Jun. 29th, 2014

mizzy: (tw: allison blue)
Each Sunday, post six sentences from a writing project -- published, submitted, in progress, for your cat -- whatever.


"Post for you," Albie calls, sing-song, hovering at the threshold of the door. As usual she's treated to the sight of her father's broad shoulders, hunched over the desk, tense with stress. His gaze seems to be fixated on the computer monitor, but Albie's eyesight is eternally poor, and she can only make out the vague outlines of what looks like a map. She waits a few beats before raising her voice, "Dad."
Joshua Yates had never been particularly fast at anything, but the speed he shuts down the window he's looking at is so fast that Albie would suspect he was watching porn if a) she hadn't caught the glimpse of the countour lines of a map, and no map Albie's seen has been NSFW material and b) if she ever liked to think of sex and her parents in the same sentence, which no, she did not. He doesn't even bother properly turning to face her, even though his chair is one of those wheeled, rotatable office variety chairs.


"You could have just said he was your boyfriend," Malia says. "I'm not that desperate."
Stiles isn't entirely to blame for the way the Jeep swerves a little bit. Lydia turns a snicker into a cough that she muffles into her hand.
"There's lots of other cute boys in Beacon Hills," Malia carries on. "Besides," she adds, eyeing Kira sideways, "I might be into girls now."

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