http://thismaskiwear.livejournal.com/ (
thismaskiwear.livejournal.com) wrote in
fandomtownies2009-06-18 05:30 am
Entry tags:
Strokes of Genius, Thursday
It had been a few days, so Katchoo set up to paint as soon as she got to work. Clocky beeped hopefully and did a circuit around her feet.
"No, you tiny wheeled menace, I'm not painting you."
A disappointed beep, but that didn't stop Clocky from trying again a few minutes later.
"I said no."
This could go on for a while.
[OOC: Where was I when we lost OCD? Where was I when lies were spoken? You know the drill -- it's open, potentially slow during the day, etc.]
"No, you tiny wheeled menace, I'm not painting you."
A disappointed beep, but that didn't stop Clocky from trying again a few minutes later.
"I said no."
This could go on for a while.
[OOC: Where was I when we lost OCD? Where was I when lies were spoken? You know the drill -- it's open, potentially slow during the day, etc.]

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Fiona was a little dismayed when she got to the counter and saw who was there.
"Hello? May I trouble you for a little help with something?"
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Clocky beeped scoldingly.
"Aw, shut up, you."
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"Yes, well," she started, keeping her eyes down for the moment, "I was wondering if you were familiar with what a sketch artist might need to do his work. What might be good to get one."
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"I could be." Katchoo liked giving people a hard time, okay? "What were you gonna do if the answer was yes?"
. . . yeah, she loved giving people a hard time.
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"I'd ask you what you'd recommend since I wanted to get Griff something. He did a drawing of me and I wanted to say thank you. And encourage him."
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Nor did she care, but that went for pretty much everyone anyway.
Another shrug. "We oughta have one of those pencil assortments in the metal boxes down there." She gestured vaguely toward the appropriate aisle. "Erasers, too, but again people like different kinds."
This wasn't actually her being a deliberate pain in the ass. It was just that artists tended to be picky about their supplies. Although she'd take it as an excuse to be a pain in the ass.
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"What kind of erasers do you have?" she asked, remembering him commenting or maybe just making a face at the one had on him.
She'd get him a pencil assortment, a couple of nice sketchbooks, and some erasers.
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"I'm used to the pink ones," she admitted as she put them up on the counter.
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She eyed the items on the counter and -- making a few prices up off the top of her head because she couldn't be bothered to check -- started to ring them up. "Throwing the pink ones at things to see how they bounce is fun." They'd worked great for bouncing off classmates' heads in study hall back at Puncture High. And then they went another direction and it was harder to get pinned with the blame.
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She tucked a curl behind her ear.
"And Grandmother" she winced internally at saying 'grandmother' instead of 'mother' still "wouldn't allow that kind of play."
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She and Eliot had joked more than once that the unofficial 107th rule was 'no fun'. Then Audrey had added two more rules and the joke hadn't even been funny anymore.
"What kind of art do you do?"
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"Hi," she said, and the strength of the effort to make things not weird was still there in every movement and sound, but. She had cobwebs and a thought.
And pineapple cream cheese spread.
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That, with a casual-looking grabby gesture at the bagels, just to distract from the real crazy spandex time that had been a couple of weeks ago.
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"What. The. &*()@#!. Hell," she said, which was a minor miracle given her slack jaw.
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"We were supposed to be testing out the suits," she explained.
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. . . yeah, see, crocodiles would do it.
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