Kururu Sumeragi (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
resoundingpledge) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenacelogs2016-08-04 08:45 pm
resoundingpledge) wrote in maskormenacelogs2016-08-04 08:45 pm
[Closed] Had a dream of a new tomorrow
WHO: Kururu, Mark
WHERE: Sweet Surprises bubble tea shop, Nonah
WHEN: 8/1-8/3, 3:00-4:00PM
WHAT: Following an open-ended invitation in an anonymous thread, two socially awkward teenagers have a chance to be a little more social and a lot more awkward
WARNINGS: None
[ Most people who visit Sweet Surprises don't stay too long. It's a small place, and the decor is far more more outdated mall food court than upscale café. The drinks are good, but the plaza's courtyard is a better place to enjoy them, to say nothing of the park beyond.
Still, there's the odd patron that sticks around. A businessman seeking shelter from the summer heat, a pair of summer school students comparing notes. A girl lost in thought, tapping a silent melody against her tabletop. Maybe something that had been playing from the headphones resting around her neck.
A normal crowd. Mostly.
you seem normal
It's true. She doesn't look too out of place here. Ordinary summer clothes, a canvas messenger bag tucked under her chair. Even the lavender-pink of her hair doesn't stand out as much as it could; it's almost tame beside the bright splashes of red and blue and orange trending in the area.
That's outside, though. Inside . . . behind those unfocused eyes is mind immersed in sound. Footsteps going to and fro, the hum of the smoothe machines, the whir of the blenders (the motor in the one on the right is wearing out). Conversations whose words aren't as important as the tones that weave through them, sharp with frustration or warm with camaraderie, light with humour. Strong with confidence as they stand by the counter, ordering favourites.
People who aren't who she's waiting for. That person . . . they'd never had bubble tea before, it would be different. They might not even want to be here at all—they probably won't, actually.
That would be okay. Making it this far . . . that alone would mean a lot.
So she sits, and waits, tapping out the beat of the symphony around her as the seconds and minutes tick away. ]
WHERE: Sweet Surprises bubble tea shop, Nonah
WHEN: 8/1-8/3, 3:00-4:00PM
WHAT: Following an open-ended invitation in an anonymous thread, two socially awkward teenagers have a chance to be a little more social and a lot more awkward
WARNINGS: None
[ Most people who visit Sweet Surprises don't stay too long. It's a small place, and the decor is far more more outdated mall food court than upscale café. The drinks are good, but the plaza's courtyard is a better place to enjoy them, to say nothing of the park beyond.
Still, there's the odd patron that sticks around. A businessman seeking shelter from the summer heat, a pair of summer school students comparing notes. A girl lost in thought, tapping a silent melody against her tabletop. Maybe something that had been playing from the headphones resting around her neck.
A normal crowd. Mostly.
you seem normal
It's true. She doesn't look too out of place here. Ordinary summer clothes, a canvas messenger bag tucked under her chair. Even the lavender-pink of her hair doesn't stand out as much as it could; it's almost tame beside the bright splashes of red and blue and orange trending in the area.
That's outside, though. Inside . . . behind those unfocused eyes is mind immersed in sound. Footsteps going to and fro, the hum of the smoothe machines, the whir of the blenders (the motor in the one on the right is wearing out). Conversations whose words aren't as important as the tones that weave through them, sharp with frustration or warm with camaraderie, light with humour. Strong with confidence as they stand by the counter, ordering favourites.
People who aren't who she's waiting for. That person . . . they'd never had bubble tea before, it would be different. They might not even want to be here at all—they probably won't, actually.
That would be okay. Making it this far . . . that alone would mean a lot.
So she sits, and waits, tapping out the beat of the symphony around her as the seconds and minutes tick away. ]