Post by Rhiannon on Jan 12, 2009 19:28:15 GMT -5
Rhiannon was always amazed when she got a job.
Honestly, there was no way anyone should have considered her: she had no social or last name for that matter, or at least not one she would have given on either count; no resume or job references, for obvious reasons; and no real job skills, at least none she'd care to list. Because, really, how many people would hire her if she put down 'can move objects with my mind.' She had no desire to be a freak show. Home had shown her enough of that.
But when times got tougher than expected and the money was draining from her wallet, Rhi always seemed to find something. Usually it was waiting tables. But if she smiled real nice and did her job, tips were always decent. And sometimes, when she was lucky, the owners or managers would let her perform. The tips were always better then.
And through the rough times, Rhi survived.
When she got off the train station in Bangor, having spent the last of her money on that ticket, she found a decent coffee shop nearby with a lot of traffic. Though the owners hadn't been looking for any new help, they seemed to like Rhi and hired her. Even pointed out a decent hotel she could stay in.
And now here she was, several days later, strumming her guitar, trying to feel the music, trying to find what the audience needed. Though normally, she was a bit awkward, falling over herself, saying the wrong thing, in her music she found her place. And through her music, she could always read what was needed. Sometimes the music needed to be a little rockier, other times gentler. But no matter the situation, Rhi always seemed to find her peace when she was in her music. And the audience could sense it too.
Humming out a new melody that was flirting around her brain, Rhi overheard some people at a nearby booth, talking about a town a little ways outside of Bangor...Crocker Turn. They were talking about the strange sounds, the people who never returned, the rumors of what was living there. A strange mix of fear colored the storyteller's words. Needing to hear more, Rhi practically begged out loud to the strangers. Instead, she kept playing, her ears tuned to those near her.
And as was wont to happen, the desire to hear more came through her music. And unknown to her, a compulsion played along the storyteller's ears, making him need to tell more. Rhi never knew she was doing it, never knew she was 'encouraging' the people to help. But its how she survived, how she got a job when none were available, how she could find a meal or a place to stay. People were drawn to her voice and her deep blue eyes.
So the man spoke more, more about Crocker Turn. And Rhi knew she had to go. If there was any chance there were people like her, people with abilities or who were just different, maybe she could find a place she could live. Maybe even a place she could stay.
Suddenly happier than she had been in a very long time, Rhi started singing, creating words to her new melody. And in response to her happiness, the coffee shop was suddenly filled with laughter.
Honestly, there was no way anyone should have considered her: she had no social or last name for that matter, or at least not one she would have given on either count; no resume or job references, for obvious reasons; and no real job skills, at least none she'd care to list. Because, really, how many people would hire her if she put down 'can move objects with my mind.' She had no desire to be a freak show. Home had shown her enough of that.
But when times got tougher than expected and the money was draining from her wallet, Rhi always seemed to find something. Usually it was waiting tables. But if she smiled real nice and did her job, tips were always decent. And sometimes, when she was lucky, the owners or managers would let her perform. The tips were always better then.
And through the rough times, Rhi survived.
When she got off the train station in Bangor, having spent the last of her money on that ticket, she found a decent coffee shop nearby with a lot of traffic. Though the owners hadn't been looking for any new help, they seemed to like Rhi and hired her. Even pointed out a decent hotel she could stay in.
And now here she was, several days later, strumming her guitar, trying to feel the music, trying to find what the audience needed. Though normally, she was a bit awkward, falling over herself, saying the wrong thing, in her music she found her place. And through her music, she could always read what was needed. Sometimes the music needed to be a little rockier, other times gentler. But no matter the situation, Rhi always seemed to find her peace when she was in her music. And the audience could sense it too.
Humming out a new melody that was flirting around her brain, Rhi overheard some people at a nearby booth, talking about a town a little ways outside of Bangor...Crocker Turn. They were talking about the strange sounds, the people who never returned, the rumors of what was living there. A strange mix of fear colored the storyteller's words. Needing to hear more, Rhi practically begged out loud to the strangers. Instead, she kept playing, her ears tuned to those near her.
And as was wont to happen, the desire to hear more came through her music. And unknown to her, a compulsion played along the storyteller's ears, making him need to tell more. Rhi never knew she was doing it, never knew she was 'encouraging' the people to help. But its how she survived, how she got a job when none were available, how she could find a meal or a place to stay. People were drawn to her voice and her deep blue eyes.
So the man spoke more, more about Crocker Turn. And Rhi knew she had to go. If there was any chance there were people like her, people with abilities or who were just different, maybe she could find a place she could live. Maybe even a place she could stay.
Suddenly happier than she had been in a very long time, Rhi started singing, creating words to her new melody. And in response to her happiness, the coffee shop was suddenly filled with laughter.
