Deadays [Open]

[Zeeve Arbelle]

Another day, another dollar.

There really isn't much to life nowadays; wake up, go to work, drink, go to sleep. Every once in a while some trash pops up so maybe there is something to do momentarily, but trash in the end is trash; you can kick around the bush for a little while, then just pile it up with the other pieces of trash that came up. Even work, it was just dull. There was nothing much to it besides shooting or riding a motorcycle, the latter somewhat relaxing but still does no good. Why oh why did he have to come here today? There wasn't any point in it from the start, noise from the bike's muffler is completely legitimate. Well, not, but who even cares about things like that, it's not like magically the vehicle will stop making stupid noises altogether. You can't even listen to music while driving it, the noise from everything is too much and you need to watch out for cops on the run. That guy that said he'd fix it, he probably ditched the idea or forgot about it.

Well, who cares. In ten minutes if he doesn't show up, Zeeve will just go home and kick the guy's ass first thing in the morning.

Time's ticking, it'll be 7:30 PM soon. The sun didn't set completely yet, the sky still showed a dim red color in the dark blue filling and Zeeve was running out of patience. His bike, motor off, leaned near the wall on its legging, on the front right above the main light laying a black and blue-stripped DigiEgg. He took the job in Pandora, yes, but ever since he got the shitty device and stupid egg it didn't look any close to seriously hatching. It didn't even move the slightest bit, making the man wonder: was it dead, perhaps? Dull. He returned to looking at the sky with a cigarette in his mouth, blowing out smoke once in so much. His irritated foot started knocking against the floor repeatedly in a quick pace.

"Hurry the fuck up."

[San Anes]

Time, she was very convinced, could be a terrible thing. Especially in instances when her attention is so enveloped, with no distractions to give her pause to look, time would just seemingly disappear. Hours could feel like minutes, or minutes could feel like seconds, and so forth. And yet, as she stood there, tapping her foot repeatedly, hopefully looking at her wrist watch again and again, time would crawl; miserably so. Like it enjoyed playing games with her. Slowing down when she wanted it to speed up, and speeding up when she wanted it to slow down. San groaned, and readjusted the strap over her left shoulder, jostling the large bag at her side. The train had better be on time for once.

Sensing his partner’s distress, the little black ball nestled safely hidden in San’s computer bag shifted ever so slightly to peer bright gold orbs out of the carefully unzipped corner. “That’s the twenty fourth time you sighed. Are you okay San-mon?” San’s brow ticked over the use of her name.

San raised a hand to rub at her eyes, tilting her head to discreetly respond to Botamon while not looking as if she is blatantly talking to herself. “I’m just tired.”

Botamon bristled and nuzzled his way deeper into her bag, pressing his small body against the portable computer he shared his space with for warmth. “Don’t worry, San-mon. The train will be here soon.” She could hear the smile in his voice.

The techie sighed again, and, once again glanced at her wrist watch, watching in agony as the seconds clicked by. Not soon enough. San did not like to be out of her apartment long with Botamon, though the little digimon refused to leave her side when visiting her world. Botamon had gotten the hang of pretending to be nothing more than a stuffed animal for occasions like this, and no one has really bothered or questioned her about it. Yet. And she did not want to test her luck.

Her dark chocolate irises darted left and right, observing that she was pretty much still alone on the deck save for a few stragglers and some dude with a motor bike. San’s gaze lingered on the latter, knitting her brows in a frown for a moment before whipping her attention forward again, dark hair falling over her shoulders. Hurry up, train.

tagging Zeevee at 396 words
-invades.-