Swallowing her pride was something Fawna had never been good at. She should’ve asked for help, knowing full well she had no idea how to do anything like this. She’d always opted out of these events whenever possible. It probably went without saying that the middle of the wilderness wasn’t exactly Fawna’s usual scene; she’d rather sleep in a queen sized bed in a cabin when she took vacations, not giving up luxury for a little bit of fun --- if you considered roasting marshmallows and sleeping on the dirt ‘fun’, anyway. She should’ve asked for help, but here she was, frustrated and cussing under her breath as she desperately tried to get the poles to stick in the ground.
She hadn’t thought it would be this difficult. She was almost on the verge of rage crying when she just so happened to spot a familiar face. “Dean!” She shouted, making sure he noticed her, and the mess of parts on the ground. She still hated swallowing her pride, but it was time to admit that she was hopeless. It was preferred to standing here until nightfall, then having to sleep on the cold, open ground. “Please tell me you remember how to pitch a tent,” she half begged, half snapped, “because I have approximately five more seconds of trying in me before I throw a full blown tantrum.”
@deanlombardi
