This is a redux and comprehensive version of Lira's Accounts. Hope you enjoy!
All characters are over 18 and consenting.
Love, Iri x
*
~ Part One ~
The harsh, repetitive blaring of Lira's alarm dragged her from a pleasant dream that vaguely resembled her life about six years ago, free from worries about money or anxieties, and back into her tiny, damp little flat.
She flailed through the floating holographic display, dispelling the alarm in a moment. The room fell into calm, content quiet, and she readied herself to start the day.
The display on her ceiling read 06:00, directly overhead, blinking in pale blue neon. She sighed, and sat up, hearing something roll off her bed that probably shouldn't have been there in the first place, but oh well.
Her bed was trashed. Covered in blankets and pillows that fit no real aesthetic, with papers and her laptop strewn around her. It hadn't seen much, ahem,
action
in recent months, nor had the laptop seen much work, nor the paper much writing. Her flat was on the 67th floor of one of those mega-rises Edinburgh has, now that the population has rocketed. Interstellar travel doesn't just mean people are getting shifted off to their planets (though that is a thing) - it means there's a lot of technology keeping people alive for longer. Today's population count: Sixteen Billion (approx).
Mostly, the bed simply served as a barrier between her and the cold of mid-winter Edinburgh air as it threw clouds past her window. She dragged a small toggle upwards, and the opaque-grey glass cleared to transparency, giving her an early-morning view of the sky. The sunrise was maybe an hour ago, so orange and yellow still poured between the silver and grey oblong buildings that stood around her. The cloudline below her was too thick to see the ground through, but she had little reason to go down anyway. Nothing down there but floodwater and grime. Super gross.
Lira climbed from her little pocket of warmth and rushed across the room to where she had thrown down her dressing gown the night before. She pulled it on, over her cold, exposed skin, and kicked her way past the debris of her life that covered her bedroom floor. Mostly, there were books and printed journal articles, stacked in precarious piles that gave the illusion of productivity; a tall potted plant that, no matter what she did, seemed insistent on dying on her; a pile of unwashed clothes just begging for death. Lira wasn't exactly the kind of person described by her friends as having it 'all together'. Nor did she have many friends, for that matter.
She picked up her laptop, and pushed through the door as her stomach complained for breakfast, travelling through to the next room of her little flat. It was dinky, but with just enough personality to make it bearable. Most flats were like this these days, to be fair. A bedroom, a kitchen, and maybe a corridor in between if you were lucky. Living rooms were a thing of the past, and bathrooms were either en-suite or communal to the building.
The room welcomed her by lighting up for her, and the bedroom darkened behind her. She tapped the menu on the fridge and ordered some beans on toast, watching the little counter at the bottom of the light-display that glowed on whatever was the closest surface to her go down by 60p.
'Capitalism sucks,' she complained as the soft whirring of machines hidden from sight created her beans on toast and delivered it to her on a small plate through a cat-flap style hole in the wall.
After wolfing it down, she opened her laptop on the kitchen-top counter. The display was slightly 3-D, with the icons seeming to hover over the screen by half an inch. It was touch-screen, but also sight-oriented, so she was able to just stare at her e-mail until it opened the folder.
She clicked 'new' with her finger by waving it through the weightless icon, and started to type onto the pale blue keyboard display that spilled out onto the counter.
Please Julian,
she wrote.
I'm slightly desperate. I'll take whatever's on your pile.
She sent it off to her old editor, after being fired for actions she's still not sorry for. They were still decent friends, and she hoped he might be able to throw her a bone. It wasn't likely, though. Journalism was one of those professions that naturally shaped you to do whatever you could to get a story - there weren't many just sitting around, waiting to be picked up.
Assuming she wouldn't get a response, Lira began to get dressed, finally getting out of her soft pyjama bottoms and halfway into some jeans when her laptop pinged at her.
Lira, how desperate are you? I have one subject here - no one else has taken it. There's an attachment outlining what you'd have to do - it's all arranged, we just need someone who's up to it. You'd get paid for each update, and then a cut of what we sell. Take a look,
Julian
Lira had a read through the attachment. It was an... odd job, but, after a little deliberation in the freezing cold and looking at the pennies left in her food account, realised she had literally nothing to lose.
She dragged the assignment off the laptop screen and flicked it up to the wall to get a better look. She was to be meeting something called a
Polysmyth.
'Sounds fun,' she mused, knowing it was the best she was likely to get.
She sent Julian a confirmation email, and got to research.
* * *
Julian's directions were sending her to a small hotel outside the city.
She ordered a taxi on the newspaper's tab, knowing it would just have to come out of her commission. After about ten minutes, a small egg-like pod vehicle whirred up to the side of her building. She locked up her flat, and went to the exterior door of her floor. It was like an airlock, two doors with a foot-wide gap in between, to make sure people didn't fall out by accident.
She opened the second door, and stepped out into the raging winds and thin air. The pod, who had a business of not letting their customers die of oxygen starvation, rose to meet her, and opened its side door. She stepped in, and the taxi door clicked shut behind her. Immediately, calmness and quiet was restored.
It was a pleasant kind of vehicle, with clean white walls and nice leather seats that creaked as she got comfy. She set her bag down next to her with the items Julian had asked her to bring, as well as her ID, and waited.
There were no windows, but a small display gave her real-time GPS awareness of where she was, in relation to the pick-up point and the destination. It estimated an 8 minute drive. A shame. She would have liked to savour the car journey a little more than that. There was a driver - though most of the 'driving' was automated, but this was the cheap sort of taxi where there were insurance-mandated walls between customer and employee to stop stabbings and such. Lira didn't even see them.