Execlente Charuto - Helga Pataki drabble

So this was a couple posts of mine from an RP Crimmney and I started a while back. I felt it appropriate to share given that the new RP plot is being stuck in the mall...

This was written in November of 2013.

---

Execlente Charuto was easily one of the few remaining nooks of original businesses that debuted with the opening of the Hillwood mall sometime in the long-long ago before Helga's time, and consequently, long before she gave a shit.

Then again...she had been working the front counter since she was seventeen years old and still did not give a shit. But that was alright, because Helga Pataki did not have to give a shit because she was execlente at pretending she did.

Her selling point for getting the job four years ago (under the table of course as she was underage) had been an estranged mix of fact, bent truths and straight up lies.

Her best friend was born in South America.
Fact.
She had toured South America with him.
Fact.
Every year since she was ten years old.
Bent truth.
She was fluent in Portuegese.
Lie at the time, but more or less truth now (she found this came in handy)
She had connections through colleges in San Lorenzo for premium tobacco trade.
Lie at the time, but true now. The name Shortman meant nothing in North America, but toss it around South America along with her self-taught Portuguese and Helga Pataki inconspicuously climbed the top of the trade in South American cigars and cigarettes (and occasionally other recreational things to light on fire and inhale that may or may not have been legal).

Inconspicuously because of course she was too smart to pin all of this on her. It was not her business after all.
Through her work, the manager of Execlente Charuto had become one of the biggest names in South American tobacco import. Though Helga was quite sure anybody down there would know her voice on the phone when she called...though they would know her as Connie, the name she bestowed upon herself for out-of-country deals. The fact they couldn't see through her con after all this time was so funny, she had to shove it right under their nose.

So her manager, who was ironically Indian, had taken a gamble in this seventeen year old and truth be told- Helga had only attempted getting employed here because she would get free smokes and because it was something that would be a challenge. Over the years it certainly had been. But now at twenty-one that's how she liked it.  

That didn't stop the stereotypical upper class white guy, visiting from out of town, upturning their nose in confusion when they waltzed through the double doors only to see a young woman dressed in tattered jeans, an old teal shirt, long blonde hair (with the last three inches or so dyed bright pink), reclined at the counter with her sneakers on top of it, nose in latest issue of the WWE magazine.

Of course she didn't look up to greet him until he cleared his throat rather loudly. Helga lowered the magazine and stared at the gentleman as if he were interrupting something terribly important...but he was sporting Ralph Lauren, so alright, she'd throw the line to this fish.

"May I speak with your manager?"

Helga rose an eyebrow. "That'd be me."

"You own this establishment?"

Helga scoffed. "Oh, please. But I am the only one here today...so that makes me the only one here to offer you some very much needed help."

The man's eyes widened. "Excuse me?!"

"Gazoontite. Now whatcha in for?"

The gentleman was astonished at such lack of respect from this punk kid. He made a mental note to call and complain later, but for now he would enjoy sizing her up. Surely she did not have the extensive knowledge of pristine smoking and whoever hired this punk, clearly had very poor judgement.

He cleared his throat again. Helga gagged.

"I don't suppose you have in stock the rare Alonso Menendez?"

"What year?"

"2007."

Helga reared her back and laughed out loud, she laughed so hard she all but snorted. The gentle man once again became very offended.

"And what, Young Lady, is so humorous about that?!"

"Yo-you mean aside from the fact that is the one line of Dona Flor with the least amount of nicotine content? Shit, I'd give that to my four year old niece and she wouldn't get a buzz."

She took a few seconds to calm down while the gentleman looked quite flustered.

"Additionally, its rare, Buster, because production halted from 2005 to 2011- so-so...what you're asking for doesn't even exist!" Oh this was better than cable.

The gentleman snorted. "It does so."

Helga crossed her arms and smirked. "Not legally."

The two locked eyes intensely. It was a stand off. The Gentleman had come to be corrected by this blonde and pink-haired punk who, much to his chargin, knew her industry. He momentarily became fearful for future generations.

Now, normally she only took cash for orders this expensive, however the gentleman did not have enough on him and Helga had the feeling that if she let him leave- he would not come back. So she swiped the credit card through the machine. The transaction went through, but when the printer began to print out the receipt and copy that this gentleman was to sign, it sparked and made a very unhealthy noise and then it jammed.

"Ah. fuck not again." Helga sighed. The gentleman decided he would not be uncomfortable with such profanity.

"Okay, heres the deal. My manager is Indian and therefor very cheap. You did pay for this, but that receipt isn't going to print out. Now, I can write you a manual receipt, but the paper is in the back and I am not entirely sure where, so stand tight."

Helga hopped over the counter and the gentleman's eyes widened. It had taken her twenty minutes to find the mahogany box with his item, how disorganized was that back room?

Not at all, actually. Helga had known where everything was the entire time, but rich goons were not known for patience were always less likely to wait around a second time. She was right. The gentleman placed his hand on her shoulder to stop her.

"That's quite alright, I probably do not want to sign something...for...this...anyway."

Helga smiled as if she hadn't thought of that- but you know, like a child you pretend you don't know two and two is four when they tell you.

"Ah ha! That's why you make the big bucks, Bucko."

The gentleman looked proud of himself. Finally some respect.

It was only two in the afternoon, but as soon as he left, Helga locked the door because that sale was enough to please her Indian friend and pay her bills for the rest of the month.

She walked back over to the counter, humming as she took a tiny screw driver from her pocket to open the small printer. Helga removed the now bent bobby pin, took the actual printed receipt out, tore it up, 'fixed' the printer jam. Her last task of the day was her favorite part. Balancing the register and take down how many cigars actually walked out the door.

Twelve.

But the gentleman had paid her Indian manager for ten...because as far as Helga was concerned, two of the pack of twelve purchased were going to be counted and marked as 'unfit' for sale and disposed of.

Which meant as far as her Indian manager was concerned, the gentleman only bought ten and the additional revenue of the last two would not be missed.

Hey. She did most of the work anyway, she deserved commission.

She grabbed a pack of American Spirits on her way out the door.


~~~~

Helga was home earlier than she thought she'd be. She walked into the kitchen, licked her thumb and pulled out a fifty dollar bill, sliding it in front of her mother who was at the table reading...or had been, she was asleep now.

"Pft. Replace that Patron, Merriam."  She mumbled.

Her father wasn't home, but she'd kiss his ass later.

That evening Helga rewarded herself, reclining on her bed with a dry martini, no olive, and a new pack of cigarettes. So that's where she was, laying in bed, sipping from the glass and turning the volume up on the RAW match she had recorded a few days ago on her TV.

I really enjoy the little details and Helga totally owning the day in her own Helga way. I also love the description of her appearance. I've always been really fond of Helga dying parts of her hair pink eventually.

Squirreltamer wrote:I really enjoy the little details and Helga totally owning the day in her own Helga way.  I also love the description of her appearance.  I've always been really fond of Helga dying parts of her hair pink eventually.

Right!? It's totally streaked. XD

Thank you ;3; My Helga is very rough around the edges... >>;; I feel she would be a very jaded teenager.

I really liked that...and wish that it wasn't just a oneshot, lol. I like your Helga and I enjoyed how it was just a day-in-the-life ficlet.

brezofleur wrote:I really liked that...and wish that it wasn't just a oneshot, lol. I like your Helga and I enjoyed how it was just a day-in-the-life ficlet.

I have another one thats a bit more serious and a different prompt. Ill dig it out later.

I love the idea of her calling herself Connie. It's just so Helga to blatantly screw with people like that. At the end of the day, if she really wants it, she's going to win. Cool story!