(no subject)
There is a process to good writing that Daisy is sure that some old croak of a writer out there has got etched on a stone somewhere. As it is, Daisy's not exactly giving great literature to the world so much as she's providing a little trash and flash on the radio. Or, well, she had been before half her cast disappeared.
Now she's busy gnawing the business ends' of pencils everywhere in sight while she tries to figure out just what she is going to do about a disaster like this. She's set up in the rec room and papers are scattered around her in great disarray, but she's busy laying upside down on the couch and feeling the blood rush to her head. The play's the thing, but it's not actually her focus. Words and lines and roles for people with skins to inhabit can wait just a little while longer.
How strange to be mortal, how mortal to be strange.
She feels dizzy, but she feels invigorated and who needs drugs when she's got this? She has a shift soon to waitress, but not just yet. That's not just yet and she has a play to solve and a head full of blood and a heart that's beating and isn't that all just strange? Daisy slowly sits up and rights herself and the world goes spinning like it's been on a whirlygig of a tilt-a-whirl. It puts her conscious and it puts her vertical, but she still hasn't exactly solved any casting problems. The more she stays sitting up, the more she sees that no great problems are going to be solved like that, so she decides to go right back to old methods.
With a great huff and fluff of blonde hair, she goes right back to her upside-down studies of the universe and points to the door with her pencil. "Wanna be a star?"
[Open to ST/LT tags through Tuesday, if you need to talk to her about your role, now is the time!]
Now she's busy gnawing the business ends' of pencils everywhere in sight while she tries to figure out just what she is going to do about a disaster like this. She's set up in the rec room and papers are scattered around her in great disarray, but she's busy laying upside down on the couch and feeling the blood rush to her head. The play's the thing, but it's not actually her focus. Words and lines and roles for people with skins to inhabit can wait just a little while longer.
How strange to be mortal, how mortal to be strange.
She feels dizzy, but she feels invigorated and who needs drugs when she's got this? She has a shift soon to waitress, but not just yet. That's not just yet and she has a play to solve and a head full of blood and a heart that's beating and isn't that all just strange? Daisy slowly sits up and rights herself and the world goes spinning like it's been on a whirlygig of a tilt-a-whirl. It puts her conscious and it puts her vertical, but she still hasn't exactly solved any casting problems. The more she stays sitting up, the more she sees that no great problems are going to be solved like that, so she decides to go right back to old methods.
With a great huff and fluff of blonde hair, she goes right back to her upside-down studies of the universe and points to the door with her pencil. "Wanna be a star?"
[Open to ST/LT tags through Tuesday, if you need to talk to her about your role, now is the time!]