She was tired. So, so tired. She started out every day working at her parents’ jewelry shop tired, and she ended every day just as tired. No matter the day of the week, the stream of customers was relentless, and putting on an impeccable salesgirl front when a sharp migraine was flaring up just behind her eyes was tasking enough. It was easy enough to sell rubies cut to be comfortably embedded into flesh, or five-foot strands of genetically engineered freshwater pearls the size of large peas, almost as easy as making a fish swim. Hell, she’d managed to convince a woman to purchase a dress constructed entirely of bright white crystals fastened to an elaborate cage of wire, at a price that could likely have fed all of District 11, when she’d come in merely to have her wedding ring refurbished.
Games season was nearing, a close connection to a victor was often enough to bring customers in. Her bright smile, regardless of how feigned it was, was enough to keep them. But her face hurt from smiling, and her head ached, and these new ridiculous shoes her mother had insisted she wear were pinching her feet and bringing on a dull throbbing in her ankles and all she wanted to do was curl up in her window seat at home and nap. Maybe for days, if she could manage it.
After a man purchased an elaborate woken choker dripping with pink sapphires for his daughter, the afternoon rush lulled, giving Cel a moment, even if it was just a moment, to rest, to brace her elbows on the nearest plexiglass display case and brace her head in the heels of her hands. The migraine was not subsiding, was worsening, in fact, with the new addition of a subtle ringing in her ears. Or were those footsteps punctuating the rare moment of silence?
She glanced up at the newcomer, a girl, who, despite her natural beauty, was too obviously plain in her dress and her manner to be local. It was a surprise, to say the least, to see the outsider gawking at the display of gems Cel reluctantly took for granted. Cel’s bias against those from her own district caused her to find a bit of elation in interacting with a visitor. It was endearing as well, the look on the girl’s face, and though Cel’s migraine still persisted, she found a pleasant, if not brief, distraction in the stranger.
“Hi there,” she cleared her throat and smiled a bit, genuinely for once, trying not to reveal her amusement, “Can I help you?”
vaporwave
amandla
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
blakekathryn
dailybridgerton
yousharknotpass
