Guiding hand [attn: Haley]
Oct 28, 2011 4:57:27 GMT -5
Post by Tate Desmarais on Oct 28, 2011 4:57:27 GMT -5
So for once it wasn't windy as hell outside, and Tate had gotten a good look around the campus since her run-in with the girl with the soccer ball. (No way did she want to be victim to re-entry level speeds of sports equipment again. She'd only just escaped gym class forever in South Carolina and she was none too pleased to learn she'd have to go back in. The point was, Kaytee had kicked that ball a bit too hard towards Tate for her to be comfortable swinging by the training field for help navigating Hammel Institute.) And being as the day was actually fairly nice, she'd decided to take a bit of a wander around--get a really firm grip on where she was, spatially, she guessed.
Right now, she thought, she was near the courtyard. Possibly? Yes. If she went through those doors right there, she would be in the courtyard, which meant she wasn't necessarily very far from her dorm. Right? She adjusted her scarf, tucking it into the collar of her peacoat before pushing out of the doors and into the chilly autumn air. Honestly, whatever Vermont weather was on, she wanted it off it. Right then. If the entire world could just be like her hometown, things would be great.
At least her mom had sent her a scarf.
She crossed the grass in great strides, the kind that ate up ground the way her mother would eat pirouette cookies. Tate's height was mostly in leg, not spread out around her body the way that might have looked natural; she'd learned to dress to hide it, but all the same it was an imposing height from which she observed the young girl drawing. Or, well, sketching. Tate had a very refined idea of what drawing was, and the rough, loose work going on below her was not it.
"You might want to take a closer look at the angle of that arm," she said finally, not pausing to think on whether the girl would even want critique on her work. "Only people's elbows don't bend that way. Ever."
Right now, she thought, she was near the courtyard. Possibly? Yes. If she went through those doors right there, she would be in the courtyard, which meant she wasn't necessarily very far from her dorm. Right? She adjusted her scarf, tucking it into the collar of her peacoat before pushing out of the doors and into the chilly autumn air. Honestly, whatever Vermont weather was on, she wanted it off it. Right then. If the entire world could just be like her hometown, things would be great.
At least her mom had sent her a scarf.
She crossed the grass in great strides, the kind that ate up ground the way her mother would eat pirouette cookies. Tate's height was mostly in leg, not spread out around her body the way that might have looked natural; she'd learned to dress to hide it, but all the same it was an imposing height from which she observed the young girl drawing. Or, well, sketching. Tate had a very refined idea of what drawing was, and the rough, loose work going on below her was not it.
"You might want to take a closer look at the angle of that arm," she said finally, not pausing to think on whether the girl would even want critique on her work. "Only people's elbows don't bend that way. Ever."
