Community Home Kissing Booth // [C Fair] (Open)
Aug 17, 2012 20:06:46 GMT -5
Post by L△LIA on Aug 17, 2012 20:06:46 GMT -5
I know the night
Has reached that stage again
Where I never wanna see my home
I know that you'll provide the brains
but who'll provide the brawn?
Schroeder is pacing back and forth — and back and forth and back and forth — as though he were the one who has been ropedlike a pig for slaughterinto helping with the community home's fund raiser for the annual fair. Pigeon toes clicking against the wooden counter as he walks, the metronome of his footsteps plucks at my nerves until I'm drumming my own fingers against the booth's surface, matching him tick for tick. Chaos reverberates in the aftermath of each palpitation of my heart, soaring to a deafening THUD THUD THUD as I stare down everyone who casually strolls by, wondering who will be the first to break the barrier of my — THUDTHUDTHUD — panic.
With a glace at my right hand, the skin one or two awkward shades of pink brighter than my left, there is a sudden certainty within me that everyone knows. Head jerking back to glance self-consciously over my shoulder, I am acutely aware of the devious duo of heckling laughs that are destined to haunt me today. I don't see Mace or Cygnus, no matter how loudly their self-satisfied voices ring in my ears, and it doesn't really matter if they're truly there or if it's just the ghosts of their taunts following me around today. They thought it'd be hilarious to volunteer me to work the kissing booth, using me as an excuse to skirt requests for their own participation. My eyes sweep the crowd to the left and then scan right, checking to make sure no one is paying attention as I raise my hand up to press it anxiously against my mouth, skin brightening yet another shade of pink from the pressure. Yeah, this is the definition of hysterical.
"Just practice on your hand and you'll do fine." The memory of sarcastic words tugs at me so strongly it's as though I can feel my brothers' hands slapping against my back once more, the kind of laughter ringing in their lungs that I should be thankful for, even if it's at my own expense. The three of us don't laugh like we used to. Not since Elon —Now is not the time
To lose your voice
Everyone should have a choice
But if you should ever fall
You know I'd kiss you better
A shadow crosses the ground in front of me with enough decisiveness to tug me away from sorrow and remind me of a more selfish kind of angst that is destined to reign over my thoughts today. This too is perhaps something I should be thankful for, in a backwards-logic kind of way, although I can't appreciate it with my stomach knotting itself so tightly. I can't help feeling bad for whichever poor soul decides to be the first to toss a few coins into the collection jar beside me in exchange for a nervous moment of mouth-to-mouth awkwardness that we'll certainly both regret. I'm no good at math, but I still know enough about odds to bet that the probability of my stomach squeezing so tightly it pushes this morning's breakfast up my throat and directly into their mouth upon contact is... more likely than not. Bottom lip still caught on my knuckle as my mouth gapes open at the approaching customer, memories of a morning spent 'practicing' disappear into uselessness — not that such efforts were good for anything to begin with.
Cocking his head, Schroeder seems just as surprised as I am to hear coins dropping into the glass mason jar, ringing out with the promise of what's to follow. He coos — as if to ask "are you sure about that?" — and his voice is astoundingly similar to Mace's, trilling with what must be an undercurrent of laughter as I unconsciously reach up to tug at the strap of the trusty leather flight helmet I'm wearing, a nervous habit that makes my obvious discomfort... more obvious.
I'm often teased that I must be preparing myself for a take-off to Crazyville, but the question of my sanity aside, the honest truth is that no one wears a helmet for flight. Helmets are for crash landings. And as my fingers begin drumming faster against the wooden counter in response to my escalating nerves, I realize that although the THUD THUD THUD of my heart might be an emergency alarm, neither my pathetic attempts at practice nor a frantic last second warning will be enough to save me from the inevitable.You
Are you so scared
That you're just
Gonna let it
Happen?
(OOC — Oh yes, that's right. Icky Emberstatt is running a kissing booth to raise money to support the Community Home. Please do your part for the good of all District Ten orphans and donate to this fine cause.
Charity has dibs for being first in line, please, but after her, this is definitely open to anyone and everyone who would like to torment my darling Icky with alllll the phenomenal awkwardness D10 has to offer. )