Casper item app - Cecillia Lambert

{ Backstory}
Her fingers ran over the locket, squeezing it as she always did when bored. It once held a photo inside, of a friend or family member long since passed. Now, it was just a husk used to store a folder up note, or the occasional pill. “Hnnng.” groaned Cecillia, as she waited for the system to boot up. An inviting warm glow emitted from the screen, the only light in the otherwise dark room. She sat there in her bathrobe, with a clock above her reading: seven thirty three. “Another week well spent”, she thought aloud. It had, in fact, been five days.

The familiar boot-up sound at last played, freeing her from the eternal torment of waiting thirty seconds. Nonchalantly, it traversed the screen; an extension of it's masters will, as it was commandeered with expert precision to open the system's browser.

She misclicked.

Instead, her chosen gaming client slowly opened up, not responding halfway through as always. “Ghhghh.” Lambert murmured something incoherent as she had to endure another non-responsive wait. After an undisclosed amount of time passed, it was finally before her four eyes: Nate Bit. Advanced screenings now showing. She smiled with glee at the words, as the code from the screen was copied into her PDA, then wirelessly transferred to the printer. Her chair was wheeled over to the other side of the still-dark room, until it softly bumped into the cabinet that housed the printer. Her fingers impatiently drummed on the desk as the paper oh-so-slowly began printing out. It could almost be seen Nat-. There was a terrible crunch as the printer shut off, followed by the computer behind her, and then the room was dark again.

“I hate...” she stood up, walked over to the light switch and: Click, click. Nothing. “...Everything.” she walked over to the window, pulling up the shutters and looking out at the horizon of Lowell City- she hissed as the light hit her eyes like a spike and raised her arm in front of her, as if it would stop the slight discomfort. The sky was already beginning to darken; it was probably around six.

Stretching, Cecillia looked around the room she called home: A bed pressed against the wall was unmade, the monochrome sheets matching the silver/grey of the wall behind it. The computer was just in front of the only window, propped up on a desk that looked ten years too old and was in arms-reach of the kitchen, which was more of an assortment of three cabinets with a fridge and microwave, than anything.

Lambert trotted towards her floordrobe; a collection of clothes in a neat pile at the bottom of her bed. First were the trousers, a pair of black sweatpants, then the jacket, orange in colour, with a nice thick hood, followed by socks, mismatched in hue and then she slipped into her canvas shoes. Once white, they were now black. Stretching once more, she ran a hand through her hair before making a path to her bag. The bag rested near a cabinet, near the door. And on top of that cabinet, a firework, bigger than anything else she owned. Cecillia would never forget that night, because she probably wouldn't ever remember it.

Slinging the dark grey satchel-bag with it's red stripe over her shoulder, she pulled the door shut, swiping her ID through the scanner and then pulling a third, fourth and seventh time to make sure it was properly locked. The hallway outside was pleasantly lit, it's artificial orange glow permeated by only a single window at the end. She walked over to the lift conveniently open at her floor and stepped inside.

It was at this moment that Cecillia heard a thump from the door three down from hers. “Oh no.” she said aloud. “Oh... god no.” she looked at the floor the elevator was currently on, three, she would have to talk to this man for three whole floors if she didn't act now. And act she did. “W-wait! Hold the doors!” came a desperate plea as the poor man frantically fumbled with his keys. The satchel on his shoulder and the box under his right arm elaborated his already awkward demeanour.

“Come on... come on!” she cried, quietly, and to herself, as she rapidly pressed against the close and ground floor buttons in unison. Nothing... she looked up from the panel and saw him running towards the doors, he was almost there! So close, all it would take was a few more footsteps and he'd be upon her. Talking, incoherently, about his stupid part-time job, and about how the new season of Bonov had a lacklustre cast compared to the last; the tale of how he pulled his ankle running away from a car, the one that she had already heard exactly nine times before- shortly afterwards, he'd ask why she wouldn't give him his shoe back or why she threw an egg at his door the other day, then he'd ask why she never held the lift for him, followed by all this other stuff that she frankly did not care about this early. Or ever.

Ping. Saved by the bell. The doors closed just as he reached them, and the lift began it's short descent as the woman inside looked into the mirror, ignoring the man on the outside cursing something about a last chance- being sacked for being late... or something. Cecillia began messing with her hair. Her silver, neck-length bedhead was a mess. So she ran her hands through it a few times, pushing down the sticking up parts and pulling up the flat parts until her hair looked less like a nest and more like hair.

“Sweet.” she said, as the doors below cranked open with a guttural screech. She repositioned her swanky red glasses and set foot out of the lobby, into the crowded streets of Lowell. Cecillia hated people. She hated having to walk through a horde of them to get to the nearest sandwich shop even more. But when she finally did? 'Worth it' she thought. “Hi Jaaaaake~!” Lambert put on her best poker-face as she entered the nearly empty shop with a falsified grin “You owe me twenty two credits.” a gruff voice came from the fat man in an apron. A fat man rolling dough behind a glass counter. 'Not worth it'. Cecillia thought to herself, as she pulled her satchel-bag around to her waist; grabbing her wallet and reluctantly placing the twenty two credits on the table, followed by another eight.

“The usual?” he rhetorically asked. Cecillia nodded without looking up at him as she dexterously swung her PDA from left to right, playing some Pay to Win rubbish. The slam on the counter above caused her to fall into a pothole and die. She sighed, put her PDA away and looked up to the pleasant sight of a wrapped sandwich. Her eyes then traced to the cup: a honey & vanilla iced-tea, with a slight tinge of cinnamon and six sugars. If asked to define perfect, she'd say it'd be in this cup.

Cecillia nodded as she grabbed them both and made way to her seat. Her favourite seat, in the back. The seat where nobody sat. Ever. Cecillia loved the seat, because it was right against the wall and nobody could bother her. She was free to eat her sandwich and drink her tea without fear of-

Someone was sat in her seat.

An old, bald fellow, unaware of the woman staring daggers at him with a million thoughts racing through her mind. She pondered whether to throw her sandwich at him, or to pour her fancy tea on his stupid bald head. After a few very long seconds of thinking, she concluded against it. This sandwich had cost her a credit; damned was she if it was to be spent on his old face. Instead, Cecillia bit her lip and reluctantly took the seat besides the window. It wasn't quite out of the way, and was near the back door where the cleaners were always in and out of but... it was somewhere to sit and somewhere to eat.

Cecillia unravelled the sandwich, her bespectacled eyes squinting as she scrutinized the ingredients. Bacon, no fat. Pork, lightly done. And tomatoes with red sauce. The pill in a plastic seal. Without looking, she delicately tore her way through the plastic, using the bread bun as cover, and squished it between her thumb and index finger; asserting it was the real deal. Confident that it was, she slid it down into her palm and stretched, then shoved her thumb nail into her locket and pried it open. In a flash, she shoved the pill inside and then clicked it shut.

Lambert scarfed down the sandwich and drink, before heading back out into the street. She closed her eyes as she reluctantly remembered what she had to do next: Printer. Cecillia had to buy a new one and she didn't want to. At all. She sighed, and began her trek down the street and into the sunset.