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Cicada Days
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keep running yoshi
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"I am our better half, after all."

Oh yes, yes she definitely was. Irene was promptly disappointed for two reasons. First reason, her funny still wasn't really catching on. Someday Jazzy would adore Irene's well-developed (ahem) wit. As admirable a goal for the future as any other Irene had ever set for herself, including those typically in pursuit of petty upstaging of some god dang talented hack who upstaged her in drama.

Second reason, hug was woefully short. This was the sort of lack of affection that produced serial killers. One second there were a lotta arms and it was warm and happy, the next? Bam. Cold and the only arms left were those flailing at the space Jasmine had once occupied. I knew we would have to let go someday, baby, but not like this. Irene's internal monologue aptly imitated a squeaky little girl imitating a man of particularly chiseled chin. Make everything monochrome and it'd make a decent film noir, or whatever the things with the black and white detective agencies were called. Irene returned her arms to her side in brief. Moment was over. But she would always have the memory...

Nope, it was already gone.

Hey, that was a familiar act! A young man had dashingly greeted all comers to drama club like that one day a few weeks back. Irene had thought it cute and clever, but according to Jazzy it was funny. Maybe some combination thereof. Cutevernny. A word that totally described itself.

Irene took to her friend's invitation with aplomb, putting on an old air she'd worn during one improv day. A finger twirled at her invisible mustache, which was totally thick and bushy and manly and stuff, and she sauntered through the door frame, all rigid shoulders and proud chin. Mimicry of a true gentleman, AKA, m'lady.

"I'm home, honey!" That particular skit had ended with a betrayal of the husband by angry housewife, a stabbing, and some poignant line about the quiet oppression of women in modern society that had flown at cruising altitude over Irene's head. "Hah!" Irene dropped the accent quick as it came. Looked around, drunk the details in. "Love your place, Jazzy. Super aesthetic. Where's your room?" Jazzy's room. Squee.

V6 - Like you imagined when you... were young...
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Oh, it's so sad to think about the good times, you and I... · Memories from the Past