Post by Vae on Apr 6, 2007 4:11:28 GMT -5
((lol, you asked for it.))
Had she known that he now thought her a daft half-wit because she was kind enough to think there was no way he was lame enough to make up a story like leading a ghost tour at the Museum, she might not have been quite so charmed by his somewhat silly but nevertheless heartjerking finger twitching. But as Vae is not a mindreader, and her writer is not a godmoder, she knew neither that he had doubts about her intelligence nor that they were spurred by his own selfish insecurity. Instead, she found herself becoming completely and entirely taken with him, or at least with that person he left her with the impression of being.
In fact, she found him to be adorable, a breath of fresh air in a hospital that more or less only ever held for her sterilized specimens of humanity, archetypes and replicas of people she had met a hundred times over. But here was someone unique, open hearted (she thought) and unafraid of displaying his less pop-culture-acceptable side (she thought). She tried desperately but failed to keep the smirk off of her face, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly at his censure. She turned back to her salad to consider his offer, glancing between his waggling pinky and her fork to show that she was still making up her mind. At last she shrugged, as if conceding defeat.
"Fine. Just so long as the host buys the beer." Her smirk turned into a full-fledged grin and she thought she must be crazy, agreeing to play Scrabble on a Saturday night. "And then the loser can also lead the winner on a ghost tour through the Museum Sunday night becau..." She was going to say 'because you are sooo going to lose' when it hit her. Museum? Ghost Tour? Sunday night? The realization dawned on her face and she looked as if she had just swallowed something sour. She let out a half-laugh that was without mirth. Shoulda known, huh?
"Ah, but the museum closes at six on Sunday evenings, doesn't it? So you can't really lead a ghost tour on Sunday night." She pursed her lips, nodding in acknowledgement that he had nearly pulled a fast one on her. "You know, from now on you might stick to your counting talent to win you dates. Not everyone can make it up to six. Oh, and stay out of Mr. Fields' room from now on, you sicko." She picked up her plastic salad tray, having lost her appetite. "Thanks for the OJ," she offered, and then left him to his fabricated ghost tour and his geriatric lifestyle.
Had she known that he now thought her a daft half-wit because she was kind enough to think there was no way he was lame enough to make up a story like leading a ghost tour at the Museum, she might not have been quite so charmed by his somewhat silly but nevertheless heartjerking finger twitching. But as Vae is not a mindreader, and her writer is not a godmoder, she knew neither that he had doubts about her intelligence nor that they were spurred by his own selfish insecurity. Instead, she found herself becoming completely and entirely taken with him, or at least with that person he left her with the impression of being.
In fact, she found him to be adorable, a breath of fresh air in a hospital that more or less only ever held for her sterilized specimens of humanity, archetypes and replicas of people she had met a hundred times over. But here was someone unique, open hearted (she thought) and unafraid of displaying his less pop-culture-acceptable side (she thought). She tried desperately but failed to keep the smirk off of her face, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly at his censure. She turned back to her salad to consider his offer, glancing between his waggling pinky and her fork to show that she was still making up her mind. At last she shrugged, as if conceding defeat.
"Fine. Just so long as the host buys the beer." Her smirk turned into a full-fledged grin and she thought she must be crazy, agreeing to play Scrabble on a Saturday night. "And then the loser can also lead the winner on a ghost tour through the Museum Sunday night becau..." She was going to say 'because you are sooo going to lose' when it hit her. Museum? Ghost Tour? Sunday night? The realization dawned on her face and she looked as if she had just swallowed something sour. She let out a half-laugh that was without mirth. Shoulda known, huh?
"Ah, but the museum closes at six on Sunday evenings, doesn't it? So you can't really lead a ghost tour on Sunday night." She pursed her lips, nodding in acknowledgement that he had nearly pulled a fast one on her. "You know, from now on you might stick to your counting talent to win you dates. Not everyone can make it up to six. Oh, and stay out of Mr. Fields' room from now on, you sicko." She picked up her plastic salad tray, having lost her appetite. "Thanks for the OJ," she offered, and then left him to his fabricated ghost tour and his geriatric lifestyle.