Dance Studio: Audrey C./Open
Audrey would meet up with Ziya soon, but for now? Audrey needed to calm her introverted nerves. Parties in the safety of her own home were one thing, this was another.
Even in a spacious mansion parties could be overwhelming, even as nice a party as this one. It wasn't as though Audrey was unfamiliar with the place after all. The dance studio was one of her favorite spots for a number of reasons, mainly because not many people ventured to this part of the house. It was such a lovely night they had straggled to the living room, the kitchen and the patio where the lights lit up against the backdrop of trees and dark lake water.
Tonight the kitchen wasn't her domain. She had no bedroom or basement as a safe haven, but this studio came pretty close. She looked down from above, an uneaten cupcake held between her fingers, arms resting over the wooden rail. It was peaceful, even with the music floating in the air. She turned the confectionery over and over in her hand, distracted. Gold glinted, unnoticed, from her wrist; it was there in a flash and would shimmer out of existence when she looked down, like something forever in the peripheral, never truly seen or thought upon.
She sighed and finally took a bite of red velvet bliss chewing pensively, conversations replaying in her mind again and again. Conversations with Hannah, Noah, Jamie and most recently with Si. For someone who didn't talk often she certainly had a grand propensity for saying --or doing--the wrong thing time and time again. Foot in mouth syndrome. Audrey's nose crinkled, an eternal debate warring inside her. Some things were better when she withdrew into wallflower mode, and at the same time? It was completely, utterly miserable. Another bite. She could imagine kind, amused eyes and a chesire smile that only ever gave glimpses of its potential, never fulling reaching the expanse of his face. Audrey huffed and shoved that day dream far, far down.
Those things were not for her to touch. Her hair fell forward, tickling her arms as she ate, the tip of her yellow flats tapping idly against the floor trying to disperse the fog of thought in her head, away with you worries, boys and black books. Away, away and away.