phantomlies
"Please go through these three tutorials within the hour. Take the quiz and remember to submit it through the portal."
He nodded and scooted his chair closer to the terminal as the droid walked away. Once he finished these he was finally going to be able to actually work within the systems that he'd dreamt about since he was a child. Just one more hour.
The light was brighter. The world outside was darker than the night usually was. People huddled inside, clutching each other close as the world only grew darker, and the light brighter. Bright enough to burn.
His beard was EPIC. Eric grasped his naked chin and stared enviously at the stranger with the gloriously full-bodied beard. He wanted that. He'd tried to grow a beard a few times, but they'd always been failures. His genetics simply refused to allow him his dream of being bearded. Anything that grew was always too sparse to be good looking, so Eric had always ended up shaving not even a few days into trying. He sighed and sipped his coffee, still staring wistfully.
The residents of the building universally hated their RA. He was anal about the cleanliness of their dorms and the communal areas, and he did spot checks constantly. He enforced curfew religiously and refused to allow for things like night classes that ran over or group projects that forgot about the time. Unfortunately, since he was the darling of the administration department, nobody could do anything about it.
"Oh!" Lady Beatrice swooned onto the lounge chair, somehow arranging her skirts around her neatly, "I'm having vapors!"
Lady Darcy snorted behind her lacy fan, disbelief of the others theatrics written large over her features. Lord Mintz glanced at her, amusement quirking up a corner of his lips before Lady Beatrice, seeing that her supposed vapors weren't bringing in the attention to her like she planned, moaned louder, "That mongrel was so frightening!"
She gazed wistfully out the window, leaning her shoulder against the sill as she sighed and twirled a strand of hair around a well manicured finger. She snuck a glance over her shoulder, but the cute barista was still chatting cheerfully with another customer. She pouted, making sure that her lips were sufficiently glistening thanks to so hastily applied lip balm and let out another heavy sigh. The barista was cleaning the counter. Drat.
Covert missions were a bitch. Seriously. All the secrecy and mumbo-jumbo was a pain in his ass. He wished for the missions that were straightforward: in-and-out, shoot the motherfucker, and head on home. When espionage was required, when he had to pick a side and shoot someone on the sly, when no one else knew why you were shooting that piece of shit humanity...those were the worst. He grumbled and checked his sight again, then signaled his team to move in.
"Please fill out these claims forms and return them to my window. We'll figure things out from there."
She grimaced at the sheets of paperwork, but took them. She had no other alternative. She'd tried all the other options and all of them had failed, this was her last chance. if only these forms worked. She'd heard horror stories about people who filled them out and then were booted straight back out the door. That wasn't an possibility for her. This was her last chance.
She sat down and started filling the claims forms out.
The size of the rat was ridiculous. She screamed and ran in the opposite direction. The rat looked up from his mouthful of cheese and squeaked quizzically.
The object of this lesson was to learn your limits. Many of you pushed yourselves over the edge when we told you that this would be a performance test and that the director of the agency would be watching. We are looking for people that know when to stop, and when to push. Unfortunately, many of you have not yet reached that point. If the following would please step forward for re-evaluation.
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writing since 2012 · 32 entries · 32 days shown up
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headagainstsighedswinggeorgeclassreppleasetrapvoicehelpeyesairslowlyshoulderwindow