A budding writer with a bunch of ingenious rebels risk their lives to try and overthrow an oppressive government to earn back their liberty of expression. They need to unify and put aside their differences, interests and pasts, and race against time...
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The lady was, to say the least, annoying. And by the time the line reached up to Alizeh, she was thoroughly frustrated at the foul language and the disturbing gaze of Mrs Maxton who was their groom and guide.
With her flimsy dress and her low cut bodice, there was hardly anything left to the imagination and the way she looked at the girls, Alizeh would've mistaken her for a pimp rather than a job exchange officer. Mrs Maxton swept a look at her from head to foot and her gaze seemed almost disgusted.
"What can you do?" she pointed a long, glossy, perfectly manicured nail at her.
"I'm a writer," Alizeh tried her best to keep her voice polite. The lady stared at her a moment too long before replying.
"A writer, eh? Now why would someone need you?" she tapped her fingers on the keyboard.
Alizeh's stomach dropped. There had to be a job out there somewhere for her. That was the only thing she loved doing.
"Do you know anything else?" Mrs Maxton was back peering at her over the counter.
"I'm afraid not."
"There's a job at some firm for a quote writer. They make greetings and such minor stuff to send people on various occasions. The pay is barely minimum. Would you like it?"
"How much?" Alizeh whispered.
"Five dollars per quote. You can work from home," she drummed her fingers impatiently on the panels of the desk.
"Anything else?" her voice was hoarse.
"Not unless you want to work as a maid. Trust me, they pay much better and you could have free food and good clothes..."
"No thanks!" Alizeh exclaimed.
Working as a maid was going a step too far. Her father was a businessman for heaven's sake. Now she regretted not acquiring any of those commerce skills. She was too intent on pursuing her dreams, to think of a proper career.
"So then shall I contact 'DoseOfQuotes' and let you know you're interested?"
"Yes please!" Alizeh breathed, her throat choking up. Something was better than nothing and once her parents returned, she'd again have enough money.
"Please come this way and put down your contacts. We'll call you in a while to talk to them face to face."
Alizeh hastily scribbled her details and moved to the waiting area. She wondered how the others were doing.
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Nina, on the other hand, wasn't feeling as good, as she adjusted her dress and her posture and faced the projector for a real-time talk with her employer.
The projector crackled to life and suddenly a man with a potbelly and a round shaped face popped up on the screen. His appearance looked decent, almost like the uncles from books she used to read. He had a shaggy moustache but the rings gleaming off as his fingers and the crisp suit signalled him as one of the elite.
"Sir," she bowed in a poised way she deemed fit.
"So you must be the artist," he leafed through the papers in his hand, hardly glancing at her.
"Yes sir," she sucked in air audibly.
"Well, I want the walls of my house hand painted. Could you do it?"
"I know murals and glass patterns and also normal paints and swirls. Anything you want sir!"
"Very good," he finally put down the papers and looked at her, "You have only two weeks for the job and I want you to start tomorrow. You'll take your stuff and come over here and stay.'
"Over there, sir?"
"Yes my dear, on Cloud One. My house has a set of rooms empty in the servant's quarter and you obviously can't travel every day to here. You need to stay for the time. Now if you are-"
"No sir! I mean yes sir...I mean I am ready to stay, sir," she stammered, not wanting to miss the opportunity.
"Good. I'll finalize things with your exchange officer then. See you soon!" the figure disappeared with a pop. Nina sat at her place frozen. This was the best thing that could've happened to her. She hoped the others were faring well too.
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"Stop daydreaming!" the instructor bellowed at Aileana. "We don't have all day and you aren't even halfway through your work."
She came close to her, peering over her shoulders at her embroidery. She smelled obnoxiously sweet. Aileana almost choked.
"What are you doing there girl? You call this sewing?" she reached out and gave one tug at a delicately intricate flower she had just made and the entire thing came off, falling into a bunch of threads.
"Ladies and gentlemen here," she raised her voice addressing all of them. All eyes turned to the instructor and a few hovered over Aileana wondering what she had done to earn them all another one of the instructor's lectures. Most of them were already on the verge of finishing their French roses.
"So as you all know, machines have replaced all of the work for artisans. You all are still lucky to have a livelihood because some of the elite have an addiction to handcrafted things. Once they don't approve of your work, we'll all perish. So I hope you know how important learning perfection is. A machine never makes a mistake," she glanced over the entire class before fixing her eyes on Aileana.
She nodded quietly. A human makes mistakes but she could learn. No amounts of tantrums and taunts could throw her off. She had always been a tough woman and rarely cracked under pressure.
She dived into her work again, ignoring the angry red welts on her fingers from the strings. She had had to never work this hard before.
Her mind wandered back to how the other two were getting on. Would she ever get a job like them?
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