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Warmed up yet? ((Ronnie))

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Post by Guest Tue Feb 10, 2015 4:26 pm

Moira was sitting on her bunk that day. She did not have very much to do. She did her training and her duties for that day. She did not feel like wandering around the camp aimlessly like she normal does. She always sees how everyone is all buddy buddy with each other, made her bloody sick. She told herself how she does not need people. They can only get in her way. However she knew that that is a lie. She wondered sometimes if she scared them away. If her fellow Romans do not want to go near the silent girl who always had darkness in her eyes. The last time she spent a considerable amount of time with another person, it ended with Moira in the infirmary.

Moira had not seen the other girl since them. Technically that was a lie. She sees her every day in the cohort. She had not socialized with her since them is more actuate. Moira had never tried to get her attention. She had never written to see how she was after the incident. She never wrote to her to ask her how her day was going or anything. Moira poked her head out of her bunk. “Yup, she is here.” She thought. Moira sighed after that, not knowing what to do. “Pull your bloody self together Moira! You sound like a bloody whinny bint. Ugh nobody likes me. Ugh it is like I’m invisible. That’s because you haven’t don’t anything to get noticed.” She yelled to herself. As the two halves argued, the physical Moira was getting more and more frustrated. The pinnacle was when the lead of her pencil snapped off.

“Alright that’s it.” She thought. She clicked her pencil a couple of times to get more lead out and took out another sheet of paper. She wrote down on it, "Have you recover feeling in all of your extremities yet?” and proceeded to rip it out. As per normal she crumpled it up and threw it at the Ronnie. She figured that people tend to respond when something just hit them in the head. She has a lot of data to back up that hypothesis.

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Post by Ronnie Riley Wed Feb 11, 2015 7:20 pm

Sweat clung to Veronica Riley’s body in all of the most uncomfortable places. This is the first thing that the bright-haired demigod noticed when she woke up. Despite the sweat, Ronnie was freezing. It wasn’t that she was still sick, Ronnie had healed weeks ago, but her dreams were only getting worse. Especially after Lita had informed her of the more recent troubling events with Morta, Ronnie couldn’t keep the Fate off of her mind. Yeah, she followed the motions: she trained, she checked in at the Principia, she did her duties, she guarded the wall… but that was so mindless that it was easy for Ronnie’s mind to wander. For that, she cursed her father. Because of him, it was so hard to cling to the things that Ronnie thought were the most important to her. But, alas, Lita’s words plagued her and Ronnie walked her memories and visions to try and find the answers that weren’t there. Why Morta and not the other two fates?
Sleep was now a rarity. That’s why when she woke, broad daylight streamed over the red-head’s face; Ronnie neither remembered falling asleep nor the dream that caused her to wake – even though she had a sense of urgency that it was very important.

Yawning, sleep clung to the teen’s eyes and she felt like a brick of sleep weighed over her head. There were probably duties she’d missed and meetings that she had blatantly slept through, but Ronnie made a conscious decision not to check the time or her dreaded schedule. So what if she ditched every here and there? Ditching was essential to mental health and stability. It wasn’t like anyone would care that much. At that thought, a smiled tugged at Ronnie’s lips because she knew that Scar would care. The new son of Mars had been making a point to spend more time with Ronnie and she found great joy in playing him. He was so menacing, but innocent – such a kind heart and yet, the very kindness of him defied his father. He was a contradiction, and an attractive contradiction.

Finally rousing to her senses, the daughter of Janus stretched and briefly scanned the barrack… to find Moira staring at her. Right, shouldn’t Ronnie, like, talk to her or something? Well, ever since ‘the incident,’ she had learned much more about the girl. For instance, her name was Moira and not “legionnaire O’Reily,” but most importantly, she couldn’t speak. That bit of information really helped fit the puzzle pieces together in her head.

Just as Ronnie saw her late brother’s empty bed, a flash of the dream found Ronnie and she immediately plopped back onto her bed, reached under her pillow for her dream journal, and ferociously tried to jot down the memory that was so close yet still unattainable. Why did dreams do that anyway? They were memories, or close to that… so why were they so easy to forget. Maybe it had something to do with partial amnesia, like what happens after(/during?) a night of heavy drinking. Her pencil sat idle in her hand, she had nothing to report. As frustrating as that was, it was soon forgotten as a piece of paper hit Ronnie on her brow.  As if there were instructions, Ronnie knew what to do and opened the crumpled paper to read the classic one-liner inscribed there. Immediately, she knew who had thrown the paper without looking. Ronnie debated answering her audibly and walking over to talk, but instead, Ronnie decided to write her reply and play the middle-school game of note taking. Who knew… maybe it would make Moira more comfortable. It would be such a letdown if Ronnie scared her off immediately.

”I think the worst is over. Sometimes my toes will tingle – they seem angry with me. You on the clear yet?”
Despite the crumpled paper, her words were easy to make out. Throwing the paper/ball/means of communication back at Moira, Ronnie laid her head on her arms and she allowed her eyes to rest for a minute.
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Post by Guest Thu Feb 12, 2015 4:35 pm

After Moira threw the paper at the Auger, she slumped down in her bunk, satisfied with her decision to finally talk to her. “There, that wasn’t so hard now was it?” she thought. She waited for a couple of seconds waiting for Ronnie to come over and talk to her, but after seeing she was writing something, Moira knew not to interrupt considering that she does a lot of writing. She then proceeded to pull out her copy of Scott Pilgrim vs the World. Last time she left off, Scott was about to fight the dreaded vegan 3. Vegan being an adjective and 3 being his title, not to be confused the third vegan he would be fighting, that is just weird. Right as the Vegan police showed up, a piece of paper landed on her book taking her out of the story. Confused, Moira opened it up and read it. She had not seen this handwriting before, but after reading it she knew exactly who it was from.

“Wait, she wrote back? No one ever writes back.” She thought. Moira was very accustomed to the normal way her “conversations” end up, with the person being an inconsiderate bint and getting frustrated at her response taking so long. Then they will try and fill the void with more conversation, which means more writing for Moira, and a longer response. It had always been a vicious cycle, with Moira ended up on the bottom. So when someone decided to put themselves in her shoes, it was a situation Moira had never been in before.

She was not exactly sure how to respond. Obviously with a written response of her own, that was a given, but was does this mean for later. “Maybe this is what it feels like to have people think about you.” For a very long time she thought she knew what that felt like with her foster parents, but those feelings left her when she started her journey to Half-Blood Hill. From that point on she isolated herself from everyone, which was the opposite effect that she wanted considering she left to be with more people like her. Half-Bloods that was, not mutes.

Moira took a few moments to think of what she was to write next. Eventually she came up with the idea that she can write longer responses than she is used to, mainly because they want their response back now.  She would have to ease her way into it because it was such a foreign concept to her.

“Good, always was a fast healer. I just can’t believe how bloody cold it was! Something happens in the weather in Ireland so we never got this cold, always would stay at a relatively constant temperature. Also… thanks for writing back, it’s kinda nice, never had it happen before.”

She returned the her response the same way she sent the original.

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Post by Ronnie Riley Tue Feb 17, 2015 12:57 am

As Ronnie was on her stomach and her pillow went against the social norm and faced the room instead of the wall, the Augur briefly saw a blurring Moira every time she opened her eyes. It wasn’t until now that Ronnie realized how much she needed sleep. In a weak attempt to stay conscious she found herself forcing her eyes open every few minutes instead of it being the other way around.
The red-head had always made a point to be in touch with her body and not deprive it of what it needed/craved. Whenever she felt an illness coming on, she didn’t try and tough it out and stay active and on her feet, she rested and healed as quickly as possible. The hypothermia was a bit different because her body was sending her mixed signals – telling her that she was burning up when her body temperature was, in fact, much too low and she needed to be warming her herself. It was hard to decide to do what she felt was right, or what others would tell her was right. Being the girl she is, Ronnie almost always opted to what she was telling herself. Her voice was the most important voice she would ever hear.

Blink
Moira had opened her note.

Blink
Moira was writing.

It wasn’t until Ronnie heard the paper land right next to her that she jolted herself back into the waking world. Ronnie briefly wondered for the first time why it was that the legionnaire couldn’t speak. Is that something one is born with? Did she perhaps go through some serious trauma where she can’t speak? Or… even more intriguing, can she actually speak if she really put the effort into it but chose not to speak. Maybe some people would find that appealing. Obviously, Ronnie couldn’t relate in any way as words kept her who she was: persuasive and in control. However, the daughter of Janus did recall a TV show she used to watch, Skins, and how her favorite character spent the larger half of her life in voluntary silence.  Pushing herself onto her elbows, Ronnie read the response.

Ronnie was pleasantly shocked that she could find Moira’s personality in what she wrote. It was rare to find someone who texted like how they would talk and this seemed familiar in that way. This also ignited a spark of hope for Ronnie because now she had the idea that she could still figure out Moira in this way and she did with others vocally. It was just a matter of the words she wrote. It was a nice break too that she was allowed to think about her words before she jotted them down.

”I didn’t know you were from Ireland – it seems like a really cool place. I’m from the city, so basically a local compared to you. Cool, I’m glad you like it… a little informal but maybe a luxury you don’t get too often? I just hope I don’t fall asleep on you over here.”

Throwing the paper back to Moira, Ronnie noted that there wasn’t too much space left on the page, so she removed the journal from under her pillow once more in order to arm herself with more paper if she needed it.”[/color]
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Post by Guest Tue Feb 17, 2015 2:18 pm

After Moira sent the next message, she stopped reading her manga and thought more about the situation she was in. For the past eighteen years of her life no one has written back. Everything that she did was with paper. Sometimes when she felt alone years ago, she would reread the one sided conversations that she kept with her. They ranged the entire emotional spectrum, from anger to pleasantry, from happiness to depression. Moira does not like selectively choosing what to remember and what not; while this might make her a unforgiving and vile person sometimes it is the choice that she made a long time ago.

Moira hated texting or writing an email as well. Email she understood the necessity for, it is literally faster mail. She just would rather write something with pencil and paper. Texting on the other hand she detested. She would get made fun of and stuff for having to write stuff out, but when the same catty girls who were just making fun of her would go and talk to their friends three seats over via text. What is the bloody difference?

And then there was Ronnie. Why was she so different from the rest? Does she pity her or feel responsible for actions that that took place a couple of months ago? Or does she actually want to get to know Moira. These sorts of questions ran through Moira’s mind after her quick discourse on forms of communication. Then she looked back to her bunk and saw that she was writing back. Again! This really put Moira in a spin. She not only done the thing that no one else has thought to do not just once but twice now! When Moira looked back down, a piece of paper soared through the air and hit her. “Huh, I guess we are having our whole conversation like this. This will be rather interesting,” she thought.

“I guess you couldn’t, seeing how an accent is impossible for me, and I’m not just going to write ‘bloody hell’ on the walls or anything. I just figured with the red hair and a name like O’Reily people could figure it out. You’re from the city you say, I spent a few weeks there after my cross country trip. I kinda was working on out dated information. Flew from Dublin to San Francisco, and then had to make a trek through this country. Can’t begin to tell you how hard it is to try and hitchhike when you can’t talk. Also yeah, less ‘don’t get too often’, and more never had this happen before. Sleep is somewhat of a commodity are around here I have noticed.”


By this point Moira was well versed on how to deliver the note, she was just about to throw it and hope no one walk by, but then she changed her mind at the last moment. Moira took the piece of paper and walked over to Ronnie and gave it to her that way.

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Post by Ronnie Riley Tue Feb 24, 2015 8:43 pm

Blinking, Ronnie whispered an audible, whoa,” in a moment of pure confusion. Had she just dozed off? Bizarre. Okay, this wasn’t going to work. Even though this was a different sort of exercise that Ronnie didn’t expect she’d ever try again, she still needed to practice her goals: presence. This was the easiest possible situation to be present that she would have for a long while… so step one, don’t fall asleep. Since she was having so much difficulty in the fast pace of Roman life, this was a perfect opportunity to breathe and think about what she was doing. The more Ronnie did this, the more she could incorporate this form of conscious thought into her everyday life.

Standing, Ronnie stretched her arms and even elevated herself onto her toes, stretching her entire body. Head raised, Ronnie noticed how close her fingertips were to the ceiling. Had she grown more? And completely missed it? Sweat pants and a tight T-shirt clung to her body as she walked across the barrack to where her coffee station was. The floor was cold on her bare feet, but Ronnie chose not to give in to her bodily weaknesses and wear socks – the cold would help her remain more wakeful. Speaking aloud once more, Ronnie noted that her voice sounded strange in the way that it would after a long night’s sleep and a morning spent in silence: ”coffee? Tea?” When Ronnie spoke, her back was turned to Moira, but she turned quickly looking for a shake or nod of the head. The barrier of speaking with her back turned was intentional; because, for some reason, Ronnie still was desiring to keep up the note-passing. If these two words lead into an awkward rushed one-sided conversation, Ronnie would be disappointed.

Soggy coffee dregs filled the already full trash can as Ronnie cleaned her filter. Shortly, Ronnie had a pot brewing, mugs prepared, and she was back in her bed. She was sifting through her pile of unfinished books when Moira made the decision to deliver the letter personally to Ronnie. Okay…. Okay this complicated things a little bit, and Ronnie wasn’t quite certain why. Sure, she could just sit there and write a response but was that… rude? Who was Ronnie to say what behaviors were appropriate and how to interact in a polite way? To be blunt, the Augur was the most inconsiderate, impolite person she knew, she just had the gift of being a charmer when it benefitted her.

Taking the note, Ronnie nodded to the legionnaire, still very unsure of what to do. The coffee pot beeped in the background. After Ronnie read over the note, chuckled, and retrieved her pencil, she spoke aloud once more: ”have a seat”(?) The daughter of Janus certainly had a way of sounding much more confident than she really was. What was she to say, what was she to do? Okay, so she was impressed about the hitch-hiking part. Should she write that? Because of that simple fact, Ronnie wanted to know more. Making a point not to let any of her bewilderment show on her face, Ronnie decided to write and tried not to think about Moira glancing over her shoulder or the fact of how weird the situation felt to her.

”Nah, man.  Swear on the walls all you want! It would be a great way to find out who is cool around here and who has a stick up their ass. Many Romans seem to be the latter – though I think fourth is a nice break from that. And don’t think about it that way.
I would guess that once you get over the bump of informing them that you can’t speak, it would be easier. No small talk, just music and the presence of being near another. I think that you’d learn much more about a person that way than if one threw out pointless chatter every here and there or talked themselves up to be someone they are not.
But then again, that must take a while to be comfortable with the silence.”


So maybe Ronnie didn’t have quite as much time to think about her words anymore, her handwriting was reduced to scribbles at places too because she felt pressured to write faster and produce a quicker response. Handing the note back over, the tall girl retreated to her life source, caffeine, before Moira had a chance to scrutinize her words.  Soon, her mug was filled to the brim with black coffee and she took a soothing sip. Yeah, this was exactly what she needed.
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Post by Guest Sun Mar 01, 2015 4:47 pm

“Expletives, expletives, expletives! Why the bloody hell did I hand it to her!?” she thought. “Good job numbnuts, now you made her feel even MORE awkward.” Moira immediately started to kick herself after she handed the note to Ronnie. Moira figured that they had a pretty good system going that used her “air mail.” Now she just went and buggered it up with handing the note to her. The problem came to her of where to go now. Now she cannot just go back to her bed and wait for her to respond as well. Moira learned a while ago that people are weird when it comes to their conversations. That it is not socially acceptable to say something, and then just look away as if nothing just happened. Non-mute people are just weird in general.

When she was waiting to see what Ronnie was going to do next, she asked her a question, and immediately turned around. “Well how the hell am I going to say that I want tea?” Instead of trying to figure out a way to send that message she just shook her head no. What Moira truly wanted was a drink of a much stronger nature. She is Irish after all, but she is under the US legal age so that will not be happening for another three years. These thoughts of the few things she misses from her homeland quickly left her when Ronnie offered her a seat. She quickly accepted so that way she would not just be standing in a corner for the duration of the conversation.

Moira idly sat there waiting for the response. Whilst waiting she noticed that Ronnie seemed really confused about the whole thing. Moira really needed to clear something up in her next part; however what that exactly is she is not sure. Eventually she got her response and followed it up with her own

“Alright cool. Well nothing really stops me from saying whatever I want anyways really. Nobody can get offended if they cannot hear it. Truth be told, I hate silence. I get by it by always talking to myself or music generally. However with that being said, I hate small talk. Oh no, I must fill this awkward silence by rambling on about how the leaves are falling around me, I’ve had such a pleasant stay. Ha, that must have made no sense out of context, Led Zeppelin reference. For the sake of artificially extending this conversation I am going to make some of the dreaded small talk by asking do you know who your mum is, or dad I’m not discriminating.

P.S. I handed it in because after paper is rolled too much it becomes like impossible to write on. Also feel free to talk, don’t just not talk on my account. Or keep writing, does not matter to me. It just seems like you aren’t comfortable with this. Like you are trying to follow some social precedent that has not been set yet.”

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Post by Ronnie Riley Tue Mar 24, 2015 10:19 pm

A thin eyebrow was raised when Ronnie glanced at the girl before her once she had stood up and handed over the note personally. A shadow had briefly crossed Moira’s face, and Ronnie noticed. That’s what Ronnie did: she noticed and picked up weaknesses as if it were an inherent trait. But unlike how Ronnie was accustomed to treating encounters, this wasn’t a hunter vs. prey situation – this was an obligatory situation… with a slight twinge of curiosity. Sure, Ronnie was enjoying the unspoken conversation, but the fact that Moira came over didn’t bother her. Moira was probably unnerved because she had so much empathy. For some reason, Ronnie felt an urge to make her feel comfortable, so Ronnie offered Moira a seat. She soon took it. The girl was older, but she seemed nervous. Perhaps Ronnie appeared to be scrutinizing her. For her intent, scrutiny sounded too harsh a word regardless of whether or not other human beings were an object of Ronnie’s scrutiny.

By this point, Ronnie was fixing her coffee and she noted that Moira shook her head no to Ronnie’s offer. Shrugging, Ronnie said quietly, ”suit yourself.”

As Moira scribbled her next response, Ronnie poured herself her coffee. Each sip made her feel rejuvenated. The pot was perfectly concocted: not too dark but still bitter. Noticing that Moira was still writing, Ronnie stayed at her station for a few minutes; she gulped her coffee to refill the empty half of her mug and drained the pot of its contents so that she could clean it. By the time Ronnie had done all this and come back to reclaim her seat by Moira, the legionnaire was writing her last few words.

Reading the words slowly, Ronnie took her pen and the new unrumpled paper. Before writing, she did speak: ”Whatever is comfortable for you. I was just trying to be nice – I thought that you might like having a conversation at your own speed. I assume that you feel pressured to write fast and produce a quick response to keep up… and to keep the awkward silence-filling talk to a minimum.”

Offering her tell-tale shrug, Ronnie lowered her eyes to the paper and began to jot down a few thoughts. It was hard for the daughter of Janus not to snicker when she read the note the first time. Irony was laced in almost every single one of Moira’s sentences. Was that intentional? In all honesty, Ronnie found it extremely comical that Moira hated silence. Many people weren’t comfortable with being alone – Ronnie guessed because of the silence – but she found it a strength whenever people were. She was quick to assume that Moira was among the few to be comfortable with silence. Well, too bad for her, Ronnie was not going to be filling the empty void of air with pointless words. Small talk was among one of her least favorite activities. Frankly, small talk was a pointless waste of time that she would rather spend elsewhere.

”I’m very much on the same page, so I’m going to give you one of those awkward fillers that is kind of small talk but doesn’t have to be: what kind of music do you listen to? You seem like a music person, someone after my own heart.”

Ronnie paused. Typically here she would wink. Somehow Ronnie was able to gather the proper tonality from Moira’s words, but Ronnie was unsure of how to add on her normal humor (for lack of a better word) in writing. It was a challenge and Ronnie welcomed challenges with open arms. Briefly, she wondered if somehow she could sound flirtatious in her writing.

”Yes, I do know my mum and dad. My mother was a lovely woman, Edith Riley. She enjoyed reading and walking on the beach but unfortunately died very young of cancer. I was around eight. My father is Janus…
Great guy – the two heads thing gets a little distracting – but I don’t think we should be defined by who our parents are. That’s why I gave all that awkward mom information. That being said, I guess it is proper for me to ask the same of you? Not trying to throw you off with my previous statement, I was just voicing an opinion.”
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Post by Guest Fri Mar 27, 2015 10:07 am

After Moira finished up writing her latest response, her nerves did not calm down. There was a whole bunch of things that combined together made up the current mess that was Moira. First off, she still was not used to the whole someone else responded via writing thing, but that was becoming less and less of an issue. Next was the fact that she just made a fool of herself by the whole hand delivering thing from before. Lastly and probably the most importantly, the fact that this conversation was still going on made her antsy. The conversation that was taking place between these two certainly had to be the longest she has had since coming to Camp Jupiter, and she never really had many long conversations anyways.

As Moira sat there waiting for Ronnie’s next note, she got a verbal response not a written one that she thought of. Once Ronnie finished talking she made it pretty much clear that she wanted to keep up their past system of communication. So as a response, Moira made a shrug trying to say that she did not care either way. This was partially true because she would feel awkward either way, so why did it matter?

Once Moira got Ronnie’s actual response back, she began to read it right after. However once she got to the part when she said “someone after my own heart,” she blushed immediately. “Gods above Moira can you get your bloody emotions under control for once, she was probably just being nice, it’s not like you told anyone about that or anything.” After Moira tried to recompose herself, it just added to her feelings of uneasiness. However the conversation must go on, and she kept reading it as if nothing happened. She felt sad for Ronnie when she finished. Losing loved ones is never easy so she is told, she never got close enough to anyone to feel that way in her past life.

“To answer your first question, if the genre has the word rock in front of it then I like it. However there has to be parameters for everything right, we in the legion know that the best. Metallica is as close as I go to metal, and I’m not the biggest fan of modern punk rock, some songs by Panic! and FOB are really it. As to your second question, no idea. Seeing how I am very Irish it is only logical that I have a backstory made famous by the Brits. I grew up with family friends when my parents died in a “car crash” much like the famous Mr. Potter. However when I learned the truth I ran away to San Francisco and you know the rest of the story.”

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Post by Ronnie Riley Wed Apr 15, 2015 11:42 pm

As Ronnie wrote, she would glance up every so often to get a quick glimpse at the distressed-looking woman before her. Enough thought on Ronnie’s part had already been spent on that issue. It wasn’t that Ronnie wasn’t interested in Moira anymore, but the daughter of Janus had found that she wasn’t going to figure out her thought process. It couldn’t be done. And Ronnie didn’t care too much for it anyway. However, there was still something that the redhead could not move past. Why was Moira appearing distressed? Was it because of the silence? The waiting for a response? Well that simply didn’t make sense to Ronnie. That exact feeling is what others must feel when they talk to her, so if she has the capability to see from anyone’s eyes but her own, she shouldn't be upset about it. Who knows? Ronnie sighed. Maybe Ronnie was severely mis-reading the emotions and aura that Moira was exerting. It seemed a dark mix of green and brown. Perhaps it was a sheltered blue.

Soon, the paper had shifted hands and Ronnie went back to sipping her coffee. Every now and again her head would sporadically pain her. Clearly, it was from her lack of sleep. These most recent days, Ronnie was getting only about four hours a night. If one looked close enough, she had bags under her eyes. Her body was more tired because it wasn’t getting the sleep it needed. If Ronnie attempted her normal rigorous workout - which typically left her in a light sweat - now made her sore for days. Just as she expected it would, her new position was draining on her. Not only did the work tire her (from all the catching up in the latency period), it also made her not want to sleep because she didn’t want to dream. They were only getting worse. Most recently Ronnie was getting the sense that Atropos was pulling away in order to attack again, and this time, much stronger.

So that Moira would hopefully ease into the conversation more, Ronnie tried not to look over as the older girl was reading and writing. The gods knew that the very situation would make Ronnie uneasy. These thoughts were needless, because Moira was handing Ronnie back the paper before she knew it. Apparently, the redhead was pensive enough that time was playing a tango with her: both pensive and present at once. One dragged her along while the other forced time to flee.

Reading the letter now, Ronnie couldn’t help but smirk at the rock comment. To be completely honest, Ronnie hadn’t listened to music in quite some time, and certainly not any new music.
”It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to listen much, but if we think the same thing when you say rock, I think I’d fit in somewhere there. I recall listening to a lot of Crystal Castles… I dabbled in stuff like Nirvana, for sure, though that must be so surface level for a connoisseur like yourself.” Dang. It really wasn’t easy to relay her tonality over written word. Or flirtation for that matter. ”I guess I would listen to some of that “punk rock” stuff back in school, but definitely not the well known names like you mentioned. It wasn’t really my favorite either. In general I guess I went with the flow. I was never the one throwing the parties so I had no need to go out of my way and find music.
And San Fran, huh? I grew up in orange county. California’s a pretty cool place. I hope you had a good experience there.”
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