"Yo, late again?" and Nick tossed a parcel her way. "That one's going up to the thirtieth floor, then three you gotta take over to the docks."
Work. Right.
"Yeah, okay, okay, I'm just," she rubbed her eyes, makeup smearing under her fingers.
Nick laughed. "yeah, I know. That's why the docks are second."
She flipped him off and scooped up the parcel. "I'm on time, bitch."
Work. Grey hallways and loose fitting pants, cool, air conditioned rooms. Runners for the major companies usually had to wear hot uniforms, but they got away with track pants and tanks here because all the runners were on foot. A hundred dollars every three months in footwear allowance, plus salary, made the job a good one but still, it was dull as fuck and stifling.
Christina hopped an express elevator straight up to the executive offices, scraping make-up off her eyes. Before she went to deliver outside the building that would have to go, and she'd have to find somewhere to get a stim drink, maybe some bread. Something to make the morning start out right.
"Hey, Chris, thought that was you slinking in on the monitors just now."
And this was just the opposite, Alex coming her way and running fast. "Can't talk now, I gotta get my delivery off and back down to--"
He railroaded her, following as she strode down the corridors and had to jog to keep up even though his legs were twice her length. "Just, wait a minute, please Chris, if you'd--"
"I'm not giving your digits to J because he doesn't give a shit about you. I took you to that club once because you needed to get out." She brushed hair out of her face angrily, looking up into his sad face. "Listen, everyone fucks there, that's what they do. Okay?"
"I, yeah." He sighed. "I know."
"If you want someone to stay with, to be with, go meet someone at a normal bar, Alex."
She left him standing by the elevators, and scraped at her lashes as the doors closed on his face.
~
"That's it?" She glanced at the clock on Nick's desk. "It's barely three o'clock, if you send me home I won't make rent tomorrow and I'll have to fucking sleep on the street."
Nick said, "Deliveries are slow today. Don't you have a match tonight?"
Christina blew hair out of her face, clinked her fingernails. "Not that's gonna get me an extra fifty bucks to pay my power and Connect bill. Fuck you, find me somewhere else to work for the afternoon?"
"Warehouse, maybe, but it's all forklift loading and you--"
She was already headed back down the hall. "Gotta make a quick stop, and I'll be there till seven. Page'em."
"Done." When the elevator dinged Nick was on the mic announcing her new work detail.
The basement of the building next block over, accessible by underground tube, had her pharmacy. Adrenaline and lite PCP tabs, and the special steroid/meth the doctor cooked up for her. After a boost drink from the vendor outside and a caffeine pill, Christina almost felt awake and able to go back to work.
~
Fridays down at ALARM had a different schedule than weekdays; there was live entertainment most of the time, instead of matches, and no amateur fights. Too, people wandered around in masks and capes and feathers. It meant more preparation, more costuming, because the crowd went all out, so the fighters had to as well.
Mer was already bathing when Christina got home, the smell of lavendar floating in their rooms, and steamy condensation coating every shiny surface. "Mer, if there's no water left I'm going to slap you."
A pile of six bath towels heaped in the corner, not to mention some weird new age meditation bullshit on their little hi-fi. Christina flipped the dial off. Mer called from the bathtub, "hey, I was listening to that!"
"Sweetcheeks," and Christina flopped down on her mattress, kicked her pants off and started pulling out paints and her boots, "I told you. my hi-fi, my station when I'm home. and that is bullshit fucking awful."
Mer appeared wearing a towel, and yeah, creamy legs and if she looked hard enough there might be a bit of curly red hair peeking out from underneath. "Has B left any messages?"
"None when I checked the Center. None from Nick either, so guess we have the morning off tomrrow."
Mer disappeared behind her screen, and Christina kicked her track pants off and down the laundry chute. Have to sort out her stuff in the basement tomorrow morning. Behind the screen, Mer dropped the towel, and started pulling out feathers and scarves and skirts. She said, "I have no idea what to wear."
Christina ran more water for a quick bath. "Whatever, M. It's not like you're onstage."
Water the right temperature, none of that lavendar shit, just her and the ceramic tub and a washcloth. She sank down, scrubbed her skin and dunked her head under, poured some chemical cleaner into her blond extensions.
"What're you putting on?"
Out of the tub, naked and cooling in the air -- hot still and already, since their coolant fan had been broken since last July when B came over and kicked it out the window, high on something. "Usual."
She pulled on a bikini top, silver, and shorts, grabbed body paint. Nothing too complicated, just enough. Always just enough. The real treat was the body, never what covered it up. It was something Mer, who'd grown up high class and came here for fun, still had money in the bank and didn't grow up a slum kid, couldn't get into her head.
"Yeah, okay," and Mer emerged, primped and decorated with glued on feathers. "Let's go."
Christina grabbed her motorcycle jacket, and some body oil -- the oil room might still be out of commission, but a girl could hope -- and nodded. "right. Time to head out."