#v; precocious

[staraii]

@mamastark

“I can’t get it right!” she slaps a hand down on the keys in frustration, the piano protesting with a discordant jumble of notes. “I’m no good at this, mama,” Amelia pouts, turning her wide eyes up at her mother in a plea for release from the lesson. Every time she tries to find the proper movement, the notes slip away from her, her little hands stumbling across the keys, producing nothing like the seamless melody she’s heard from it when guided by Maria’s graceful hand.

[staraii]

“Did you hear that?” (Teen!Tony totally loves to tell Amy Aine spooky stories and then scare her afterwards)

“Wh-what?” the girl’s hazel eyes were wide as saucers as she glanced around the room, suddenly all too aware of how vast their house was and how many hiding places it contained. “Is it a monster? Or a murderer? Or-or a ghost?!” Little hands tangle in her brother’s shirt, clutching at him as her breathing picks up.

[staraii]

“May I have this dance?" (Tony trying to teach his little sister how to dance? Maybe even at a gala?)

@snarkofstark

“Last time you said I stepped on your toes,” Amelia pouted, but she slipped her little hand into his anyway. Grace had never been in her nature, but she loved watching the way the adults swirled around the dance floor with ease. She wasn’t old enough for heels yet, at least, though the length of her dress tripped her up, so different from her usual stretch-pants and t-shirt outfits. For years she’d whined when left behind while Tony and their parents went off to events like this, but now that she was finally at one she longed for the safety of her room, away from the crowds of strangers. At least she could stick close to her brother, his presence steadied her.

[staraii]

@themrsjarvis​ (cont.)

The girl giggles, pressing her whole hand to the window and then pulling away, leaving a perfect print on the glass. “Uncle Jarvis is always cross.” To be fair, both the Stark children were little terrors much of the time, so he had reason to be. They got it from their father. At least Amelia wasn’t prone to causing explosions when she got antsy. “He should loosen up,” she echoes a phrase she’s heard from her brother many times. “I’m bored,” she adds, flopping back against the couch with a sigh. Though her bookish nature means she’s usually content to stay inside on dreary days, she’s beginning to feel cooped up.