Visible. Invisible. Visible. Invisible. Now you see her, now you don't, thought Lorelei Thenson with a bit of a smile. As she was materializing for about the twentieth time, a sharp intake of breath from the direction of the door cut her little game short. The perpetrator: a portly, middle-aged woman who was staring at her as though she had begun to asexually bud a second Lorelei. Well, such a reaction was to be expected when one decided to practice disappearing in front of the mirror in a public restroom. Grinning briefly, Lore vanished from sight. The door swung open as if God had reached down to exhibit to the whole world the ladies' room of Sun Candles, and Miss Thenson was gone. The portly woman promptly lost consciousness.
Slipping into the front of the line was no longer a problem for Lorelei. She came in directly in front of a small brunette who screamed -- or rather, whispered -- soft-spokenness. The moment the young lady in question looked away, poof! There was Lorelei. From the looks of her, the girl would dismiss the sudden appearance of someone who obviously hadn't been there before with something to the effect of "I wasn't paying attention" or "must've been daydreaming." What exactly she did think was a mystery to Lorelei (it wasn't as if she had gotten telepathy or anything), but one that held no appeal whatsoever as long as no comment was made.
Mere moments later, "the invisible woman" was contentedly sipping a tall cup of french roast with a double shot of espresso. After a mainly sleepless night, what else was there but coffee? Well, sleep would work as well, she supposed, but coffee tasted better by far. Turning quickly enough to avoid catching a glance at the rows of scones sitting inside their glass case looking positively delectable, she mulled over the idea of going somewhere. Looking for work would probably benefit her, what with rent day coming up and all, but she didn't feel like it. Holden Caulfield was right when he said that you had to be in the mood for those sorts of things, even if finding a job wasn't one of the sorts of things he was referring to.
Besides, how often was she so serene when she was so close to another fresh beginning of her monthly dilemma cycle? How often was she so serene, period? The first week of each month went to begging more time off of her landlord and scrabbling to avoid eviction, and the second went to chugging down painkillers like water and pantomiming her tenth-grade English teacher's description of Medea as "an angry woman with a knife." (How and why she remembered that was beyond her. Tenth grade had offered her the best English teacher of all of them, though. And just in time for Greek mythology, told in pieces like anecdotes at a casual party.) Well, that wasn't entirely true. Sometimes, depending on the collective mood of her uterus and her birth control pills, she could escape the horror of menstruation. Still, it would always be looming around the corner until she could either miraculously contract some sort of cancer of the reproductive organs and have them removed or get to menopause, and that itself was enough to put her in a bad mood.
The point, though, was that she hadn't a care in the world. All the cares she should have had were on vacation, had left town, were out sick. Like she could fade in and out of reality with the same ease as she could fade in and out of vision. There was no rent day for people who didn't exist. They didn't have to waste time being bitter about having a bodily function whose only purpose was to produce small, loud bundles of flesh that they had no desire to produce. They didn't have to worry about the awful, stupid, skanky things they may have done at such-and-such party while they were drunk off their asses. They didn't have to worry about that delicious redhead by the door... wait. She knew that delicious redhead. And the brunette he was talking to as well. From, uh. From, uh. It took a moment, but the memory eventually came back to her. The club. The pills. They had been there that night, hadn't they?
Though their names escaped her, Lorelei decided to approach the man and woman. After all, not only would it probably seem strange for her to stare at them only to leave without any interaction, but if they had been there that night, she wanted desperately to know what powers they had ended up with, if any. She was even in a social mood. Or, at least, as social as she got. With the absence of all her usual minor crises came an unusual desire to converse with others. Like she needed to be reminded of her own existence or something silly like that. The thought nearly made her laugh out loud. No, she was far too fond of solitude and attractive to troubles in making ends meet to feel nonexistent for the slightest moment. Nevertheless, talking to people was a whole lot better than standing in front of mirrors in a daze or spending hours trying to walk through her living room wall.
"Hey," she said pleasantly upon approaching them. Yes, it was a surprise even to her. The only time her greetings could be readily described as "pleasant" was when she was caught up in an interesting project. Otherwise, they were more along the lines of half-assed, nonchalant (to those who refused to buy that she was disinterested in the prospect of speaking with them and therefore substituted terms), distracted, annoyed... never pleasant. And still, there it was. A miracle drug, ladies and gentlemen, capable of transforming its user from a grouchy recluse to a social butterfly. Holy cow, gee whiz, I'll be darned. It's like alcohol with less idiocy, frivolity, and vomit. Don't bother looking for it in your local drugstore, it's far too special. Try a nightclub.
Slipping into the front of the line was no longer a problem for Lorelei. She came in directly in front of a small brunette who screamed -- or rather, whispered -- soft-spokenness. The moment the young lady in question looked away, poof! There was Lorelei. From the looks of her, the girl would dismiss the sudden appearance of someone who obviously hadn't been there before with something to the effect of "I wasn't paying attention" or "must've been daydreaming." What exactly she did think was a mystery to Lorelei (it wasn't as if she had gotten telepathy or anything), but one that held no appeal whatsoever as long as no comment was made.
Mere moments later, "the invisible woman" was contentedly sipping a tall cup of french roast with a double shot of espresso. After a mainly sleepless night, what else was there but coffee? Well, sleep would work as well, she supposed, but coffee tasted better by far. Turning quickly enough to avoid catching a glance at the rows of scones sitting inside their glass case looking positively delectable, she mulled over the idea of going somewhere. Looking for work would probably benefit her, what with rent day coming up and all, but she didn't feel like it. Holden Caulfield was right when he said that you had to be in the mood for those sorts of things, even if finding a job wasn't one of the sorts of things he was referring to.
Besides, how often was she so serene when she was so close to another fresh beginning of her monthly dilemma cycle? How often was she so serene, period? The first week of each month went to begging more time off of her landlord and scrabbling to avoid eviction, and the second went to chugging down painkillers like water and pantomiming her tenth-grade English teacher's description of Medea as "an angry woman with a knife." (How and why she remembered that was beyond her. Tenth grade had offered her the best English teacher of all of them, though. And just in time for Greek mythology, told in pieces like anecdotes at a casual party.) Well, that wasn't entirely true. Sometimes, depending on the collective mood of her uterus and her birth control pills, she could escape the horror of menstruation. Still, it would always be looming around the corner until she could either miraculously contract some sort of cancer of the reproductive organs and have them removed or get to menopause, and that itself was enough to put her in a bad mood.
The point, though, was that she hadn't a care in the world. All the cares she should have had were on vacation, had left town, were out sick. Like she could fade in and out of reality with the same ease as she could fade in and out of vision. There was no rent day for people who didn't exist. They didn't have to waste time being bitter about having a bodily function whose only purpose was to produce small, loud bundles of flesh that they had no desire to produce. They didn't have to worry about the awful, stupid, skanky things they may have done at such-and-such party while they were drunk off their asses. They didn't have to worry about that delicious redhead by the door... wait. She knew that delicious redhead. And the brunette he was talking to as well. From, uh. From, uh. It took a moment, but the memory eventually came back to her. The club. The pills. They had been there that night, hadn't they?
Though their names escaped her, Lorelei decided to approach the man and woman. After all, not only would it probably seem strange for her to stare at them only to leave without any interaction, but if they had been there that night, she wanted desperately to know what powers they had ended up with, if any. She was even in a social mood. Or, at least, as social as she got. With the absence of all her usual minor crises came an unusual desire to converse with others. Like she needed to be reminded of her own existence or something silly like that. The thought nearly made her laugh out loud. No, she was far too fond of solitude and attractive to troubles in making ends meet to feel nonexistent for the slightest moment. Nevertheless, talking to people was a whole lot better than standing in front of mirrors in a daze or spending hours trying to walk through her living room wall.
"Hey," she said pleasantly upon approaching them. Yes, it was a surprise even to her. The only time her greetings could be readily described as "pleasant" was when she was caught up in an interesting project. Otherwise, they were more along the lines of half-assed, nonchalant (to those who refused to buy that she was disinterested in the prospect of speaking with them and therefore substituted terms), distracted, annoyed... never pleasant. And still, there it was. A miracle drug, ladies and gentlemen, capable of transforming its user from a grouchy recluse to a social butterfly. Holy cow, gee whiz, I'll be darned. It's like alcohol with less idiocy, frivolity, and vomit. Don't bother looking for it in your local drugstore, it's far too special. Try a nightclub.
