else it snapped her out of her fidgeting and she quite spitefully returned to the sandwich. It was gone in less than a minute. Life didn't get to fly off the rails because Erika had feelings.
Oh good, energy. Enough to prepare myself for a life I'm never going to hope to lead.
From her bag, she procured a small collection of sci-fi short stories Sara had recommended to her. Apparently the author had an insanely expansive universe she just *had* to dig into.
This generation is fucked, economically. Socially we're a mess. Genderspecials on one end and literal fucking Nazis on the other. It's a wonder we haven't already plunged into the abyss.
A little girl walked past the window, pointing at Erika. She seemed to be telling her mother something about Erika's hair. The mom apparently thought it was "nifty" and waved at her, along with her young daughter.
Our kids are going to be even worse off. That's just in the first world. I'll be too old to do anything when it gets really bad. That little girl is going to watch her planet die.
The music in the café switched up to an an upbeat tune with a slightly melancholic undertone. It was exactly what Erika needed right now. She paused to take it in, looking out the window and absentmindedly tapping her middle finger along to the beat. Her rings made a satisfying noise on the wooden table. The little girl skipped off, stopping to stomp in every puddle on the sidewalk along the way.
What am I saying, our kids? You're not having any. You can't.
Erika's hand clenched into a fist. Not this shit again. Eco-anxiety was one thing. That was a side effect of being too well informed, her interests giving her a lot of ammo to freak out about. Social anxiety came from the bullying. This other bullshit should have been put away. Should have been dealt with. Normally it was. The walls were good and strong. She built them all by herself.
You're a lie, Erika. No one knows you, really. The real you is an ugly truth no one wants to know. One no one can forget once they hear it.
I will always be alone.
A text brought her phone to life and Erika blinked the beginning of tears out of her eyes. It was her mother.
hey sweetie
are we still going to the meet this weekend?? I need my daughter there to cheer me on!!! Ily, mom
The endearing old-people-texting brought a smile to Erika's face. She signed off on her messages with "ily' because Erika used it once and Irene wants to be "with it." Truth be told, Erika was actually looking forward to the meet. She was no slouch, but couldn't hope to keep up with her mother's unbridled lady-rage. A R.O. once quipped that she was "Operator as Fuck!" and Erika had to go search online gun forums to find out what that was even supposed to mean. Long story short, it's a hell of a compliment from the kind of bearded dudebro who wore sunglasses and a baseball cap regardless of weather conditions.
The chorus of the song on the radio was catchy, and Erika found herself quietly mouthing it.
"Wish I knew you when I was young/we could've got so high
" Her hand started tapping on the table once more. A few deep breaths later, and she was away from the edge of the pit, for now.
Absolutes! I'm so in, I think I need to shoot some stuff. omw home in a little bit. <3
Erika felt too stir-crazy to read, and left the sci-fi volume closed in front of her. Instead, she produced a small bag of beads and hemp strings from her pocket and began to weave a new bracelet.
Fuck off, I'm not alone. I'm not alone. Not now, not ever. My head is often wrong, and everything's fine by the numbers. I ate, I got a good test score. I'm going to game with my friends tonight, It's gonna be a great time. This weekend is going to be fun. Yeah the world is full of shit people, but it's also full of all of the good ones. We're not starving yet. We've got a fighting chance. I have a chance. Go to sleep, stupid thoughts.
It was going to be dark green and black, and the fourth on her left wrist. They were all trophies, taken from the demons she put down. It was becoming quite a collection.
There's Nothing Wrong With "Better"
((Mikki Swift continued from Preset Heaven))
Mikki was planning the party of 2018.
She didn't know when it would be. She had no idea where it would be. She didn't even really have any idea who she'd invite, what kind of crowd she'd cultivate, or even the kind of music she or Forrest or Charelle would be playing. It just came to them one night while they were hanging out - host a kick-ass party, invite cool people. The specifics were for later-Mikki, when she would start to worry and ramble about her success and how everything she was doing jeopardized it and she needed to do more and she needed to remix more and what was she going to save to tweet to Calvin Harris if not all that? Wait, was it Calvin? She could have sworn it was Avicii a while ago, but whatever - she could have sworn Avicii had more followers anyway, not like she listened to either of them outside of other people's lamer parties.
Not like her par-wait, their party.
Even though she had homework, and empty periods at the end of the day were meant to help them capitalize on that sort of thing, Mikki was instead heading Northside, as it was a celebratory day. Mom had just sold a shitload of art to a pretty swish gallery around this part of town, getting a huge commission out of it, and Dad was probably going to be sulking around the house until Monday unless he decided to go out Ubering, so Mikki was determined to go out and spend her Mom's money and spend as much time out of the house as possible - it was a thing they had, a little mother-daughter bonding where they didn't need to be in the same room. So now, she was going to relax - get some time away from school, away from home, and really plan out this party. She needed WiFi, she needed cafe drinks, and she knew just the place for that.
Headphones were a lifesaver on the bus. She hadn't invested in wireless yet, but either way it meant crazy people never talked to her. Well, people on Chattanooga's buses probably weren't crazy, but if everything went right she'd be in a much better city soon so she might as well start preparing for the inevitability of Los Angeles's public transport, and that meant calling everyone on the bus crazy whether they were actually crazy or not. That was sane, right? No? Shit, maybe she was the crazy one.
The cumbersome load that was her school life sat on her lap, bulging at the seams - Mikki had pretty much shoved everything from her locker she could manage and would need until into her tiny shoulder bag. If she was going to end up at Forrest's or Andy's or whoever's tonight there was no excuse for not being able to do her homework, and she'd learned from the moment she got busy with her new obvious future career that teachers were the most unforgiving and unrelenting people on the planet, and she needed to stay on their good side. It'd been a constant in her life, and she'd kept ahead of it.
Her tablet was in there somewhere as well, but the less anyone knew about that, the better. Blue House wouldn't care, they didn't judge.
Eventually, the stop appeared, and Mikki ambled to the front and wandered into the cool afternoon air of Northside.
If one had put their ear to Mikki's headphones as she walked down the street, she would have been extremely disturbed and frightened and probably called the police - that person, though, would have heard the upbeat melody coursing through her veins and also her headphones, regulating her steps. It wasn't a conscious thing, but she tended to walk to the beat of her music, which was also why it was a chore to trust Mikki to arrive anywhere on time if a car wasn't directly involved. Right now, she was catching up - for some reason, her Soundcloud hadn't notified her about Speaker of the House's Deep House mix that was only released last month yet had well over a thousand 'likes' which she'd translated in her head to being worth about 0.15 Instagram likes yet 0.64 Twitter favourites, but still worth three times as many Facebook likes, and all that still meant it was worth listening to, and better yet it was completely getting her in the mood to plan a fucking awesome party.
As she turned the corner and sighted Blue House, right on cue a mistake caught up to her. She felt a tiny vibration run through her shoulder, and that was followed by a louder, audible vibration known as a tear, and Mikki instinctively grabbed ahold of her bag with both arms as the tear widened and coins of indeterminate amounts began to spill from the bottom of the bag, which was some sort of King Midas miracle in itself because she had no idea they were even in there. Thoughts musing on her money conjuring skills were replaced by much more urgent thoughts as she half-jogged, half-sprinted towards Blue House, carrying her bag like she'd lifted it (as though anyone would bother selling the piece of shit in the first place I mean come on) and mentally planning a next move.
She saw her next move - an unoccupied seat, the closest one it seemed, right at the window on the inside of the world's greatest cafe slash diner. She hastened her pace as the tear widened slightly and the tiny flow of coins became menacingly scarce. She really, really didn't want it to be followed by books and papers so her half jog morphed into a full sprint as she tore through the door, re-sighted her miracle chair and touched her bag into the seat as gently as Wyatt Carter launched touchdowns, or whatever footballers did. Either way, no embarassing scattering of books for Mikki.
Of course, she'd been so single-minded on getting her bag in that chair she'd failed to notice until a few relieved, breathy seconds afterwards that the table looming over the chair had a tablet sitting on it, alongside a plated sandwich, an empty Green Tea, and a girl she recognized immediately as one of her classmates.
"Oh!"
Mikki was slightly taken aback she'd missed the entire person occupying the table, but she must have done something nice lately because karma rewarded her with an Erika Stieglitz.
"Shit, hey Erika, long time no see - how've you been?"
Mikki was planning the party of 2018.
She didn't know when it would be. She had no idea where it would be. She didn't even really have any idea who she'd invite, what kind of crowd she'd cultivate, or even the kind of music she or Forrest or Charelle would be playing. It just came to them one night while they were hanging out - host a kick-ass party, invite cool people. The specifics were for later-Mikki, when she would start to worry and ramble about her success and how everything she was doing jeopardized it and she needed to do more and she needed to remix more and what was she going to save to tweet to Calvin Harris if not all that? Wait, was it Calvin? She could have sworn it was Avicii a while ago, but whatever - she could have sworn Avicii had more followers anyway, not like she listened to either of them outside of other people's lamer parties.
Not like her par-wait, their party.
Even though she had homework, and empty periods at the end of the day were meant to help them capitalize on that sort of thing, Mikki was instead heading Northside, as it was a celebratory day. Mom had just sold a shitload of art to a pretty swish gallery around this part of town, getting a huge commission out of it, and Dad was probably going to be sulking around the house until Monday unless he decided to go out Ubering, so Mikki was determined to go out and spend her Mom's money and spend as much time out of the house as possible - it was a thing they had, a little mother-daughter bonding where they didn't need to be in the same room. So now, she was going to relax - get some time away from school, away from home, and really plan out this party. She needed WiFi, she needed cafe drinks, and she knew just the place for that.
Headphones were a lifesaver on the bus. She hadn't invested in wireless yet, but either way it meant crazy people never talked to her. Well, people on Chattanooga's buses probably weren't crazy, but if everything went right she'd be in a much better city soon so she might as well start preparing for the inevitability of Los Angeles's public transport, and that meant calling everyone on the bus crazy whether they were actually crazy or not. That was sane, right? No? Shit, maybe she was the crazy one.
The cumbersome load that was her school life sat on her lap, bulging at the seams - Mikki had pretty much shoved everything from her locker she could manage and would need until into her tiny shoulder bag. If she was going to end up at Forrest's or Andy's or whoever's tonight there was no excuse for not being able to do her homework, and she'd learned from the moment she got busy with her new obvious future career that teachers were the most unforgiving and unrelenting people on the planet, and she needed to stay on their good side. It'd been a constant in her life, and she'd kept ahead of it.
Her tablet was in there somewhere as well, but the less anyone knew about that, the better. Blue House wouldn't care, they didn't judge.
Eventually, the stop appeared, and Mikki ambled to the front and wandered into the cool afternoon air of Northside.
If one had put their ear to Mikki's headphones as she walked down the street, she would have been extremely disturbed and frightened and probably called the police - that person, though, would have heard the upbeat melody coursing through her veins and also her headphones, regulating her steps. It wasn't a conscious thing, but she tended to walk to the beat of her music, which was also why it was a chore to trust Mikki to arrive anywhere on time if a car wasn't directly involved. Right now, she was catching up - for some reason, her Soundcloud hadn't notified her about Speaker of the House's Deep House mix that was only released last month yet had well over a thousand 'likes' which she'd translated in her head to being worth about 0.15 Instagram likes yet 0.64 Twitter favourites, but still worth three times as many Facebook likes, and all that still meant it was worth listening to, and better yet it was completely getting her in the mood to plan a fucking awesome party.
As she turned the corner and sighted Blue House, right on cue a mistake caught up to her. She felt a tiny vibration run through her shoulder, and that was followed by a louder, audible vibration known as a tear, and Mikki instinctively grabbed ahold of her bag with both arms as the tear widened and coins of indeterminate amounts began to spill from the bottom of the bag, which was some sort of King Midas miracle in itself because she had no idea they were even in there. Thoughts musing on her money conjuring skills were replaced by much more urgent thoughts as she half-jogged, half-sprinted towards Blue House, carrying her bag like she'd lifted it (as though anyone would bother selling the piece of shit in the first place I mean come on) and mentally planning a next move.
She saw her next move - an unoccupied seat, the closest one it seemed, right at the window on the inside of the world's greatest cafe slash diner. She hastened her pace as the tear widened slightly and the tiny flow of coins became menacingly scarce. She really, really didn't want it to be followed by books and papers so her half jog morphed into a full sprint as she tore through the door, re-sighted her miracle chair and touched her bag into the seat as gently as Wyatt Carter launched touchdowns, or whatever footballers did. Either way, no embarassing scattering of books for Mikki.
Of course, she'd been so single-minded on getting her bag in that chair she'd failed to notice until a few relieved, breathy seconds afterwards that the table looming over the chair had a tablet sitting on it, alongside a plated sandwich, an empty Green Tea, and a girl she recognized immediately as one of her classmates.
"Oh!"
Mikki was slightly taken aback she'd missed the entire person occupying the table, but she must have done something nice lately because karma rewarded her with an Erika Stieglitz.
"Shit, hey Erika, long time no see - how've you been?"
((apologies for the lateness, I've been out of the house a few days))
Erika had only just tied the band to her wrist when Mikki Swift exploded onto the scene. She appeared to be barely containing the contents of her shoulder bag, which was now more of a heap. A solitary nickel rolled onto the table and bumped into Erika's hand, a funny bit of punctuation to Mikka's arrival. Erika was nothing short of delighted to see her; they'd been hanging out a bit in the past year and while a good portion of that time was spent kind of high, it felt nice to have a consistent friend for once.
A pang of guilt hit Erika as she realized that they hadn't spoken since before Christmas. There had been enough of a gap between hangouts that Erika had let her anxiety get the better of her, and refrained from reaching out. It felt selfish to have to wait for people to reach out to her, and it was a habit she was trying to break. Trying being the operative word. Still, she allowed herself to be happy that Mikki was here, and tried to show it.
People like genuine emotions, don't hold that stuff back.
"Mikki! It's good to see you, friend. I'm doin' okay, just like... tying myself into a good headspace I guess?" She held up the fresh bracelets. "My fridays end early, so I'm just wafflin' around."
Her eyes drifted to the tear in Mikki's bag, and she flashed a bright smile.
"I could help you with the bag but all I have is technicolor hemp and like, I dunno how much you wanna look like a crazy person." Her joking tone underlined a genuine offer; she could sew it shut but it would probably end up a bit too rainbow-y for most people. Erika secretly hoped she'd take her up on it, or at least contrive another reason to stick around. It was easy to forget how worth it being around people could be.
Erika had only just tied the band to her wrist when Mikki Swift exploded onto the scene. She appeared to be barely containing the contents of her shoulder bag, which was now more of a heap. A solitary nickel rolled onto the table and bumped into Erika's hand, a funny bit of punctuation to Mikka's arrival. Erika was nothing short of delighted to see her; they'd been hanging out a bit in the past year and while a good portion of that time was spent kind of high, it felt nice to have a consistent friend for once.
A pang of guilt hit Erika as she realized that they hadn't spoken since before Christmas. There had been enough of a gap between hangouts that Erika had let her anxiety get the better of her, and refrained from reaching out. It felt selfish to have to wait for people to reach out to her, and it was a habit she was trying to break. Trying being the operative word. Still, she allowed herself to be happy that Mikki was here, and tried to show it.
People like genuine emotions, don't hold that stuff back.
"Mikki! It's good to see you, friend. I'm doin' okay, just like... tying myself into a good headspace I guess?" She held up the fresh bracelets. "My fridays end early, so I'm just wafflin' around."
Her eyes drifted to the tear in Mikki's bag, and she flashed a bright smile.
"I could help you with the bag but all I have is technicolor hemp and like, I dunno how much you wanna look like a crazy person." Her joking tone underlined a genuine offer; she could sew it shut but it would probably end up a bit too rainbow-y for most people. Erika secretly hoped she'd take her up on it, or at least contrive another reason to stick around. It was easy to forget how worth it being around people could be.
Mikki brushed her hair from her face as Erika smiled at her presence, smiling just as well. Sure, she was used to people doing that, smiling at her presence, but this was a situation where it wasn't exactly guaranteed. It was Erika's table, after all, and social norms dictated Mikki was the guest - guests are usually invited, or ask before taking up residence, and Mikki did none of the above.
But Erika seemed troubled, and her follow-up to Mikki's self-introduction only confirmed it. She was someone who needed time to get herself together, and Mikki was fine with that. All the friends she hung out with weren't perfect people, even if Mikki herself was relatively stable all things considered, so while she couldn't relate, she could certainly empathize. They'd always be there for Erika regardless, so who cares if she needed her own time for a bit? It's not like they were going anywhere - once you're in Chattanooga, you're stuck for life, or at least that's what happened to a lot of people (she'd be the exception by the time she graduated, obviously).
Either way, Erika was now offering to sew Mikki's bag back up, which, while obviously such a great gesture and stuff, was such an exact opposite to how she saw her afternoon ending right as the bag began to split that it gave her a bit of dissociation. Hell, the very act of fixing her stuff wasn't even something she really considered, because her family was pretty firmly entrenched in the 21st century with regards to how they treated their stuff - namely, if something broke, they threw that ish out.
"What? Oh, no, no it's fine you don't have to, I mean if you want to, that's great to, that'd actually be super great honestly but like you don't have to if you don't want to, for real, 'cause like honestly it's a pretty shit bag anyway so not sure..." Mikki paused for a moment, trailing off into a sentence that would never finish.
"Anyways, how about I grab you another drink? I'm gonna go get something anyways, what do you want, another-"
Mikki looked back at her empty drink, confirming her first glance upon entering that she was, in fact once drinking a Green Tea.
"-another Green Tea? I'll grab you a Green Tea, just-"
She leaned over, grabbing into the tube sock that was once her shoulder bag and fiddling around for her Mom's credit card.
"-just keep an eye on it, yeah? Just make sure it doesn't fall off the chair or anything. Or if you wanted to sew it back together or whatever, you can do that too, but you don't have to!"
Mikki was beginning to ramble, so with the card clasped by her fingers to the palm of her hand she threw up an awkward thumbs up to Erika as she scooted off towards the counter to order Erika's drink and her own.
Shit, why'd she have to do that? Was she just so not used to having people do things for her that she had to go and make it weird, make it so even though Erika offered she probably wouldn't want to after all the times Mikki insisted she didn't have to? She had so little control over this situation, so little say in how things were going, it was throwing Mikki off her game. Where'd her cool go? Her control?
That Mocha couldn't come fast enough.
But Erika seemed troubled, and her follow-up to Mikki's self-introduction only confirmed it. She was someone who needed time to get herself together, and Mikki was fine with that. All the friends she hung out with weren't perfect people, even if Mikki herself was relatively stable all things considered, so while she couldn't relate, she could certainly empathize. They'd always be there for Erika regardless, so who cares if she needed her own time for a bit? It's not like they were going anywhere - once you're in Chattanooga, you're stuck for life, or at least that's what happened to a lot of people (she'd be the exception by the time she graduated, obviously).
Either way, Erika was now offering to sew Mikki's bag back up, which, while obviously such a great gesture and stuff, was such an exact opposite to how she saw her afternoon ending right as the bag began to split that it gave her a bit of dissociation. Hell, the very act of fixing her stuff wasn't even something she really considered, because her family was pretty firmly entrenched in the 21st century with regards to how they treated their stuff - namely, if something broke, they threw that ish out.
"What? Oh, no, no it's fine you don't have to, I mean if you want to, that's great to, that'd actually be super great honestly but like you don't have to if you don't want to, for real, 'cause like honestly it's a pretty shit bag anyway so not sure..." Mikki paused for a moment, trailing off into a sentence that would never finish.
"Anyways, how about I grab you another drink? I'm gonna go get something anyways, what do you want, another-"
Mikki looked back at her empty drink, confirming her first glance upon entering that she was, in fact once drinking a Green Tea.
"-another Green Tea? I'll grab you a Green Tea, just-"
She leaned over, grabbing into the tube sock that was once her shoulder bag and fiddling around for her Mom's credit card.
"-just keep an eye on it, yeah? Just make sure it doesn't fall off the chair or anything. Or if you wanted to sew it back together or whatever, you can do that too, but you don't have to!"
Mikki was beginning to ramble, so with the card clasped by her fingers to the palm of her hand she threw up an awkward thumbs up to Erika as she scooted off towards the counter to order Erika's drink and her own.
Shit, why'd she have to do that? Was she just so not used to having people do things for her that she had to go and make it weird, make it so even though Erika offered she probably wouldn't want to after all the times Mikki insisted she didn't have to? She had so little control over this situation, so little say in how things were going, it was throwing Mikki off her game. Where'd her cool go? Her control?
That Mocha couldn't come fast enough.
Erika stifled a grin as Mikki haphazardly tried to refuse the offer of a quick fix for the bag. In many ways she relished opportunities to help other people out, as it made her feel useful. She'd spent much of her life trying to seem small or unremarkable, as a good chunk of the time being noticed by people was a bad thing.
"Aw heck, it's all good Mikki! I wouldn't offer if I didn't want to. Besides, it gives me an excuse to keep you here for a little bit."
She offered a pair of finger guns as Mikki took off still stammering. The girl didn't seem to take random acts of kindness too well. For what were likely other reasons, she looked like someone who'd been thrown for a bit of a loop. Erika pondered what might've been going on in her day before she showed up so suddenly. Did she even mean to arrive at Erika's table? It looked as if she had more or less leapt to the first available seat.
Not necessarily. I mean maybe, but not necessarily. Besides, she seems happy to see me. Right?
Perhaps she wasn't the only one wrestling down nervous energy. The encounter seemed fortuitous, if that was the case. Erika quickly set to work, pulling a needle and a few rolls of thread from her bag. Warm colours seemed appropriate - a few different shades of red and a pleasant yellow. It was a pretty significant tear, but not altogether hopeless. A little challenge, all the more worth it as a safe way to connect with someone without a whole lot of risk.
I like those kinds of challenges.
Besides, she always had so much damn hemp. Pops had started her on using it to sew, as he'd invested in a hemp textile company a few years back and got really enthusiastic about it. Not strictly because it was a good financial decision so much as he was an old Grüne who needed to stay in the game, so to speak. Regardless, she appreciated the opportunity to hone her sewing and crocheting skills. The green scarf draped around her neck was a creation of hers, as were the patches on her ancient old-man cardigan and one of her mismatched handwarmers. Erika was a firm believer that things should be fixed up and re-invented insofar as they can be; waste not want not, and so on.
If it worked for bags and clothes, it could work for people too. The thought that the broken and displaced could get better if they had the chance to patch themselves up was a comforting one. In many ways it was kind of a guiding moral in her life - to mend that was broken, whether it was clothes, a bag, other people, or the planet.
Now, let's not get ahead of ourselves. That one's not a job for an afternoon. Or a lifetime.
Mikki returned with the Mocha and the Green Tea she'd thoughtfully acquired Erika. She'd no doubt be bouncing off the walls by the time she got home, but that wasn't the worst thing in the world. Working off manic energy meant she might actually get a solid night's sleep, and failing that she had many little green friends that would be willing to lend a hand.
Fuck that, I am -definitely- getting high when I get home. No ifs ands or buts.
Settling into the pattern she was stitching in the bag, Erika glanced back up at Mikki, careful to not accidentally lance her hand with the needle. It wouldn't take too long to seal the tear. Mikki's presence and the task at hand was just the kind of thing Erika needed to channel her energy into. It was a welcome distraction from the mess that was her mind.
"Thanks for the tea, my dude. It's much appreciated. My body and soul pretty much runs on tea."
Tea, Weed, Hormones, Hormone Blockers, and long walks in the woods. Fuck, I'm high maintenance.
"How's life, aside from randomly exploding bags?"
"Aw heck, it's all good Mikki! I wouldn't offer if I didn't want to. Besides, it gives me an excuse to keep you here for a little bit."
She offered a pair of finger guns as Mikki took off still stammering. The girl didn't seem to take random acts of kindness too well. For what were likely other reasons, she looked like someone who'd been thrown for a bit of a loop. Erika pondered what might've been going on in her day before she showed up so suddenly. Did she even mean to arrive at Erika's table? It looked as if she had more or less leapt to the first available seat.
Not necessarily. I mean maybe, but not necessarily. Besides, she seems happy to see me. Right?
Perhaps she wasn't the only one wrestling down nervous energy. The encounter seemed fortuitous, if that was the case. Erika quickly set to work, pulling a needle and a few rolls of thread from her bag. Warm colours seemed appropriate - a few different shades of red and a pleasant yellow. It was a pretty significant tear, but not altogether hopeless. A little challenge, all the more worth it as a safe way to connect with someone without a whole lot of risk.
I like those kinds of challenges.
Besides, she always had so much damn hemp. Pops had started her on using it to sew, as he'd invested in a hemp textile company a few years back and got really enthusiastic about it. Not strictly because it was a good financial decision so much as he was an old Grüne who needed to stay in the game, so to speak. Regardless, she appreciated the opportunity to hone her sewing and crocheting skills. The green scarf draped around her neck was a creation of hers, as were the patches on her ancient old-man cardigan and one of her mismatched handwarmers. Erika was a firm believer that things should be fixed up and re-invented insofar as they can be; waste not want not, and so on.
If it worked for bags and clothes, it could work for people too. The thought that the broken and displaced could get better if they had the chance to patch themselves up was a comforting one. In many ways it was kind of a guiding moral in her life - to mend that was broken, whether it was clothes, a bag, other people, or the planet.
Now, let's not get ahead of ourselves. That one's not a job for an afternoon. Or a lifetime.
Mikki returned with the Mocha and the Green Tea she'd thoughtfully acquired Erika. She'd no doubt be bouncing off the walls by the time she got home, but that wasn't the worst thing in the world. Working off manic energy meant she might actually get a solid night's sleep, and failing that she had many little green friends that would be willing to lend a hand.
Fuck that, I am -definitely- getting high when I get home. No ifs ands or buts.
Settling into the pattern she was stitching in the bag, Erika glanced back up at Mikki, careful to not accidentally lance her hand with the needle. It wouldn't take too long to seal the tear. Mikki's presence and the task at hand was just the kind of thing Erika needed to channel her energy into. It was a welcome distraction from the mess that was her mind.
"Thanks for the tea, my dude. It's much appreciated. My body and soul pretty much runs on tea."
Tea, Weed, Hormones, Hormone Blockers, and long walks in the woods. Fuck, I'm high maintenance.
"How's life, aside from randomly exploding bags?"
Mikki every so often glanced back at Erika, who had begun stitching up her bag. It was nice to have generous and charitable people in her life, especially considering she was prone to taking whatever help she could get. Her glances back to the barista weren't as longing, as he seemed to be taking forever - it wasn't a difficult drink. If she had the time to get a real job, and that job happened to be working in a place like this, she could do it way quicker.
Eventually, the two drinks presented themselves, and Mikki forced a fake smile at the slow barista before wandering back to Erika's table.
She placed both drinks down on the table before scooping up a nearby chair and making herself at home. It might as well have been at home, really - the stuff once in her bag was now sitting on the chair she originally slammed it down on when she first entered the place, she had a drink at the ready, and she had a close friend fixing her stuff for her; all in all, it might as well have been any ordinary evening on the weekend.
"My life? Man, dunno where to begin. Mr. Faust is giving me a hard time with my homework even though I obviously know that shit, Mrs. Skinner thinks I'm slacking off gym class, spent lunch break trying to work on new remixes but instead just went to YouTube and watched news fails, haven't even spoken to Andy in a week because the homework's been piling up and we don't get any of that done when we're hanging out together, and I'm feeling all jumpy for some reason. Haven't even had my coffee today yet so dunno what that's all about. Probably just need to relax or something."
She took a sip from the hole in the plastic lid of her takeaway Mocha, and smiled. For as slow as barista bro ended up making this, it was a damn good Mocha. Reminded her of why she came here in the first place.
"Oh and I'm looking to host a party soon. Dunno where, dunno when, dunno who I'm gonna invite and if I'm not gonna invite anyone, don't even know if I'm gonna handle the music or get that outsourced to Forrest or Charelle or something. But I want it to be, like, the biggest thing to happen this year. I know how to do it, just don't know where to start, know what I mean?"
She sipped her drink again.
"Can't complain though."
Her eyes absentmindedly flickered out the window, watching a random passer-by before returning to the inside.
"You?"
Eventually, the two drinks presented themselves, and Mikki forced a fake smile at the slow barista before wandering back to Erika's table.
She placed both drinks down on the table before scooping up a nearby chair and making herself at home. It might as well have been at home, really - the stuff once in her bag was now sitting on the chair she originally slammed it down on when she first entered the place, she had a drink at the ready, and she had a close friend fixing her stuff for her; all in all, it might as well have been any ordinary evening on the weekend.
"My life? Man, dunno where to begin. Mr. Faust is giving me a hard time with my homework even though I obviously know that shit, Mrs. Skinner thinks I'm slacking off gym class, spent lunch break trying to work on new remixes but instead just went to YouTube and watched news fails, haven't even spoken to Andy in a week because the homework's been piling up and we don't get any of that done when we're hanging out together, and I'm feeling all jumpy for some reason. Haven't even had my coffee today yet so dunno what that's all about. Probably just need to relax or something."
She took a sip from the hole in the plastic lid of her takeaway Mocha, and smiled. For as slow as barista bro ended up making this, it was a damn good Mocha. Reminded her of why she came here in the first place.
"Oh and I'm looking to host a party soon. Dunno where, dunno when, dunno who I'm gonna invite and if I'm not gonna invite anyone, don't even know if I'm gonna handle the music or get that outsourced to Forrest or Charelle or something. But I want it to be, like, the biggest thing to happen this year. I know how to do it, just don't know where to start, know what I mean?"
She sipped her drink again.
"Can't complain though."
Her eyes absentmindedly flickered out the window, watching a random passer-by before returning to the inside.
"You?"
Erika continued her repairs on the bag, listening to Mikki's rapid-fire rundown on her life's state of affairs. It was a refreshing refrain from the non-stop negative narrative that rolled through Erika's mind like some kind of godawful ticker tape. The talk of planning a party piqued Erika's full attention, and she briefly paused the stitch pattern she was sewing into Mikki's bag. It seemed like she was channeling whatever frenetic energy possessed her into this project, and it was easy to empathize.
Kind of like carbon capture. You just seal your feels into events and bags and stuff. Except you're not saving the planet, just your head.
She smiled, and offered a knowing smile to Mikki. "Well I mean, I can't say I know much about party music or who to invite. I'm a hermit, I loaf around. But I can bring the vibes. All the vibes." Erika made a show of looking to her left and right as if to check for someone listening, then back to Mikki.
"I mean drugs. The fun kind. But also good vibes. I dig parties, it's like a crash-course in all the different ways to get wrecked and socialize. Though in my case I'd probably emphasize the 'crash' part of that. Every time I get a bead on a cool dude I wanna get to know at a party I end up like, doing the word vomit. Or the literal vomit depending on how late the night is."
Did she think I meant Dudes, or dudes? Shit, wait, am I presuming too much? Was she just telling me about this? Why would I be invited? I shouldn't assume I'm invited.
She glanced back down at the bag and finished the final stitch, and then took a long sip of her tea. It was almost too hot, but not quite. The warmth washed over her, melting the chill that ran up Erika's spine as she pondered a potential social faux-pas. With as much grace as she could muster, she looked at Mikki again and accounted for her potential mistake.
"I mean, like, if I was on your mental list of folks to invite. I know I'm not like the first person people think of when they think 'party' but I'd be down if you wanted me to come. Oh... and-"
Interrupting Erika was her phone, playing a quiet tune from an obscure internet meme. The display read "Pops." He was no doubt calling to ask when she was arriving home. There was always the option to text, but he had a fixation with hearing Erika's voice on the other end.
Another fuckup, but he'll worry if I don't pick it up.
Erika blushed, taking the call. "Sorry, it's my Dad. Hallo, Papa? Ja, im café. Blue House! I' werde bald nach Hause kommen, ok? I love you too."
It was weird to speak German in front of people from school, but it made her father more comfortable to do so. He knew English quite well, of course, but he found it difficult to express himself in it. And, Erika suspected, he was afraid she would lose the language over time.
What the heck was I even saying? Oh! Making an ass of myself! Right!
The bag was now stitched together, quite securely. A technicolor pattern that looked like someone had spilled LSD-laced unicorn blood all over her bag. Still, Erika couldn't help but be proud of her work. It was strong, and looked rad as fuck.
If by rad you mean "radioactive", then yeah.
Erika handed the bag back to Mikki, and took an altogether lengthy sip of her tea. She hoped it looked okay to her, at least.
"Sorry, my bad. I was gonna say, your bag's done. It should hold up okay unless you're throwing bricks in there."
Erika began packing her supplies and book into her own messenger bag, though deliberately slowly.
"I don't wanna run off on you, but my Dad's gonna be on my case if I don't jet in the next like, ten or fifteen. We should like, plan stuff though."
Kind of like carbon capture. You just seal your feels into events and bags and stuff. Except you're not saving the planet, just your head.
She smiled, and offered a knowing smile to Mikki. "Well I mean, I can't say I know much about party music or who to invite. I'm a hermit, I loaf around. But I can bring the vibes. All the vibes." Erika made a show of looking to her left and right as if to check for someone listening, then back to Mikki.
"I mean drugs. The fun kind. But also good vibes. I dig parties, it's like a crash-course in all the different ways to get wrecked and socialize. Though in my case I'd probably emphasize the 'crash' part of that. Every time I get a bead on a cool dude I wanna get to know at a party I end up like, doing the word vomit. Or the literal vomit depending on how late the night is."
Did she think I meant Dudes, or dudes? Shit, wait, am I presuming too much? Was she just telling me about this? Why would I be invited? I shouldn't assume I'm invited.
She glanced back down at the bag and finished the final stitch, and then took a long sip of her tea. It was almost too hot, but not quite. The warmth washed over her, melting the chill that ran up Erika's spine as she pondered a potential social faux-pas. With as much grace as she could muster, she looked at Mikki again and accounted for her potential mistake.
"I mean, like, if I was on your mental list of folks to invite. I know I'm not like the first person people think of when they think 'party' but I'd be down if you wanted me to come. Oh... and-"
Interrupting Erika was her phone, playing a quiet tune from an obscure internet meme. The display read "Pops." He was no doubt calling to ask when she was arriving home. There was always the option to text, but he had a fixation with hearing Erika's voice on the other end.
Another fuckup, but he'll worry if I don't pick it up.
Erika blushed, taking the call. "Sorry, it's my Dad. Hallo, Papa? Ja, im café. Blue House! I' werde bald nach Hause kommen, ok? I love you too."
It was weird to speak German in front of people from school, but it made her father more comfortable to do so. He knew English quite well, of course, but he found it difficult to express himself in it. And, Erika suspected, he was afraid she would lose the language over time.
What the heck was I even saying? Oh! Making an ass of myself! Right!
The bag was now stitched together, quite securely. A technicolor pattern that looked like someone had spilled LSD-laced unicorn blood all over her bag. Still, Erika couldn't help but be proud of her work. It was strong, and looked rad as fuck.
If by rad you mean "radioactive", then yeah.
Erika handed the bag back to Mikki, and took an altogether lengthy sip of her tea. She hoped it looked okay to her, at least.
"Sorry, my bad. I was gonna say, your bag's done. It should hold up okay unless you're throwing bricks in there."
Erika began packing her supplies and book into her own messenger bag, though deliberately slowly.
"I don't wanna run off on you, but my Dad's gonna be on my case if I don't jet in the next like, ten or fifteen. We should like, plan stuff though."
Well that's another item list checked off then.
Mikki wasn't exactly walking slash running into this place recruiting, but it just so happened to be on the day's agenda. She sat there, alternating between nodding and sipping as Erika continued speaking, letting her get out what she wanted to say. Mikki learnt pretty early on in this whole being a social doe-shall that people always wanted to hear themselves speak, and while Erika wasn't even close to the same type of person Mikki always lumped that in with, the same principles applied. Either way, Erika never really had anything uninteresting to talk about so it wasn't as though she was wasting her precious delicate woman-hours.
Either way, of course Erika was invited. Then again, everyone cool was going to be invited, which was pretty much just everyone except Katrina. That's how she always ran things - the gays, the burnouts, the nerds, the jocks, the preps, the rich kids, anyone who wanted to get their dance on and their good times rolling, they got an open invite to any of her parties. Or Forrest's parties, or Charelle's parties. At least Mikki always made sure they did.
She was about to confirm a lot of what she'd been talking about, but she got a phone call that needed answering, so instead of making whoever sat on the end of the line wait for her, she gestured to it as she picked it up.
"Yeah go ahead."
Mikki opened up the lid of her mocha as fluent German boomed from across the table. Halfway done already, huh? Damn, Mikki's gullet was a machine.
And so were Erika's hands, apparently. Goddamn, it looked even better than it ever had. Probably because it now had a cool technicolour scar running through where the bag fell out itself before. Erika made a comment about carrying bricks. Mikki glanced back to her book pile on the otherwise unused chair.
"Well-"
But then she had to go.
"Oh definitely, you have my number and name on all the web stuff and phone stuff, still the same thing, but you're on the list. Like, as, y'know, 'staff'. But if you don't feel up to it or anything just let me know, you've got an open invite as a guest as well, like always, no pressure."
Erika being the party dealer would make things a lot easier on her for the future, since their last one was currently AFK. But Erika was always a bit squirrely, and Mikki would hate to scare her off or put pressure on her. As long as it was low-key in her mind, it was a low-key affair to cater for.
Once Erika's things were together, Mikki got up from her seat and gave her a goodbye hug.
"Keep in touch, okay? We can all hang out and do shit if our weekends clear up, it's been way too long."
Mikki wasn't exactly walking slash running into this place recruiting, but it just so happened to be on the day's agenda. She sat there, alternating between nodding and sipping as Erika continued speaking, letting her get out what she wanted to say. Mikki learnt pretty early on in this whole being a social doe-shall that people always wanted to hear themselves speak, and while Erika wasn't even close to the same type of person Mikki always lumped that in with, the same principles applied. Either way, Erika never really had anything uninteresting to talk about so it wasn't as though she was wasting her precious delicate woman-hours.
Either way, of course Erika was invited. Then again, everyone cool was going to be invited, which was pretty much just everyone except Katrina. That's how she always ran things - the gays, the burnouts, the nerds, the jocks, the preps, the rich kids, anyone who wanted to get their dance on and their good times rolling, they got an open invite to any of her parties. Or Forrest's parties, or Charelle's parties. At least Mikki always made sure they did.
She was about to confirm a lot of what she'd been talking about, but she got a phone call that needed answering, so instead of making whoever sat on the end of the line wait for her, she gestured to it as she picked it up.
"Yeah go ahead."
Mikki opened up the lid of her mocha as fluent German boomed from across the table. Halfway done already, huh? Damn, Mikki's gullet was a machine.
And so were Erika's hands, apparently. Goddamn, it looked even better than it ever had. Probably because it now had a cool technicolour scar running through where the bag fell out itself before. Erika made a comment about carrying bricks. Mikki glanced back to her book pile on the otherwise unused chair.
"Well-"
But then she had to go.
"Oh definitely, you have my number and name on all the web stuff and phone stuff, still the same thing, but you're on the list. Like, as, y'know, 'staff'. But if you don't feel up to it or anything just let me know, you've got an open invite as a guest as well, like always, no pressure."
Erika being the party dealer would make things a lot easier on her for the future, since their last one was currently AFK. But Erika was always a bit squirrely, and Mikki would hate to scare her off or put pressure on her. As long as it was low-key in her mind, it was a low-key affair to cater for.
Once Erika's things were together, Mikki got up from her seat and gave her a goodbye hug.
"Keep in touch, okay? We can all hang out and do shit if our weekends clear up, it's been way too long."
"...you've got an open invite as a guest as well, like always, no pressure."
Okay. Didn't misread her. Crisis averted.
Erika beamed as Mikki more formally offered her an invitation to the party. In the back of her mind, she knew that there was probably a standing invite for Erika given the kind of people Mikki usually invited. More than a few times Erika had waffled around with the idea of actually going to these things, only to find a surprising amount of kief at the bottom of her weed grinder; a rip later and she was getting into someone's car and heading over, giggling and happy to see everyone.
Providing the "fun drugs" wasn't going to be difficult. Most of Erika's connections were outside the usual suspects of sketchy kids and criminals. Most were family friends or people she'd met through environmental groups. A hippie who lived out in the mountains in a Tiny House, or an academic with a research license who needed the money on the side. Part of the appeal of providing was the general rush associated with low-key crimes, and part was just the nice feeling associated with having some kind of social role. If Erika knew what she was supposed to do at a party, it was easier to do it.
Yeah, that's right, I'm bringing the party. Go me!
The darker side to this was that, truth be told, it was easier to be around people when they were varying kinds of messed up. It was a great excuse for poor behavior, and varying degrees of social awkwardness. Most people did that with alcohol, though Erika never had the constitution for it. Weed was a lot less deleterious to the body, and had great mileage where tasty treats were concerned. Nobody ever turned down the brownies.
Hey granola girl, stop grinning like an idiot. She's going for a hug.
Erika moved in and gave one of her patented "squeeze the life out of you because this is how I love" hug. The idea of planning for something like this was making her a bit giddy. That, and given it's point in the year it was probably going to be one of the last major social events she'd bring herself out to in Chattanooga. A few applications were out already, and at the first chance she got, she'd be out of here.
So how's it going to feel to leave all these people behind?
If anybody here had any sense, they'd be planning the same thing. Erika knew Mikki probably was.
"Awesome, I'm completely down for that. See ya around Mikki! Hope the rest of your day goes... uh... great! Okay. Bye!"
She strode out of the café, fetching a pair of earbuds from her cardigan's front pocket and plugging them in. Before long, she was on her bicycle, a playlist littered with songs about wanderlust guiding her home.
((Erika Stieglitz continued in Forest Green))
Okay. Didn't misread her. Crisis averted.
Erika beamed as Mikki more formally offered her an invitation to the party. In the back of her mind, she knew that there was probably a standing invite for Erika given the kind of people Mikki usually invited. More than a few times Erika had waffled around with the idea of actually going to these things, only to find a surprising amount of kief at the bottom of her weed grinder; a rip later and she was getting into someone's car and heading over, giggling and happy to see everyone.
Providing the "fun drugs" wasn't going to be difficult. Most of Erika's connections were outside the usual suspects of sketchy kids and criminals. Most were family friends or people she'd met through environmental groups. A hippie who lived out in the mountains in a Tiny House, or an academic with a research license who needed the money on the side. Part of the appeal of providing was the general rush associated with low-key crimes, and part was just the nice feeling associated with having some kind of social role. If Erika knew what she was supposed to do at a party, it was easier to do it.
Yeah, that's right, I'm bringing the party. Go me!
The darker side to this was that, truth be told, it was easier to be around people when they were varying kinds of messed up. It was a great excuse for poor behavior, and varying degrees of social awkwardness. Most people did that with alcohol, though Erika never had the constitution for it. Weed was a lot less deleterious to the body, and had great mileage where tasty treats were concerned. Nobody ever turned down the brownies.
Hey granola girl, stop grinning like an idiot. She's going for a hug.
Erika moved in and gave one of her patented "squeeze the life out of you because this is how I love" hug. The idea of planning for something like this was making her a bit giddy. That, and given it's point in the year it was probably going to be one of the last major social events she'd bring herself out to in Chattanooga. A few applications were out already, and at the first chance she got, she'd be out of here.
So how's it going to feel to leave all these people behind?
If anybody here had any sense, they'd be planning the same thing. Erika knew Mikki probably was.
"Awesome, I'm completely down for that. See ya around Mikki! Hope the rest of your day goes... uh... great! Okay. Bye!"
She strode out of the café, fetching a pair of earbuds from her cardigan's front pocket and plugging them in. Before long, she was on her bicycle, a playlist littered with songs about wanderlust guiding her home.
((Erika Stieglitz continued in Forest Green))
It was nice getting to see Erika. Even if they didn't meet up as often as they used to, the fact they still did made Mikki happy.
But the moment she sat down as Erika left the building, Mikki was suddenly overflowing. It must have just been an Erika-sized piece that fell in place and caused an avalanche, because Mikki just grabbed a notebook from the top of her book pile, a pen from her bag pocket, pushed her table stuff aside, and started writing.
Where to hold it; what she would bring; what her friends would bring; what people would have to bring; where she'd have to set her gear up if she was DJing; where others would have to if she wasn't; where they'd all have to if she wasn't going to be the only one; who she'd have to hire as security; who she'd have to keep on call for first aid; who she'd have to call as a date in the tiny chance Andy dumped her in between now and the party; who Forrest would have to get as a date if she was dumped; who she was going to force Charelle to be with-
and most important of all; do they charge entry?
Mattie told her some of the best clubs in the country charged entry over in Hollywood, but it wasn't exactly going to be a club tonight. And as much as she'd want to make it exclusive, she didn't really have an entire brand to her. She couldn't really afford to be exclusive if she wanted everyone to come and everyone to spread the word, especially everyone who was in the same money situation as her. She put a question mark next to that in her mind.
But over the next few hours, she was fast at work. She was writing down names, crossing them out, drawing giant gaudy arrows next to things, going back to her phone to get numbers and names, going through her carefully curated Facebook lists, deciding which hashtags to post with it on Instagram so that the right people knew and the wrong people wouldn't gatecrash, because that security was probably just going to be a footballer and they wouldn't be expected to fight people off lest they get glassed in the fucking face, ending their career before it started.
Eventually, one of the not-terrible waiters wandered over to her table, and before he could say a word she noticed the rest of the chairs were up on their tables and she was the only one left, so it was time to call dad and get a lift, as long as she didn't have to share the fare with a random.
Before dad arrived though, as she sat on the sidewalk with her bag still bulging but a pen sitting between her teeth and notebook still on knees, a single phrase came to her head. She wrote it down, looked at it, before crossing it out, replacing it with another word, crossing that out, removing the space between the words and putting a hashtag before it.
She'd set everything up tonight, but for now, it felt like she had a brand. A real brand, something she could make for herself, and something she could make happen.
And it was #SwiftBall.
((Mikki Swift continued elsewhere))
But the moment she sat down as Erika left the building, Mikki was suddenly overflowing. It must have just been an Erika-sized piece that fell in place and caused an avalanche, because Mikki just grabbed a notebook from the top of her book pile, a pen from her bag pocket, pushed her table stuff aside, and started writing.
Where to hold it; what she would bring; what her friends would bring; what people would have to bring; where she'd have to set her gear up if she was DJing; where others would have to if she wasn't; where they'd all have to if she wasn't going to be the only one; who she'd have to hire as security; who she'd have to keep on call for first aid; who she'd have to call as a date in the tiny chance Andy dumped her in between now and the party; who Forrest would have to get as a date if she was dumped; who she was going to force Charelle to be with-
and most important of all; do they charge entry?
Mattie told her some of the best clubs in the country charged entry over in Hollywood, but it wasn't exactly going to be a club tonight. And as much as she'd want to make it exclusive, she didn't really have an entire brand to her. She couldn't really afford to be exclusive if she wanted everyone to come and everyone to spread the word, especially everyone who was in the same money situation as her. She put a question mark next to that in her mind.
But over the next few hours, she was fast at work. She was writing down names, crossing them out, drawing giant gaudy arrows next to things, going back to her phone to get numbers and names, going through her carefully curated Facebook lists, deciding which hashtags to post with it on Instagram so that the right people knew and the wrong people wouldn't gatecrash, because that security was probably just going to be a footballer and they wouldn't be expected to fight people off lest they get glassed in the fucking face, ending their career before it started.
Eventually, one of the not-terrible waiters wandered over to her table, and before he could say a word she noticed the rest of the chairs were up on their tables and she was the only one left, so it was time to call dad and get a lift, as long as she didn't have to share the fare with a random.
Before dad arrived though, as she sat on the sidewalk with her bag still bulging but a pen sitting between her teeth and notebook still on knees, a single phrase came to her head. She wrote it down, looked at it, before crossing it out, replacing it with another word, crossing that out, removing the space between the words and putting a hashtag before it.
She'd set everything up tonight, but for now, it felt like she had a brand. A real brand, something she could make for herself, and something she could make happen.
And it was #SwiftBall.
((Mikki Swift continued elsewhere))