She hadn't slept in forty-seven hours, hadn't bathed in thirty-six of them, and had replaced food with caffeine pills; but Effective Business Management In Agrarian Brazil To Combat Environmental Destruction Of The Amazon Rainforest had found its way into her professor's hands at precisely eight-thirty that morning. It was a pile of shit. But it was handed in, and that was what mattered. She'd make it up in finals week and the next paper. Lock herself in the library for a few days or some crap like that
( ... )
Jonathan stared for a moment, aghast, at the very unpleasant girl who began yelling about Tales in the middle of campus. He stood up, setting his materials aside and trotted over to her.
"How did you even do this?" he asked, fingers fumbling with the Gordian knot that had somehow whipped itself around her jacket fastener. "And HI," he added with a grimace.
How did she do it? HOW DID SHE DO IT? Because she was CURSED AT BIRTH with hair that got stuck at EVERY OPPORTUNITY in EVERYTHING. Because God HATED her. And there was that more logical explanation of her being too scared to get it cut more than once every two years. But she didn't go into that part. "Be CAREFUL, sacrifice the fucking fastener BEFORE you even THINK about ripping my HAIR." Rose Bloom, have her priorities wrong? Of course not.
"Rose Bloom. Dwarf. And you're HURTING ME." The last statement being a bold faced, melodramatic lie.
"Jonathan Fairbanks, Headless Horseman," he answered, wondering if every Tale introduced themselves that way. "Sorry." He looked up from the gnarl and took his keys out of his pocket. "Here, I've got a little pair of scissors on my knife, that ok?" On his keyring was a tiny army knife.
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"How did you even do this?" he asked, fingers fumbling with the Gordian knot that had somehow whipped itself around her jacket fastener. "And HI," he added with a grimace.
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"Rose Bloom. Dwarf. And you're HURTING ME." The last statement being a bold faced, melodramatic lie.
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