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: █「 sunny ❜.studying ⋮ open starter

Today's outfit consisted of soft spring greens and petal pinks, accented with a brown belt at the waist and she could almost be mistaken for a flower in the patch of grass she was sitting in, if one were to squint hard enough and ignore the poison that dripped from her strained expression.

Sundays always meant cramming for tests the following day, and today was no different. The strawberry blonde, as usual, spent her weekend attending parties and modeling for magazine spreads, one of which was titled Strawberry ♡Rocket and was currently folded in her bag while her light blue eyes were fixed on a less fashionable piece of literature: Mathematical Origins and It's Revolutions.

She was sitting with her back against a tree, body cloaked in the shade of the leaves while her head turned back and forth between text book and paper, furiously jotting down notes in bright pink ink. After several pages, a frustrated noise passed through her soft lips and she flung her pen somewhere far off into the grass. She lifted her arms as she stretched her small body, the textbook and paper falling off her lap and onto the ground next to her.

Almost as if it were an instinct, she reached into her bag and pulled out her cellphone as well as a bottle of water for an especially warm day. Enoshima twisted off the cap and brought it to her mouth with one hand while the other flipped open her phone and began to text copious amounts of people at the same time, like always.

#kibou open

The lighting in the library was dim as always, going by the light of the lamp that sat atop the desk in the center of the large room. It often meant having to plunge into the darkness to find the dust covered shelves that took the girl's interest. The only-seems-to-be-touched-when-the-teacher-demands-it section of the library-- better known as the Classics section to the few students and faculty members that visited its aging wares more regularly.

Worn fingertips grazed against the spines laid in rows across the shelves, dragging across the title indentations as the female squinted through the poor lighting. She hadn't a particular book in mind, nor a particular author. Simply a craving for words and escapism that only the best writers seemed to provide.

Her hand stopped close to the end of the section, and she carefully slid out the book at her fingertips. The Picture of Dorian Grey, it was titled, by Oscar Wilde. Stepping back into the light of the she read the back cover synopsis, forcing a small smile to tug at the corner of her lips.

An arrogant, beautiful, and dangerous man as the protagonist. A man with little regard for the world where he's not directly involved. How familiar. How daunting.

The literary girl pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose as she slumped against the desk and slid downward until she was sitting on the floor, letting the incandescent light hit the book at just the right angle for her to read it without problem. She cracked open the book-- taking extra care not to crease the spine-- and dove into its contents.

#ic #kibou open

"A-Are you all enjoying yourselves? Already p-prodding and whispering about me I expect, a-and I've only just stepped in. Am I r-really so loathsome?"

"...Of course I am."

The writer drew a thumb to her mouth, letting it barely graze past dry lips as her teeth gently came down on the digit. Nothing short of a habitual motion pushed along by nothing but muscle memory. A physical coping mechanism when anxieties crushed down on the girl as though she were a witch beneath a house.

Most wouldn't deny her the insult of witch, she supposed. Ugly, reclusive, sharp-tongued, and all-in-all undesirable. She fit in every category but magic to relieve herself of her mountain of flaws.

Magic isn't in many competently written books anyways, these days.

One fell swoop, and the troubles left her incapacitated. One glimpse of the judgmental eyes of passersby, and her body was left in anxious paralysis. It took a few moments of slow, deep breathing for the feeling of her legs to be regained, and soon the literary girl was left to a lifeless hallway. With a shaky sigh, Fukawa dragged her dead weight to the only place she knew had any means of solace-- the library.

#ic #kibou open

lend me a hand here { • multi-open

{✪}-- Scrupulous steps carried her to the direction of a particular bookshelf, her lips pressed together in a thin line in attempt to keep herself reticent. After all, she had already been upbraided a number of times by the librarian about her constant off-tuned humming whenever she would meander around the place in search for a book. This was the exact reason why Aoi hated the library. She highly doubted that she could last three minutes without saying anything but she knew better than to push the librarian to her limit.

The only person she could blame right now for giving her no choice but to enter this place was her history teacher. He just had to make them write a five-paragraph essay and even though most of her classmates claimed that it wasn't that long, the young swimmer still believed that she had a lot of far more productive things to do (like trying out the new sweet shop that just opened nearby) than write an essay regarding the Muromachi period. If only she was just as skilled in computers as that one classmate of hers, she wouldn't be here right now.

A pair of cerulean optics studied each book presented before her-- her index finger instinctively moving up to tap her cheek in thought. But then a fleeting glimmer of triumph flickered in her eyes once she finally caught sight of the book she was looking for. Eagerly, Aoi stood on the tip of her toes to reach for it but much to her dismay, her height lead her attempt to be seen as futile. 'Great.' She thought to herself in utter frustration as she looked around in search for a step ladder but to no avail. She sighed in defeat at this before settling her gaze back up at the book.

Within a few seconds, the look of disappointment that dawned in her features was instantly replaced by a determined one as she tried to reach for it again; her other hand reaching to hold on to the shelf as she leaned in forward. But then things took a turn for the worse when the young swimmer unintentionally lost her balance and ended up pressing her enitre weight against the shelf, causing it to tilt back. A surprised yelp escaped her lips as she made a grab for the ledge and tried to pull it back to maintain its balance again. The action, however, caused a great number of books to fall and scatter down the floor-- causing an unwanted ruckus in the library.