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[September 5] [Stargirl] Hillari's Encounter
Title: Hillari's Encounter
Day/Theme: September 5 / you're the miss that misses
Series: Stargirl
Character/Pairing: Hillari Kimble, Stargirl
Rating: PG
Hillari Kimble is twenty-six years old today.
She stands at the checkout register, staring at the cashier's long fake fingernails, her stringy dyed hair, her badly applied mascara. This is a girl she would have mocked, once upon a time. Now, though, she has to wonder how different they are.
(She tells herself that she hasn't stooped to fake fingernails yet, at least, but it doesn't quite come out convincing.)
She broke up with her boyfriend, just before graduation. Dropped out of college not quite a year in. Found a job as a secretary at some second-rate corporation, lost it, then found another. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Hillari Kimble is twenty-six today, but she doesn't have anyone who'd remember that. Not her friends, who drifted away from her after high school, and not her boyfriend, who barely has the presence of mind to remember his own name.
(He's an idiot without a single redeeming feature, but she's between jobs again and she needs him.)
"Paper or plastic?" the cashier asks her, jolting her back to the present day.
"Plastic," she murmurs, eyes still fixed on the woman's fingernails. How long will it be? she wonders.
As she's leaving with her bags, a voice behind her whispers, "Happy birthday."
Hillari turns around abruptly, sees the customer behind her, with the long peasant skirt that brushes the floor and wide-brimmed hat that covers her face.
She opens her mouth--
She closes it. She leaves.
Day/Theme: September 5 / you're the miss that misses
Series: Stargirl
Character/Pairing: Hillari Kimble, Stargirl
Rating: PG
Hillari Kimble is twenty-six years old today.
She stands at the checkout register, staring at the cashier's long fake fingernails, her stringy dyed hair, her badly applied mascara. This is a girl she would have mocked, once upon a time. Now, though, she has to wonder how different they are.
(She tells herself that she hasn't stooped to fake fingernails yet, at least, but it doesn't quite come out convincing.)
She broke up with her boyfriend, just before graduation. Dropped out of college not quite a year in. Found a job as a secretary at some second-rate corporation, lost it, then found another. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Hillari Kimble is twenty-six today, but she doesn't have anyone who'd remember that. Not her friends, who drifted away from her after high school, and not her boyfriend, who barely has the presence of mind to remember his own name.
(He's an idiot without a single redeeming feature, but she's between jobs again and she needs him.)
"Paper or plastic?" the cashier asks her, jolting her back to the present day.
"Plastic," she murmurs, eyes still fixed on the woman's fingernails. How long will it be? she wonders.
As she's leaving with her bags, a voice behind her whispers, "Happy birthday."
Hillari turns around abruptly, sees the customer behind her, with the long peasant skirt that brushes the floor and wide-brimmed hat that covers her face.
She opens her mouth--
She closes it. She leaves.