- herbert hoover cabin - a4 - monday night - 5/11 -
Fiona had some work to do, putting away all the new clothes she'd gotten with Dinah today.
That had been fantastic. Wonderful. She'd had so much fun with Dinah, she'd almost felt, well, normal. Like an average girl. Like someone who could expect to go to a dance with a boy, as crazy as that sounded. And in the clothes, she'd looked pretty. Fashionable. Attractive.
Along with that, she folded up the other clothes she'd brought with her and jammed them in the bag. As she did, the scent of the rose in the bottom wafted up, bringing pleasure and happiness in it's wake. Looking back to see that the curtain was mostly closed, she reached in to pull out the metallic flower, her symbol from the Order of the Celestial Rose marking her one of their own.
Her fingers curled up around the stem as she remembered just how much they trusted one of their own.
With a swallow, the rose was put away and she pushed the other clothes down farther. The whole thing was jammed into the storage space before she flopped onto her bed and ran her hands through her hair. It caught on a few of her ragged nails, stung at the pull, but she ignored it as she stared at her pillow as if it had all the answers.
Should she call Eliot? Her mother? Her father? Robert?
She punched the pillow and the air puffed against her face with the scent of the rose. Which was, of course, when she started swearing in Portuguese.
[open to her bunkmates, or anyone else; feel free to hear creative language or smell the rose]
That had been fantastic. Wonderful. She'd had so much fun with Dinah, she'd almost felt, well, normal. Like an average girl. Like someone who could expect to go to a dance with a boy, as crazy as that sounded. And in the clothes, she'd looked pretty. Fashionable. Attractive.
Along with that, she folded up the other clothes she'd brought with her and jammed them in the bag. As she did, the scent of the rose in the bottom wafted up, bringing pleasure and happiness in it's wake. Looking back to see that the curtain was mostly closed, she reached in to pull out the metallic flower, her symbol from the Order of the Celestial Rose marking her one of their own.
Her fingers curled up around the stem as she remembered just how much they trusted one of their own.
With a swallow, the rose was put away and she pushed the other clothes down farther. The whole thing was jammed into the storage space before she flopped onto her bed and ran her hands through her hair. It caught on a few of her ragged nails, stung at the pull, but she ignored it as she stared at her pillow as if it had all the answers.
Should she call Eliot? Her mother? Her father? Robert?
She punched the pillow and the air puffed against her face with the scent of the rose. Which was, of course, when she started swearing in Portuguese.
[open to her bunkmates, or anyone else; feel free to hear creative language or smell the rose]