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intheheartTitle: Beauty
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It's the girl from the party.
It's the girl, the girl from the party, sitting on the stone wall above the riverbank with her blazing crimson hair wrapped up in a shimmering scarf. Gina's told the driver to stop before she even knows what she's doing.
Last night she'd worn a jeweled bandeau over unfashionably long hair, a feather curving up from her ear that bobbed when she laughed, or jigged sideways in a dance. It's pinned up now, almost concealed, wisps feathering out over her ears and forehead. Gina gets out of the car, takes two steps forward, uncertain. She couldn't see the curve of the girl's neck before, the pale skin red and flushed; she wants to bend over, now, and kiss the sunspots.
The girl's hands are graceful and slim, curving around a book, laced between pages. Last night they'd been encased in gloves that Gina wanted to peel off, white and elbow-length and clumsy. Now she lifts a hand to her cheek, laughs again, and strokes a finger down the cover, absently.
Gina takes another step and the girl must hear her this time, because she looks up, and oh, those eyes, they are exactly the same, those shimmering blue eyes and that saucy smile and the catlike face with sharp-point chin—she loses her breath, can't even say hello.
"Hello," the girl says, setting her book down, twisting lithely around over the stone wall. Her skirt catches and rides up, reveals long pale legs before she tugs it down. "You were at the party last night, weren't you? I wanted to talk to you, but you left too soon."
"I had an early day," Gina manages, and the bright smile she gets in return, oh, it could melt her, there on the riverbank in the cool spring air. She takes another step forward, touches her necklace, dips her eyes. "But I did... I did want to talk to you. To meet you, I mean."
"Good," the girl says, "I'm Ivy," and cants her hips towards Gina, an invitation.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It's the girl from the party.
It's the girl, the girl from the party, sitting on the stone wall above the riverbank with her blazing crimson hair wrapped up in a shimmering scarf. Gina's told the driver to stop before she even knows what she's doing.
Last night she'd worn a jeweled bandeau over unfashionably long hair, a feather curving up from her ear that bobbed when she laughed, or jigged sideways in a dance. It's pinned up now, almost concealed, wisps feathering out over her ears and forehead. Gina gets out of the car, takes two steps forward, uncertain. She couldn't see the curve of the girl's neck before, the pale skin red and flushed; she wants to bend over, now, and kiss the sunspots.
The girl's hands are graceful and slim, curving around a book, laced between pages. Last night they'd been encased in gloves that Gina wanted to peel off, white and elbow-length and clumsy. Now she lifts a hand to her cheek, laughs again, and strokes a finger down the cover, absently.
Gina takes another step and the girl must hear her this time, because she looks up, and oh, those eyes, they are exactly the same, those shimmering blue eyes and that saucy smile and the catlike face with sharp-point chin—she loses her breath, can't even say hello.
"Hello," the girl says, setting her book down, twisting lithely around over the stone wall. Her skirt catches and rides up, reveals long pale legs before she tugs it down. "You were at the party last night, weren't you? I wanted to talk to you, but you left too soon."
"I had an early day," Gina manages, and the bright smile she gets in return, oh, it could melt her, there on the riverbank in the cool spring air. She takes another step forward, touches her necklace, dips her eyes. "But I did... I did want to talk to you. To meet you, I mean."
"Good," the girl says, "I'm Ivy," and cants her hips towards Gina, an invitation.
