evelyn is not a kid person — has never been, even when she was a child herself; instead, she was prone to smoothing out her dress and glare at those cackling as they ran with their bikes around the neighborhood — but she is a work person. being away from the house means nothing if she has found a project outside of wedding prep to play with: the kid's concert. in liason with the mayor, she offered contacts and ran after subsidies herself until they had coney tony to play his greatest hits (still trending on spotify for kids, apparently) and most of the decent food providers from town to get business on their surrounding stands.
so, now, she enjoys it. on the inside, cringing as she sees a pair of kids running, shrieking, with sticky popsicles in hands; on the outside, lips curl upwards gently, an attempt of keeping her face neutral but pleasant, the way she has rehearsed how to do. yet, she can't help the way it contorts when she looks at a sign at one of the stands. "bacon wrapped turkey leg? i guess michelle's time really is all over." thoughts are uttered out loud in a rare display of impulsivity, though she soon turns to the person next to her, giving a step to the side in a kind gesture to make up for the judgment in her words. “it's yours if you want one, though.”
