Vickie never really thought her life as being anything notable before. Born to middle-class parents, went to a good school, got good grades--she never really did anything that made her--she doesn't know, truly Vickie. If she had to note something, though, it'd that be that she's always been a bit more eccentric than her peers. Not a lot phases her, nor does she really care about anyones opinion but her own--within reason, of course. But other than that, now an adult...she gets up, goes to work, comes home, paints with her cat, and that's it. She's not necessarily unhappy, not at all. She just feels...stagnated. All the people she grew up with now doing something extrordinary with their careers, or starting a family--eugh, but she was just...around. To reiterate...it's not that this life isn't bad. She's moved out of her parents home, not too far, though. Not leaving the small town she grew up in. She just supposes..she's bored. Surely there must be more than whatever mundane hell she's found herself in, right?

The workday started like any other. Clock in, headset on, and spend the next few hours connecting people--quite literally. It was no canvas, but the switchboard had become second nature. Conversations--if you could call them that, were short. One or two phrases long, sometimes more then a sentence if she was on information. Most people dialed knowing exactly what they were doing--a standard cache of rehearsed lines oddly fitting for how she felt about her life. One day, however, a man called, and seemed almost...shocked, to hear her voice. Now, it's not like confusion never happened, just...it was rare, and it was usually an elderly person needing assistance or a child who got a little too curious. Obviously, she couldn't see him, but he sounded...young, and earnestly like he didn't know what he was doing. She gathered he was asked to make a phone call at work, but wasn't sure how she would help him "speak to a man halfway across the country". Odd--maybe he was joking under stress. He wanted to dial another corporate office, how the hell do you land a job at that level and never have operated a phone before (or, apparently, had never heard of the technology before)? She walked him through it, occasionally looking over her shoulder for her supervisor as the conversation went on much longer than the usual seconds it should. Then, she connected him to who he wanted to speak to, and that single, incredibly strange instance in her life was over.

Maybe she was so starved for any sort of mental stimulation, but she couldn't stop thinking about that phone conversation. She told the story to some coworkers, her mother over the phone one evening, and they all got a laugh out of it, made for great small talk, then it was over. Moment passed, care gone. But not for her. Maybe it really was just one weird story, she should probably get over it. But there was something gnawing at her about it, she just couldn't forget. Her curiousity came to a head when some time later, chaining up her bike outside her work building, a man suddenly tapped her shoulder. She assumed she had dropped something, or accidentally hit him and just forgot about it or whatever, but the rather handsome man said that he knew her--that he recognized her voice. She blinked at him--when has he heard her talk? Who the hell is he? Even now, she had only just been muttering to herself under her breath, was she louder than she thought? She had half a mind to tell him to eat dirt, but he continued. From the phone--the phone? She spoke to countless people on the phone, unless he was...?

And he was.

They talked--for longer than she probably should have. Maybe she was lonelier than she thought, or just desperate for a new mind to pick at. She ran inside to work, embarassingly late to clock in, but now with a note messily scrawled onto her arm, she was going to meet him for coffee later. Did she have a date? What the fuck just happened? Was she still dreaming? She sat down at the board, headset on, but she spoke with a bit more of a giddy smile in her voice as she worked that day.

Now married for a year and living in a fancy new neighbourhood (the catalyst for its development being a new factory and head office built nearby), again, she's fairly content with her life. Her and her husband don't interact too much, but it's not as if they don't get along, he's just an extremely busy person. No matter, they're amicable when they're around each other (which, to Vickie, seems to be a lot more than what her neighbours in this picture perfect neighbourhood get), and she has plenty more time to work on her art. However, that creeping feeling of boredom keeps coming back. She lies there in bed one morning, contemplating this. Maybe they should go on a trip or something? Is that what fancy, put-together people do? She rolls over, tapping her husband on the shoulder, might as well wake him up and get his opinion on the matter, and--

....His eyes aren't supposed to be that colour.