Noelle Verre (pasdeverre) wrote in undeadsiegeic, @ 2014-05-11 22:53:00 |
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Entry tags: | noelle, ryder |
WHO: Noelle Verre and Ryder Olson
WHAT: Chance meetings over guitar-playing.
WHERE: Resort, by a pool(?).
WHEN: May 11th, late morning.
It was hard to call anything... good... about sitting on an island that was inhabited with zombies. Acceptable was probably a more appropriate word. But was it enough to call it acceptable, having a should-be-work vacation extended? It was a weird situation. One of those things that even if there was a bright side, it was hard to see. Especially when she thought of all the meetings she was missing. Her father was probably livid. Panicking about having to compensate for her absence and Will's? She could hear his deep, heavy French voice cursing out the poor, poor employees, telling them how much of a disappointment they were and how much slack they'd have to pick up until Will got back to clean up the mess. It wasn't that he was mean, though. He was just under constant duress. That would turn anyone into a monster. Shaking her head—one, two, three times—she looked back down at her guitar. "I was playing something." But with her thoughts running wild, it had broken off into random chord progression. Day two stuff, Noelle, she told herself, turning the knob to re-tune her guitar and counting the strums she made. Making sure she stopped on an even multiple of five, she pulled in a deep breath and started to pluck again. Making her own music wasn't something she did very often. Her condition made it difficult, because she was always over-sticklery for keeping things in a certain meter. Lyn had always told her that she would have been perfect for classical, but she had zero interest in anything that could be considered uniform. The first thing that came to mind was her favorite song. She always got so involved in her music. Such a bad idea in a dead-infested wasteland, Pussycat, Will always told her. He was probably right, of course, but that didn't mean that it was any easier not to lose herself. Escapism. There was a time and a place for it. Was this it? Probably not. But it was too late to turn back now. |