The Time Triangle

Good Luck

**Y/n POV**

I groaned, head pounding as I sat up from my bed. Just like any morning, I stood up, stretched and made my way to the kitchen for my daily dose of tea. After a few sips, I realized that nothing here was quite familiar. I sped back to my nightstand, in search of my phone, or an alarm clock, but instead, I was greeted with bandages and an old-fashioned phone.
"What?" I whispered to myself under my breath, staring at the roll. A note lay next to it, reading, 'Good luck, Y/n. Here's to a better ending.'  It took me a moment to figure out what was going on. Last night, on my computer, I was smiling, reading comments on a YouTube video, talking about Rody x Vince- a ship that you (slightly) wished was real. "Good luck!" You had scoffed quietly to yourself, "I'd rather focus on getting a better ending. It's either sadness or death; I wish they were both happy."

Snapping out of it, I looked down at myself. My binder was still on, and if it was already morning, so there was no point in taking it off. I shuffled over to my closet and found a rather fancy suit (along with a plain one next to it).
Of course, there were also some casual clothes, so I looked around, before slipping on a loose, f/c T-shirt, along with some khaki shorts I had found. On my kitchen table was a wallet and a pair of keys. I looked in the wallet, only to find that there wasn't much money inside.

Then, I noticed a scratch piece of paper. 'Job interview at bistro- dress in black *plain* suit (5:34).' I re-read it a few times. My feet seemed to have moved on their own as I zoned out, and when I was conscious again, I was staring in the mirror, tousling my h/c (For the sake of this fic, it must be around Rody's hair length). I smiled a bit, but it seemingly dropped when I caught sight of a long, thin scar starting from my right eye (which was clouded with white, unlike it's supposed e/c) and going down the chin. I remember that one. Father had drunken a little too much that day, and in anger at my flopping grades, he had thrown a beer bottle at me.
He missed and hit the doorframe (when I walked in, I was immediately lectured about how I should be a better DAUGHTER), but it shattered, embedding a large shard in my eye. When I cried out in pain, the tears pushed it down, stinging my wound and making it longer. Eventually, I stopped crying, and it stopped moving. Before I knew it, the glass was embedded into my chin. I had to use a pocketknife (when my father gave to me when he loved me and was sober) to cut it out, and stich it back up with a sewing kit. At least I was exceptional at first aid.

The face heals pretty fast, so the scar was reduced to a nasty, raised line. I couldn't (and can't) see out of my eye, but thankfully, the glass only seemed to blind me, instead of taking my eye out completely.
I could remember the taste of blood in my mouth, and the sharpness of the glass on my tongue (as the shard had impaled my cheek). It made it hard to eat. It was even harder when I had to carve off chunks of skin to get out said glass. Even after all of that pain, it was reduced to something most people wouldn't even take notice of.

I messed with my hair a bit more to cover the eye, willing it to go away. I walked back to the kitchen and looked in the fridge. Nothing worth eating. Picking up my cup of tea (I had found a whole drawer dedicated to tea, and I thank whoever sent me here, because I'm a tea addict), wallet, and the keys to my apartment, I walked out the door.
I spotted the building I was going to just a block or two down, and I internally sighed with pleasure as I walked past through busy streets (mostly ignored), my old pocketknife (That was hiding behind the note at the beginning) and the bandages in one pocket, and my keys and wallet in the other. My tea still warm, and somehow, it brings me joy.

I walked into the bistro, only to be greeted by nobody other than Vince. "Not late. Surprising." he spoke, unamused. "I'm here for the interview." I spoke stiffly, and he quizzed me, "Why should I hire you?"
I look around the place for a second (to think), before meeting his eyes, and saying, "I assume you don't have a waiter, and if nobody fills the job, this whole place will go out of business. Plus, I already know what to do." Vince raised an eyebrow and handed me a tray with beverages on it. "Go ahead." he said, but I knew the true meaning: Convince me.

So, I checked the trash first. It was full, so I emptied it. When I walked back in, there was a customer. It was a female, asking for a table for two. I quickly seated her, and her friend came in a few seconds later. They ordered, ate, and left happily. "How'd you know about the trash? Where to put the meal tickets?"
Vince questioned, and I allowed myself a small smile, "I didn't." Just then, another man came in, and I sat him down. It took him a minute, but he asked, "Do you have to-go-boxes?" My eyebrow twitched as I remembered him as my least-favorite-NPC dialogue in the whole game. I managed to maintain a calm expression. "No sir." I replied politely. He scowled and ordered. When the food didn't come to him quick enough, he stormed out without paying.

Vince walked up to me, with the man's order in my hands, "Keep it as leftovers if you wish. You handled that situation well."
I scowl and say, "He'll forget and come back." Vincent nodded, "Unfortunately, this happens every few days or so." I shook my head, "Next time he comes, I'll make him pay upfront, and for that meal those poor cooks took time to prepare."