First Steps Are Always Hard To Make
Tiffany swore if her guitar had a voice, it would've said nasty things to her for over the past twelve minutes.
"You failure, if you want to write songs, why can't you play the guitar?"
"Have concentration, will ya? Ten minutes strumming chords and then abandoning me for five days won't get you anywhere."
"You left college to 'make it', and where are you now? Living with someone else and no where to go."
"You should've stuck to college. You'd probably do better at an office job anyways."
"No, I wouldn't." mumbles the tired twenty-something. She reaches for the discarded notepad on her bed and glares at it, examining the hasty scrawls and occasional doodles in the margin. Groaning in frustration, she lightly tosses it into a corner of her bedroom and walks out to the living room, where her friends are gathered.
The first to look up is a short haired Asian. "Tee, y'alright?" If it weren't for the soft way those words were spoken, one couldn't tell that Shizuna was female. "You look exhausted."
"More like something drove over you, reversed and did it again." says Sebastian, looking at her upside down from tilting his chair dangerously. His twin, Emilien, nods. "Shouldn't you be resting? With that cold and all."
Tiffany makes an incoherent noise and walks to the water dispenser and fills her cup. "Dun wanna." she mutters. "Still need a song." She can feel the eyes trained on her and shifts her weight uncomfortably. "I'm working on it." she says with a tone of defiance, "I'll get it done."
"Yeah, but when?" Says Mark, his glasses flashing as he looks at her from the table. "You told us a month ago you wanted to form a band with us and signed up for that-that 'Battle Of The Bands' competitions, which is three weeks away, and we still don't have a song?"
"It's not that easy!" Tiffany shouts back, her voice hoarse and thick from all the coughing. "What d'you think I'm doing in my spare time? Playing around? I know what I asked from you all, and I'm trying to do my part!" Forcing out the last word, she set her cup aside to cough and sniffle harshly. Shizuna went to her side and led her back to the bedroom. "Tee, go get some rest, how are you going to concentrate enough to write a song in this state anyways?" Mark ignored the nasty look aimed at him.
The bed room door closed with a click and two pairs of eyes swiveled to meet Mark's brown ones. "Maybe you should apologize to her." suggests Emilien, reaching for a cookie only to have it eaten out of his hands by Sebastian. "She really should stop making empty promises, or at least, think before she makes any promises. Does she even know how hard we'll need to practice in order to compete?"
"Maybe she does know." says Shizuna, shutting the door behind her and joining them at the table. "Maybe she really is trying, she just has problems. Either way," Mark ignores her gaze again and downs his cup of milk. "You owe her an apology. And a talk."
Feeling the pressure of being stared at, he finally gives in. "Fine," he says, pushing his chair in resignedly, "But I really don't see how I can help."
Opening her door, Mark first notes that the room is dark, the curtains drawn completely. After his eyes adjust to the darkness, he is able to make out a lump on the bed and he addresses it. "Tiffany? Are you awake?" he says softly, stepping forward. The sound of paper crinkling stops him, and he looks down at the piece of paper his foot wrinkled.
As he bends down to pick it up, he notices that the entire room is strewn with papers, notepads, notebooks, even bits of napkins from various restaurants. In the dim light, he can barely decipher the lines and loops that is Tiffany's handwriting, but he see them, cross-outs, notes, inserts, scribbles (and sometimes, a bit of dried sauce here and there; those he sets aside to copy and throw away later)
Carefully picking his way across the room, he goes to her bed and stares at where her head should be. "I know you're awake, y'know. You don't fall asleep that fast." he says bluntly. "I would be asleep by now, insensitive jerkwad" retorts Tiffany, her voice muffled by the covers pulled up to her head.
He sits down on the edge of her bed without an invitation ("Gettoff, I'm sleeping.") and opens his mouth only to close it. "Well?" says the muffled voice again, irritably, "Obviously you have something to say."
Mark sighs and takes off his glasses, rubbing his eyes. "I'm sorry for being an insensitive jerkwad," he says, feeling awkward and uncomfortable, "But I'm not gonna apologize for saying that you have to stop making promises you can't keep." Because you'll only be find yourself in situations like this, he adds mentally.
"I said-!" began the bedridden woman, sitting up to retort at her friend, but Mark cut her off. "I know what you said," he says tiredly, "And I know you do get promises done. But I'm trying to say that you make too many promises." Tiffany glares at him, the blood pounding in her head makes her headache even worse and for a second she even considers ignoring the upcoming lecture.
"Right." she says, sliding back into her covers. "You'll be my life coach while I sleep this fever off." Mark huffs in irritation and decides to keep on talking. They both know that they were stubborn and wouldn't let go of an issue once it'c been brought to light.
"You want to do something great, but you overestimate yourself. You try to make yourself seem capable by accepting requests blindly. You pretend to be more capable than you really are..." he stops there and thinks for a while. "And oh, you disregard your own physical health, which leads to you being sick." The sheets rustle for a quick second and her voice is heavily muffled. "What was that?"
"I said, thanks for the analysis. Now whaddya want me to do?" Tiffany croaks from her position. She only wishes that he'd just leave her alone if he was just going to criticize her. "Let us help you. Stop piling more on to your plate when you obviously can't handle everything." says Mark, setting his hand on where her head should be.
Silence, then, "I'm horrible at planning and organizing, aren't I?"
The bespectacled young man chuckles lightly and answers, "You've never been good at it in high school. Can you tell me what parts you're having trouble with when you're all better?" The head nods and that was all he needed as an answer. "Alright," he stood up and carefully walked back to the door. "Are first steps so hard to make?" calls out Tiffany from her bed. Mark turned around and peered into the dim room.
"Yeah. But it gets easier when you have friends."
Oh God, I worked on this since my Thanksgiving post...Ending is a little half-assed but hey,it's midnight, I'm justified to half-ass things, okay?
"You failure, if you want to write songs, why can't you play the guitar?"
"Have concentration, will ya? Ten minutes strumming chords and then abandoning me for five days won't get you anywhere."
"You left college to 'make it', and where are you now? Living with someone else and no where to go."
"You should've stuck to college. You'd probably do better at an office job anyways."
"No, I wouldn't." mumbles the tired twenty-something. She reaches for the discarded notepad on her bed and glares at it, examining the hasty scrawls and occasional doodles in the margin. Groaning in frustration, she lightly tosses it into a corner of her bedroom and walks out to the living room, where her friends are gathered.
The first to look up is a short haired Asian. "Tee, y'alright?" If it weren't for the soft way those words were spoken, one couldn't tell that Shizuna was female. "You look exhausted."
"More like something drove over you, reversed and did it again." says Sebastian, looking at her upside down from tilting his chair dangerously. His twin, Emilien, nods. "Shouldn't you be resting? With that cold and all."
Tiffany makes an incoherent noise and walks to the water dispenser and fills her cup. "Dun wanna." she mutters. "Still need a song." She can feel the eyes trained on her and shifts her weight uncomfortably. "I'm working on it." she says with a tone of defiance, "I'll get it done."
"Yeah, but when?" Says Mark, his glasses flashing as he looks at her from the table. "You told us a month ago you wanted to form a band with us and signed up for that-that 'Battle Of The Bands' competitions, which is three weeks away, and we still don't have a song?"
"It's not that easy!" Tiffany shouts back, her voice hoarse and thick from all the coughing. "What d'you think I'm doing in my spare time? Playing around? I know what I asked from you all, and I'm trying to do my part!" Forcing out the last word, she set her cup aside to cough and sniffle harshly. Shizuna went to her side and led her back to the bedroom. "Tee, go get some rest, how are you going to concentrate enough to write a song in this state anyways?" Mark ignored the nasty look aimed at him.
The bed room door closed with a click and two pairs of eyes swiveled to meet Mark's brown ones. "Maybe you should apologize to her." suggests Emilien, reaching for a cookie only to have it eaten out of his hands by Sebastian. "She really should stop making empty promises, or at least, think before she makes any promises. Does she even know how hard we'll need to practice in order to compete?"
"Maybe she does know." says Shizuna, shutting the door behind her and joining them at the table. "Maybe she really is trying, she just has problems. Either way," Mark ignores her gaze again and downs his cup of milk. "You owe her an apology. And a talk."
Feeling the pressure of being stared at, he finally gives in. "Fine," he says, pushing his chair in resignedly, "But I really don't see how I can help."
Opening her door, Mark first notes that the room is dark, the curtains drawn completely. After his eyes adjust to the darkness, he is able to make out a lump on the bed and he addresses it. "Tiffany? Are you awake?" he says softly, stepping forward. The sound of paper crinkling stops him, and he looks down at the piece of paper his foot wrinkled.
As he bends down to pick it up, he notices that the entire room is strewn with papers, notepads, notebooks, even bits of napkins from various restaurants. In the dim light, he can barely decipher the lines and loops that is Tiffany's handwriting, but he see them, cross-outs, notes, inserts, scribbles (and sometimes, a bit of dried sauce here and there; those he sets aside to copy and throw away later)
Carefully picking his way across the room, he goes to her bed and stares at where her head should be. "I know you're awake, y'know. You don't fall asleep that fast." he says bluntly. "I would be asleep by now, insensitive jerkwad" retorts Tiffany, her voice muffled by the covers pulled up to her head.
He sits down on the edge of her bed without an invitation ("Gettoff, I'm sleeping.") and opens his mouth only to close it. "Well?" says the muffled voice again, irritably, "Obviously you have something to say."
Mark sighs and takes off his glasses, rubbing his eyes. "I'm sorry for being an insensitive jerkwad," he says, feeling awkward and uncomfortable, "But I'm not gonna apologize for saying that you have to stop making promises you can't keep." Because you'll only be find yourself in situations like this, he adds mentally.
"I said-!" began the bedridden woman, sitting up to retort at her friend, but Mark cut her off. "I know what you said," he says tiredly, "And I know you do get promises done. But I'm trying to say that you make too many promises." Tiffany glares at him, the blood pounding in her head makes her headache even worse and for a second she even considers ignoring the upcoming lecture.
"Right." she says, sliding back into her covers. "You'll be my life coach while I sleep this fever off." Mark huffs in irritation and decides to keep on talking. They both know that they were stubborn and wouldn't let go of an issue once it'c been brought to light.
"You want to do something great, but you overestimate yourself. You try to make yourself seem capable by accepting requests blindly. You pretend to be more capable than you really are..." he stops there and thinks for a while. "And oh, you disregard your own physical health, which leads to you being sick." The sheets rustle for a quick second and her voice is heavily muffled. "What was that?"
"I said, thanks for the analysis. Now whaddya want me to do?" Tiffany croaks from her position. She only wishes that he'd just leave her alone if he was just going to criticize her. "Let us help you. Stop piling more on to your plate when you obviously can't handle everything." says Mark, setting his hand on where her head should be.
Silence, then, "I'm horrible at planning and organizing, aren't I?"
The bespectacled young man chuckles lightly and answers, "You've never been good at it in high school. Can you tell me what parts you're having trouble with when you're all better?" The head nods and that was all he needed as an answer. "Alright," he stood up and carefully walked back to the door. "Are first steps so hard to make?" calls out Tiffany from her bed. Mark turned around and peered into the dim room.
"Yeah. But it gets easier when you have friends."
Oh God, I worked on this since my Thanksgiving post...Ending is a little half-assed but hey,it's midnight, I'm justified to half-ass things, okay?