(no subject)
When people tell you that there's something like an enchanted clothes-box living near you, it's one of those things that seems like it belongs in a magical wardrobe or maybe just in a children's after-school special about learning to have fun. Luce is still getting used to it, but she has to admit that a couple of hours spent with it yields some of the most fun she's ever had.
She's clad in a striped jumper of candy-cane red and white, a tall hat, and jeans. The jeans are about the only normal part of her and she came wearing those onto the island. She digs deep into the box and fishes out a new trucker's hat that says 'Come Out, Come Out Wherever You Are' and smiles ruefully as she jams it down over her hair, not minding the mess it makes.
Months on the Island and honestly, if she could just keep to her flowers by day, wander to the Winchester at night, and have this in the in-between, she might not mind it so much. The truth is she misses the hell out of London, obviously, but the sun shines here like it doesn't at home and she doesn't have to lurk around every corner at Tesco's thinking that she's about to bump into Rachel or Heck and think about how she's gone and ruined lives.
No, instead, she's thinking about the clothes. She reaches inside and pulls on a red sweatervest and adjusts the tunic-like sleeves of her shirt when she hears footsteps.
She makes sure she has plenty of time to strike a proper pose, chin lifted high in the air. "Well? Am I ready for Milan's runways? Or just its basements of various skeletons of fashion victims?"
[ST/LT welcome through Friday!]
She's clad in a striped jumper of candy-cane red and white, a tall hat, and jeans. The jeans are about the only normal part of her and she came wearing those onto the island. She digs deep into the box and fishes out a new trucker's hat that says 'Come Out, Come Out Wherever You Are' and smiles ruefully as she jams it down over her hair, not minding the mess it makes.
Months on the Island and honestly, if she could just keep to her flowers by day, wander to the Winchester at night, and have this in the in-between, she might not mind it so much. The truth is she misses the hell out of London, obviously, but the sun shines here like it doesn't at home and she doesn't have to lurk around every corner at Tesco's thinking that she's about to bump into Rachel or Heck and think about how she's gone and ruined lives.
No, instead, she's thinking about the clothes. She reaches inside and pulls on a red sweatervest and adjusts the tunic-like sleeves of her shirt when she hears footsteps.
She makes sure she has plenty of time to strike a proper pose, chin lifted high in the air. "Well? Am I ready for Milan's runways? Or just its basements of various skeletons of fashion victims?"
[ST/LT welcome through Friday!]