To Lazy to Choose.... [Python!]

Sunshine and summer warmth were not what stirred the girl from her peaceful slumber; it was a raging woman demanding breakfast and attention while she leaned backwards into her expensive recliner sipping hot coffee that she had for once decided to brew on her own. It wasn’t long before Locust groggily shuffled out of her bedroom with a frown as grim as a corpse’s and eyes gleaming with a scorching desire to inflict pain on the first person she spotted. Ironically, the blonde wench with curlers was the first person she noticed, and she had no protests against snatching the hot coffee out of her hand and pouring it onto her face until her flesh melted. Unfortunately, that was illegal, and she was well aware of how incapable she was of being isolated within a prison cell for an extended period of time. So, without uttering a word she walked into the kitchen and prepared the Lovelaces a breakfast she prayed they would despise and choke on. As soon as she was finished cooking, setting the table, and cleaning the area, she ate the cold leftovers that remained and hurried into her bedroom before any of the devils noticed her. She hastily completed her morning routine and rushed out of the door with a wallet full of spare cash and a hint of a smirk crossing her pale features. The mission was a success; she was out, and they had failed to notice her.

Shopping was a privilege when living with a strict trio of assholes family. She didn’t see it as an entertaining way to spend her day of freedom, but rarely was she granted the opportunity to actually buy something valuable for herself, so she was swift to take advantage of this time and strolled directly to the market without bothering a single soul. Since she was treating herself, her first stop of the day was the clothing store, which was surprisingly not swarming with busy shoppers occupying precious space and stealing fresh breathing air. As soon as she was inside she crept to the female attire and shifted through blouses as if they were pages in a boring textbook, her stare blank and her lips pursed firmly. There was nothing appealing to her tastes in the rack of clothing so far, and as she reached the end she began to lose faith in those who designed the clothes. Since when had the summer style become so dreadfully ugly? Bright colors were never her thing, and now they were making it worse with their hideous designs. Would the poor, neglected servant girl ever catch a break?

After releasing a soft, irritated sigh, she turned around in time to find herself face-to-face with a strange boy who seemed to be too conflicted with himself to choose which shirt he wanted to purchase. Frankly, she didn’t care about him or his stupid shirts, but he seemed to be directly addressing her so she lifted her sapphire eyes to meet his own, her expression remaining as empty as a drum. She would’ve chosen the shirt on the left - it complimented his eyes quite nicely - if he hadn’t so insolently referred to her as “babe”. Pet names like that made her nerves twitch and her hands involuntarily clench. His appearance, dialogue, and overall demeanor warned her that he was one of the narcissistic types who were too full of themselves to acknowledge their personal flaws or treat others with any sort of respect or dignity. Locust was definitely not fond of this category of citizens, but in a world of chaos and brutality, it was impossible to avoid. ”They both look pretty awful to me.” She quirked an eyebrow and morphed her expression into that of a slightly disgusted one; an attempt to appear unimpressed by his selections despite one of them being rather attractive. ”I think pink is more your color.” The venom of a lie was no longer a bitter taste upon her tongue; she could do it without effort now, even when she knew the boy would look so terrible in pink that she would rather vomit then witness it. It was a talent she had mastered long ago, and had no intention of discarding it anytime soon.

A smirk crept its way along snow white skin. The boy was ranting at her like a child whining to his mother; ”Really? Somebody woke up grumpy as hell. I mean, really, you could’ve at least lied to me.” While there was beauty in lies, there could also be beauty in honesty, and in this case Locust could not deny the bittersweet honesty of what the boy had spoken to her. Yes, she had indeed awoken with an animalistic glare and a frown stretching to reach her heart, for life with the Lovelaces was never a welcoming experience. Sweating over a stove to delight those who used and abused her like a slave was not her idea of a satisfactory life, not to mention there was princess Priscilla and her witch of a mother breathing down her neck at every waking moment. It was an effort not to retreat from slumber without growling at the thought of facing that family. So, yes, she had risen with the devil searing her shoulders, but once the fresh air had rushed to greet her face he had been washed away like a crab on the shores.

It was a shame the boy was not convinced by her lie; she had looked forward to watching him try on a pink shirt despite how hideous and humiliating he would appear (which would not disappoint her, mind you). He seemed to realize with a mental image exactly how terrible it would look and thus granted her a response that both amused and upset her. She parted her lips to respond to his miniature rant, but he interrupted her with a far from sincere apology and an unnecessary introduction before she could utter a sound. He was sorry; well, she wasn‘t. She was never sorry for anything she did, and that wouldn’t change simply because a rude boy named Blake (his name, yet another thing she did not care about) decided to take back a few remarks. He was curious about her lack of interest in the clothing, however, and that was a subject she was eager to discuss. ”Anybody with a pair of eyes can see that these designs are all terrible.” She pinched the sleeve of a polka dot blouse and quickly released it once she swept her gaze over its unpleasant clash of colors. ”But I never was a fan of summer colors.”

It seemed Blake was determined for an honest opinion, for he was quick to question her about the shirts once again, this time even adding his own comment claiming that they were “awfully fabulous” in a strange but entertainingly accurate capitol accent. She wouldn’t go that far, but she did admire the left one as opposed to the other one, which didn’t seem all too appealing to her. ”Well, I suppose that one isn’t too bad.” An honest reply with a sincere grin; it was the least she could do since he had displayed a rather amusing sense of humor.