"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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Cicada Days
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👀 (credit to Kotorikun)
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((Irene Djezari continued from The Theatrics Formula))

It was a song and a dance to the local Tar-Jay, somewhat literally in Irene's case. She wasn't quite a walking musical number, but she was quite the dubiously-tuned hummer. Loud enough to be annoying, not loud enough to be intelligibly annoying. The bane of many an ambulatory pedestrian. At least she wasn't on show-tunes. Yet.

Her shopping list was about as existent as her thoughts at the time, thus with a blank head she was cruising the generic aisles. Spent a few moments to admire the furniture section for all it's less-than-antique pieces. Value in abundance, if she actually had a singular dollar to her name not wasted on video games and books. Most of the offerings on display weren't thematically appropriate for her room anyways. She'd never quite dropped her eight year old princess chic. Still occasionally cuddled with Mrs. Fluffle. When nobody was looking. She made an excellent elbow rest during her especially late-night streaming sessions.

The flood of her motion was diverted by the promise of cheap ready-to-wears. A shelf's worth of Merona and she swerved, cut straight through the flow of bored housewives to browse. She didn't even wear that brand, but the smattering of poorly-constructed long sleeves was a pretty enough shiny for her mind's barely coherent glory. Her own clothes for that day were a bit on the prefab side, with enough canvas in her shoes and pants to supply the next Dali. She'd spent laundry day at a friend's suffering from contact high, so she'd needed to 'borrow' from Asimah's dubiously professional wardrobe for today. The effect was something of an overly starched office worker with a side of skater punk in her graphic tee.

"Blair?" She recognized those emaciated eyes anywhere. They had been brought together by the results of Moore's law, internet friends of the finest caliber. Blair was one of the ones more acquainted with the innumerable amount of handles Irene carried herself with on the web. Case of internet multiple personality disorder aside Irene liked Blair. She spoke her mind without hesitation. Smart, easy to talk to. Blair probably subtly trolled her somehow, but that was something done by all the folk Irene knew: acquaintances, enemies, and family.

"Hey, Blair!" Irene merrily dodged through the racks on racks, kicking up a storm of clattering from her overzealous noclipping through the hanging shirts. Heaven forbid she actually path herself in a non-intrusive manner. "Sarah is stalking you, by the by." Exaggerated appraisal of Scarlett's actions at present, to be sure. That one Irene didn't know nearly as well. They shared classes and could occasionally shoot the shit about whatever. "Wait no. Scarlett." There it was. "Your name is Scarlett. I can do this. Hi Scarlett!"
The Dies Before First Rolls Squad

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