Poor Sleepy Sarp // @isyancialtan
“What circumstances?! Nobody’s forcing you to practice this late!” He can’t think of a single reason that’d keep her from at least giving him a heads-up, if she absolutely can’t wait until a reasonable hour (but he’s sure that’s too much to ask). After all, she has his number, which he knows because he can see the paper he’d left her five days ago, the first time her shrieking had jolted him out of a sound sleep to come charging down the hall at three a.m. Is a warning call or text really that difficult?
He’s not too impressed with her offer (maybe a promise wouldn’t have been worth that much either), and he rolls his eyes, pointing out, “You know some people have to get up in the morning, right?”
But it’s the casual offer of tea that really gets him–like it’s not some ungodly hour, like it’s not a repeat offense, like she’s not telling him he needs to relax when she’s the one responsible for why he’s not relaxing!
Clenching his jaw, he has to look away and take several deep breaths before he can manage to say anything other than a string of curses in every language he knows. (He’s been picking up a little Spanish from the guys at the gym.)
But, damn it, he’s already awake, and after the near-heart attack she’d given him it wasn’t like he’d be able to fall back asleep that soon anyway, and even though he had Opinions on American tea he still found it hard to turn down. Glancing down the hall as if he expected someone to catch him giving into this nonsense, he finally muttered, “…Fine.”
and she shuts that door behind him… she doesn’t need a reputation for late night visitors anymore than he wants anyone to know he’s dealing with the crazy girl down the hall. “That’s the point of circumstances, you don’t know what they are until they–” hands up above her head, for dramatic snapping, “pop up.”
What does he think this is?!
”It’s called a passion, it’s the urge that demands I practice as it comes along...”
She’s a PERFORMER, there aren’t hours depicted for clocking in or out.
IT’S IN HER HEART, IN HER SOUL, IN HER BONES...
but for the moment, apparently: that PASSION has slipped away with a yawn: the script she’d been reading from gets tossed over to a stack of other papers, and she stretches arms behind her to try and spark some of that PERFORMANCE back into her limbs... but as her now-guest pointed out... it is a little late.
“Sit down,” offered surprisingly meekly while pointing towards some chairs surrounding a tiny table: definitely made more for tea than meals, but as it’s mostly only her and sometimes Mother, it works just fine. “I am sorry, you know,” she’d be a monster not to be, “but what on Earth could you have going on so early that it’d be a problem?”
some people actually enjoy a good rest more than chugging espresso, Ari...
