03-22-2020, 02:54 PM
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she could picture alder now, tall and golden and brooding, that familiar crease between his brows and that squint in his cognac gaze as he regarded her. "don't sell yourself to some fascist group demanding you follow their every will and desire until you become some domesticated sheeple, aspie." ever the rebel without a cause, her closest brother was perpetually dedicated to the idealism of freedom, with little regard to the value it's opposite, safety, seemed to offer. truthfully, aspen wasn't entirely convinced he believed the words he huffed so often, but he was designed to fight a system, and organized living seemed like the easiest to attack.
still, aspen knew he'd probably be fairly ashamed of her for disregarding his words of wisdom and joining the lodge. but she craved stability, she craved a home, and after hawthorn, she knew she couldn't ever feel at home in the cabin without him. so she'd gone in search of a new home, and found a carbon copy of the one she'd left behind. bigger, with more people, and not just one nuclear family, but it was a home enough. they'd let her join, brad alongside her, and she'd stuffed her bag onto a bunk, taken a tour of the building, and found herself parked squarely on a couch, brad sprawled across her.
without the layers of clothing, and the knit hat, she looked less like a homeless boy and more like a woman with a more lumberjack-esque fashion sense. white shirt beneath a plaid button down undone, aged jeans, mismatched socks. her face, at the very least, is more visible, and more feminine than one might initially guess. button nose, almond eyes, a face that was decent enough without makeup. brows could use filling in, lashes a coating in mascara, lips a stain of red— but with her features on display, blonde locks tucked behind pierced ears, she at the very least looks like a woman. not that looking all that feminine was ever much of a priority to her growing up.
the sun in sinking, the flames are crackling, and after boredly observing the build and decor of the room she's in, she clears her throat loud enough to make it clear she's looking for attention. [color=#4a4e54]"so, how 'bout this weather we're havin'?" she's blabbing, filling the air with silence because she craves connection. she'd grown up with seven people in a two bedroom cabin; silence was foreign to her, and she wasn't a fan.
( aspen is That Guy in the elevator pursuing shitty small talk )
she could picture alder now, tall and golden and brooding, that familiar crease between his brows and that squint in his cognac gaze as he regarded her. "don't sell yourself to some fascist group demanding you follow their every will and desire until you become some domesticated sheeple, aspie." ever the rebel without a cause, her closest brother was perpetually dedicated to the idealism of freedom, with little regard to the value it's opposite, safety, seemed to offer. truthfully, aspen wasn't entirely convinced he believed the words he huffed so often, but he was designed to fight a system, and organized living seemed like the easiest to attack.
still, aspen knew he'd probably be fairly ashamed of her for disregarding his words of wisdom and joining the lodge. but she craved stability, she craved a home, and after hawthorn, she knew she couldn't ever feel at home in the cabin without him. so she'd gone in search of a new home, and found a carbon copy of the one she'd left behind. bigger, with more people, and not just one nuclear family, but it was a home enough. they'd let her join, brad alongside her, and she'd stuffed her bag onto a bunk, taken a tour of the building, and found herself parked squarely on a couch, brad sprawled across her.
without the layers of clothing, and the knit hat, she looked less like a homeless boy and more like a woman with a more lumberjack-esque fashion sense. white shirt beneath a plaid button down undone, aged jeans, mismatched socks. her face, at the very least, is more visible, and more feminine than one might initially guess. button nose, almond eyes, a face that was decent enough without makeup. brows could use filling in, lashes a coating in mascara, lips a stain of red— but with her features on display, blonde locks tucked behind pierced ears, she at the very least looks like a woman. not that looking all that feminine was ever much of a priority to her growing up.
the sun in sinking, the flames are crackling, and after boredly observing the build and decor of the room she's in, she clears her throat loud enough to make it clear she's looking for attention. [color=#4a4e54]"so, how 'bout this weather we're havin'?" she's blabbing, filling the air with silence because she craves connection. she'd grown up with seven people in a two bedroom cabin; silence was foreign to her, and she wasn't a fan.
( aspen is That Guy in the elevator pursuing shitty small talk )