The coffee shop Cuppajoe's had been in the middle of Roanoke for the last two years. Before that, it was a quaint antique store, run by a widow named Ruth Blasque. Although the store had thrived since the fifties, as the town began to grow and modernize, it gradually got lost in a sea of pizza restaurants and video stores. But it refused to crumble. Ruth would go on selling interesting old lamps and slightly faded quilts. Shortly after she died, her grandson, Joseph Blasque of Boston, inherited the property. Fresh out of business school and hopelessly idealistic, he moved to Virginia, and set out to make an artistic, trendy coffee shop hangout for the artistic, trendy crowd of Roanoke. Although, if you asked him, he would casually refer to his establishment as "The Anti-Starbucks".

During his time in Roanoke, Joe had seen many of what he believed to be the best and brightest of Virginia pass through the glass door of his shop. Musicians, artists, poets, singers, dancers. The plain oak stage in the back had received them all. It was an outlet, really. This whole place was. A surging, electric outlet that fed on art and in turn, art fed on. He knew that much to be true. Their first Open Mike Friday had attracted about six people that night. In two weeks, the number doubled. By the end of Cuppajoe's first month of business, the fire marshal had to show up at the door because of the number of people crammed into the shop, all watching the stage intently. Nowhere in town could one find a show as real and yet as comfortable as the open mike at Cuppajoe's. Word spread fast, and soon Joe made the decision to have an open mike every night. No sense in cramming something so big and good into one night, right?

For now though, Joe Blasque was leaning against the doorway between the front counter and the kitchen, watching his newest employee with the same interest he would give to a child just learning how to walk. Her auburn hair frizzed out in every direction, whirling around her head as she turned back from taking someone's order to operating the chrome tower of a coffee machine that stood menacingly before her. She was improving at an amazing speed. He thought by the end of the week, she'd be able to do this job in her sleep.

He had known Veta Tiernay ever since she had performed on the very first Open Mike Friday. She strolled in, her face solemn but her deep blue eyes flashed with the excitement of a true performer ready to go on stage. She held a battered and worn acoustic guitar tightly in her hands, and looked out over the smoky crowd. She breathed deep, and began to play. She went with Eric Clapton's "Tears in Heaven" and drove a good portion in the audience to tears. Her voice was cracked with emotion as she sang, but her tone was so rich and melodious that it made you want to listen, because she only picked songs that she could relate to, and therefore, put everything she had into. She had played on stage every single Friday from then on.

A rare talent she is, Joe thought as she glanced over at him, her thin lips curving in a half smile. She had been so grateful that he had given her job. Living on the streets had been such a burden, and she felt so trapped in the Chevy she loved so much. Joe hadn't thought twice about it; aside from being an amazing individual, Veta had charmed most of the regulars at the café. Why shouldn't she make some money being somewhere where she was loved and respected so much?

"It's almost time to close, Veet," Joe said, nudging her playfully in the shoulder as he strolled by.

Veta scoffed. "Those were the magic words when I worked at KFC. Now I would probably nestle here permenantly if you paid me to. Just can't get enough hours." She pulled her hair back, lifting it slightly above her head before dropping it back into place once again. Joe chuckled softly, and helped her with a few customers before disappearing into the stockroom to do one last inventory check before he sent out the supply list tomorrow morning.

The line slowly trickled away, until only a few passing stragglers wandered in for a shot of late-night caffeine. Veta sighed, and absently wiped a small puddle of coffee near the napkins with her sleeve. It seemed like things were finally looking up for her, except for one thing. It was depressing to get off a hard day's work and coming home to a nice, cozy … backseat. She reached underneath the counter, and grabbed a rolled up newspaper sitting on her guitar case.

She whispered in the case's direction before standing. "Still alive in there, Greco?" There was no reply at first, which didn't worry the auburn-haired girl so much as it irritated her. She hated when he ignored her.

"I've rested in streets, sidewalks and cars," a voice suddenly leapt through her skull. "…it's really no different being perched on guitars." Veta winced. Sometimes the sheer ludicrousness of his damn prose really got to her. Most of the time, actually.

She stood up once again, and flattened out a newspaper in front of her on the counter. Okay, she mused. There has to be a cheap apartment somewhere in this shit town of hers. Her eyes scanned the classified with careful attention. Nothing had changed since yesterday. Great Studio Apartment! Kitchen! Bathroom! Living Room! Only $800 a month! Yeah … not as a waitress could she swing that kind of money. She growled softly, sifting through disappointment after disappointment. Her faithful Chevy, her home, had become something of a prison; one last obstacle to overcome before she got back on track somewhat. The struggling musician living out of her car might have worked for Jewel. Veta wanted to sleep in an actually building. She folded her arms onto the counter, and dropped her head down. Can I ever get a break, she thought miserably.

And that's when Gwyn Kelly walked into her life.

"Excuse me?" the blonde squeaked, and let out a small groan. Veta slowly picked her face off the paper, a smudge of ink rubbing off on her forehead. The girl's dark green eyes flashed in anguish, and it seemed like she was trying to jog in place.

"What can I get you?" Veta asked, not bothering to try and sound pleasant.

Gwyn bit her lip softly. "Where's your bathroom?"

"Can't use the can until there's money in my hand," Veta said flatly, quoting Joe verbatim.

"Oh c'moooon …" she pleaded, squeezing her eyes shut. " I tried so hard not to break the seal, but tequila pee just builds and builds until…"

"As charming a thought as that was shaping into …" Veta said, cutting the girl off. "It's store policy that you make a purchase before … using … our …oh, forget it. Just go." Veta threw her hand limply in the direction of the ladies room. The blonde's eyes lit up like a kid whose been given a pony at Christmas, and she promptly dashed towards the door. Veta rolled her eyes. I don't care anymore. Fuck store policy. Fuck this store. Fuck my entire stupid, fucking existence. Veta rubbed her temples, and allowed herself one last glance at the rental section.

The door to the women's bathroom threw open after a few minutes, and the blonde stepped out, an air of relief and victory all around her.

"Wow," she said to Veta, who hadn't noticed that they were pretty much the only two in the shop anymore. "Thank you, thank you, thank you. I feared for my life and pants for a minute there." Veta didn't look up. The blonde's broad smile faded, and changed into an expression of curiosity. She sauntered over to the counter, gazing up at the menu. The words were kind of blurry, but that didn't matter.

"Well?" Veta asked as politely as possible without looking up.

Gwyn snapped back into the present, and giggled drunkenly. "Lesee … I will haaaaaaaaave …theeeeeeee …" she proclaimed with her eyes glued to the menu. She scrunched up her face, took a deep breath, and began to hum merrily. Veta wanted nothing more than to slap her in the face. Very, very hard.

"We ARE closing in a little while so …" the auburn-haired girl said, still polite, but the beginnings of total aggravation cracking through her tone. Gwyn looked at her, and smiled again.

"I have no idea," she said, shrugging. Veta stared at her for a moment, and shook her head. Of all the notes for the night to end on, she thought bitterly. Why her?

"Great," Veta muttered. Gwyn looked at her curiously, and peeked down at what she was reading.

" Ohh … no wonder you're so bitchy … you're trying to find somewhere to live in this town," Gwyn said, peeking farther over so that her forehead was almost touching Veta's.

Veta glared at the other girl, annoyance easing and flashing back at the show of sympathy. "Yeah. Though I'll feel a lot better when we -close- in five minutes."

Gwyn nodded, undaunted by the hint. "Yeah, work sucks." She returned her gaze to the menu, and seemingly mouthed the words slowly (and wrongly). Just when Veta was about to say something very, very nasty, she turned back around and fixed her with a suspicious squint.

"Do you do drugs?"

Veta blinked and snarled, "What?"

"DO YOU DOOOOO DUUUUURRRRRUUUUUUGGGGGZZZ?" Gwyn slurred helpfully.

"No. Not that its any of your business, and, as a matter a fact, -you- are no longer any of my business. Goodnight." She turned and walked along her side of the counter towards the back.

"I fail to see how its not my business, but anyway," The blonde followed opposite, still asking questions. "So how much do you make here? Are you a morning person? Do you have any pets?"

"Not enough, compared to an illustrious prostitute like you probably makes. I'm not a morning person, but I'm also not a "let's stand here and play twenty questions with the alkie blonde" kinda person, either. Go away."

The blonde was nodding severely as Veta rattled off info and insults, seemingly paying attention until her eyes widened and pointing at the counter shrieked, "SPIDER!", and whapped the newspaper violently between them.

Veta stared at the counter for a moment, eyes wide and fearful. El Greco had been squished. The blonde brushed her hands together smugly, commenting how a food business shouldn't have spiders. Veta's mind stayed blank until she saw her little friend scoot from under the ad section of the paper and lower himself, jitterly, beneath the counter once more.

"Listen to me very carefully… GO AWAY BEFORE I SERIOUSLY MURDER YOU."

"Hey!" The blonde put her hands on her hips indignantly. "You got a lot of nerve, you know that? I was willing to go as low as 5oo a month, y'know."

"What? What the hell are you talking about?"

With an unsubtle roll of her eyes. "For the apartment, yo."

"What apartment!"

"MY APARTMENT!"

"You're renting an apartment?!!! Why didn't you just say so?"

A thoughtful pause ensued.

"Didn't I?" Gwyn asked to the space above Veta's head.

"No."

"Then what the hell did you think we were talking about this whole time?"

A few more slights were exchanged, and Veta finally agreed to check the place out. Gwyn, happy to have a ride home, explained what she was doing in crappy-ass Roanoke, which Veta appreciated. She decided that the blonde wasn't a purposely awful person, and with her choices so limited, might be someone she could live with, at least for a while. Hey, it was a roof, right? It's not like it'd kill her to put up with the blonde for a while.

The first thing you'd notice as soon upon entering Gwyn Kelly's apartment was the emptiness in the air. There wasn't really a home-y vibe when the door first swung open. There was the smell of people, alcohol, a light scent of something spicy like cinnamon, but it felt empty, as if she'd moved in a few days ago instead of a year and some months.

"Home." Gwyn announced into the room, tossing her bag as she switched on the hall light and strolled inside. On the walls were various pictures, bigger than you'd see in a normal apartment, taking up a third of the wall. Veta leaned in against the reflective light, trying to see what they were. Various film clips, from many different time periods, all blown up grainily by hand in expensive frames. The living room was surrounded by leather couches on every wall, bridged by leather arm chairs a few feet between even doorways, so eventually you'd have to walk around one. Against the main wall was a gigantic television, at least 72 inches, and many, many videotapes stacked aimlessly around the room.

As simplistic and dressed down as it was, it was clearly the most used space in the house. A pyramid of brown and green beer bottles on the counter was the only real mess in the entire place, aside from the video clutter. Veta strolled into the dark kitchen, where Gwyn hadn't bothered to turn the lights on, and she hadn't bothered to look for a switch. She gripped the fridge door to her left, it giving with a puckering sound that said it hadn't been open in a while.

"Uh-huh," She muttered quietly upon seeing two twelve packs of bud, and half a blender of margaritas.

Gwyn poked her head around the counter, past the phone, and asked, "Hungry?"

Veta closed the door casually. "Nope."

Gwyn taking this for the answer that it was, strut through the living room to the hallway beyond, obviously where the bedroom was, and walked into a door on the left. There were some mutterings from inside, and Veta realized that she was being spoken too. Following down the same hall, she poked her head inside the bedroom and was distracted by the sheer amount of color. Almost completely different from the black and white, new age furniture in the living room, this room was a montage of soft, warm light, and reddish Indian tones and decoration. Gwyn was to the far right of the spacious room, changing into big baggy, bright blue flannel pajama pants and a soft white cotton shirt.

"I'm tired" Gwyn said in a yawn, stretching and swaying. "Bed is good." And then promptly flopped onto the queen sized bed that squished around her like a bear hug.

"Uh..." Veta started. "So where exactly would my room be?" She shrugged under the weight of her two bags that held all her worldly possessions.

"Oh." Gwyn said dumbly, and not at all apologetically, getting up with a bounce and strutting past her. "This way!" She called from in the hall.

She walked into the shadowy part of the living room. Veta stopped and squinted, unable to see, but hearing Gwyn's feet padding softly upon metal. It was confusing for moment, till Gwyn's form became visible again six feet over head. The blonde was at the top of a spiral staircase that lead to a loft.

The wall facing the living room was molded glass that yielded no view of the inside. When Veta finally reached the doorway (a black door with a porthole window), she couldn't help but whistle at what she saw. The loft was -big-, and god help her, -nice-. The room was still fully decorated from the last tenant, Gwyn's old roommate, Jonah, who had returned to New York. The bed was the most ridiculously large futon she'd ever seen, a thick soft blanket with an intricate blue diamond pattern was neatly strewn over its surface, and a body length blue velvet pillow with a golden trim was propped up at the head. She turned around and saw the rest of the room was made up of what seemed to be a collection of TV's and coffee tables. There was a TV no matter where you looked.

Gwyn, smirking, picked up one remote out of half a dozen, pointed it straight up at the receiver overhead (where the smoke detector should have been) and turned them all on with a click. Veta turned around at a whizzing sound behind her, and was faced with a giant board of switches, lights, and tape decks. Gwyn moseyed over, lazily flicked a few switches, and suddenly the room flickered as more than half dozen small screen TVs and one large one started playing Beavis and Butthead.

Gwyn snickered to herself, "What a dork." She turned to Veta, "His room used to be the editing room, I'll move this stuff out tomorrow. Try not to get freaked out till then." She looked around blearily. "And uh... You can have that futon if you want, he doesn't need it anymore... and you'll need to get a dresser, cuz there is like -this-" She held up two fingers, "much damn closet space up here."

Veta nodded. "Not a problem," she said remembering her limited wardrobe. She looked out the window to their left, a cruddy view of the next apartment building, and the dirty alley below.

"Not much a view here," Gwyn mumbled behind her. "But the terrace outside is gorgeous, and you can see all the way down the main street." She shrugged and slumped against the doorframe, eager to seal the deal and go to bed. "So what do you think? Not bad for five hundred a month?"

"One question." Veta asked seriously, as if the decision was still held in the balance.

"Wha?" Gwyn forced herself to stay awake a little longer.

"Can I smoke?"

"Oh, yeah.." Gwyn looked around for a few seconds, plucked up an ashtray and handed it over. "Ashtray."

Veta looked at the blonde, lit a cigarette, took the ashtray.

"I'll take it."

"Sweet," Gwyn mumbled. Then promptly stumbled out of the room to finally go to bed.

_________

The next day, Gwyn Kelly's room opened and expunged a very hung over blonde. She had her eyes open in slits, mumbling something as she turned to go further down the hall towards the shower. Her hand grabbed the polished gold doorknob, and she pushed against it, remaining motionless in the hall.

"Hmmm?" She blearily commented, fiddling with the knob.

"Occupido!" A female voice bellowed from the inside.

"Wha?" Gwyn managed to make her already slit eyes squint. "Ged outta my bathroom. I wanna need a shower."

"Well you can hold on till I'm finished." The voice answered matter-of-factly.

"Damn the man." Gwyn replied, turning around and going to the kitchen. When Veta came out she saw her new roommate sleeping with her head on the counter, a pot of coffee finished brewing behind her. Veta quickly ran through the motions of making coffee that she was happily used to doing these days, placing one in front of Gwyn, waking her.

"Oi?" She asked looking up at Veta as if she'd never seen her before.

"Veta." The older girl stated, deciding that, considering Gwyn's state last night, she very well might not remember her.

"So... uh..." Gwyn knew she had to ask something. Something was out of place. She fiddled with her coffee mug, knowing she was probably about to be smacked in the face. "Did we sleep together or something?"

Veta raised an eyebrow. "No. I'm your new roommate. I moved in last night."

"Really?" Gwyn asked, sitting up with interest. " How much are you paying me?"

Veta looked at her wearily. "Four fifty." She lied.

"Aw, cool. That works for me." The blonde sipped her coffee and blanched. She reached for the sugar jar on the counter, and found that it was still depressingly devoid of any actual sugar. She turned around and sized Veta up. With a certain air of professionalism at being a jerk, Gwyn stood and commented, "You also have to keep the sugar stocked. That's, like, part of your rent." Then she left for the shower.

From that moment on, Veta knew that it was going to be -interesting- to live with Gwyn and try not to lose her sanity. It didn't take long. On her third night in the apartment, she was awoken by the sounds of gunshots, cursing, and people screaming. She pulled open the door to her loft, walked to the railing, and leaned forward. Gwyn was in the TV lit living room, laying upside-down over the couch, hair falling on the floor. The TV flickered violently as Veta recognized the film Dusk till Dawn on the gigantic screen. The volume was on full blast, and Veta gazed around the room, where speakers were set on the ceiling at every corner.

"Gwyn." Veta growled, and came down the staircase. Her roommate was too focused on picking a beer off the floor, and drinking it without having to sit right-side up, to answer. Veta stepped in front of the TV and switched it off, casting the room into darkness.

"Hey-uh?" Gwyn whined, followed by the sound of a beer rolling away from them in the dark. There was a moment of angered sighs on both their parts. Gwyn recovered quickest though.

"Hey you should play something on your guitar dude! Go get it."

"Gwyn, I have to open at 6 tomorrow morning."

"So just a little Hole before you go to bed, eh?" Gwyn replied enthusiastically.

"What? Why is everyone obsessed with me being Courtney Love?"

"I like Courtney, she's a crazy party animal." Gwyn said, and popped the top off another beer.

"That's not the point. The point is that its a quarter to three, I need to go -back- to sleep."

"Malibu isn't a long song."

"Gwyn! Can you just not watch TV in the living room with the volume all the way up?"

"The TV's been off, for like, five minutes dude. See how its been dark during this whole conversation?"

"Go to bed Gwyn."

"Okay."

Veta didn't know it then. But she would end up having this same conversation at least once a week, every week.

Weeks passed, Veta grew accustomed to her roommates odd lifestyle rather well. Her own not being your normal everyday routine either. Their own oddities never seemed to impede on each other. Well, except for the fact that Gwyn often tried to squish her guardian (who had learned by now to keep to Veta's loft), with a loud cry of "SPIDER!" and whompings from various shoes that she seemed to have ready to pull out of thin air. Other than that, Gwyn was usually pretty easy to get along with.

She opened the door to her apartment and went straight for the kitchen. All through her shift at work she had been dreaming about the sushi she had in the fridge. She reached the door, placed a hand on the handle, and noticed her roommate at the petite dining room table.

"Hey Gwyn." She said.

"Hey, dude. Still working?" She replied, not looking up from behind the news paper she was reading.

"Yeah," Veta groused. How Gwyn could live so well for an unemployed person was a mystery to her. She definitely didn't care enough to ask though. Right now all she cared about was her delicious, wonderful-

She opened the door and gaped, slamming it shut.

"Gwyn." She seethed, although rather calmly. "Where is my sushi."

Without looking up from her paper, the blonde pointed straight out the window.

Confused and getting to the point of angry, Veta walked over and peered out the window to see her sushi splattered on the middle of the road below. Eyes flashing, she spun around and yelled,

"You threw my sushi OUT THE WINDOW?"

"I don't -tolerate- sushi in this house, " Gwyn replied calmly, like a father to a child, turning a page in her paper. " Never have. Never will."

Veta frowned and walked back to the door, pausing to turn and say something.

"You know Gwyn, there's something -really- wrong with you." She said quietly, without malice.

Gwyn looked up cooly from her paper. " You're right." A glint ran over her eyes and she smiled. Veta shook her head and left to get some more sushi.

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