Beats Like a Drum
Nov 15, 2014 0:05:29 GMT -5
Post by Penelope Serrano-Blaise on Nov 15, 2014 0:05:29 GMT -5
November twenty-third, a day that Penelope Blaise had been taking into consideration for some time now. Rarely did the Brit ever think to consider a day special because of another person. Not before the day she purposefully tried to avoid her counterpart just in an attempt to prove it didn’t matter. But it did. More important was today.
Nothing could beat a galaxy – but it hardly felt like she was trying to win in some sort of competition. A measurement of two different units. Penny’s personal artistic skill was lacking in most ways – there was nothing she could do that would be able to meet a galaxy painted art room, nor did she want to try. Because doing so felt like dismissing what she had done, and that was the last thing Penny wished for. That wasn’t the point of celebrating Lucy Serrano’s twentieth birthday.
Penny was always thankful for the weekend, but she was particularly so that it was Sunday. The rush of classes – or rather, inevitably trying to skip them – wasn’t something the psychometrist had to worry about. There was no need to tell Lucy she had to attend class because she was failing. Penny was absolutely sure that convincing her to step foot in a classroom on this particular day would have been impossible. For once, she would let go of the subject of school. For a day. More importantly, for her.
And for her, she dragged the Australian out. As cold as it was out, she knew it wouldn’t be particularly easy to get Lucy Serrano to downtown Pilot Ridge, but she had somehow managed with the lie that she absolutely needed a book for classes. Having yet to verbally acknowledge it was the ink manipulator’s birthday, Penny walked in silence.
Until she stopped short of the bookstore, the hand that had been holding her counterpart’s tightening as she faced Lucy. “Okay.” The bitter air made her breath visible on the single word. Glancing up to the sign above them – Ink on the Vine – she quickly shifted her focus back to Lucy within the next moment.
She practiced this a dozen times; had every word chosen out to insure exactly this wouldn’t happen. She doubted the number of times she practiced mattered when it came to this. “Okay.” She tried again, as if it would force the words to flow.
Nothing could beat a galaxy – but it hardly felt like she was trying to win in some sort of competition. A measurement of two different units. Penny’s personal artistic skill was lacking in most ways – there was nothing she could do that would be able to meet a galaxy painted art room, nor did she want to try. Because doing so felt like dismissing what she had done, and that was the last thing Penny wished for. That wasn’t the point of celebrating Lucy Serrano’s twentieth birthday.
Penny was always thankful for the weekend, but she was particularly so that it was Sunday. The rush of classes – or rather, inevitably trying to skip them – wasn’t something the psychometrist had to worry about. There was no need to tell Lucy she had to attend class because she was failing. Penny was absolutely sure that convincing her to step foot in a classroom on this particular day would have been impossible. For once, she would let go of the subject of school. For a day. More importantly, for her.
And for her, she dragged the Australian out. As cold as it was out, she knew it wouldn’t be particularly easy to get Lucy Serrano to downtown Pilot Ridge, but she had somehow managed with the lie that she absolutely needed a book for classes. Having yet to verbally acknowledge it was the ink manipulator’s birthday, Penny walked in silence.
Until she stopped short of the bookstore, the hand that had been holding her counterpart’s tightening as she faced Lucy. “Okay.” The bitter air made her breath visible on the single word. Glancing up to the sign above them – Ink on the Vine – she quickly shifted her focus back to Lucy within the next moment.
She practiced this a dozen times; had every word chosen out to insure exactly this wouldn’t happen. She doubted the number of times she practiced mattered when it came to this. “Okay.” She tried again, as if it would force the words to flow.