Who: Mac & Bloo What: Bloo is bored. Mac is reluctant. When: Saturday. Where: Common Room. Rating: t is for topeka, n is for nerd, b is for boring & bloo. er, pg12 at best?
Mac had her hair pulled loosely down. It’s an odd way to begin anything, talking about hair? But it was important because she managed to look like an actual blonde. The dye job, one initiated by one of Bloo’s trauma occurrences, had left Mac looking like a mix matched penguin. The black sections of the flightless bird represent the brunette, the white being the blonde.
Otherwise, she looked horrible most of the days at Cheshire, with blonde “peek-a-boo” hair underneath the mousy brown.
Partly out of blind wandering, journal in pants (literally in her pants), she had slid down into the bathroom floor where she glanced up to see her hair. She had grinned, gripped the upper half of her mouth and made faces. Her tongue had slipped out when she got that feeling. Like her spidey senses were tingling. The next moment she was in the Common Room next. The door gaped open as she slid through in a pathetic attempt at avoiding staff members. They believed those two should be kept away from each other.
But Bloo was her Bloo. It was improper that the thought ever crossed they’re minds, but it did. She blinked rigidly, uncomfortable under the fluorescent lights, and dodged the wave of people – who held expressions from confusion to ignorant bliss – who seemed to come at her in full speed. She was never good in these crowds and felt a voice in the back telling her to run. She lowered her shoulders and walked.
The asylum clothes never fit her properly, slipping down her bony frame, so she gripped her hands around the waist band of the gray pants – hence forth the effect being the journal slipped right down into the floor. It wasn’t that thick a book and with one step plopped off the opening of the left leg pants. She growled and bent down, grabbing the slender manuscript, and looked up.
Bloo went directly in her view, slouched on the sofa of the common room with that expression on her face. That expression was due cause to plenty of grief to Mac’s short life – it was boredom. It, and Bloo herself, were one of the triggers in Mac’s brain that launched her into the universe of Foster’s. She glanced up to see the trio of Wilt, Eduardo, and Coco surrounding herself and Bloo and she frowned a bit, the image of the three dismantling for a spilt second before becoming intense.