Irene snorted as she sat in what she thought was some sort of a lobby, and shook her head. Her dark hair ruffled, shifting in place. Her advice blog always had some crazy crap posted, and it never failed to make her laugh at their plight. Or just problem, since plight is way too advanced for their situation.
After typing up a reply on how she was sympathetic, and the best way to go around without ruining their situation even more, she switched out windows to her story she was currently writing. Now she wasn't the best writer, but as many comments on her story was, she had managed to somehow get what now-a-days call, "the feels" into her writing.
She always felt too immersed in her own little world, with her own little secret. It wasn't like she had committed suicide, and is now a ghost among the human world, no, she was sitting like she still was one. And the funny thing to her was that she chose to present herself (after days of figuring out what the heck this after-life thing was), and no one still really acknowledged her. 'Jerks, the lot of them!' she would always think. Not that it made a difference, but it was definitely something rather than letting her angsty-self come out and possibly murder the whole building. People and material items.
Plugging in her earphones, she went on Pandora and clicked her infamous Etta James station. Almost immediately, her body relaxed as the familiar trumpet rang in her ears, vibrato mixing in her own emotional sound waves.
"At last...my love has come along..."
Irene smiled at the slow jazz, finding herself singing with the lady silently. Getting back to her writing, she focused on flawless typing and smooth thought process. She had always loved the simple invention of "books". They were always her friend, and believe it or not, actually was the source of her intelligence. Now it wasn't the best, but it surely was something. English accompanied with grammar and a thesaurus, was the best combo invention ever.
A slam faintly was heard as she glanced up at the opening door. She didn't notice the little boy there at all, but he didn't look in the greatest shape. Irene felt her emotions well up, anger and sorrow. His appearance reminded her of ...herself and the fact that worthless humans had the audacity to do this to their own kind was nauseating. A youthful woman came in, face all swollen with worry and maybe a bit of exasperation. Irie couldn't really understand what she was saying, as she turned up her music a bit louder, but it was all feeling fest to her. Uninterested anymore, she directed her attention back to her screen and resumed typing. It wasn't long until she heard a small scream (muffled because, music).
"That's unfortunate..."
She whispered to herself. If only they would find her advice blog. Maybe she could put in a little input herself. Nodding in agreement to herself, she paused then shook her head.
Nope. She didn't want to get involved with an emotion bomb like that, especially when she lived in the same building.
Too much of a hassle.
After typing up a reply on how she was sympathetic, and the best way to go around without ruining their situation even more, she switched out windows to her story she was currently writing. Now she wasn't the best writer, but as many comments on her story was, she had managed to somehow get what now-a-days call, "the feels" into her writing.
She always felt too immersed in her own little world, with her own little secret. It wasn't like she had committed suicide, and is now a ghost among the human world, no, she was sitting like she still was one. And the funny thing to her was that she chose to present herself (after days of figuring out what the heck this after-life thing was), and no one still really acknowledged her. 'Jerks, the lot of them!' she would always think. Not that it made a difference, but it was definitely something rather than letting her angsty-self come out and possibly murder the whole building. People and material items.
Plugging in her earphones, she went on Pandora and clicked her infamous Etta James station. Almost immediately, her body relaxed as the familiar trumpet rang in her ears, vibrato mixing in her own emotional sound waves.
"At last...my love has come along..."
Irene smiled at the slow jazz, finding herself singing with the lady silently. Getting back to her writing, she focused on flawless typing and smooth thought process. She had always loved the simple invention of "books". They were always her friend, and believe it or not, actually was the source of her intelligence. Now it wasn't the best, but it surely was something. English accompanied with grammar and a thesaurus, was the best combo invention ever.
A slam faintly was heard as she glanced up at the opening door. She didn't notice the little boy there at all, but he didn't look in the greatest shape. Irene felt her emotions well up, anger and sorrow. His appearance reminded her of ...herself and the fact that worthless humans had the audacity to do this to their own kind was nauseating. A youthful woman came in, face all swollen with worry and maybe a bit of exasperation. Irie couldn't really understand what she was saying, as she turned up her music a bit louder, but it was all feeling fest to her. Uninterested anymore, she directed her attention back to her screen and resumed typing. It wasn't long until she heard a small scream (muffled because, music).
"That's unfortunate..."
She whispered to herself. If only they would find her advice blog. Maybe she could put in a little input herself. Nodding in agreement to herself, she paused then shook her head.
Nope. She didn't want to get involved with an emotion bomb like that, especially when she lived in the same building.
Too much of a hassle.