you're a bird with an eye for anything shiny

[follyofyouth]

Island heat's better'n heat from the bulls, that's for sure, but Laura wasn't made to share space with common palookas and she's about ready to have someone rubbed just to get a little space. It's easier staying in this compound of theirs than sleeping out-of-doors, but it's about time to be finding a new spot to flop

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[movieofourlife]

There's purple glitter on her nails, and fuck, Wendy's not sure if she minds. It took her a damn long time to get it just right, what with the weather trying to melt them off the face of the earth, but whatever. Girls from Kansas are tougher than that and distractions are distractions. James fucking Dean not included. There's a reason why she rearranged all the knives in the kitchen and a million other little things, and now she's looking normal, in cropped jeans and a Blondie shirt, black make-up on her eyes.

There's a girl just leaning there and she doesn't feel like picking. Leaning is a waste of time, but she sees the reason, understands it, but people here are like fucking stepford and that girl looks like a dime a dozen sort of girl. Played straight, doing the rules like they fucking mean something.

However, this one is new. Interesting. Almost worth talking to. Maybe, but she's not sure if she's going to waste that type. Fucking got it to spare.

[follyofyouth]

When Laura catches sight of the doll outta the corner of her peepers, the movement she makes isn't threatening or greeting. It's a simple sweep of her hand, a tapping motion to let the ashes fall before she slips the cigarette between her lips again. She's a dime a dozen chippy, and Laura's seen at least that many like her this afternoon, popping out of the schoolhouse or the compound door. An ankle like that isn't worth the trouble it takes to chisel. It's almost disappointing.

[movieofourlife]

Not quite Stepford, but definitely not worth it either. There are probably bridges to burn or visions to have or some shit. A lot of fucking stuff hasn't been figured out, not even in a few months, and she justs keeps walking, dismissing her.

Dismissing is how she operates. Girl's not worth her time to start, and fuck if she's going to be worth it afterwards. There's probably something going down to watch or piss off or fuck all. And Wendy's a proper red Bonnie, so Clyde's just an option. This one probably wears yellow bikinis.

[andreamingahead]

Sometimes, Harper still can't get over the fact that there's a beach here, a normal beach, and if this is in her head, then she's got a damn good imagination, because this might even be better than Antarctica. So it's there that she's headed when she's leaving the compound, no bathing suit from the clothes box - it's not nearly nice enough - but she's got clothes decent enough to wear, at least, a t-shirt that's long, not too tight, and a skirt to her knees. But on her way out the door the smell of smoke hits her nose, and she wrinkles it a bit as she stops, before turning to face the girl smoking it, a young girl, pretty. No reason not to be friendly, she thinks, though it's an effort to think it, still, but people here have been nice enough so far (except the guy who'd been pointing the gun at her, maybe). So she says, "Hello," because there'll be no problem. No problem.

[follyofyouth]

"Hello." Laura manages a smile, vague and polite, as the woman is ranked; one word and her mind is processing the figure before her. There are so many here, coming and going, blending together until she wouldn't have cared anymore if she'd much cared to begin with. Inhale, exhale, smoke everywhere. The view makes just as much sense obscured. She's savoring it, her supply limited, a careful countdown until the end and permanence. This is a right set up, but she ain't sure she's ready to stay put anywhere. She reads the woman as best she can: steady, a little worn, not fashionable - and not just in the way that folks here are stuck with, that box putting everyone behind the eight ball, but her hair betrays it's chronic -, prim with her wrinkled nose.

[andreamingahead]

It's like a lot of conversation here is, disconnected, brief, impersonal, and Harper can't tell what she thinks of that; most of her relationships, her entire life, have been with people just in her head, but again, these might still be, and if they aren't, it might be for the best, she's not all too used to actual human interaction anymore, except with Joe and he doesn't count. Why, exactly, she's staying and not just continuing on her way, she's not quite sure, but she looks the girl over anyway, trying not to inhale the smoke. "So, the box is nice to you," she says, for lack of anything else, and there's just a hint of something in the word box that shows she's not too pleased by it yet, or at least confused by it. "Nicer than to others, anyway."

[follyofyouth]

The hand not on the bag comes free now, stroking down the front of the skirt. Laura glances down, then up with a smile that's no longer so polite. It's vague still, pleased, and a little more real for that. "Beginner's luck," she suggests, head tilting up. Tree trunk scratches through the cloth at her back, rough. "Or maybe I'm just very patient." A moment's pause and she recalls her manners. "Thank you."