[She's been planning this day for months, and left no detail unconsidered. Location. What she'd say, how she'd say it. What he might say back. what she'd say back in reply to what he might say back to her. How she'd do this. Props. Her outfit.
For the love of Newton's Second Law, her outfit.
She had hundreds of things, and could not find a single thing to wear. It was a tremendous challenge. She wanted to look fantastic, but not like she was trying too hard (as if she could), nor did she want to look intimidating. To other people, maybe, but not him, but understating her sense of style just wasn't her, either. She wasn't a demure person. Too formal, and he might wonder what the occasion was. There certainly was an occasion--she'd like to think there was, this counts, right?--but she didn't want to put him on the spot. Style, functionality, venue, all of these were incredible consideration. She decided to go with greek sandals with laces that went up a little past her ankles, a tube top with a sash just under the bust and lace shrug, very sleek cargo capris. She's got a scarf in her hair, tied in a large bow at the side, and two necklaces, one short, one draped long. She's wearing her rose-coloured glasses, and her large bangles. The picture of stylishly casual.
Of her many, many, many, many options, charts, graphs, and planning, in the end, she chose a botanical garden. The outdoors were freeing, so there were no restrictive elements, but the place was gorgeous, setting it a cut above any old park. It wasn't strictly a romantic place, friends and families frequented it, but it had the potential to be. It was public enough, but with winding paths, large bushes, trees, and groves, there were plenty of places for privacy. It even had several species of exotic and butterflies birds, too. She checked the weather for today. Clear and sunny all day. (She'd have to stab a meteorologist or ten if it weren't.)
Perfect.
She set the meeting time for two (it was one thirty seven). Quite a bit of time after most people had lunch, so they wouldn't have to get anything. She's not a slob, she could keep food from falling onto her clothes, but there were other people to account for. Accidents. Carelessness. A series of events likened to a whimsical contraption similar to the Final Destination movies, but with the end goal being far worse than death: her plans might all fall apart. Murphy's Law shows mercy to no one.
Faye would take no chances.
She'd get a slush with a spoon. Small, manageable, and neat. It would be watermelon flavoured, a nice pink that wouldn't leave an unattractive coloured streak on her already pink tongue.
She checks her face in her compact for the eighteenth and half time in the past fourteen minutes (it could have been fifteen, but hey, who's counting).
01 Oh LAWD Faye likes to plan. A little. DON'T WORRY ABOUT HAVING A REPLY THIS LONG, SHE'S JUST NUTS
For the love of Newton's Second Law, her outfit.
She had hundreds of things, and could not find a single thing to wear. It was a tremendous challenge. She wanted to look fantastic, but not like she was trying too hard (as if she could), nor did she want to look intimidating. To other people, maybe, but not him, but understating her sense of style just wasn't her, either. She wasn't a demure person. Too formal, and he might wonder what the occasion was. There certainly was an occasion--she'd like to think there was, this counts, right?--but she didn't want to put him on the spot. Style, functionality, venue, all of these were incredible consideration. She decided to go with greek sandals with laces that went up a little past her ankles, a tube top with a sash just under the bust and lace shrug, very sleek cargo capris. She's got a scarf in her hair, tied in a large bow at the side, and two necklaces, one short, one draped long. She's wearing her rose-coloured glasses, and her large bangles. The picture of stylishly casual.
Of her many, many, many, many options, charts, graphs, and planning, in the end, she chose a botanical garden. The outdoors were freeing, so there were no restrictive elements, but the place was gorgeous, setting it a cut above any old park. It wasn't strictly a romantic place, friends and families frequented it, but it had the potential to be. It was public enough, but with winding paths, large bushes, trees, and groves, there were plenty of places for privacy. It even had several species of exotic and butterflies birds, too. She checked the weather for today. Clear and sunny all day. (She'd have to stab a meteorologist or ten if it weren't.)
Perfect.
She set the meeting time for two (it was one thirty seven). Quite a bit of time after most people had lunch, so they wouldn't have to get anything. She's not a slob, she could keep food from falling onto her clothes, but there were other people to account for. Accidents. Carelessness. A series of events likened to a whimsical contraption similar to the Final Destination movies, but with the end goal being far worse than death: her plans might all fall apart. Murphy's Law shows mercy to no one.
Faye would take no chances.
She'd get a slush with a spoon. Small, manageable, and neat. It would be watermelon flavoured, a nice pink that wouldn't leave an unattractive coloured streak on her already pink tongue.
She checks her face in her compact for the eighteenth and half time in the past fourteen minutes (it could have been fifteen, but hey, who's counting).
She might be a little nervous.]