-sitting in the library, writing a letter in perfect cursive-

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@iris-hambleton
-sitting in the library, writing a letter in perfect cursive-
-looks down at her hands- You okay there?
-nods- Fine.
“Hey, I’m sorry, but the library is pretty pack, mind if i sit beside you?”
“Th- That’s fine.”
Em Raised a brow at the stuttering lady before taking a seat beside her. “What’s with the stuttering? Do you have trouble speaking or do people scare the fuck out of you?” She asked, her gaze not leaving the book she just opened. “Because if people scare you, you should’ve chosen homeschooling.”
Iris looked at her with a surprised look, looking back down at her notebook without saying a word.
Hi, is this seat taken?
-looks over at her and shakes her head- N-N-No.
-sitting in the library, looking over a few papers-
Oh, uh, no. You didn’t bother me.
Oh, well than thank you anyways. -opens the book and starts jotting down notes from it, her hand shaking-
-reaches for the book resting on the table beside him and hands it to her-
Is that all?
-nods in a thank you- Uhm, I-I guess. Sorry for bothering you.
I’m sorry, you were saying?
I-I was just wondering if you could hand me that book over there.
“Of course not! Everything has a way of turning up eventually.”
“So, I should keep holding on hope I’ll find that sock I lost in elementary school?”
“Alright, I’m sorry then. I didn’t mean to invade, especially since you probably would’ve gotten it,” she smiled sheepishly, handing the book back. “I just didn’t want anyone to keep it, is all.”
“No, no, it’s quite alright.” she replied, taking the book and tucking it under her arm. “I was just worried it was gone forever.”
“Is it yours? I found it on the ground over there,” she turned to look at where she pointed, ponytail whipping around. She frowned, worried that it wasn’t the girl’s. “I just want to make sure it gets back to its owner.”
Iris nodded, adjusting the books in her arms so they rested on her hip. “That is mine....I just noticed it was gone.”
“Very good, very good. Was that all you needed Miss. Hambleton?”
“I think that was it, sir.”
“Good, good. Teachers are still learning as well. Mind you, I know the dates of the Napoleonic Revolution,it was just a slip up.”
“I assure you I never had any doubts, sir.” she replied with a soft, airy laugh.
*; ★.:。— character aesthetics ;; the scripturient.
( having a consuming passion and desire to write. )
nobody hates writers more than writers do. the most vicious and contemptuous portraits of writers, both as individuals and as types, appear in books written by writers themselves. nobody loves them more, either. megalomania and paranoia share the writer’s mirror. the writer-as-faust looks into it and sees a grandiose and evil and superhuman mephistopheles, master of magic, controller of destinies, to whom other human beings are as puppets whose strings he controls, or as fools whose hearts and deepest secrets he holds in the palm of his hand; the writer-as-mephistopheles looks into the same mirror and sees a shivering and pathetic faust, longing for eternal youth and terrific sex and untold riches, and clutching desperately to the pitifully delusional belief that he can conjure up these things through the miserable scribbling, the puerile fooling around with words, that he has the overweening nerve to call “art”.
“I’m glad you told me, it would have been awful if it had been left that way. Teachers make mistakes sometimes, don’t be afraid to call me out on something that I’ve done wrong.”
“Y-Yes, sir. I will remember that.”