Chapter Text
“Well, coin flip it is then!” Courtney decides, fishing around in her jean pocket for a loose quarter.
“Heads or tails?” her roommate inquires. Katya scoffs, the choice is obvious to her.
“Heads” Katya states. Courtney carefully positions the gleaming metal onto her hand and she tosses the coin. Katya watches as it flips itself over, reflecting light as it spins rapidly.
“It landed on tails, so you’re picking it up” Courtney announces. Katya sighs in frustration, dropping her hands to her sides.
“Whatever!” Katya declares while snatching up her keys and stomping to the door. She drapes her leather jacket around her shoulders, slipping one arm in each heavy sleeve. She walks out of her apartment and jogs her way down the fire escape stairs. The elevator has been out of order for the past week, and god knows that the building manager isn’t going to fix it. Living only on the second floor, this was not a great inconvenience but an annoyance for sure.
Cascading down the final three steps, Katya pushes the heavy metal door and faces the windy grey weather of Toronto. Her apartment has no underground parking, and so instead Katya keeps her car across the street in front of the neighboring apartment. She has never received any complaints about this so, for the past year, the same piece of asphalt has been her automobile’s home.
Her car is definitely well-loved. She had inherited the Chevrolet from her parents a few years after graduating high school, and ever since has driven it all over the country. Unfortunately, the silver vehicle is just now starting to develop gratuitous amounts of problems. The tires make a high-pitched squeaking noise whenever Katya turns corners, and there is a small crack in the corner of the back windshield. Katya doesn't care enough to spend limited money fixing these problems, not to mention her lack of funding for such a minute issue. And so, her car remained in its battered state.
Katya jabs her key into the ignition and establishes her hands on the wheel, gripping the worn leather. The car sputters into a low hum, which Katya masks with the sound of a random radio station. She pulls out of the apartment building's garage, starting the nine-minute drive to the restaurant.
It’s a colder night than usual, the mid-autumn air is dry and has a sharp chill to it. There are fallen leaves lining the sidewalk, some of which have settled damply into the grass, but there is a thin lining of fresh, crunchy leaves layered above the damp ones. The fresher leaves are a vibrant orange, scattered over the titian wet leaves below. The road has yet to be cleared of the new leaves and they lie solemnly on the concrete.
Katya starts getting close to the restaurant and can't stop her mouth from falling open as she catches a glance of the queue to pick up orders. The doors to the restaurant were at one corner of the block and the stripe of people waiting almost reached the other corner. The line did not appear to be moving very much either. Katya felt a sudden pang of embarrassment that she was about to spend a significant portion of her afternoon waiting in the cold just to get some half-price fried food. Katya slows down as she approaches a stop sign, still absentmindedly wondering whether the chicken was really worth it. Her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of scraping metal and her car lurching forwards, despite her pressing hard onto the brake pedal.
+
Trixie is typing away at her computer rapidly, replying to one of the many emails that had long been sitting in her inbox. The satisfying clacks of her manicured nails on the mechanical keyboard reverberate through her empty office.
Trixie had put her hair in a neat bun early that day, but many strands had escaped since. The loose wisps sat in a warm blonde halo, framing her face. Trixie wipes the back of her hand over her under-eye, knocking her glasses slightly off-center. She unconsciously hopes that her makeup hasn't just transferred onto her pink blazer sleeve. She’s wearing a pencil skirt and its coordinating suit-jacket, with a simple white blouse underneath.
But Trixie isn't worried about her appearance at this point in the afternoon regardless. There weren’t that many employees left in the office, their team consisted of 12 people and the majority of them had already left for home. Trixie would stay late most nights, meticulously typing out emails and planning for future launches. Being the co-founder of her own makeup business was stressful to put it shortly. She and her partner, Kim, had to, at minimum, approve everything before it was put out: the formula, the colors, the packaging, the case design, the shade names, etc. Trixie was pleased with how everything shook out though. She handled the formulas for products and the marketing, while Kim worked on the graphic design and art for packaging. The two worked together to come up with concepts and color schematics. Their team handled other important facets: customer service, public relations, online business, social media... Trixie was forever grateful that she and Kim had assistance with their business now.
Trixie sends off the email with a satisfying click. The message disappears into the top corner of the computer screen, revealing the rest of her inbox from behind it. Trixie spots a new message at the top of the page with a subject line reading: “sample update!”
She opens it, excited, and beams at the long-awaited update from her lab technician. They had been going back and forth, making adjustments to the formula of a new product Trixie was hoping to release soon, and she was confident that they had landed on the right amalgam of pigments and glitter this time.
She scans her eyes over the email rapidly, searching for some confirmation that the product was ready to be collected, tested, and revised by herself.
Trixie slows her reading as she finds the sentence she was looking for: “Your samples are finished and ready for pick-up.” Trixie clasps her hands together gratefully, testing out the makeup as if she were a consumer was essential to the process of making a good product. She never released makeup without giving samples to friends and colleagues and hearing their feedback. Finally being able to experiment with the product and to see how it performs was exciting.
Trixie gathers her things, depositing them into her white faux-alligator handbag. She swings the bag strap over her shoulder and flees the office.
The reflective steel doors of the elevator break away from each other, as a dignified “ding” sounds from the tinny elevator. Trixie steps out and strides through the parking garage. The fluorescent lights fizz and hum, casting an unpleasant off-white hue from their bulbs. The garage was devoid of any other people and the clicking of Trixie's heels echoed loudly off the concrete as she advanced towards her sleek white car. Trixie tugs on the car door handle, careful to not damage her freshly polished nails doing so, and scoots in. She relaxes into the plush leather of the driver's seat and sashes the seatbelt across her chest.
The lab was not far from her office, but the afternoon rush hour would probably delay her expedition there. She turns out of the parking garage and is met with an unsurprisingly busy road. Trixie hums along to her music, playing through the car's speakers as she drives.
She turns a block ahead of the lab to avoid further traffic and very quickly has her attention stolen away by a long line of people trailing from the direction where Trixie was traveling.
Trixie follows the line with her eyes as she meanders past, confused as to why so many people were queued down the block on a Monday afternoon. Trixie eventually finds the source of people. A KFC advertising a one-time-a-year discount on all their food. Trixie laughs, still studying the queue, while she definitely would have coveted such a deal in her youth, she was far removed from that now. Her newfound wealthiness was a gift, and she was not interested in going back to her roots.
The sound of scraping metal attacks her eardrums unceremoniously. The rear headlights of the braking car ahead of her disappear as Trixie makes an impact.