Post by Verity Blacklace on Jan 20, 2009 14:11:46 GMT -5
A tall willowy girl of sixteen treaded lightly on the floor of the library, balancing a hazardously tall stack of books in her arms. The assortment of books included Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, Breathing Underwater by Alex Flinn, Assorted Muggle Newspaper Cut Outs from The Roaring Twenties by Juju Bean Federline, and Oh Look, Shiny Walrus! by Anonymous Incorporated. The manuscripts piled so high, that they obscured part of Verity Blacklace’s vision.
She set them down on one of the sleek tables, taking care to choose one in the back. Verity then proceeded to arrange the books in such a way that they formed a mini wall around her part of the table. She took out a weathered sketchbook and randomly chose a book, opening to a certain page and resting it against the fortress. The books teetered dangerously.
In an orderly manner, Verity dumped the contents of her pencil case on her section of the wooden table, paper clips, stub of her erasers, soft lead pencils and all.
Soon submerging herself in a state of utmost concentration, the blonde diligently scratched away, barely noticing as the table shifted slightly and the chair in front of her creaked. After a minute or so, Varity raised her grey eyes from the page and quickly searched for a certain hue of red. Verity saw that her favorite shade of crimson had rolled away from her, the sneaky little pencil slipping between a crack in the wobbly fortress constructed by its owner. Raising her head, so that her neck ached slightly, Verity interrupted what the person opposite of her had been doing. “Could you please hand me my pencil? The red one?”
She set them down on one of the sleek tables, taking care to choose one in the back. Verity then proceeded to arrange the books in such a way that they formed a mini wall around her part of the table. She took out a weathered sketchbook and randomly chose a book, opening to a certain page and resting it against the fortress. The books teetered dangerously.
In an orderly manner, Verity dumped the contents of her pencil case on her section of the wooden table, paper clips, stub of her erasers, soft lead pencils and all.
Soon submerging herself in a state of utmost concentration, the blonde diligently scratched away, barely noticing as the table shifted slightly and the chair in front of her creaked. After a minute or so, Varity raised her grey eyes from the page and quickly searched for a certain hue of red. Verity saw that her favorite shade of crimson had rolled away from her, the sneaky little pencil slipping between a crack in the wobbly fortress constructed by its owner. Raising her head, so that her neck ached slightly, Verity interrupted what the person opposite of her had been doing. “Could you please hand me my pencil? The red one?”