Pixie and a Puppy || Ben and Prilla
It was like an itch. She was sitting at the dinner table just an hour ago, poring over a book borrowed from Bria that illustrated the best use of watercolor pencils when it hit.
And oh, if it wasn't familiar. She'd only had the same feeling hundereds of times in her life, like a living butterfly that beat its wings against the inside of her chest, making her fingers dance and her feet ache to do something. It was the urge that had her move from thing to thing to thing, no matter how much she liked what she was learning. It was the thing that said, No, this isn't right. Try again. Go. be. do something different. Something spontaneous.
It hurt, too. Like a gypsy of talents, Prilla found herself evicted from one place often just when she started to think that she could call it home.
So it was that she was at the gym this morning, sitting on a bench with no idea what she was doing. Everyone seemed to know what weights to pick up, where to look and what order to do things in. And nearly everyone had headphones in. Prilla knew how bad it was to interrupt someone who was listening to music.
And, after fifteen minutes of watching in silence, the young woman selected someone who seemed to know exactly what they were doing, who had no music plugged into their ears, and looked... oh, she didn't know. Nice, maybe. In a scary sort of way.
"Hello!" she greeted, having flounced the fifteen or so feet to interrupt him as he reached for a different set of weights. "Sorry to disturb you, but that was really cool, the whole, at your feet, then at your chest, then in the air thing! Do ya mind showing me?"
