Secondhand Sorrows [GxG]

- 2 || Jodah -

It was early evening, a weekend, and Jodah did not have time for this bullshit. She pinched the bridge of her nose— a little harder than she meant to. She'd used her cybernetic hand— and exhaled through her teeth. After a quick count to ten, she met the teller's lifeless computerized eyes again. "Listen, doll. Is there a person back there I can talk to? Person. P-E-R-S-O-N, as in not an android."

"I am here to meet all of your banking needs!" the robotic teller repeated, voice as chipper as the first fifteen times she said that same line. The red-lipped smile on her perfect, poreless face didn't waver. She didn't blink. Jodah wondered if she'd still smile with a fist through her circuits, or with that synthetic skin melted off—

Nope. No. A flower in the breeze, Jodah thought. You are a flower in the breeze. Be calm, be calm.

We are not a flower! A voice in her mind roared in Ignean. It was followed, as always, by a deafening chorus of other voices. Some insisted being a flower wouldn't be so bad, while others argued that they were obviously something much cooler— like a cactus, or a boulder. The headache that blossomed in her temples as a result was instantaneous.

Jodah had forgotten her pills that morning. She was certainly paying for the oversight now.

"Please say 'okay' if you are ready to proceed!"

"Okay," she ground out, doing her best to push the clamor of voices to the back of her thoughts and focus on the present. One more time. She would go through this nonsense one more time, and then she would walk away and find a gods damned living breathing person to speak to. Why the BHC decided to automate everything in their headquarters was beyond her, but it was the stupidest decision they'd made in years.

All Jodah wanted was to access her bank account, why did it have to be so hard?

"What is your name, as it is registered with the Bounty Hunter's Committee?"

"Jodah Vasav." She spoke slowly and clearly, leaving no room for misinterpretation. Around her, the headquarters buzzed with more activity than Jodah had seen in a while.

A mass of fellow hunters milled about, bragging and arguing about their latest bounties, making plans for the weekend, or otherwise being loud and obnoxious. Someone was bumping trashy synth music at full volume. There was a pair arm-wresting at one of the tables in the corner, and a few seats down another person was patching up a bullet hole in their jacket.

"Great! And what is your five-digit BHC Member Number, Jodah?"

A chorus of numbers crashed like a wave through her psyche, all shouted by different Ignean voices who were convinced that whichever one was the loudest was being the most helpful. Absolutely none of it was helpful, of course. And that stupid music wasn't making things any better. She pulled her phone out and quickly set an alarm for the next morning— she wouldn't forget her pills again.