Vacation is strange. Beautiful, certainly, but ultimately still strange. It isn't even halfway through and Roxie already feels like the roof hangs just a bit too low - like she's sitting much too idly and doesn't quite know what to do with the rest of her energy. But she does know, with relative certainty, that pacing along the length of the balcony's railing more than likely isn't it.
So the slow progress of words makes her grin, small and warm and fond, down at the paper. She's up and walking toward the door before she even has his reply, journal left neatly by the door to her hotel room after she scribbles one last line into it and still pulling the oversized sweatshirt over her head when she walks out.
Her steps are quiet, even and measured and confident until she comes to a stop in front of Room 510. She bounces up an onto her toes, then back down and flat-footed, her fingers curled into a hesitant fist. Does she knock? Would it be rude to interrupt or is it expected? Why doesn't she know appropriate social cues?
Night Two: A Post-Party Pickup
So the slow progress of words makes her grin, small and warm and fond, down at the paper. She's up and walking toward the door before she even has his reply, journal left neatly by the door to her hotel room after she scribbles one last line into it and still pulling the oversized sweatshirt over her head when she walks out.
Her steps are quiet, even and measured and confident until she comes to a stop in front of Room 510. She bounces up an onto her toes, then back down and flat-footed, her fingers curled into a hesitant fist. Does she knock? Would it be rude to interrupt or is it expected? Why doesn't she know appropriate social cues?