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A Flawed Verse Watcher

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1. Character Name:
Poesy Peterson
4. Character Profile:
There's a girl who keeps showing up at the book store. She's there right after the sign on the door is flipped from closed to open. The sun is already beating through tinted windows casting shadows along the swept floor where the letters in glass are painted and whomever working behind the counter generally can't even creek their eyes fully open yet. The whole place smells like coffee-sugar heaven as the first pots of the day are put on while the first batches of fresh pastries are being cooked.

Might be different clothes but its the same set up everyday. In between the first step in and on her way to her favorite spot; a thick, dark purple plush chair, black horn rimmed glasses are perched on her nose. They look like they were stolen from some '50's movie set. Silver accents on each corner gleam.

Too fond of black eyeliner and dark eyeshadow a la Elizabeth Taylor in Cleopatra style. Almost. Not quite that bad but it might make a mind wonder if she was using so much to hide behind or make the brown/green of her eyes stand out.

Fond of garnets, there are usually two in her ear and a ring on her finger gleaming lightly as she digs about in her purse. A handmade monstrosity with the bright rainbow lines of space invaders painted on each side. Big enough to hold her laptop, several mole skin journals, favorite dog eared books and pens of all shapes, colored inks and sizes.

Her fingers are forever ink-stained some where. A fleck or a spot. Could catch the blue, black, red or multicolored spatter on fingernail and tips at the flip of pages that happened the instant her backside hit the chair.

She'd been coming here for so long she didn't need to go upfront to order. Whomever was working would mosey that way eventually when they had time. They knew better than to try to strike up a conversation with her. Every time anyone's tried it ended badly. She always looked absolutely terrified of small talk and if pressed, panicked and overwhelmed them with random babbling. She didn't know how to talk to other people.

They were used to her quirks by now, though. The lucky rabbits feet she kept forgetting, the sea salt, split peas or sand around her chair they kept sweeping up. Her habit of painting the tables or random things she brought with her red. They stopped counting the many flat-mirrors she'd sprinkled the place with randomly and didn't even quirk a brow to her love of little bells. She was an odd duck, but harmless.

All she seemed to care about were reading and writing her secrets in between cheap, lined paper.
Artist or Photography credit:
Mia Tyler.
Date Registered:
Aug 24, 2013, 11:21:50 PM
Local Time:
Jan 20, 2019, 02:44:46 AM
Last Active:
Dec 21, 2018, 06:02:19 AM