Octavia Blake (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
okteiviakom) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandomtownies2020-02-10 02:52 pm
okteiviakom) wrote in fandomtownies2020-02-10 02:52 pm
Entry tags:
The Preserve, Monday Late Morning
Octavia knew exactly what was happening. She'd already lived through this thing twice in the past, after all, and while by her memory this time the wave of restlessness was happening a little ahead of schedule, that didn't make it any less easy for her to recognize.
Which was why she'd hit the preserve, first thing. A hike through the woods and then target practice were a twitchy girl's best friends, after all. And so was trying to wear herself out with training, which she was stubborn enough to try again despite knowing from those last two times that it was, at best, a momentary reprieve. If even that.
But she was trying.
Which meant that while she usually liked to focus on her training with no extra distractions, she'd even set her phone out to play some Elliott Smith while she was at it, the more melancholy the better.
And sure, she still kept thinking about hands on ukulele strings. But as far as the mental images she'd already had this morning went - featuring hands or otherwise - it was at least an acceptable one. Or a manageable one. Something like that.
The throwing star she was working with kept missing the target.
[ooc: Post is open! Mmm, pollen.]
Which was why she'd hit the preserve, first thing. A hike through the woods and then target practice were a twitchy girl's best friends, after all. And so was trying to wear herself out with training, which she was stubborn enough to try again despite knowing from those last two times that it was, at best, a momentary reprieve. If even that.
But she was trying.
Which meant that while she usually liked to focus on her training with no extra distractions, she'd even set her phone out to play some Elliott Smith while she was at it, the more melancholy the better.
And sure, she still kept thinking about hands on ukulele strings. But as far as the mental images she'd already had this morning went - featuring hands or otherwise - it was at least an acceptable one. Or a manageable one. Something like that.
The throwing star she was working with kept missing the target.
[ooc: Post is open! Mmm, pollen.]