(no subject)

Wednesday.

Wednesday.

It's Wednesday. Oh, my God..

Work tonight should be...

different good interesting

amazing

. And a challenge. I had a hell of a time last night because of my one-handed serving skills leaving a lot to be desired but tonight I'm opening and working the door instead of waitressing. And Ro will be there...

Mr. Beaker is going to be a backwards puppy because of my work schedule. We didn't crawl out of bed until noon. But he is so adorable. Even if he does insist on sleeping on my favorite pillow. He's currently running around on the kitchen floor, I can hear his little claws clicking on the tile. It makes me happy.

Now I need to go get my sleepy, nappy body into the shower, wash my hair and figure out what I'm wearing today. Not that clothing is ever optional but I can't decide pants or skirt, sweater or blouse. Hair up or down? These are the things I struggle with daily. Impressive, I'm sure.

Actually, I think I should feed Mr. Beaker first. He's trying to eat my toes.

Anticipation [RP thread for fey_fire]

It’s half past eight and Pippa’s going through the motions of opening Last Call for business. It’s a routine she can perform mostly by rote: sweep the floors, take the chairs down from the tables, wipe off the bar and the table tops, deal with petty cash for the register…let the band in the back door when they arrive. The band. Breaker Street. Rory.

Ro

.

She closes her eyes and forces herself to take a deep, calming breath. Normally, she loves Wednesdays. Loves being the only one here as they set up the stage with their instruments, tune up. She usually helps Morrie run the sound check. Chats with the band and gazes longingly at Ro whenever he’s not looking at her. But tonight—

The red haired woman has a feeling that tonight’s going to be

much

different. She hasn’t seen Ro since their phone call revelations and she’s counting on (hoping, really) him keeping his word about kissing her. She’s even gone so far as to dress a bit nicer this evening. A simple baby doll smock with capped sleeves and jeans. Her usual funky collection of jewelry. Heeled shoes that give her considerably more height, taking into account Rory’s tall, lanky frame.

She hears the solid cadence against the metal fire exit doors. That’d be Kreske, the drummer tatting out some ridiculous rhythm instead of just knocking.

Here goes nothing

…Pippa smooths a hand over her riot of curls and hurries across the bar to let them in. She tucks her blistered and bandaged hand behind her back as she uses her free arm to brace the door open. “Hey, guys…”