stone cold rosetta

[text]: I just accidentally told our son/daughter that Santa isn’t real. [text]: The Christmas tree is on fire. [text]: So cold. Need cuddles. [text]: Christmas is a time to be honest, so this is it — I’m in love with you. [text]: I may or may not have eaten the entire gingerbread house we made two days ago. [text]: I just saw two people dressed as Santa fist fighting in a mall. Christmas is ruined! [text]: I’m may or may not be wearing mistletoe underwear. Wanna find out for sure? [text]: I made an oopsie and let’s just say we have over 500 candy canes in our apartment right now.  [text]: I can’t believe I have to spend Christmas Eve in a hospital.  [text]: So what if I made out with a guy dressed as Santa Claus?! I was drunk! [text]: I know it’s been a while since we’ve spoken, but Merry Christmas. [text]: Just fought a 50 year old lady over a pair of gloves for my dad. He better be grateful, because she almost clawed my eyes out.  [text]: If I see one more picture on Instagram of a snowman with Frozen lyrics underneath, I’m gonna explode up in this bitch. 

The laugh that begins to surge tickles her throat; the disdained expression that previously adorned her face fading quickly away. “Sorry to burst your bubble,” she answers in short breaths due to the still lingering giggle, “but I am still very much human, thank you very much. And you’re still alive. I think. I’m not entirely too sure on that subject, though.” Margo eyes the female acutely, her lips pursed in concentration for the heck of it. She was playing for good gesture and the gleam in her eyes suggests so (or at least she hopes). “Are you a zombie? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

The voice is a surprise that makes her quirk, attention drained from her book to the stranger that had suddenly accompanied her. She pauses for effect before meekly shrugging in return, the answer dwelling idly in her mind. “It hasn’t been that bad,” she replies, a trail of frost leaving her breath. “It could be worse.” But she wouldn’t have known, because all Margo has done for the past month was stay dwindled in her dorm with nothing but serenity and the buggy sound of loud music next door. She was only outside for a few moments before getting lost in her own studying, and the cold never truly bothered her anyway. “What do you think?” 

To overlook is her foe, from miniature mishaps to more, and injuries played the same unforgiving role. It was supposed to be an accident, a slip of the feet, but the pain was unfathomable. Maybe she was something cruel in her past lifetime and this was all a sinister joke, but she only heaves in silence as the rush of a stranger comes by for assistance. The puncture was small, from what she could tell, and Margo is obedient when it came to directions. Her life was at stake from a questionable origin and the man willingly offered his aid. “Okay,” she breathes, fingers clutching onto the fabric of her shirt. “What do I do next?” If only she had majored in something more than just the study of the head, then she would have been able to handle it herself. 

Sudden is the voice that rings in her ears, the speed of her heart beating in tenfold. Her eyes widen in panic as she catches a glimpse of the speeding automobile that she was instantaneously warned about, the green light on the stand not yet lit. If there was a time where her life would flash before her eyes, it would be now, but her body refuses to cooperate with her mind as she hurries to the opposite sidewalk where the good samaritan awaited. Once she reached the sidewalk, she rushes to catch her breath, wisps of hair flying onto her face. “That was a close one,” she expresses to no one in particular. “Thank you… wherever you are.” She scans the path for a feminine voice until she manages to find its owner and in return, gives a curt bow in the form of thanks. “How on earth can I repay you?”

The defense that cages her stubbornness weakens as a sigh of frustration escapes her chest. She hates appearing weak, acting weak, being weak, but she would never forgive herself if she were to push the kind female in her view away. So her body steadies, the form of her lips turning into a thin line. “I’m sorry,” she vaguely mutters, disappointed at herself for being nothing but a fool. “I don’t even know what happened and then, I find myself scraped really badly for whatever reason… But, um, more importantly—thank you, miss, you’re very kindhearted.” Margo releases a grin, albeit small, as the pain continues to temporarily numb her body (which wasn’t that bad, but her troubled expressions tell otherwise). She doesn’t know how to repay the other, but it will come to her eventually, as well as what had actually happened to her. 

Her breath quickens, gaze averting from the stale pages of her novel to blocked sunshine, the figure of a woman in her sight. It doesn’t take her long to comprehend the situation—this was what she was leisurely standing around for. “They didn’t tell you, miss?” Margo asks genuinely, the hardcover in her hands haphazardly thrown into her bag. “It was rescheduled—the event. Instead of here, they’re hosting it a few blocks from this location.” Her lips curve in a faint smile, looking at the stranger in interest. “I could happily assist you there if you want?”

"Some weather we're having, huh?"

                 ❝ i  will  take  the  sun  in  my  mouth and leap into the ripe air alive,                     with closed eyes to dash against darkness in the sleeping curves.                     i  will   rise   and   set   my   teeth  in   the   silver   of   the   moon. ❞                     follow - like - reblog                                             [ x ] [ x ] [ x ] [ x ]