Jill Hudson
The voices were coming closer. Jill pressed herself closer against the cement pillar, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. She listened closely, trying to identify them. Ah. It was the redneck yuppie and his friend, not the landlord. She stepped out from behind the pillar, casually leaning against her silver '03 Ninja 600.
"Seen Keith?" she asked. Wes raised an eyebrow and looked at her curiously. They'd never spoken more than a polite hello in the lobby. Or at least, he would give her a polite hello, she would give him that porcelain stare that her face never seemed to crack from in return. In fact, he wasn't even sure he'd ever heard her speak before. This girl was definitely never the captain of the cheerleading squad. He shook his head and moved on. Jill let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, tucked her helmet under her arm, and walked towards the lobby.
Still cautious, she stepped inside the door, her armored leathers creaking with each step. Not the best outfit to wear when trying to move silently, she thought. She glanced at the managers office as she slipped by, willing it to stay closed. It didn't. Fuck.
"It's the fifth," Keith said dryly. Jill reached up and tucked a lock of her black and blonde hair behind her ears nervously.
"I'll have it by friday," she said in that rusty voice that sounded like she'd been raised on cornflakes and whisky.
"Every month, you're over a week late with your rent, Jill. This is getting fucking ridiculous." Keith was more surly than usual, Jill noticed. Hell, Keith being surly at all was unusual. He was a hardass when she was late paying her rent, but had never sworn at her before. Jill felt the old familiar temper rising. But before it had a chance to fully flare, there was a loud rapping at the door behind her.
She glanced over her shoulder, and felt Keith push past her to open the door for the police, her overdue rent forgotten.
"Seen Keith?" she asked. Wes raised an eyebrow and looked at her curiously. They'd never spoken more than a polite hello in the lobby. Or at least, he would give her a polite hello, she would give him that porcelain stare that her face never seemed to crack from in return. In fact, he wasn't even sure he'd ever heard her speak before. This girl was definitely never the captain of the cheerleading squad. He shook his head and moved on. Jill let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, tucked her helmet under her arm, and walked towards the lobby.
Still cautious, she stepped inside the door, her armored leathers creaking with each step. Not the best outfit to wear when trying to move silently, she thought. She glanced at the managers office as she slipped by, willing it to stay closed. It didn't. Fuck.
"It's the fifth," Keith said dryly. Jill reached up and tucked a lock of her black and blonde hair behind her ears nervously.
"I'll have it by friday," she said in that rusty voice that sounded like she'd been raised on cornflakes and whisky.
"Every month, you're over a week late with your rent, Jill. This is getting fucking ridiculous." Keith was more surly than usual, Jill noticed. Hell, Keith being surly at all was unusual. He was a hardass when she was late paying her rent, but had never sworn at her before. Jill felt the old familiar temper rising. But before it had a chance to fully flare, there was a loud rapping at the door behind her.
She glanced over her shoulder, and felt Keith push past her to open the door for the police, her overdue rent forgotten.
posted by Donna at
11:54 a.m.
8 Comments:
Jill is, I am lead to believe, (hey, don't ask me, she makes the rules) in her mid-20s, under-employed and therefore always broke, but has expensive habits - like the motorcycle she bought brand new two years ago. She dyes her hair a different color every month, which convinces her that she can't get a better job because she looks "odd". She rides a sports bike, wants to get sponsorship to be a racer, but doesn't do anything to get it. She's got a temper that is set off pretty easily, but it fizzles out quickly as well. It gets worse when she drinks, which is often.
By
Donna, at 5/26/2005 12:00:00 p.m.
After re-reading this, the only thing I see differently is the recognition of sirens. Sirens stop when they are really close to their destination. The abrupt cut-off of alarms, even nearby-ones, is what makes me turn my head. Not the alarms themselves.
Just a thought.
By
Corinne, at 5/26/2005 04:50:00 p.m.
hmm, good point. Seems awkward to describe (so much easier the way I have it) but definitely much more realistic. Lemme see if I can figure out how to write that so that it makes sense.
of course, it also occurs to me that they likely wouldn't put on sirens just to deal with a missing persons case, but I needed an audible interruption. :)
By
Donna, at 5/26/2005 05:20:00 p.m.
It could be a visual distraction, like the flashing lights on the cop cars. Or the cops could knock on the door or ring the buzzer.
I was a bit distracted by the sirens too, and I also thought that probably they wouldn't use sirens on such a call.
By
Briana Tomkinson, at 5/26/2005 05:50:00 p.m.
I don't know. It's possible that there is a reason to suspect she might be in the building in danger...?
It's a stretch.
The other option is having the buzzer ring in the manager's office and Keith answers it and bolts to the door...
By
Corinne, at 5/26/2005 05:51:00 p.m.
I really liked the "drama" of sirens. It's so much more "what the...?" than a door buzzer. Door buzzers have no sense of danger, excitement, passion! Er, right, getting carried away. Damnit. Okay, so I'll be editing that when I get home tonight. :)
By
Donna, at 5/26/2005 05:56:00 p.m.
I like this ending better. There is still the urgency from Keith, and the alarm from Jill, but it's a lot more buyable of a situation.
Excellent!
By
Corinne, at 5/26/2005 11:24:00 p.m.
I agree with Corinne. The tune-up worked. Good job.
By
Briana Tomkinson, at 5/27/2005 07:30:00 a.m.
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