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Post by Chiara "Romana" Vargas on Oct 2, 2011 22:12:22 GMT -5
Chiara looked at everything in sight, other than Leonia. She glared at the building across from them, passing pedestrians, and the incests scuttling across the concrete. How do you look at a girl who just told you her mother died, and her father moved her halfway across the world? Then again, if she told someone her story, every detail, how would that person look her in the eyes? Chiara was clueless, and the world was cruel. It enraged her- the harshness of the Universe. It took no pity.
She stood up, searching for something to beat the shit out of. There was a tree a few feet behind the bench that she used to release her rage. Ten solid punches, and four scrapes later, she slumped back on to the bench.
"That's terrible, 'Nia," she grumbled, scowling at some vendor across the street giving her odd looks. "That's fuckin' terrible."
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Post by Leonia Walters on Oct 2, 2011 22:30:32 GMT -5
"I think some things happen for a reason." Leonia looked at Romana debating on whether she should say what she wanted to say. Even though they just met, Leonia felt like she could trust Romana.
She swallowed hard, "I really didn't like my father.. a lot of his ideas were different than mine. But, I didn't think upper state New York was that bad. I mean, I would have stayed if-", her thoughts seemed to slip away as she watched the people walk by. They were all so interesting to look at. Leonia could spend hours on a park bench watching people walk by.
"Well, this city isn't too bad. I like it here. Do you?" |
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Post by Chiara "Romana" Vargas on Oct 3, 2011 15:00:32 GMT -5
Chiara sat, confused for a moment, on what the girl might of trailed off of. It could have been anything. A small part of her honestly hoped, for the sake of this stranger, it wasn't as bad as why she left Spain.
There was a minute where Leonia people-watched, and Chiara glared at anything that passed by her line of sight, which was mainly small children. Then Leonia asked a question, that she wasn't really sure she could answer. "It's good if you're a New York City type of person. You know?" She replied, not looking towards the younger girl.
She did like New York City, but she didn't think that anything she liked about the city, Leonia would want to be exposed to. Not that gang violence wasn't fun for all ages; but the girl seemed a bit too innocent to enjoy the same city experiance she did.
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Post by Leonia Walters on Nov 3, 2011 21:31:49 GMT -5
Leonia noticed Romana glaring at the children who passed by. Perhaps Romana didn't particularly care for children; Leonia didn't, so she could understand where Romana was coming from. Maybe Romana just didn't like people in general, which Leonia could relate to as well. After all, one of the most difficult things to become adjusted to is all the different people there were in the city. "I know exactly what you mean", she smiled to reassure Romana that she knew what the other was talking about, "This place is different than many others, so that must be why there is such a diversity here!"
"I mean, there's lots of things here! There's art, music, a huge library, and... well, uh, other things too!" Truthfully, those were the three reasons why she came to the city, but mainly for art; the other two were bonuses. |
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Post by Chiara "Romana" Vargas on Nov 4, 2011 23:30:25 GMT -5
Chiara snorted in faint amusement. Music, art and books were very nice, if one had the time or money to enjoy them. She assumed Leonia had come here for a career in music or art. The girl looked like an artist; full of life, but with that little edge of pain that every artist she'd ever met had.
Turning her head to face the girl, Chiara replied, "Music and art are great things, but aren't the best thing about the city. I don't really like anything about the city. It's pretty shitty. But I'm here, so I might as well stay." She hoped her lie wasn't very obvious. She actually loved the city. She loved the life, the diversity and mash-up of culture. It was as though her grandfather's library vomited reality. Not that she'd ever admit her love.
"I'm guessing you're an artist, though?" She asked, trying to keep a polite conversation as long as possible. "Or a musician?"
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