notinbooks: (Default)
All mail and e-mail for Donna Hayward at # 13 Dimera Apartments can be left here.
notinbooks: (Default)
All voicemail and text messages for Donna Hayward can be left here.
notinbooks: (Dark glasses)
Donna waits a bit before finding a job. She gives herself a few weeks, and then a few days, following the Hatchimal and floating park accidents, before committing herself to applying for part time work.

As she plans on attending Barton University, to pursue either a forensic science or criminal justice degree, she needs the money. As a teenager who wants to be able to buy more than just clothes and pay her rent, she needs the additional income.

She applies everywhere she can think of; department stores, boutiques, diners, etc. She winds up with a few interviews, but ultimately decides to go with Burgerpit. The pay is decent for what she can expect, and the hours are flexible, which is what she really needs.

She’s heard rumors, too, about what lurks in the ball pits; she’d be lying if she said that those rumors weren’t also part of the reason she chose the job that she did. (Her curiosity always does seem to get the best of her, and not always to her advantage. Probably one day it will really come to bite her in the ass, but until then, Donna will keep on indulging her curiosity.)

Her first shift proves to be at night, which makes Donna a little uneasy, though she tries not to show it. She keeps adjusting her work uniform; she cleans the countertop more times than is strictly necessary. She laughs nervously at the lame jokes of her coworker, a blonde football player named, what else, Mike. (Boy, would Laura have something to say about that.) (In fairness, Donna hasn’t yet found the right way to tell this Mike that she isn’t interested in dating him, but she also figures that’s a problem for another day.

The evening crowd varies as the night goes on; one hour flies by in a flurry of customers and the next will drag by with only three people showing up every twenty minutes.

Finally, the end of Donna’s shift arrives. She makes her way to the back of the restaurant, to the break room, to collect her jacket and purse. She heads out, to wave goodbye to Mike, who is closing by himself.

However, when she gets to the counter, she frowns. Mike is nowhere in sight. Another moment or two, and she’s about to make her way home, when Mike calls to her from the ball pit.

“New girl, you’ve gotta see this!” He waves her over excitedly, as though there might be a pot of gold buried beneath the colorful balls. Donna debates; she really would like to get back to her apartment to finish up what remains of her homework. But she also figures another minute won’t kill her.

She comes to regret this choice soon after. She walks over to the edge of the ball pit, and before she realizes what’s happening, Mike hefts her up over his shoulder and tosses her in the ball pit before she can so much as shriek.

“You ass!” Donna hisses at Mike from her place in the pit. She tries not to think about the fact that she can’t feel the bottom of the pit with her feet despite the fact that she can see where the ball pit ends on the outside. Mike, like the one he shares a name with in Twin Peaks, is nearly doubled over in laughter. Donna scowls.

Which is when the lights go out. All of them. Donna screams when she thinks she feels a clawed hand grasping at her ankles. Mike, too, screams, even louder and of a higher pitch than her own noise, which would be hilarious if they weren’t currently trapped in the dark. She swims through the pit, also ignoring the wetness she feels on some of the balls by her ankles. As her eyes adjust to the dark, she could swear she sees a flash of scales, gold and silver. Perhaps ghastly white. But that can’t be right. What kind of fast food place has a ghost dragon lurking in the ball pit?

Darrow would, she realizes, sighing and trying not to scream again when her feet brush against something that feels suspiciously like hair. (Just toys kids lost when they brought them into the ball pit, she tells herself.)

The lights come back on again, and suddenly the ball pit seems to make sense. She can feel the bottom of it with her feet. Donna blinks, making her way out of the ball pit. Mike, meanwhile, is shivering in his little corner.

“What the hell was that all about?” She demands, hands on hips as she marches her way over to her coworker. But not before snatching one of the colorful balls.

“I had to do it,” Mike explains. “For Drembleydrop practice. It’s one of our warm ups: lure people into Burgerpit’s ball pit.”

Donna just stares at her coworker, entirely unimpressed with his explanation. Then she throws the ball in her hand. She throws it hard, aimed straight for his crotch.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

She probably should quit Burgerpit. She probably won’t.
notinbooks: (Gossip)
Donna is getting used to Darrow. Gradually, but she's getting there. The sudden attack of electronic children's toys definitely set her back, but they all seem to have been destroyed, and life in Darrow has resumed at its normal pace. She goes to school and does her homework; she works on her college application, along with scholarship applications, and she searches for part time work as well. No luck, yet, but she's certain she'll be able to find something.

In the mean time, she has her wardrobe to consider. Her clothes are vastly out of style, but growing up in a town as small and cut off from most of society as Twin Peaks, it really doesn't bother Donna. Not that she has a lot of money to spend, considering her rent and the cost of feeding herself.

Which is why she winds up shopping at thrift and second-hand stores most of the time. They have clothes of her familiar style, long skirts and bright tops. Jeans that don't squeeze the life out of her legs.

She's at one of her favorite places this Sunday, browsing through a rack of sundresses. The weather's getting warmer now, and she needs to plan for it.

She's found a lovely, purple peasant top that she means to try on, when she turns and nearly runs into another shopper.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry," she apologizes, hoping she hasn't caused any damage.


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Donna Hayward

May 2017

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