- OPEN STARTER where: sidewalks outside of apartment building
"Yeah, mom. No - no, I'll be back in time for the dinner. Promise. Nope, totally mean it this time." Aria pauses in her conversation and shifts one of the bags in her hands. It sits precariously on her hip while the other bag slides down her arms some as she tries to move quickly to the steps up to the building.
On the phone pressed to her ear, anyone passing by would be able to hear the loud rambling of her mother. "No, it's not about dad, please. I'll be there, okay? I gotta - I gotta go, I'm gonna drop all my noodles."
She adjusts to end the call, but it slips from her fingers and lands - no, bounces - off of the cement and causes a chain reaction of her bags also falling around her. One of the cartons of milk splits open and splashes onto her and onto the unwilling bystander who she, of course, knocks her head into as she tries to stand to survey the damage.
"I am so--" she begins, holding her hands up. Worry is plastered all over her features, "I'm so sorry. I can totally pay for the dry-cleaning." She couldn't, but she'd attempt to.
ariaboughton:
- OPEN STARTER where: sidewalks outside of apartment building
“Yeah, mom. No - no, I’ll be back in time for the dinner. Promise. Nope, totally mean it this time.” Aria pauses in her conversation and shifts one of the bags in her hands. It sits precariously on her hip while the other bag slides down her arms some as she tries to move quickly to the steps up to the building.
On the phone pressed to her ear, anyone passing by would be able to hear the loud rambling of her mother. “No, it’s not about dad, please. I’ll be there, okay? I gotta - I gotta go, I’m gonna drop all my noodles.”
She adjusts to end the call, but it slips from her fingers and lands - no, bounces - off of the cement and causes a chain reaction of her bags also falling around her. One of the cartons of milk splits open and splashes onto her and onto the unwilling bystander who she, of course, knocks her head into as she tries to stand to survey the damage.
“I am so–” she begins, holding her hands up. Worry is plastered all over her features, “I’m so sorry. I can totally pay for the dry-cleaning.” She couldn’t, but she’d attempt to.
He’s out for a run, lost in the sound coming from his headphones, regrettably, instead of paying attention to his surroundings. It’s unlike him. But he’s distracted. What finally breaks his reverie is something splashing on. He skids to a stop, plucking a headphone out of his ear. He looks down at the damage and sighs, shaking his head at the other’s offer, “This shirt is, like, a decade old. Don’t worry about it.” Also, he’s sure it’s been covered in worse- sweat, blood, spit, “Are you... okay?” He wouldn’t normally stop for so long, but she looks flustered.









