#lizardkennedy

Today happened to be a day where the cameras gave Pandora the freedom to enjoy her weekend. Then again, why would they follow the daughter of a housewife? This wasn’t Pandora’s show. It was her mother’s or well, technically, the blonde referenced the mother figure by her first name ─ Claire. One time did she allow the word ‘mother’ to escape off the prong of her tongue. Ever since that moment, all of the will power caused her to withheld from ever saying it again. It was intricate. Then, it wouldn’t have been the first-hand nature of Pandora, who wondered how she became this person with no drive to find an aspiration to achieve. Just a body floating through the sea of patrons that came and went from the isle of Catalina. For right now, it would be something she’d have to improvise on. Shockingly, neither one of her parental figures felt the need to lecture her but it didn’t mean that one day either or could be fed up. After all, in comparison to Mathieu, the blonde was a saint sent from above. Just having an existential crisis at the age of 25 years old. Always the first one in the family to experience these emotions. At least she’ll look prodigious in the choice of her clothing.  What else did Pandora have planned for the day other than improving on her skin shade? Absolutely nothing. There were no e-mails to scan over. There was nothing eruption on her cell phone. A young girl had rented out her love, Sandy, for a lesson at the local stables. Not that she could argue but the price of the parents willing to pay out Sandy for a couple of hours was something Pandora could not refuse. It would help cover her upcoming month or two of Sandy in the stables. Then again, money wasn’t an issue but she didn’t like to mooch further off of Tropher and Claire considering she still lived with them. Wandering into the familiarity of the Catalina Island Country Club with a freshly rolled towel in her hand, less than a few steps away from the towel station, piercing seafoam hues latched upon Lizzie Kennedy. The last time the blonde had seen the other after an eruption about her best friend’s boyfriend. After all, it was Pandora projecting her feelings for the other ─ who was still purblind or if she was. It was contradictory. “Lizzie,” she breathed through celestial tone as a lump hitched in the pit of her esophagus. “I----” Stumbling, allowing her hand in contact with the towel press as her knuckles turned snowy white. Emotions getting taken out on an object. “When was the last time I saw you?” 

The moment her bothersome of a mother signed up for The Real Housewives of Catalina Island, the dyed honey tressed female made quite a few appearances upon the reality television show to enhance the drama further. Whilst the main focus was upon the housewives lurching at each other throats with their three hundred dollar manicures and dressed to their nines, Cleo wouldn’t deny how effortless it was to be in front of the cameras. It would help further grow her ever-advancing business brand. After leaving her day job from the Davey company, the job she got right before her college graduation, the scheme of putting her energy into things she was fervent about became her biggest priority. After all, throughout her whole upbringing and now, people informed her of being a descendant of a Swedish princess, even though she often lacked the grace due to the things that escaped from her lips, the tiara was meant to fit flawlessly on her styled locks. She’d never openly thank Evelyn for the opportunity to air out her mother’s dirty laundry on national television but in retrospect, everything was bound to hit airwaves sooner than later. It was Cleo who gave it the needed push to allow it to enter into the hands of Reina Rhodes. It was meant for television and that was final. Especially if Evelyn would shriek in disdain, payback was a bitch and it was Cleo in the flesh.  When she heard from the production crew, after a quietude due to the housewives since they were in St. Barts, the eldest born of Evelyn Halliwell was ready to get her claws out for a potential round two of a bloodbath against her mother. She had the woman’s number blocked. So, if she attempted to contact her, it would bounce back and this time, she intended for it to stay that way. Still, for television and with her cutthroat, brutal honesty, the woman was ready to tackle the shrieking misfortune of her birth-giver but nothing happened among those terms. Sitting and waiting was not something Cleo Halliwell allowed. Not if it was going on an hour now. The production team and herself agreed on the evening being an ultimate waste of footage. So, sending them off in a green light, her slender digits ran through her beachy waves as she ambled around in her kitchen in her slippers ─ still being a woman of comfort and only wearing shoes around the house when necessary. The opening of her front door instantly caused her neck to whip in the direction, hands on her hips before doing a pivot on her heel to catch sight of Liza. “Let me guess, you smelled the production crew and thought you were going to have your five minutes of fame, Liza?” Addressing glacially, irritation coursing through her tone before huffing out a breath. It wasn’t Liza’s fault nor did she need to receive any backlash because of her mother. Motioning the other toward the l-shaped sectional, she remained occupied nearby her kitchen island knowing she’ll have to play hostesses. She’ll suffice for the other, she supposes. “What do you want to drink? And spill on why you’re here.”