"Lucienne! Lucienne! You better have dragged your ass outta bed by now or so help me I'll come up there myself and throw you out!" A loud, maybe even ridiculously loud, voice bellowed across the corridor of the apartment, rattling the frames as it went.
"Yeah Pa, I'm up, I'll be down in a moment, but please give me chance..." replied a small whimpering voice. Lucienne didn't want to upset her farther, not after losing her Mother, and not after the War. She collected her belongings, the necessities for the day, and went down the creaky wooden stairs to greet her Pa.
"Where In God's Holy Earth have you been in this hour? Your toast is cold!" Grumbled her Pa, the stress already accumulating in his voice.
"I'm sorry Pa," Came the stuttering, remorseful return "I guess I'll eat it on my way out, and I'll make sure Mr. Mahalia know's about my wages, okay? Now, let me help you with your wheelchair. Lucienne's Pa had given it all in the Vietnam war, and it had taken both his legs and his right eye. Machine gun fire did it, amputated on the battlefield's sidelines, and he came home a hero of the sleepy Texan town. Not that her Ma was around to see him for long. It was the internal demon of Cancer that gave her a ticket to the heavens, God rest her soul.
"I told you, he's cutting your damn wages! He think's he can get away with it 'coz your only just old enough to work at that shop."
"I wouldn't complain Pa, at least I still go the perks of the store. Otherwise the food we have may not be that good." Lucienne felt as though she'd won this one, hoping that Pa would remain silent, which he did. The apartment wasn't much, a damp central room with faded floral carpeting and the odd war photos in dying frames interloping the basic furniture. The place was all they could afford in their current situation, and it was good for her Pa's wheelchair, and she did get a separate room so...
"I'll be back soon Pa," she said solemnly, "behave, and God bless your soul." And with that she set off to work...