rebecca smiles. she'll deny it until her dying day, and beyond if that turns out to be necessary, but despite all of the changes over the years, one thing remains the same: rebecca's desperate insecurity. ria's confirmation that she's happy too, and the glass of beer she holds in her hand courtesy of rebecca, yank the smile farther across rebecca's face. she rolls her eyes, laughs, effectively breaks the moment. sincerity is not a skill she cares to exercise often.
"the music's alright," she concedes. to be kinder, and to be more truthful, she should say the music is good, but rebecca still isn't fully sold on the entire concept of waterbomb. her makeup is too expensive and styling her hair takes her too long for her to totally buy into the whole water fight idea. as a whole, she's somewhat allergic to musical festivals -- she sees instagram posts from friends back in the uk of muddy fields and seas of tents every summer, and every year the pictures look more and more unappealing.
weighing up her options though, water wins over mud no matter how she scales it.
"no way," she insists. "a friend should know better." then, deviously, rebecca adds, "a friend should know i'm gonna get them back hard."
anyone on the receiving end of rebecca's wrath at waterbomb is gonna be leaving behind puddles for weeks.
