"Day's Eye" (Daisy Lady, G)rissy_jamesJanuary 26 2010, 20:43:13 UTC
Daisy Lady (Blonde, black dress, yellow flower hat, to the left)
Day's Eye
The interior of the shop was dim and dusty, an obvious requisite for this deep in the city. The smog outside blotted out the light of the suns, and sometimes whole days would go by before the street bricks were washed in any sort of natural light. But it was here that true life in the city thrived, and it was here that the jewels of the country were kept, sitting on glass shelves just waiting for some poor wanderer to stumble along and fall hopelessly in love.
The day was drawing to a disappointing close. She'd seen enough pairs of imitation silver slippers to last a lifetime. Emerald jewellery winked and glittered on display, gathering up on the shelves because not a single person in their right mind would be seen with an emerald around her neck.
There was a loud bang as a vehicle backfired out in the street. It startled her enough to send her tripping into a hat stand. Glancing unhappily through the grimy front windows, she caught sight of gaudily-painted orange canvas as the van rumbled past and came to a stop down the street and out of sight.
“Well, just perfect,” she mumbled to no one in particular. She turned around to see the damage she'd done to the stand when something bright and positively lovely captured her eye. Reaching up on her tiptoes, she delicately removed it from its peg, and inspected it closer.
You didn't see such unabashedly beautiful things in Central City any more, not since the days when people laughed and dared and lived; everything now was dulled to grey with the effort of struggling by. She ran her fingers along the petals, marvelling that something so old could be so brilliant. When she closed her eyes, she could really see it, a blossom in her hand, heavy and full and lush. Fields upon fields of yellow petals straining toward the suns.
“Sweet Ozma, but this is pretty,” she breathed softly, careful not to disturb the exquisitely flimsy petals.
It took her longer to find the ancient shopkeep among the shelves and stacks and stands than to pay for the treasure she'd found. Something special indeed, and there was a bounce in her step as she took the hat-box in hand and turned to leave. She knew that when she got home, the tickets would be on her vanity, waiting. She would drift away tonight on a sweetly-scented, bubbled breeze, and now she'd look the part of a sweet flower swaying gently.
Her distraction got the best of her as she left the shop, still so preoccupied with the hat-box - pretty in and of itself - that she ran into the firm shoulder of a stranger passing by the shop. The man, dusty and worn, barely stopped, turning his head only to tip his hat in apology as he continued on. She watched the broad back depart, straightening herself with an “I never,” to save her appearance as several passers-by looked at her curiously.
She caught sight of the retreating figure again just as he rounded the corner. He reminded her of a past the city was better off to forget. Sighing, she pushed it out of her mind as she headed past the violently orange van, which flashed promises at her as she went. She was completely lost in thought by the time she'd gone twenty paces, thinking only of her pretty new treasure. Maybe the suns were hidden from those who walked these old brick streets, but she could have a bit of them for herself.
What looked to be a very blissful evening stretched out before her...
(Blonde, black dress, yellow flower hat, to the left)
Day's Eye
The interior of the shop was dim and dusty, an obvious requisite for this deep in the city. The smog outside blotted out the light of the suns, and sometimes whole days would go by before the street bricks were washed in any sort of natural light. But it was here that true life in the city thrived, and it was here that the jewels of the country were kept, sitting on glass shelves just waiting for some poor wanderer to stumble along and fall hopelessly in love.
The day was drawing to a disappointing close. She'd seen enough pairs of imitation silver slippers to last a lifetime. Emerald jewellery winked and glittered on display, gathering up on the shelves because not a single person in their right mind would be seen with an emerald around her neck.
There was a loud bang as a vehicle backfired out in the street. It startled her enough to send her tripping into a hat stand. Glancing unhappily through the grimy front windows, she caught sight of gaudily-painted orange canvas as the van rumbled past and came to a stop down the street and out of sight.
“Well, just perfect,” she mumbled to no one in particular. She turned around to see the damage she'd done to the stand when something bright and positively lovely captured her eye. Reaching up on her tiptoes, she delicately removed it from its peg, and inspected it closer.
You didn't see such unabashedly beautiful things in Central City any more, not since the days when people laughed and dared and lived; everything now was dulled to grey with the effort of struggling by. She ran her fingers along the petals, marvelling that something so old could be so brilliant. When she closed her eyes, she could really see it, a blossom in her hand, heavy and full and lush. Fields upon fields of yellow petals straining toward the suns.
“Sweet Ozma, but this is pretty,” she breathed softly, careful not to disturb the exquisitely flimsy petals.
It took her longer to find the ancient shopkeep among the shelves and stacks and stands than to pay for the treasure she'd found. Something special indeed, and there was a bounce in her step as she took the hat-box in hand and turned to leave. She knew that when she got home, the tickets would be on her vanity, waiting. She would drift away tonight on a sweetly-scented, bubbled breeze, and now she'd look the part of a sweet flower swaying gently.
Her distraction got the best of her as she left the shop, still so preoccupied with the hat-box - pretty in and of itself - that she ran into the firm shoulder of a stranger passing by the shop. The man, dusty and worn, barely stopped, turning his head only to tip his hat in apology as he continued on. She watched the broad back depart, straightening herself with an “I never,” to save her appearance as several passers-by looked at her curiously.
She caught sight of the retreating figure again just as he rounded the corner. He reminded her of a past the city was better off to forget. Sighing, she pushed it out of her mind as she headed past the violently orange van, which flashed promises at her as she went. She was completely lost in thought by the time she'd gone twenty paces, thinking only of her pretty new treasure. Maybe the suns were hidden from those who walked these old brick streets, but she could have a bit of them for herself.
What looked to be a very blissful evening stretched out before her...
Reply
Leave a comment