...But...My...Time...Would...Be...Wasted<Open>
Dec 18, 2010 21:42:32 GMT -5
Post by peanutpie on Dec 18, 2010 21:42:32 GMT -5
Velour Ophelia Tiffany
[/size][/center][/font]And you make me want to sing.
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Velour plopped down on the grey and white couch, placing the can of rootbeer soda that she had grabbed from the kitchen earlier that day. It was the flat type, when you would open the top and leave it in for a night, then when you drank it, it tasted reminicent of vanilla and herbs. She tapped the lid on top, her lazy fingers slowly tracing the top of the can. Velour's laziness usually was a vapid one, with nothing to spit back but the pathetic sighs that she would give way to when she didn't get something she wanted.
She just didn't care about the human beings who raised her, the two people with now aging grey hair and a disposition for getting her in the "right circle" Sure, she probably wouldn't naturally fit in with the snobs,. but they're encouragment was just... blech. Quite odd. She sighed, and flipped on the television that was looming infront of her.
The mirror like screen soon erupted into a sparkling of colors, with children leaping across the screen, arrow in hand. Anani Petros? There was a slight romance, from what she could tell. Topaz and Nash.
She couldn't see how Topaz had voulenteered. Velour wasn't raised as a career, and she couldn't understand the appeal of sacraficing herself for someone else. Even if it was her sister, she just wouldn't. Sighing, she watched the anxious announcers, probably thirsty for another death, mumble through the quite normal day so far. Normal for regular life, of course.
She took another sip of the soda, and with a sad, pathetic dripping, the soda collapsed onto the white silk screened shirt that was her favorite. Great standing up, she sighed and watched the colored soda slowly fall down her shirt. It was a traumatic episode for her, mostly because it was the most comfortable shirt her Mother would allow.
Sighing, she decided to run upstairs and get a jacket or something to hide the freaking stain. Sighing, her grey suede boots tapped on the wooden stairs as she finally found a suitable jacket (Blue leather, nearly shunned by her Mother) and went back to her soda.
Anticipating the television screen to have more deaths and mentioning of being dead, she decided to take a walk, just to air out her limbs.