#human!bet-e

[robotbeta]

A silken scarf dropped to the floor as the music came to a close. Sea green eyes darted around the room, looking for something that was not there. Betty held her breath in hopes that something - ANYTHING - would happen. But the room remained as still as she stood. She lay down on the floor of her living room in defeat. Perhaps she did something wrong? Rolling over to look at the book she had purchased, she began to mutter to herself. "Maybe if I hadn't used a silk scarf. What if it needed to be leather or something else traditional? Or perhaps I needed to be on sacred ground?" She closed the beaten cover of the second hand book describing Native American worship practices, choosing to pick herself up and look out the window of her run down apartment. There was still a spark of hope that something would happen if she held out long enough. "Or maybe it's taking it's sweet time like every other religion I've looked at." It had begun drizzling during her dance, too bad the girl hadn't been chanting for rain. Still, the quiet beat of the water against the window pane had been a nice accompaniment to the drum CD she had been playing.

With a sigh, she slipped on some shoes and one of her heavier jackets. It wasn't water proof, but it wasn't raining hard enough to cause worry. She needed to get out of this stuffy room and give both herself and her thoughts room to breathe.

Stepping outside, the moisture greeted her welcoming face. Cool air, water droplets dancing through the trees and down into nearby puddles, and a steely grey sky made the young woman forget her disappointment. As the rain began to cleanse her face, it felt the same for her soul as she resigned herself to the result she had received. "I probably needed more people. Real drums. I've never seen a dance preformed solo anyways." She spoke out to nobody in particular as she walked down the damp street.

[robotbeta]

It was barely 4:30 and the sun was already beginning to set. Betty squinted through the kitchen windows before turning to her boss, asking for a smoke break. It was right before the dinner rush, and some other cooks had gone out a little while ago, so there were enough workers to cover her station in case an influx of orders came early. Wiping her hands on her apron, she snatched her beaten leather jacket from the hook and headed out back. It was going to be a cool night according to the forecast, or that’s what she understood from the news. She had been in Paris for a couple months now, but she still wasn’t completely acclimated to using Celsius over Fahrenheit or kilometers over miles. At least the rising and setting sun was something universal. And boy did it look pretty tonight, even in the poor view of the city.

Taking a cigarette out of the carton and sticking it in her mouth, she headed out the door to light it. As the door to the back ally swung open, she could hear the sound of a guitar playing, as a voice sung along. Flicking on her lighter, she lit her smoke as she looked around to see who it was. She followed the sound, walking to the edge of the railing on the stairs that led to the kitchen, and looked over behind a dumpster to see a young man playing away on his instrument. She raised an eyebrow at his odd choice of practice location, but let him continue playing. It was interesting to see the man work from above, his fingers plucking away at the guitar strings. She smiled as he came to a stop. “Très bon.” Betty spoke fairly softly, hoping not to surprise him. She knew very little French, however she had heard the complement from her bosses more than enough to know what it meant.