@oftruisms​:
“  OI.  i’m  nineteen,  not  NINE.  ”  maia  immediately  stomped  her  foot,  arms  crossed  with  brows  furrowed  with  an  indignant  pout  on  her  lips.  oh  yes,  definitely  m a t u r e.  “  and  who  are  you  to  tell  me  what  to  do  ?  are  you  a  babysitter?  ”
“Ah.” Archer looks her over once, just once, with this arch in his brow that’s used to abase her. He can’t exactly claim he holds her... – how would he say it – ...abrasive? ...unsophisticated? ...callow? Callow. He does not hold her callowness in high regard. He whips out his phone, pretends to shuffle through applicable information, and feigns a look of discovery. “Well, you see, your mama texted me to check in on you.” Eyes flicker up from the screen to her face. “Guess I am your babysitter, Girlie.” ... Unripe. This is the word he’d use to describe her. Immature and like an unripe fruit, she causes him pain, discomfort, and most of all: digestive issues.
