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Night Shift (SevenxDream)

  • With the sudden sound of Peter's voice she jumped, the strain of her voice loud and high pitched, much like a pup's yelp. In cause of this, a few of the zombies she had been evading sneaked up behind her character she had been controling and took a few casual bites. "Aw, Peter, look at you did," Jonta half-whined, pounding the large, red button with her finger whilst trying to aim with using the gun with her free hand.

    She sighed. Too much blood loss; her character died in the center of a mob of hungering zombies, the words GAME OVER flashing brightly across the screen. She booted the machine with a vehement force and stepped back. "I never win that game." Her voice was a low scowl while she tucked her hands deep into the depths of her pants' pockets, searching frantically for some sort of contraption that could tell her the time. Surely their shift would be over soon, as the last movie would end around midnight or 12:30am.

    What a night it had been... and still, she was left starved.

    Her hands were dry, her stomach was empty and her feet were sore. After an eventful night filled with hormonal teenagers, disappearing middle-aged women and being taunted by an extremely lanky vampiric presence, Jonta couldn't help but feel fatigued.[/list:u]
 
The character on screen let out a few wet, gargling screams before meeting his demise via undead, and watching the pixellated blood splatter up into the air, accompanied by the over-enthusiastic sound of a zombie feeding frenzy left Wexler feeling a little uneasy. Suddenly, it seemed like he was standing too close to Jonta, to the point where he could smell her shampoo, and it made him feel light-headed for reasons he was sure wouldn't be healthy to explore.

"Yeah, s'gotta be a bad way to die," Wexler said, eyes on the screen as the zombies continued their feeding on the protagonist, "All that - gore."

She smelled good. Too good.

He took a step backwards, away from Jonta, and he began to wring his hands, clearly wracked with nerves,

"Last movie will be done," he said hurriedly, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the theatre where a single patron was emerging, "If you wanna, like, go early, it's cool. There's not a lot left to do or anything."
 
  • Was Peter offering to ... let her go early? Something surely the manager wouldn't have, but in a sense and due to his longevity at the theaters, he was technically a supervisor. "No... it's alright. I'll stay."

    Her voice was still as smooth as it ever had been, laden with smooth, naturally churned peanut-butter and buttermilk. Gently she stroked a well manicured hand through her hefty lion's mane, examining the peeling textures around the lobby. She watched the young man as he exited the theater, his popcorn clutched close to his chest as if it was his child. Jonta curled her lips and suckled on the bottom, boredom raking through her shapely form.

    She stepped near Peter and placed a hand flaccidly upon his back, letting it fall as she had passed.

    "Here... let's get the final cleaning out of the way."[/list:u]
 
Wexler found himself watching Jonta despite his best efforts not to, and without meaning to, ended up staring at her bottom lip as she sucked on it; he tried to shake it off, but then her hand brushed against his back. It wasn't anything more than a light touch, and there was nothing behind it, it was innocent -

- yet the small touch made Wexler's entire body stiffen, and he stood there straight as a board, staring after her. He could still feel the ghost of heat from her fingers on his back, even through the material of his shirt, and he seemed frozen in place for a long moment before snapping out of it again. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs,

"Yeah, sure," he said, heading for the counter; that was when his stomach decided to file its complaints, and it growled loudly, reminding him of how long it had been since he'd last eaten - not good. He would have to take care of that, and soon.

Part of him wished Jonta would leave, the other wanted desperately for her to stay.

"You smell good." he said suddenly, and then paused, pursing his lips and staring at the floor, twisting his face into an odd expression, "That sort of came out more awkward than I meant for it to. Like, what I mean is that some people smell like sweat and B.O., especially in Miami, but you smell like -"

He tugged awkwardly at his vest,

"You smell good." he repeated, suddenly feeling stupid.
 
    • Though it had seemed that the duo had ended most of their cleaning problems, even more had arisen since their bathroom escapades The floor seemed fairly tidied, but it had seemed that several patrons had helped themselves to the confessions lined neatly upon the counter. "Brazen pricks," Jonta uttered darkly, plucking a Wonderbar from the stacks of candybars herself. White the contradiction. It would be a lovely little treat later on.

      "I... I what?" She raised an eyebrow at the lanky blond, clutching the red-rimmed broom from the supply closet once more. "Oh.. uh, thanks, Peter." She gazed directly into the frigidity of the man's eyes when he spoke, then back towards the candied mess coating a few tiles behind the counter. This was one of the areas that the others were supposed to clean once their shift was over, but it seemed once again Jonta would be stuck with tidying up their pitiful messes. Though, she supposed that she could understand why her scent was so alluring.

      She used a type of shampoo her grandmother made specifically for her type of hair.

      It was a concoction of sweet, homemade buttermilk with a teaspoon of honey and bag-fulls of natural oatmeal and coconut. It helped tame her lion's mane, instead of breaking off the brush bristles like she usually did. "And, you... have really pretty eyes. They remind me of prisms; they have a.. sort of like a kaleidoscope effect." She smiled prudently at the leggy man, trying to force out a glob of gummies from underneath another popcorn machine.[/list:u][/list:u]
 
Peter found himself making direct eye contact with Jonta for a moment, but shied away from it after just a few seconds, dropping his eyes downwards as though unable to maintain it, clearly uncomfortable; he was wring his hands again - he never seemed able to keep them still - before heading for the counter and making a go of cleaning it up. It always astounded him how, one moment, the place could be sparkling clean and then two people would pass by and destroy all the work - humans were very good at creating chaos, he'd discovered.

"Uh," Wexler said, and actually blushed like a school boy, "Thanks. People have said a lot of things about the way I look, but - that's a first."

It was true; usually it was commentary on how lanky he was, reference to his insane hair that just wouldn't stay down, or how skinny he was, how bizarre he behaved - compliments were a rarity, particularly from a pretty girl. He cleared his throat then, trying to refocus,

"I've worked here for fifteen years, and you know you're the first co-worker to talk to me for more than thirty seconds in like - five years? I mean, aside from Mendez." Wexler said, but it wasn't self-pitying, merely factual, "I mean, I know I'm kinda off but thanks."
 
    • "I don't get along with... 'regular' people, in case you haven't noticed."

      She nearly interrupted the poor man; her eyes took in the crimson hues of his blush, forcing a ginger chuckle to emit from her throat. She continued to try and pry out out the gummies from underneath the metal, proceeding to listen to the man as he spoke. To Jonta, he was perfect the way he was. His eyes, his height, even his voice she had found quite lovely. It was simply because Jonta was an oddity herself. True, she was considered a dark, stunning beauty but she wasn't like other women. She was standoffish, prude, contradictory-like and blunt.

      There was nothing average about her. Her eyes, her skin, her voice, her height... she was just as out-casted as Wexler was, just in a different fashion. "Quite frankly, you're the most interesting out of the rest of these imbeciles who work here. You make things very... interesting." [/list:u][/list:u]
 
"I dunno, it's hard to tell," Wexler said, raising his shoulders in a shrug, "Haven't really had any - normal - people in here yet."

It was rich coming from Peter, but it was also true; so far it had been a group of teenage wannabe gangstas and a woman who had mysteriously dissappeared - it wasn't the most normal crowd in Miami, so knowing whether or not Jonta got on well with all the regular people in the world was a difficult thing to tell.

"Interesting," Peter repeated, rubbing a hand in his hair; like Jonta, his hair was thick and unruly, but there was a stark contrast in the pallor of it, blonde to her black hair, pale skin to her chocolate hue, blue eyes to her dark ones - the two of them were opposite in appearance, "That's a good way to put it."

He rubbed at one of his eyes with his palm,

"You wanna go play pool or something after?" he blurted out, and realized how ridiculous it sounded.
 
  • In fact, Jonta was quite proud of the tan she had acquired while living in Miami. It was toasty and warm, and gave her creamy-coffee textured flesh a much more natural luster.

    "If I'm not too tired, sure." Her reply was casual; simply put, a casual reply to a casual question, or so she supposed. Finally, after working her arms to the bone she managed to scoot out that horrible little clump of jub-jubs and gummy bears. After noticing the colorful glob, she shuddered. "I'm not touching that." With a simple dusting off of her palms she proceeded forward, examining the stock left over in the transparent concession stand.

    She stood straight and arched back and placed both hands near hr backside, groaning. It was sore and tight.

    "I need a bath."[/list:u]
 
A nod from Wexler; unlike most people, Peter didn't seem to get tired, and especially not in the evening hours. He was a night-hawk, when the neon lights turned on was when he was most active, and though he didn't look like the sort who was interested in parties, he was definitely one of Miami's night creatures. He stayed out until just before the sun rose, and then he dissappeared again - in fact, his boss, Mendez, wasn't sure he'd ever seen Wexler during daylight.

There wasn't much left to do at that point; with the few remaining customers trickling out the door, Wexler closed up the snack bar, shut down the video games, and locked the door before he began to count the till, doing so with a bored sort of expertise - fifteen years of it had made it second nature anyways.

With that done, he pulled off his vest and the white dress shirt he wore; underneath was a t-shirt with the superhero insignia for 'The Flash' on it, and the fit only emphasized how excessively lean he was.

"Well, if you're interested, there's a pretty awesome pool hall a block from here," he said, doing his best not to watch Jonta stretch out - he was sure there was some sort of unwritten rule about not oogling your co-workers.
 
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