GRANNY

CONTRARY TO POPULAR BELIEF, while opal does enjoy a good classical suite or a musical number, she does find herself bobbing her head to a good headbanger like punk rock. piers’ music may not have all the greatest lyrical attitudes compared to what an eighty-eight year old opal might find attractive, but she actually loves his adaptations  &&.  self-written songs. 

songs like SPIKEMUTH IS ON FIRE or the vamps between hardcore verses often leaves opal in a small tizzy,  &&.  although in her younger days she would’ve thrown her hair around like it were some branch, her neck is frail  &&.  her length of hair is far less manageable than what it used to be.   ( regarding how the fae view her as a protector of their preserved glimwood, she tries not to cut her hair as it resembles manufacturing to them. more on that later ;   for context, her hair is beyond mid-back length. )   throwing this mop of hair around when not upkept in a very thick bun atop her head    ━   usually kept under hat   ━   is almost impossible for opal. trust me, she’ll bang her head softly as can be, but believe me.  .  .  she’s moshing in her own little ways.

･ﾟ☠ ━ .. UGH!!

･ﾟ☠ ━ “ Ahem, agree to disagree Ms Opal. Vibrant pinks get the message across soo easily where pastels can wash out. And I think a degree of hubris totes goes a far ways away just the same. Can’t stay in the limelight without a little push after all. I’d think you’d totes get the idea being in theatre. ” 

Incredibly she holds herself back from a spiteful fit. Leave it to Opal to look through her blushed façade right down to her toxic persona. 

agree to disagree, a noteworthy statement coming from anyone  ━   especially klara. opal offers an earnest nod to the younger’s claim, taking ample notice of how she carries herself  &&.  fights tooth  &&.  nail for what she believes in. good ;   another respectable trait of the young lady, she surely has the makings of a gym leader to-be. only a few qualms lie in boat’s wake, the splashing of bitter resentment indisputably similar to bede’s when she first met the child.                   though she’s always respected personal space, the eldest takes caution when approaching the poison-type expert, making sure not to lace her gesture of laying ladylike palm upon her shoulder with condescension. 

“ miss klara, if i may? you argue quite a telling tale. i’d be swept up by your prowess for the higher values in vibrance were i not a woman distinguished of the fae. those of the glimwood may savor that of the eye-popping splendor that is the flora, but rest assured, those that occupy the tangle are of softer shades. ”   opal’s speaking with less aggression this time, as a means of diffusing a situation she could clearly see blooming into hostility. thumb grazes klara’s shoulder width, reminds her that she’s dealing with someone experienced for over seventy years.

‘ I would politely request you think about your next words. Please. ’

the tiniest flit of fingers freeing hidden smile ;

Piers just wanted to get home after being forced to some fancy meeting with the other gym leaders–a meeting lead by Chairman Rose. The rockstar almost fell asleep during the meeting, and was promptly reprimanded. Loudly.

Ugh. He just wanted to get home…

Unfortunately, he was stopped by a few reporters who wanted to ask him question after question. Mostly about Dynamaxing and why he chose not to do it.

Just as he was about to give them what-for, and to mind their own business–but someone beat him to it. A certain little old woman with her umbrella, ready to do some thwacking.

As they all scrambled away, Piers let out a tired but amused chuckle.

“ That umbrella really comes in handy, eh? … Thanks, gramma. ”

of all the hooligans  &&.  paramount pressings the media chose to elicit, it was always after that loudmouthed rascal from the lesser hills. parasol is brandished, beaten against wayward shins as the eldest  &&.  most respectable of gym leaders shoos away the less than cordial influencers, a small tilt of her hat’s brim quickly fixing her brooding stare to that of an angered woman.                  oh, how the she-devil brews beneath the surface. all these lowly reporters, taking advantage of a lad down on his luck!

“ think nothing ov’it, dearie. ”   a petite little  HARUMPH!  for good measure, shoulders hitched up in minute fury. parasol’s handle is tittered towards piers as she pounces towards him, waddling up alongside him as crooked hooks his forearm  &&.  loops him close. don’t think you’re getting away that easily ;   it’s proper to walk a lady home.