#shells;sanddollar.

Her eyelashes batted rapidly as the bright backlight of his phone strained her emeralds. She strained against the forced dilation of her pupils to sweep across his words once, then twice. With those exclamation points and his body language speaking louder than verbal words, Charlotte could feel the flames of dawn kissing the tips of her ears. Cleavage. Cleavage. Cleavage. She shoved his extended wrist away with what looked to be a short huff. The little pearl was draped head-to-toe in white lace and florals. How did he know she even had a sizeable chest to work with? Nevermind that! What gave him the gall to suggest it, in the first place? Her own pen flew as furiously over the notepad as he had been typing before. [ ✑Yeah, it'll say 'kiss my ass, oppa'. You're such a tool. Why even ask me if I want one, if you're just going to tease me? ] It was true that Charlotte had been curious ever since she discovered Chanyeol's newest ink, but she didn't feel brazen enough to brand herself with art, especially not Minsoo's art. Although he did have a way of bringing the boldness out of her normally fragile nature, almost challenging her to go to the extreme out of spite. She laughed, suddenly, at the notion of such vulgar words slandered across her forehead for all time. The ridiculousness of it had her stomach tightening, mouth unhinged in silent giggles and curled palm trying in vain to hide it.

This was so childish. He had been walking by her side for minutes while her expression grew increasingly dark, pushing at her wheels with closed fists, and debating loudly within her own mind just how she was going to break this to him. Well, how else? Without a voice, she had only dramatics to rely on. Charlotte’s fingers were reeds in a zephyr, they trembled at the thought of reaching for the hem of his shirt and accidentally touching a sliver of hip or lower back, instead. In a moment of blind courage, her digits curled around the smallest part of his wrist. The image burned itself into her emeralds. Suddenly, she noticed just how small her hand was in size, the unhealthy paleness of her skeletal arm to his-- oh God, the bruised serpents of veins that crawled on the inside of her wrist, forearm, and inner elbow. She distracted by the warmth of human skin that her cool flesh just couldn’t emulate, but then his kind eyes are as big as ever and she can almost find a whole other color in them from this proximity. Face to face, her eyes dart away and dawn is touching the base of her neck with rose-colored fire. Ah, she had forgotten to let go. . . He spoke gently, clearly concerned. She’d put him at ease with a well-drawn doodle, if only her notebook weren’t missing. Dropped, probably, along their time spent together. And on the one day her phone was left at home, charging. Now, there was only physical cues and charades left for her to use. Dramatics. She loathed the dramatics.

It’s summer and the day is what most would call ‘perfect’. The air is almost tangible with humidity, carrying perfumes of the flowers in the gardens surrounding the two of them in its weight. Above, the sky is endless, save for the contrail left behind by a fly-sized jet engine. Its white streak entered and exited either of his temples from where he was standing.  Her nose wrinkled slightly at his averted gaze, and she draws royal blue blood from the notebook’s flesh once more. This time, her pen’s strokes speak volumes that her voice will never be able to reach. [ ✑If you want to go ‘interview’ my teacher for ‘literary purposes’, don’t let me stop you. Just don’t get me all excited by saying you’re actually here to see me. ] Charlotte couldn’t help but sound bitter. She had woken up from a rather nice dream, which always made reality all-the-more suffocating. Her eyes were filled to the brim with self-pity, glassy and only half-convinced by the upturned corners of his lips. He was always chasing the next bit of inspiration personified, and she was always a hulking metallic mass in other people’s way. Would these spokes and axles hinder his creative process, as well?

Interesting. The word grating against the more sensitive areas in the back of her mind, irking the edges of her neutral-set lips downwards a tug. Yes, yes. How wonderful, the robot girl on wheels makes herself known. She chalked it up to an unfiltered rendition of his first impression of her and not to blatant, child-gawking-in-a-zoo syndrome. Her emeralds clashed in a violent gaze with his sapphires, the thought of backing out only briefly crossing her mind before she rolled. . . Right passed him. Ah, and here he thought she was ‘speaking’ to him. He had only been half right. Charlotte’s petite fist grabbed a handful of red sweatshirt. Specifically, the hood of a shifty-eyed high school student trying to board the nearest bus. He staggered back, tripping over her chair and splaying across the ground with a stream of colorful words. Aside from some gum wrappers and a pen cap, there were at least two wallets and a cellphone that fell from his pockets. If she had to guess, there was more in that backpack of his. She’d spotted him pickpocketing on the subway, but nobody else had the speed to catch up to him. With a heaving chest and a sheen of sweat on her forehead, she pulled her phone out once more. [ tts: Sorry about the delay. I meant to ask if any of these belongings are yours? ]

Eyes. If she could go back in time and give up anything, anything other than her voice, it would have been her eyes. Imagine the world of trouble it would have saved her. If there was anything to stare at, she would hardly be aware of it herself, nor would she experience the invasive gazes of others. Maybe a world without color was isolating, but a world that turned it’s back to you when caught sneaking glances was just as terrible. The bar wasn't the best place for her-- dingy, cluttered with bodies, and full of beverages she didn't drink. She knew there would be more than a few heads turned with her arrival, but she came for a good meal. Not five minutes after her order was placed did she notice a particular set of eyes continually raise and lower themselves. It was a wild boy, possibly her age, with black ink spiraling on his arm menacingly. Charlotte snickered to herself (when he wasn't looking, of course). Was the kid shy?! He was lucky he caught her in a good mood. Normally, there would be Hell to pay, but his 'curiosity' was almost. . . endearing. She flipped the break switch off and pulled away from the table with a pre-written message. The response? Priceless. She bit her cheek, trying not to let a smile creep into the corners of her lips. Scribbling aimlessly in the dim lighting, she only stopped once to pull up the knit shawl back over her shoulders and the strappy, floral dress she wore beneath it. After a thorough once over of her handiwork, she flipped the notebook back around for him to see. [ ✑Listen, I know I'm gorgeous and it's hard to keep your eyes off me, but staring isn't going to do you any good. I heard it's pretty normal to ask for a girl's number. ]

Her pen scribbled out a tart reply to his rhetorical question. That was, well, before she found out it was rhetorical. More scribbling, this time it was to haphazardly strike lines through her well-worded and now useless reply. The pen’s tip sliced through the notebook’s page and bled onto the next one while she glowered in frustration. Both were torn out and cast aside in crumpled orbs for good measure. Now suffocating in what little fresh air was left, her chest heaved in the tremendous amount of physical exertion it took to start with a clean slate. [  ✑My apologies, I meant ‘Could you please not smoke in here?’. But, since you’re so kind for offering. . . ] Whether or not he read it all, she took the white, paper stick as her own. These were the things all the pretty girls in her class owned. They painted themselves in angst and apathy while inhaling the toxins in the girls’ restroom. Boys would tell them it made them look mature, put them on marble pedestals of womanly elegance. Her doe eyes looked once more over his impish features, the devil-may-care expression, and briefly wondered-- would he coo such nonsense, if she lifted the filter to her petal lips? Nevermind. She tucked the cigarette into her dress and waved his plumes of poison, along with that last thought, away.

"Say please." What a charmer. He must have thought himself highly amusing, picking on her like this. In some other world, one with her siren's voice and sumptuous legs, would he have even gone this far to mock her? Or would he call for her like a wolf to his meal, instead? No. A sneering arse like that would always be a sneering arse, no matter what her status. Charlotte's teeth sank into the tender flesh of her lower lip, a slight glimpse of her sharp pearls lingering as she damned the notebook for her phone. A computerized voice erupted from its speakers, and she felt the grip of her petal lips give way to a sneer of her own. [ tts: Please. ]

Oh, he was moving too quickly! She knotted her eyebrows together and dropped the notebook in his lap. This wouldn't be so difficult to figure out if she could just speak, or maybe walk up to him briskly and then run away. But no, she would just work with what she had. And so, Charlotte maneuvered as close as she could without ramming into his knees and leaned forward. Her arms wrapped around him in an embrace. Yes, an embrace with a complete stranger. . . or something like that. The flats of her hands smoothed across his shoulder blades, then a bit higher, and a bit lower afterwards. Nothing. Not even a lump. She withdrew herself, frown evident as her notebook was plucked back up. Her writing was a bit more hurried than before, since he probably had the urge to up and leave her right on the spot. He couldn't! Not without her explanation, first. [ ✑Where are your wings? ] It read. Yes, it happened to be that she was a bit of a fan. In all her years of existence, she had watched him preform a handful of times. Her seating was usually spectacular, and the arial performances were something she particularly envied. His swooping through air with ease made her want to leap up and fly out of her body and onto the stage. It had been some time since she saw the show, but she would recognize that face anywhere.