gretchen-whoisleftâ:
âOh, good!â Gretchen exclaimed, breathlessly plopping down on a hay bale beside Daniyah, seizing her by the elbow with a huff that was clearly supposed to play at some kind of herculean effort newly overcome. It either didnât matter or plain didnât bother her that Daniyah hadnât noticed her approach.Â
Very little mattered in fact, swathed in the heat and light and noise of the big red barn, shouting friends and scuffed-up floors all around them; chirping crickets inaudible for now, but hidden past the walls in the miles and miles of deserted land that stretched around their little red-painted homestead oasis, ready to sing everyone home later on.
The number of times Gretchen had previously swooped in and said oh good!âor anything to that effectâupon seeing Daniyah before tonight was: zero.Â
But the number of drinks Gretchen had in her was significantly higher than zero, and when Gretchen got to roaming she couldnât help but try to connect with the other stars in her orbit.Â
It was a hot and humid night, and Gretchen felt like a magnet for hay; it tangled in her hair and stuck to the back of her thighs, poking red patches into her skin as a consequence of using bales as makeshift chairs. Her breath tasted like pink, which was to say: Vince had been making her drinks all night, sugary and deceptively strong and easier to sip away than real candy.
âWe were starting to think youâd never come down here willingly,â she said, shoving her hair away from her face and flashing a bright, boozy smile even as it fell right back into the same place. âThis is so much easier than bullying you into having some fun. There was talk of rope, hell! Talk of moving the party into yours and Adelaideâs little hidey-hole, even. Spatial difficulties be damned!âÂ
She was aware that she was speaking in paragraphs at a time but, to be fair, she was used to long silences from Daniyah, especially a Daniyah whoâd just admitted to being spaced out. âWhat are you drinking?âÂ
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Daniyah wasnât exactly sure what was good. It couldnât possibly be the fact that she was there, right? Not that she thought it would be bad, at least she hoped not. She wasnât exactly trying to put down roots in England, but that didnât mean she wanted to be actively despised. She aimed to be more of a neutral facet. Like the patterns in the wood of the floorboards or the flicker of the candlelightâs. More a part of the scenery than the plot.
But if the words Gretchen kept on saying were to be believed at all, it seemed her absence the pervious nights had been more noticed than she expected. Perhaps her presence tonight had been too. Oh good.
âI appreciate you not kidnapping me,â she said once she was given the chance to. It was meant to be something of a joke, and the drinks she had already had did their job of removing her normal stoney facade.Â
But what they replaced it with was a more obvious feeling of being out of place in this setting. Her eyes kept roaming the room for something they wouldnât find, and her feet couldnât seem to find a position they liked. It all didnât really help to land it.
âI figured I should come and actually check it out before passing harsh judgements.â That time, she put a little more effort into a teasing smile that briefly graced her face. âI mean, itâs all part of the experience, right?â
At the mention of her drink, she looked at the cup in her hand, thankful that the swaying liquid inside gave her something more concrete to say. âOh, itâs nothing fancy. Just gin. Didnât even take too close a look at the bottle, really.âÂ
And then, only because she knew returning questions was the polite was to have a conversation with someone, she added: âFrom what I saw of the making of yours, it seems like it is pretty fancy. Is it any good?â















