Post by Katpride on Oct 1, 2022 20:55:59 GMT
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The car coasts to a halt smoothly. Spork sits sprawled across the backseat, seatbelt buckled at an entirely ornamental angle around their hips, purposefully bored and overdramatically forlorn. There’s a rustle from the front seat as the driver gets out and crosses around to open their door for them, and they sigh and slump even more. Their cane dangles from loose fingers. Maybe if they just stay here they can convince him to take them back to their apartment. They’ve got a Mari to bother, and they’d hate to let her get complacent in their absence.
A hesitant hand touches their arm as though to help them stand, and they turn their head so quickly that their teeth snap together with a clack. The hand retreats quickly enough, but they don’t bother trying to turn their snarl into anything nicer. “Don’t. I’m going, I’m going.”
Their parents just had to buy them tickets - no, actually, just the one ticket, which they’re still miffed about - to some museum tour on a random weekday without even asking first. They could’ve had a gig. Not that their parents would know anything about that, but it’s the principle of the thing.
Well, they’re already here. Might as well see what all the fuss is about. They unbuckle the seatbelt and drag themself out of the car, batting away another proffered hand from the driver when he tries to help them down. The drivers their parents hire are always so… helpful. Overbearing. Polished. Spork leaves their hair a mess and swishes their cane around in a semicircle along the ground, ‘accidentally’ knocking into the driver’s ankle.
“Oops,” they deadpan, adjusting their sunglasses and getting their bearings again. Cars passing by behind them, people walking and talking ahead.
“It’s just this way.” the driver rumbles, too much of a professional to sound offended or hurt. He doesn’t try to grab them again, so they relax their posture from ‘lightly murderous’ to ‘vaguely disgruntled’ and follow him up a couple steps and through a door, presumably into the lobby.
They zone out a little as the details get sorted out, then catch themself and try to pay attention, even if it is just a bunch of meaningless pleasantries and rules and what-have-you. They’ve given up on trying to convince their parents that they have more capability than your average toddler, but that doesn’t mean they can’t at least try to prove them wrong. Soon enough, they have an audio player in their hands and an earbud in their ear, and the driver has returned to whatever it is he does when he’s not patronizing them. Probably driving, if they had to guess.
Oh hey, the audio player has braille on it. They run their fingers along the bumps to decipher it as the tour-guide-lady chatters at them, nodding intermittently up until she tries to take their arm to lead them somewhere. She’s just doing her job, but they still yank their arm away.
“Just walk, I’ll follow. I’m a big girl,” they assure her, balancing it out with a smile when their tone tips too snide. There, perfect. They’re totally winning in all their interactions today.
Maybe they can ditch her. If they knew the layout of the building a bit better they might be tempted to, but for now they don’t really want to walk face-first into any of the exhibits.
The car coasts to a halt smoothly. Spork sits sprawled across the backseat, seatbelt buckled at an entirely ornamental angle around their hips, purposefully bored and overdramatically forlorn. There’s a rustle from the front seat as the driver gets out and crosses around to open their door for them, and they sigh and slump even more. Their cane dangles from loose fingers. Maybe if they just stay here they can convince him to take them back to their apartment. They’ve got a Mari to bother, and they’d hate to let her get complacent in their absence.
A hesitant hand touches their arm as though to help them stand, and they turn their head so quickly that their teeth snap together with a clack. The hand retreats quickly enough, but they don’t bother trying to turn their snarl into anything nicer. “Don’t. I’m going, I’m going.”
Their parents just had to buy them tickets - no, actually, just the one ticket, which they’re still miffed about - to some museum tour on a random weekday without even asking first. They could’ve had a gig. Not that their parents would know anything about that, but it’s the principle of the thing.
Well, they’re already here. Might as well see what all the fuss is about. They unbuckle the seatbelt and drag themself out of the car, batting away another proffered hand from the driver when he tries to help them down. The drivers their parents hire are always so… helpful. Overbearing. Polished. Spork leaves their hair a mess and swishes their cane around in a semicircle along the ground, ‘accidentally’ knocking into the driver’s ankle.
“Oops,” they deadpan, adjusting their sunglasses and getting their bearings again. Cars passing by behind them, people walking and talking ahead.
“It’s just this way.” the driver rumbles, too much of a professional to sound offended or hurt. He doesn’t try to grab them again, so they relax their posture from ‘lightly murderous’ to ‘vaguely disgruntled’ and follow him up a couple steps and through a door, presumably into the lobby.
They zone out a little as the details get sorted out, then catch themself and try to pay attention, even if it is just a bunch of meaningless pleasantries and rules and what-have-you. They’ve given up on trying to convince their parents that they have more capability than your average toddler, but that doesn’t mean they can’t at least try to prove them wrong. Soon enough, they have an audio player in their hands and an earbud in their ear, and the driver has returned to whatever it is he does when he’s not patronizing them. Probably driving, if they had to guess.
Oh hey, the audio player has braille on it. They run their fingers along the bumps to decipher it as the tour-guide-lady chatters at them, nodding intermittently up until she tries to take their arm to lead them somewhere. She’s just doing her job, but they still yank their arm away.
“Just walk, I’ll follow. I’m a big girl,” they assure her, balancing it out with a smile when their tone tips too snide. There, perfect. They’re totally winning in all their interactions today.
Maybe they can ditch her. If they knew the layout of the building a bit better they might be tempted to, but for now they don’t really want to walk face-first into any of the exhibits.
{OOC}Limited - ask to join. It's a public location, but nothing really big is happening so there's not too much draw.
The museum is The Andy Warhol Museum in Pittsburgh. (Don't let Spork fool you it actually looks kind of neat.)
The museum is The Andy Warhol Museum in Pittsburgh. (Don't let Spork fool you it actually looks kind of neat.)