TORI VAN HUIZEN:
"HOLY SHIT."
The clock read five o'clock in the afternoon. From fuzzy and just-woken to crystal clear clarity, Tori Van Huizen's mind managed to conclude one thing after glancing at the bedside alarm: she had exactly thirty minutes to get ready(cleanse her face, look for her clothes), warm up(a run of at least two miles and stretching), but most importantly — find how the hell she was going to get out of the stranger's bed she was in and a way home.
Thankfully, Tori's pursuit from the night before was in a fetus position on her side of the bed, hands tucked beneath her head of platinum blonde hair like an actual baby, so she didn't have to struggle out of the sheets. Jumping out of bed, her naked form immediately chilled by the near-evening breeze from the open window. Her arms quickly wrapped themselves around her body as her eyes scanned the room. She didn't realize how much of a peace-not-war person the girl was when they stumbled into her room last night. There was even a row of cactus's shelved and a Buddha pillow strewn on the floor. The place screamed hippie.
Tori blamed the margaritas.
Nearly everything in the room was pattern printed, from a russet, tribal tapestry pinned onto the wall to a bohemian, elephant motif-ed carpet. Needless to say, it was a task to find her clothes. But after a minute of squinting her eyes, she found her attire from the previous night. Throwing them on, with her heels in hand and hair in a rats nest, she slipped out of the house.
THEA JENSEN:
THEA'S FEARS WENT WITH THE WIND.
It started like the entrance of a fairytale, a soft tune with cymbals pitter-pattering in the background. Then the trumpets stretched in, and you could almost see a man playing the instrument — slowly pulling back when a note extended, then up and down when it changed.
Her heart wasn't thrumming with nerves anymore, and instead, she felt excitement run through her veins; smooth as silk, but rushing so quick she was nearly dizzy. With her hand gently clasped in Carson's, and his planted on the center of her back, they began to waltz.
Their feet slid across the floor, light and swift, and Thea could just imagine how it'd look in front of an audience; as if they were dancing on air. They followed the grand, pompous music that echoed in the studio — spinning round and round each time the trumpet rose and dipped, but when it's high tune stretched long, they swayed from side to side, as if trees in the wind.
Thea leant her entire weight onto his hand, as if on a roundabout, tilting her head back like she was about to laugh; free and bliss. The waltz was something Carson was an expert at, and something she could pull off with a bit of polishing. So she followed his lead; when he went right, she went right, and when he sped up, she did too.
This was what Thea loved.
Her heart swell with the melody as she closed her eyes, relishing the moment. Her body and limbs were made to speak the tongue of the music, and she was a passionate translator. The tune spilled into Thea like waves filling holes in sand, and she let it take her across the dance floor.
***
random pieces from incomplete work. not poetry, but i thought i'd just put it here.
