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Viewing Single Post From: Your Tired, Your Poor, Your Huddled Masses
Cicada Days
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keep running yoshi
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If Irene's mind was a race horse she wasn't exactly winning folks big bucks anytime soon. Rather she was the embodiment of discombobulation that sputtered out of the gate and ran itself in a circle with both legs too short. Already she was weighing a bevy of concluding sentences broadly describing the historical significance of Tolstoy's Europe. Sans the necessary evidence contrived to produce such conclusions. Finished before she even started, and that was probably not an innuendo. And even those conclusions neatly wrapped themselves up, all points neatly made, dropped, forgotten. In her mind's eye Irene had sported the briefest of fives on the AP exam. And then she was briefly appraising nutmeg locks and piercings as she considered Miss Floyd in all her modest glory borne of god, or whatever.

"Heart to heart? Aw yeah, I getcha," Irene said emphatically, with an unwarranted sage nod. "I talk to my books too, sometimes I just gotta feel them out the verbal way." It was historically, empirically, canonically proven: god and some half of Cochise had borne witness. Half whispers, nigh possessed, speaking in eldritch tones of covalent bonding and London Dispersion forces. I see London, I see France. Irene promptly adjusted her legs, reminded briefly of the inconvenience of skirt pieces. Press that down flat, there we go. "What exactly are you reading?" Irene was tempted to peer despite the awkward positioning. She gave into said temptation, and the next second she was hovering yet closer, trying to steal a glance over Abby's shoulder. Locks of Irene's hair tried to drape themselves over her poor victim's shoulder.

"And I'm not up to much, just mentally prepping for the usual after school crawl." This for Irene being a variable combination of baseball and then various forms of wasting away her youth. "You too, I bet? I see you around so much, I swear you must be supes busy."

V6 - Like you imagined when you... were young...
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Your Tired, Your Poor, Your Huddled Masses · Grounds