Presence
Distinctive Voice
Allies
She didn't like being sad.
...but she kinda was.
(Still.)
Because feels. She'd get all distracted because she was a curious unicorn. But. Then she'd come home. To the Theater. And. There wasn't any origami things or pudding cups. Empty or otherwise. Or random lengths of hose of surprise cashes of alcohol or amaze-balls smells of awesome cooking and slash or baking.
There was no puns or just for the lulz. There wasn't any Mayflower or Betty Gene in a faux-twang.
She'd distract herself. Because. She didn't like being sad.
But then the month would roll by and her Rits would need to be did. And she'd remember if she wanted a strawberry something or other, she'd have to make it or buy it herself.
Which. Lead to. You know. Sad. Which. Again. Tuesday didn't like.
But. Tuesday being Tuesday would cry in her blanket fort because bottling feels was bad. But outside of it she was all smiles. Even if after all these months she still half expected to be roped into this or that, or do the roping. Because fun.
But here. Now. It was Rit time and she already had her baked bribe picked out and waiting.
Well practiced motions Tuesday sits. Anchor socked. The Imago forms clearly the golden glyph-work forms along side it and the lines expand as she sing-chants until she feels the Fate woven security blakent fall on her shoulders.
Lazily she stenches, ignoring how she was more lethargic then anything, and saw to her eating and drinking and potty brake needs before she resumed her sitting and weave-signing. Tiny golden lattice-lenses form and slide into place on her eyeballs like they hadn't left.
Tuesday blinks, and stretches and see to her eat, drink and potty brake needs before she take a plastic fork and pokes at the key-lime pie she'd bought.
...it wasn't as good at Stars.
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