@oftruisms:
“ OI. i’m nineteen, not NINE. ” maia immediately stomped her foot, arms crossed with brows furrowed with an indignant pout on her lips. oh yes, definitely m a t u r e. “ and who are you to tell me what to do ? are you a babysitter? ”
“Ah.” Archer looks her over once, just once, with this arch in his brow that’s used to abase her. He can’t exactly claim he holds her... – how would he say it – ...abrasive? ...unsophisticated? ...callow? Callow. He does not hold her callowness in high regard. He whips out his phone, pretends to shuffle through applicable information, and feigns a look of discovery. “Well, you see, your mama texted me to check in on you.” Eyes flicker up from the screen to her face. “Guess I am your babysitter, Girlie.” ... Unripe. This is the word he’d use to describe her. Immature and like an unripe fruit, she causes him pain, discomfort, and most of all: digestive issues.