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party wurmple never sleeps. only dances.
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There was a saying that wise old men said in this situation, a saying that succinctly summed up Astrid’s feelings right now. A saying passed down through the annals of time, known only as ‘What in the fuck is going on?’

Instead of just taking the seat like, y’know, a normal person would have done, Maxim started flapping his mouth again, probably preparing to talk about something Astrid literally could not care less about. Fortunately, he was prevented from doing so by someone rushing in and sitting on the chair that he had claimed. Unfortunately, said someone happened to be Mel Beckett.

Now, even Astrid had to admit that Mel wasn’t the worst person she knew at Kingman, not by a long shot. However, the two had some pretty differing views on a lot of different subjects; most notably, how one should approach their schoolwork. From what Astrid could see, Mel’s approach was not to approach it. She was far too lackadaisical for Astrid’s tastes, and she hadn’t exactly been subtle about that view.

However, this didn’t seem to deter Mel. If anything, it only encouraged her to seek out Astrid whenever she possibly could. If she was trying to annoy Astrid as much as possible, well then, congratulations; she had passed with flying colours. Mel’s grin was met with a stare that could pierce through sheet metal.

Maxim finally figured out what he wanted to say, and started rambling on. After about a second, Astrid could feel a headache coming on. She rubbed her forehead, and rolled her eyes. She’d known she was going to regret this, and now, here she was. Regretting this. Might as well make the most of it, or try to anyway.

“Guys, it’s a chair. No-one has dibs on it, or their name engraved in the goddamn thing. You really wanna sit here so badly, you can fight amongst yourselves. Just leave me out of it. Don’t drag me into a stupid argument.”

Astrid sighed, then continued.

“As for why I’m not outside like I want to be, it’s all thanks to this.”

Astrid turned, shifting her hair to the side, and pointed a thumb at the tattoo on her shoulder blade, slightly obscured by the strap of her top but still mostly visible.

“Guy said I shouldn’t expose it to direct sunlight for a few days, at least. So, here I am, stuck indoors. It’s annoying, but better this than having it be faded and shitty looking.”


"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
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The Dynamo of Volition · Beale Library