#elasticambition

misbhved

kuroju

Who decided that maxi-skirts were in fashion? To her, it was the bane of her existence. Well, actually, it was her decision to wear one – that was the real bane of her existence. She wasn’t one to follow fashion routes, àla mode meant little to her, but the (not to mention the breeze between her knees) was refreshing in contrast to the usual tightness of her apparel; not because of a concious choice of her outfit, but the fact that the contents of the wardrobe hadn’t changed much since early adolescence.

So far she had amounted to tripping triple her own average amount; stumbling stupidly through the streets, fingers balled into angry fists as she levers her skirt higher, the flash of bony ankles and scuffed shoes making an appearance for the first time today.  Perhaps if the wind wasn’t so adamant on destroying her hair, her hands would busy themselves by holding her skirt rather than fixing the mess of what was once was loose curls.

It was in one of those gusts in which she was momentarily blinded; eyes unable to see through the sea of an overgrown fringe – exhaling in a grunt of frustration  – as her feet continued on it’s accustomed avenue. Except instead of stepping upon the gravel laden ground, she stood upon the chiffon material.

It revealed a little more than her own ungraceful nature. Skin flushed, the same hue of her pants (which were currently on display), Hyosung tugged at the waistband with haste; wild eyed with worry, attempting to scope out any potential witnesses of her maladroit manner. Sight sweeping as she searched, a drizzle of relief trickle down her parched throat of dry embarrassment. At least until their eyes locked across the road.

         an extensive prompt masterlist pt. 2

Leading questions in order to invoke own personal gain, for the human race such tactics have become the norm that it’s almost evolved into second nature. How infuriating. Exasperation seeps into her otherwise indifferent expression – muscles twitching, readying themselves for the moment irritation completely takes over – and she pushes herself away from the cluttered table, chair legs dragging against the floor, leaving only the piercing screech in its wake. Yura glances up. Conveying emotions is one of the pillars of acting, and the ability to do so purely with eye contact is a sign of great skill – one she seems to possess.

“If I wanted you to leave, don’t you think I’d have said it by now? `Course I wouldda.” The pencil is shoved in the mass of hair that earlier had been scraped into a messy excuse of a bun, wisps of caramel coloured curls plastered against her dewy (and full of frown lines) forehead. Graphite smeared fingers and pencil shaving skirt, it appeared that she was in a place of comfort rather than a public area; only the sporadic explosions of laughter from passing groups of high school kids reminded her otherwise. Until this intrusive little creature chose to interrupt her in the midst of creation, of course.

“yes, everybody, but me. i’ve heard only the dead can keep secrets but rest assured, i’m the well-off equivalent of a zombie, so your secret it shall remain… at no extra cost to you!”