Skidding her blades to a stop in front of Londo’s Cleaners, Atella caught a partial glimpse of herself--ten liters of rad-rain and all--in the smudged storefront glass. A good 60-percent of the glass was missing, filled in by scraps of random wood and sheet metal.
“Frak’in Raspurton littles!” she hissed to herself.
The littles of the local district liked to style themselves Raspurtons after the regional Raspurton gangs. Atella was convinced the local kids were gonna get a brutal smack down at some point if the Raspurtons proper ever got wise, but in the meantime, their recreational vandalism was hurting business for her customers up and down Starbright Boulevard. What hurt her customer’s business, hurt her business, and it wasn’t like business was booming in the Class-D districts to begin with.
Atella hissed through her teeth again. This time at her shattered reflection. It was wetter than usual out this cycle. Deluge filth pouring from the ends of her already filthy dark auburn pigtails didn’t help her shiny disposition. She absently gave them a few tugs to ring them out. “Extra decon-tabs tonight,” she thought out loud, “not like tabs are pricey or anything.” Extra gloom and doom did make the faint green luminescence of her irises stand out though, so, it wasn’t all bad.
“Drop has its ups,” she smirked to herself, then with a shove flung open the shop door flashing a toothy smile, “Mama Londo!”
Mama Londo troubled herself to scowl over the morning print news.
“Good morning to you too!” Atella wasn’t one to be dissuaded by a scowl--or even two. She clattered on into the back room, dirty blade marks trailing her the whole way. Mama Londo scowled again before returning to her print.
Steam poured from various equipment crammed into the little room behind the counter. How the Londos managed to scrape out the business they did she never understood, but the prices were low and the volume high. They made profits, so, so did she--mostly from the profits the middle Londo little, Raspie, slid her way.
Raspie’s face appeared through a break in the steam. Atella caught his eye, but smirked. He looked less than happy to see her. ‘Hard times’ having already stolen the business of Starbright Deli’s clean-up guy earlier in the morning, she didn’t like the look Raspie was giving her. Losing another customer would not be an acceptable end to her morning. Time to charm.
Atella slipped a hand under the flap of her satchel deftly retrieving Raspie’s delivery without so much as a look. Her eyes were needed elsewhere.
“Ras-pieeee!” she bellowed in the too deep voice of her best Papa Londo impression. She slapped him on the back. He shrugged her off and turned back to his folding. Her eyes narrowed at the back of his head before widening to match her suddenly glaring smile. Hopping up with a spin on the table beside a growing pile of pressed button-ups, Atella reached out lifting his chin with a single gentle finger, “What’s the gloom Raspie baby?”
Shrugging her off again, Raspie purposely avoided eye contact--a task made more difficult since Atella had leaned down to put her face in his, craning her neck back and forth to match his evasions. “No deliveries today Atella.”
Frak that! she yelled to herself. “Sure. Sure.” she said aloud to a the man-child standing before her.
“Total Atel. Papa cut me off.” he looked up at her now with a nearly quivering lower lip.
Atella gently took Raspie’s hands in hers dreamily staring deep into his eyes. A long second later...Frak he was serious! She squeezed his hands a little tighter. “Raspie baby, I’m just your friendly district delivery girl.” She let his hands free with a sweet smile. “You order something from someone from somewhere. I deliver.” Atella slid the small package under the pile of button-ups. “My job is done. Shiny?” Her eyes caught his again, this time with a harder edge to them.
Raspie looked at her, at the pile of shirts, back at her. He didn’t say a word.
“We shiny Raspie...baby?” She asked again the sweetness in her sing-song now replaced by sour.
He still said nothing. He just stood there, hands right where she’d left them. Staring.
She lifted his chin. “We shiny?” she questioned raising an eyebrow to punctuate her meaning.
Raspie jerked his chin away from her and shoved a hand in a pocket under his apron. Moments later he’d produced a small emerald green stick with red digital digits floating somewhere beneath its surface. “Yeah Atel...we’re shiny,” he said with a huff. He looked to her. “Fifty?”
Atella hopped down landing gingerly on her blades. Her sweet smile returned. “For you Raspie baby? Let’s make it forty-five,” she offered with a cutesy tilt to her head.
“Forty-five,” Raspie repeated reluctantly in a monotone voice and then tapped the green stick in his hand against one Atella now held in hers. Both immediately vibrated and emitted a faint chiming sound.
Atella stole a quick glance at the credit total registering on her stick and then slipped it back into hiding. She smiled knowingly at Raspie. “Thank you baby.” Turning, she rolled out of the little room calling back to him, “Catch ya later!” There was another scowl from Mama Londo and then she was out the door, skating through the puddles of Deluge filth, heading to her next delivery.
Her next delivery on this gloriously gloomy Lexings Reach morning being Mr. Gretodel. She fingered the package in her satchel as she skated along dodging pedestrians and levs alike. From the feel of the package, it was another part for the latest technological mumbo-jumbo contraption the old half-Ferengi half-what-ever-would-actually-mate-with-a-Ferengii mad scientist type was working on.
She chuckled to herself at the realization that he still hadn’t blown up the district, then turned sharply into Drago’s for a cup of Rackto--but not quickly enough.
Another transport came in too low on its way to orbit blowing up torrents of filth from the puddles as it kicked in its launch thrusters. The resulting splatter scored hits on her and everyone else her end of Starbright.
She squinted up at the blindingly bright truster glare, “Frak’in gahary!”
A hail of rock bits from out of nowhere pointlessly followed her insult toward the foreign vessel, followed shortly by the crash of a shattering store front. “Frak’in Littles.”
Apparently, it was just gonna be a frak’in kinda cycle.
