(Untitled)

May 13, 2008 21:17

Tim's seen the playground before. More than once even. Hell, he's even sat on a swing once or twice and wandered up the slide. Stretched out on the floor of the little merry-go-round thing. It's one of the few places on the island that actually reminds him a little of home, of every little playground in every park he'd ever been to back home ( Read more... )

giselle

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truelovekiss May 14 2008, 03:28:25 UTC
Giselle still missed Andalasia, but this island did have its own charms. Some things, like the beautifully colored birds that lived all over the place, were exceptionally lovely even if they were far less conversational than the ones she had known at home. When she sang with them, though, it was something like talking to them, and she felt a little bit less homesick.

"Don't you hear the birds?" asked Giselle, stopping in her song to give them the attention they deserved. "They have such lovely voices, and they're very nice to let me be a part of it. Do you sing?"

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texas_forever May 14 2008, 03:38:32 UTC
For some reason, Tim hadn't quite been expecting her to actually answer him and he definitely hadn't expected her to sound so... pleasant. It's a little confusing.

He recovers from his slight disorientation fairly quickly though, quirking a grin as he steps into the playground, heading for a nearby swing. "Not the kinda singin' you're thinkin' probably," he says, eying the birds that have congregated around her. "You sound good, though."

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truelovekiss May 14 2008, 04:34:24 UTC
"Thank you. All kinds of singing are wonderful," said Giselle. "Though I'm sure there are some kinds I haven't heard yet. There are all kinds of new things I never heard of before I came here."

She swung back and forth a little bit and was glad there were swings. They reminded her of home, a little bit, though not as much as the birds.

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texas_forever May 14 2008, 04:59:04 UTC
Tim arches an eyebrow; not even Lyla'd ever been this... perky and it's a little unnerving. Tim doesn't quite know what to make of it. Or her.

"Yeah," he asks, taking a seat on the swing nearest her, swaying idly as he watches her. Pretty and not unlike just about every cheerleader and rally girl at Dillon. With a few exceptions of course. This could be interesting. "Like what?"

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