* merely undiscovered

[HELENA DANE WILLIAMS]

Coffee.

That was about the one single coherent thought Helena’s brain could process at the moment. She was tired beyond all limits of tiredness and, no matter how many Café Brevas she chucked into her system, she still felt the ground under her feet fading with every step she took. Ok, fine, she wasn’t that tired. She knew she wasn’t going to die or something – but she felt pretty beat up anyways. It was like walking on a crappy cinematographic movie dream scene or something of the same sort – something that she’d never, ever, ever admit to be feeling, or even say the words. It just sounded tacky, damnit. I mean, it was alright for frail damsels who fainted to suffer from that – not five foot eight writers who threw lamps at people’s heads. However, at the moment, she was starting to understand there was some understatement of truth in the expression – the floor did seem a tad less stable than it usually did.

Back on the writers’ studio, the result and cause of her tiredness were laying all over the place – Lena wasn’t exactly known for her organization skills, as the mess on the room could easily demonstrate. Papers were scattered all over the room, drafts and drafts with her hieroglyphic handwriting and a bunch of scrunched papers laying around the wastepaper basket – since she was also not known for her aiming prowess’s. The result of a sleepless night of frantic script writing trying to finish what she was due for precisely that day at 12 pm and that she’d finished at eight am sharp – after nearly having flown into a fit of hysterics after she realized she only had a few hours to finish the darned thing.

But she had finished it. And she couldn’t help it but to smile when she’d done so - with a shamefully smug look of triumph, even she had to admit. Because it was most certainly a winning script, regardless of the fact that about fifteen per cent of it had been concluded on the fly a mere couple of hours before. It was good, it was fresh, it was nice. It was all she could have wished and much more - but it had drained her.

It wasn’t just her desk that was a mess. She herself looked even more disheveled than she usually did, on account of having spent half the night nearly ripping her blonde hair off with despair and it was scattered all over her shoulders and face. Not that it didn’t usually – now it just had a bit more… volume on top of the regular weirdness. Also, there was the fact that she was wearing her glasses, on account of her not seeing an elephant in front of her at three feet of distance – her eyes were just so damned tired. And that meant thick glasses. Also, it wasn’t like her attire had been picked up with the utmost care – it was all scruffy from its near 24 hours of use. A close, irritated look at the elevator mirror was enough to tell her that.

«Good God!, I look like I’ve just come out of bed. And not from mine as well.» she thought disgustedly, opening her grey eyes as wide as she possibly could - given the fact that she could barely keep them open at all - and examining her reflexion. She reminded herself of some shitty Tom & Jerry episode where Tom could barely keep himself awake and stuck ducktape on his eyelids to pull them upwards.

Only now did she understand the cat’s agony.

Lena bit her lower lip a bit and brushed a hand through her straight mane in a – rather abortive - attempt to tame it a bit. She might be tired – but when one was on an elevator, alone and with a mirror stuck in front of your very eyes insidiously shouting “you look like a low class bitch”, their feminine pride tended to revolt a bit. Hers was no exception. Lena usually didn’t mind walking around a bit disheveled – it was part of the quirky things that made her Helena Williams. But one thing was disheveled. The other was being a complete and total mess – and not because she wanted to be it either.

She nearly jumped as the lift silently stopped and she turned around a bit guiltily to face the wave of people that was coming in. God, they’d nearly caught her. And judging by the look of unreasonably glee on that asshole next to her – whom she was guessing to be a wannabe actor, by his whole irradiating smugness and the fact that he was extraordinarily good looking – she had. Been caught, I mean. She felt herself being crushed against the wall of the elevator with the ever increasing number of people coming into it before she finally got out on her floor, breathing with relief – though not before sending one last, nasty look at the sneering actor.

Jerk.

A few more steps and she was precisely where she wanted to be – the Break Room. Sanctuary of coffee in pastel colours and impeccable inox appliances – and her current destination. She directed herself instinctively to the coffee machine, as if drawn by an invisible force and dug out a Nespresso cap from the box next to it, chucked it into the coffee machine and waited for the beverage to come out. She had no idea of how and, honestly, she couldn’t care less as long as it did. Removing her newly acquired cup of hot coffee – a ristretto, the harshest thing on the box – she carefully carried it to another table, successfully managing to spill only around a third of its contents while doing so and sitting down. How very graceful of her.

NOTES && This is going to be fun.
WORD COUNT && 934
TAG && Aiden Wright // Jessica

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