ʜ ᴏ ʟ ʏ

49.

She was rigid with fret, hands instinctively fumbling together, posture even and straight along the crooked cushioning of the chair, and jittering feet that tapped below her gaze. She had been that way since the day Keila informed her of news that would impact her current struggles. She had a interview. Knowing of her identification absence, Keila had pulled some strings to get her where she sat today, a low rated diner ran by her great uncle. From what she learned from Keila, her uncle took pity upon people who faced many hassles in life. That included the runaways, dropouts, pregnant teens, and even older people with inability to score a job. And with her luck she was three. From first hand experience experience from the tour facilitated by the manager, the diner wasn't much. But money was money, and she was set on providing for herself and the infant nursed within her belly, and if she wished to make a future for herself and her child, she had to start some where. As encouraging as she wished to be, her mind lacked certain levels of social interaction she desperately needed. To overwhelmed, to anxious, to much of everything. She knew she would get the job, she knew she would impress her soon to be boss, she knew she would pull her weight, but why was she so scared? The thought haunted her contemplation. For the first time in a while she was able to point a finger at her fear. It was relization. Relization that she was moving forward in life, that everything that happened in the past months were real, and that there was no going back. This was her life, this was her reality, and just that thought tormented her mind. She was grateful for the lack of attendance from the manager, who attendented businesses with a customer in the lobby, a old trucker who unleashed his anger on a worker regards to his improper food preparation. She was glad he couldn't witness her silent unraveling that she didn't wish to share. But little to her knowledge, her wishes would be objected. "Hey." The voice nearly rattled her whole body in a suprised tremble. Anxiously she turned, greeted by a unexpected sight. In the doorway she filled the space, leaning on the doorframe with arms round up crossed. Her hair was long and raven dark, squinted slits that barred dark brown eyes, tan skin, a stained waitresses uniform, and an alarming prosthetic taking up the space of one of her arms. "Didn't mean to startle you much. I was just checking if you ran."  "Ran?" Bonnibel questioned hesitantly, watching as the girl shifted her weight to the inside of the office and sauntering in. "Yeah, most newbies leave this place running as soon as they get a whiff of what its really like working here." That definelty wasn't her. As much as it pained her to remain seated and go through the interview, god knows how hard she worked just to be there in the first place. Upon notice of her interview, she had sat in the mirror at ungodly hours of the morning, restless from the girl that plagued her mind at night, rehearsing her lines to herself in the mirror. She even went to the extent of borrowing one of Keila's formal shirts, which took hours of scrubbing and a trip to the laundromat down the street to remove the stains. She had worked to hard. "I couldn't leave here if I wanted to. Money is scarce now of days." The mystery girl nodded her head, a silent sign of agreeing. "Well then, you must have a reason for being here. There's plenty of other places to apply. This is usually the last place people would think to go." She was right. This was the last place she had in mind, and with that thought alone, she learned not to take this chance for granted. Quickly, coming to a conclusion, she lied. "My friends the owners neice, it was easier getting a interview here than all the other shit I would have to go through at another place." She tilted her head slightly. "Im guessing your Keila's friend then?" She uttered a surprised hum and nodded. "Right. It's a small town here, everybody knows everybody. It's only a rare occurrence we see some new faces every once and a while." The girl tipped forward closer to Bonnibel than comfortable, hovering over her chair. "Now that I think about it, I haven't seen your face around these parts. You new?" Bonnibel nodded, eager to cut short her investigation before things were discovered. "Im Bonnibel. Bonnibel Banner." She flagged out her hand, her palm being greeted by the cold metal of the prosthetic. The mystery girl eyed her. "Im Shoko. Just Shoko." The girl below tried to contain her gaze to solely her eyes but couldn't help but steal glances at the fake limb in her arm. She felt a rush of red flood her cheeks when she was caught by the nonchalant eyes. Shoko pulled back and caught her stare. "I kind of expected it, that's usually the first thing that draws peoples attention." In a quick attempt to redeem her slip up, her words came out sloppy her face flushed a tint brighter. That was enough to bring a flashing smile to Shoko's face. "Don't sweat it Banner, im only just kidding. Lost it in a incident." She waved around the prop latched to her nub, bringing the straight line of Bonnibel's lips to a curve. She was sure the girl was caught off guard when her name was screamed from the kitchen, requesting her presence in the back to man the stove. "Sorry to cut things short but I think they need me back there. It was nice to meet you Bonnibel." And with that, the girl slid through the door and back out to venture the kitchen, careful not to collide with the manager that slipped back into the room, a welcoming post getting yelled at by a customer tantrum suited on his face. It was a mix of awkward with efforts of glee to keep the moods of the interview high. Here goes nothing.