Workin' For A Living - New Melbourne - (Part 2)

Cyd leaned her foot against the wall of the shop, taking care not to rest her shoulders against the bricks, briefly wondering if every temp worker in the verse had this hard of a time keeping themselves clean before a gig. She traded flirty eyes with a sailor passing by who returned the gesture, but work first, play later.

"We weren't on the ship that long were we?" Mathias teased his sister as he exited the shop. He was walking out in his crisp new white button down. Cyd chuckled stealing one more glance before falling in line with her brother.

Isaac followed close behind, tugging at some parts, scratching at others. "How come yours doesn't itch like mine does?" He complained to his older brother. "You're all like 'Oh, look at me, I'm so cool. I can wear a shirt straight out of the shop'" He mockingly imitated Mathias.

"And when you grow up big and tall you might be as cool as I am. Someday." Mathais said innocently as they trotted along.

Isaac opened his mouth to retort and then caught the insult. He closed it in a tight frown as he followed close behind, careful to remember not to tuck his board under his arm like he usually did. He didn't need an earful from Cyd about messing up his shirt in addition to dealing with his brother's stupid needling.

Cyd slung her bag over her shoulder, data pad in hand, “Ian Vanderhull is hosting the gala. Vanderhull is heir to the fish stick fortune, you know...the little minced mystery fish …” Cyd immediately had flashbacks to fish finger Fridays, images she managed to push down unlike the fish sticks, which usually came back up. “He’s throwing the gala for himself, the dopkaas, in honor of his 40th birthday. Prime mid-life-crisis time.”

Mathias shuddered at the mention of fish sticks. "I still have my doubts as to the authenticity of there being genuine fish in those fish sticks." He said scrunching his nose. "Well at least you know there won't be any fish sticks being served there." He laughed, rich assholes never eat their own crappy product.

"What's wrong with fish sticks?" Isaac grumbled at his siblings disparaging his beloved childhood snack. "I always got extra!" He added beaming with pride.

"Those were ours, we slid them on your plate trash can." Mathias reminded.

"Still extra!" The younger Skye pointed out, totally undaunted.

“All right,” Cyd said when they got to the gates, practicing her non-accent accent. She straightened her blouse and gave her brothers a last once over, giving a look of disapproval to her younger sib. “Gum.”

"Busted." Mathias said quietly to no one in particular.

"Yeah, so glad it wasn't me this time." Isaac grinned as he waited for his brother to give up his contraband.

"A little sympathy? Hm?" Mathias said locating a trash bin to spit into. "Arrite … time to pretend to be educated rich folk." He said, clearing his throat. These parties were so stuffy you could suffocate in them and walking around sporting any kind of accent would get you 'the look'. So it was easier to drop it for something a bit more universal sounding.

“That’s the plan,” Cyd said, pressing the buzzer to be let in. Part of it, anyway.

The trio reported, like the job ticket stated to Ms. Gershwitz, an imposing looking woman with short cropped hair and deep set brown eyes furrowed just enough to portray she wasn’t looking for any shenanigans. The Skyes along with about a dozen other temps like them were quickly put to work setting up tables for the soon-to-be arriving guests.

“Forks on the left, salad, dinner, fish, on the right it’s knife, weird knife, spoon and water glass,” Cyd reminded Isaac under her breath. She should have made a chart and had him study.

"I know!" Isaac hissed at his sister as he placed the flatware on the table, copying one of the other workers but trying his best to not make it look obvious. The last thing he needed was for Cyd to know he had forgotten. He'd never hear the end of it.

"You two, don't dawdle." Ms. Gershwitz instructed in a very crisp tone while snapping her fingers at Cyd and Isaac. She didn't seem the type that tolerated dawdling. Worse still, she did, however, seem the type that might watch them like a hawk all evening. A fact that neither sibling particularly relished. Every time the woman's severe eyes fell fell upon Cyd's aqua hair, one thing was certain...she did not like it.

Isaac gave a small curl of his lip to his sister that simultaneously said both "Nyah" but also "Get lost!" They didn't want to spend the entire evening under the withering gaze of the Eye of Gershwitz. He continued busying himself with the place settings of this and then the next banquet table.

Should have gotten a wig for Cyd. Mathias chided to himself. Isaac wasn't helping with the sour faces he was making. "Excuses Ms. Gershwitz I'm noticing my layout is a bit off. I know it's supposed to be a thumb space from the edge but … uh … I got big hands." Mathias said, pointing out the predicament. Hopefully with a different bone to chew Cyd and Sourpuss face could rocket through and keep under the radar.

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