Chapter Text
Dayanara woke with a start, she shot up in bed getting tangled in the blankets and falling off of the shitty mattress. (she had woken up in the middle of the night after a bad dream and had migrated to her bed).
“Fuck!” Dayanara shouts as she hits the stained carpeted floor.
She quickly untangles herself from the mess of her blankets, she picks herself up off the floor gathering her soft blankets into her arms. She had splurged a little and brought the full price and first hand after she had won some money at some pop up gambling event one of her neighbors told her about a week after she had moved in. She’s pretty sure they just felt bad for her, even she can admit that she made for a pitiful sight when she first moved here.
She dumps the blankets on the bed, not bothering to make it just yet, to be completely honest she never really makes the bed. She runs a hand through her dishevelled hair and walks around the bed to pick up her phone. She taps the screen to show the time, it reads: 07:04. Dayanara sighs as she reads the time, tossing her phone onto her unmade messy bed.
“Well” she says out loud to herself “I suppose I did need to be up early”
Dayanara promptly turns on her heel and begins to get ready for what she's assuming will be a shitty day.
First things first, shower.
〰10 minute time skip〰
After she gets out of her shower Dayanara flits through her wardrobe, what's the expected style for her to wear to this FBI gig? Does she even own anything that would be classed as acceptable? Fuck it, it’s not like she even wanted this job anyways so their just going to have to suck it up if her outfit isn’t FBI material. She ends up picking out some of her nicest jeans, the grey wide legged ones that sit on her waist, a black belt, a plain black top and a brown plaid shirt that she decides to leave unbuttoned.
She runs a hand through her again, deciding to just throw it into a loose ponytail. She can’t really be bothered to style her curls today plus she hasn’t really got a reason to go out of her way to look nice today. It’s not like she’s actually interviewing for this job or that she’s going to get fired based on her appearance. It’d probably take a lot for her to get fired actually, considering that this shitty job is being forced on her in place of prosecution. Damn her high self, she’s still going to give Marcus shit for selling her that weed, she doesn’t care that it wasn’t actually his fault.
Dayanara grab her phone off of her bed and chucked it into her tote bag (it had been a gift from one of Mrs. Grant’s grandchildren, a thank you for checking in on their Grandma a few times). She liked it because it was multi-use, durable and environmentally friendly, plus it was free. She also threw her charger into the bag as well.
She left her bedroom and made a beeline for her crappy kitchenette, she opened her cupboards only to be disappointed that they hadn’t miraculously filled themselves over night. She closed the cupboards and grabbed a few stray crackers that were left discarded on her coffee table from the previous night. She stuffed them in her mouth as she walked over to her door to shove her trainers onto her feet and to grab her coat that lay discarded on the lone chest of draws that sat by her door. She grabbed her keys from the top of the draws by the door as well, pushing herself out of the door and making sure to lock it behind her afterwards.
She walks down the halls of the apartment complex (if you can even call it that) giving the occasional nod to any of her neighbors she walks by. She rushed down the metal stairs, taking two at a time. She stalled when she got to the front door of the rundown complex as she heard Frank call out to her.
“Kid, hold up a minute” Frank called out from the ground floor hallway just before she could exit the building.
Dayanara turned around, watching Frank limp towards her with his cane. She stepped away from the doors and to the side of the hall as she met Frank half way.
“That old woman spilled the beans on ya new job” Frank grumbled out in the same gruff manner as always.
“Mrs. Grant? I…I don’t remember…telling her that?” Dayanara admits confused, her brow furrowing as she tries to recall the previous evening's conversation. Did she mention it? She didn’t think so?
“Bah that old woman overheard ya muttering to yerself after ya came back from all that fuss yesterday” Frank huffed, shaking his head disapprovingly.
Dayanara sighed, she knew she had a terrible habit of talking to herself, she used to tease her about that all the time back when she lived in Texas.
“That's besides tha’ point though kid, I had a few spare junk lying ‘round ma place. I ain’t gonna get round ta eating em before they expire, and tha’ lord knows ya ain’t got no food packed for tha’ day so do tha’ both of us a favor and take this.” Frank huffs as he shoves a plastic bag at her.
Dayanara fumbled with the bag for a moment before holding it properly, her eyes widened as she registered what Frank had just said and what he had just given her.
“Oh, thank you Frank, I appreciate the thought” Dayanara says softly, smiling thankfully at him.
“Bah, don’t even mention it kid, they’re just junk, ain’t got no use for ‘em” Frank is quick to wave her off, grumberling gently. “Now get goin’ kid, it ain’t gonna do ya’ no good if ya’ late on yer first day” Frank grumbles as he begins to usher her in the direction of the apartment complex’s doors.
Dayanara smiles at Frank one last time before turning on her heel and exiting the complex, she makes sure to shove the bag Frank had given her into her tote, no point in carrying two bags if she doesn’t have to after all.
Dayanara makes her way down the street and in the direction of the metro, expertly weaving in and out of people. Once she gets there she makes her way down the metro stairs and patiently waits for her train. Once it gets there she boards and finds herself a place to stand near the doors.
Once she arrives at her destination she gets off, and once again expertly weaves between people. She walks down the street at a leisurely pace.
Dayanara pauses as she arrives at the front of the building she was meant to be arriving at. Dayanara sighs as she looks up at the FBI building, she was really doing this, maybe she should just run away? No, no, she worked so hard to get here she wasn’t going to screw it up over some shitty mistake she made whilst high. She’d go in there and kick the FBI’s arse, she would work her time off here and then quit and go do… something she doesn’t know yet but still.
With a determined look on her face and her silent curses in her head (she really didn’t want to do this) she stepped forward and entered the building. She’ll be fine (probably), she’s been through worse than being forced into a cushy FBI job. She’ll live and if she doesn’t? Well she can’t find too many complaints in that area either. On with the day and all that shit.
If I'm being forced to do something I don’t want to do, my real self comes out. But whether or not I’m aware of it, no matter what happens, I’m always going to have a fake self and I’m not going to judge my fake self.
Benjamin Clementine