#pctrichvr

* / starter for @pctrichvr . . . the winter landscape that was sheffield, although breathtaking, brought with it an excruciating cold ; biting at her ears and at her nose, causing for a petite brunette to gain the appearance of everybody’s favorite reindeer. it is beautiful, she can’t deny that, but the climate is enough to keep her inside. and her new look even more so. with the warmth of many blankets and with hot coco close by. right now, she’s not given the luxury of an open fireplace, or even the shelter that it accompanies, though. and so, she walks faster : to keep the body temperature at above freezing, and to keep the nibs of her ears from falling off. a messenger bag bumps against her hip, and she has to constantly heave it back onto her shoulder as it inevitably slides back down. she should’ve left it at work. though, the thought hit her too late. numb knuckles against a wooden door, and she awaits : reluctantly, tiny hops to keep her warmth and hands immediately shoved into the comfort of her pockets. what was she thinking, the older was most likely not even home, or she wouldn’t be in the mood to head out in the cold weather. much like kevin herself. really, she should just go – “ hi, marion . . . hey ! ” you already said that, oswalt. “ sorry if i’m -- bothering you, but i, uh . . . i got a free period and i was in the neighborhood, ” lie. “ and – i was . . . wondering if you wanted to go get some coffee at joe’s. if you’ve got the time, it’s okay if you don’t – i have to be back soon, anyway. ” no, you don’t.

* / starter for @pctrichvr . . . why she’d gone with the suggestion –– it was beyond her. but days were spent in her lonesome : getting high in her bedroom whilst her best friend was at work, getting high at the arcade when his shift was over. frankly, it was getting repetitive. and with a creative outlet taken hostage by her tyrant of a father, being around something remotely artistic didn’t sound all too bad. even if all her aspirations and plans for the future in regards to the subject had been squashed and stored away. this wasn’t a turning point : it was simply a field-day. a trip to pull her out of routine. nothing more. perhaps less. hands on her hips, a head to an angle, the blonde inspects a piece with a persistent scowl on her features. yuck. “ what’s with this . . . new age shit ? is a clashing color scheme supposed to be, like, revolutionary or somethin’ . . . i got pieces from when i was five that looks exactly like that, – so, where the hell’s my six digit offer. it’s bullshit i’m telling you. this whole scene . . . a capitalistic fuckin’ nightmare. ”