♕ ♕ ♕ ♕ ♕
Sabrina’s kind of fucked up, they say -- blonde, young, wild, and rich, she’s got all the earmarks of a girl who’s boredom might set the world on fire, and oh, how she lives it, in both danger and excitement both. S K I L L S picked up when the last high’s faded, how nothing ever seems to capture her attention but, ah, Emma’s lived this life long enough to know her best friend’s troubles, her whims, her confusions. This is what danger looks like, when access and privilege paired itself with the ceaselessness of demands place upon young shoulders, what it means when they’ve pressure to blow. Last time Sabrina made it loose to the farms on the outskirts of their painfully expensive little private collage for young girls, had knocked out the paddock locks, and set free the horses. Saying something along the lines of, at least they can be free, to which Emma had said nothing, save helped her bandage up what fingers she’d split in her efforts.
And in her eyes now she sees that same twinkle of irresponsibility, a siren call to take arms and pair oneself with dynamite. Trouble. But exciting, too, as she falls into the softness of a chair that earns to embrace her in return, taking a bite of an apple she’s picked up along the way. “You’ve got T H A T L O O K again, Sabs.” crunch, taking a bite of an apple both crisp and tart and what she needs, a cleanser for the night. Fingers winding down to idly stroke the leather than indicates the age of the piece, everything here a throw back to the academy’s storied beginnings. “My only question is, are you going to try to end up in jail to piss someone off, or are you trying to keep things like, low key.” a pause -- it hangs within the air between them, pregnant, as she follows to her next point. “Or as low key as it gets to you.”
– @wildrcbel
