Blame it on the innocent // Christy & Luke

She wasn’t some kind of page, hired to run around with notes stuck to her palms of what kind of coffee the guys at the second floor wanted; she wasn’t. Even so, Christy was fuming pretty badly as she shot through the second floor like a rocket, shoving many people out of her way, not caring if she spilled so little as a drop of coffee in her haste to deliver what she’d been sent to fetch. This is what happened to her when the receptionist called in sick to spend the day having sex with her boyfriend out in the wilderness, or whatever those freaky nudists did. Christy wanted no part in it, but she would gladly have gone over to wherever they were hiding and give them both a good beating. She’d seen them on her lunch break one day when that foul receptionist bitch had called in sick, and had stink-eyed her ever since. 

Nevertheless, Christy was needed. As she’d dropped off the round of coffee for the seond floor:ers, she was to head out again to bring the round of coffee for her so-called teammates on the first floor, and though she made sure to take her time, she didn’t feel like returning to those grinning faces, as she now stepped inside the entrance of the bank. Pausing just for that one little second, she collected herself, scowled, and went on. Rounding a few corners with boxes of coffee in her hands, Christy was heading quickly toward that one corner where the little mini-fountain people were encouraged to drink from stood. As she swerved around it, planning to head forth in a beeline, she collided with something hard and big. 

Now, colliding with something hard and big and also seemingly moving, sent every last cup of coffee - including her own - flying in all directions, spraying the entire (pretty lofty and airy) corridor with everything from capuchino to frapuchino. Wasting no time at all, as Christy tumbled down onto the floor, an indignant gasp escaped her lips. Dripping with coffee, Christy spluttered, torn between cursing, cursing at the universe, cursing her colleagues, and cursing whatever she’d walked into. When she’d successfully wiped the coffee out of her eyes and drawn black lines of makeup across her cheeks, she looked up forcefully to look for whomever was responsible for this mess, her glare intensive with rage.