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Post by lai on May 5, 2013 21:23:49 GMT -6
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,bTable][atrb=style, width:300px; background-image:url(http://i.imgur.com/ax8DtgC.png); padding:10px;] do the sweet talk There were plenty of unwholesome things you could call Aster Gardner, but one thing was for certain – she wasn’t lazy. Keeping herself busy was Aster’s way to keep sane – she hadn’t realized it, but the little flower shop that had been reduced to a pile of ashes had made her into something of a busybody. Perhaps that’s why she wasn’t all too outwardly upset about it – Aster wasn’t heartless, she had feelings too – but rather than sit around wallowing in them she kept herself occupied with other things.
Not that it was difficult to find things to do since she’d moved in with Merrill. She hated asking for help, and of course his father wouldn’t hear of having her pay rent (she didn’t exactly have a job at the time anyways), so she made herself useful. It was a wonder how they’d survived, with what seemed like half a brain between the two of them.
She was certainly busy – neither of them could do anything right, and out of frustration of having to see them screw up so frequently and royally, Aster generally did everything herself. Between it all – no matter how much Merrill’s dad pushed it, marriage was the last thing on her mind – she felt like a housewife. But she refused to stay home, hidden away like some precious gem of a lady, all day; and so she’d taken it upon herself to get the farm going again, to farm the best strawberries on the peninsula. Or more accurately, to oversee the farming of the best strawberries on the peninsula.
She did sell them though, and always one for aesthetics, she took it seriously. The flower-arranger in her attached ribbons and flowers and bows to the handles of the baskets she sold them in, and if she found any more free time, she baked – the best strawberry pies on the peninsula – and sold those too.
Provided, that nobody ate her damn pies before she got them to the market.
Aster slammed the fridge door shut, turning with her hands on her hips – there was nobody to see the deathly annoyed look on her face, but there better be someone down here soon, or so help her god. ”Merrill. Where the fuck are you? Get down here.” There was a sort of controlled rage to her voice – she wasn’t yelling, only projecting.
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Post by merrill on May 6, 2013 21:25:23 GMT -6
who will love you? who will fight? [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, width:400px; background-color:E8E8E8; border: double 3px ffffff,bTable] Learning magic on his own was proving to be quite the challenge yet he refused to call his mom and ask for her to teach him. The woman was a major control freak and he had enough long before his dad did. There was no way he was going to ask HER to teach him magic, witch or not. He could always seek out someone in town to teach him if he really wanted to. Of course, he refused to do even that. Merrill wouldn’t have even bothered with magic if Aster hadn’t found out.
She insisted he learn for reasons he didn’t care to know, but since the accident which left the family with a hot pink pig he had opted not to use anything as a guinea pig for his learning purposes. Well, anything but himself, which wasn’t any better. He had taken a break to fill his growling stomach, however, Aster forgot—or just didn’t bother—to make lunch. The only think in the fridge was pie so pie Merrill ate. He took it to his room so he could keep working on the potion he’d been mixing together since morning.
Before he realized it, he had eaten the whole pie. He wasn’t really sure why there was even a pie in the fridge but it was there and he was hungry. It was really good too—Aster probably made it. There was no way his dad made it and he didn’t remember making any pies. He knew better than anyone how terrible a cook his dad was, although he wasn’t any better. Hm. Merrill wondered why she mad the pie but not lunch. Oh well, it was a good substitute.
Once he added a dash of some kind of root, he was sure his potion was ready too! He wasn’t really sure what it was supposed to do but he guessed he’d just have to drink it and find out. The blue haired boy brought the flask to his lips and drank. He then waited and waited for something to happen. Nothing appeared to be happening. That sucked. Merrill heaved a sigh. Why did he suck at this so bad? He didn’t get a chance to think about it once he heard his name being called.
…And it wasn’t a ‘Merril, dear, come down for lunch’ sort of being called, it was a ‘you’re dead Merrill’. A thick lump formed in his through, making it hard to swallow. He almost wanted to hide, but he knew that wouldn’t save him. There was no choice but to go to her. The blunette lifted himself from the chair, descending the stairs with a heavy sense of dread weighing him down. By the time he reached the kitchen, he was beginning to think it wasn’t just dread weighing him down. Ugh. Why did he suddenly feel sick? “Yes Aster?” He croaked. |
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Post by lai on May 6, 2013 23:50:08 GMT -6
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,bTable][atrb=style, width:300px; background-image:url(http://i.imgur.com/ax8DtgC.png); padding:10px;] do the sweet talk Don’t get her wrong, Aster liked her boyfriend just fine. She was harsh on him, but no more than she was with anybody else. And he didn’t seem to mind – not enough to call it quits, at least, and certainly not enough to complain (at least not to her). Aster just wasn’t a sweet or affectionate person – it was a side of her, but one that rarely surfaced. They had already been dating – not for long, but enough that Merrill should have known what to expect when she moved in.
And he definitely should have wised up by now. The thing that Aster liked about Merrill was that he was obedient, that he never tried to prove his dominance or any of that crap. It was all too clear who was in charge, and neither Merrill nor his dad ever really protested Aster taking over their home and their farm. They were probably relieved to have someone who could actually cook. Just because Aster forced them to do work didn’t mean she sat around the house reading magazines and painting her toenails in the meantime. She had spent all of yesterday in the kitchen – baking her damn strawberry pies.
At least Merrill seemed to recognize the urgency – he padded down from his room quickly (though, not quickly enough, Aster thought, in her annoyance). He had been working on his magic – she hoped he was. Since she’d found out that Merrill had the potential, she’d pushed him to actually do something. Truth be told, he was terrible at it but Aster wasn’t a quitter and Merrill wasn’t about to be one either. She was sure with enough hard work he would, maybe, become decent at it. At least it kept him busy.
”Merrill, honey, you know tomorrow I go to the market,” Aster didn’t use pet names unless they were, like now, accompanied with a tone so sweet it could make your stomach turn. ”And you know this week I had pies to sell?” She didn’t bother to wait for answer, ”I spent all day yesterday baking, and, I made twelve pies. Twelve pies that were in the fridge.” She swung open the refrigerator door, though she kept her gaze boring into him – Aster was very well aware of the contents of the fridge already. ”And, unless I’ve gotten stupider by association and forgotten how to count properly, there are eleven today.” Halfway through the mockery of sweetness dropped from her tone, into something very dangerous. She kicked the fridge door to slam shut behind her, and her eyes narrowed, looking to Merrill expectantly. Crossed arms, quirked brow - what do you have to say for yourself? |
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Post by merrill on May 8, 2013 19:15:59 GMT -6
who will love you? who will fight? [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, width:400px; background-color:E8E8E8; border: double 3px ffffff,bTable] Whether it was the pie or his concoction, Merrill suddenly wasn’t feeling well. A nauseating bubbling started up in his stomach, accompanied by a terrible ache and chills. He was pretty sure he had begun to sweat. Despite all the discomfort and nausea, he was more concerned with the sickeningly sweet tone Aster used to address him. His pink haired girlfriend NEVER spoke like that unless she was angry. Merrill realized why immediately, face paling three shades.
Oh no. He completely forgot she had planned to sell those pies at the market. The blue haired teen was doomed. Doomed. Taking a step back, he threw up his hands against her imposing wrath. “N-Now Aster, y-you don’t really need twelve pies, do you? I’m sure eleven will sell just as well as twelve.” He swallowed, realizing his comment had implications that he ate the confection when he preferred she didn’t know it was him. “I-I mean,” He scratched his check, averting his gaze.
“Whoever ate it probably didn’t even know so it’s no reason to be mad.” A nervous chuckle escaped his lips, loud and obviously forced. Merrill wasn’t very skilled at lying so he really shouldn’t have thought his little rouse was going to be the least bit convincing. At least he tried right? He deserved an A for his effort, right? His stomach rumbled as if reminding him of his queasy stomach. “W-Well, if that’s all… I have to go back to practicing.” He slowly backed away from Aster, never turning his back to her.
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and who will fall far behind? [newclass=.sink]width:100px; height:100px; background-color: 87AEE8; padding:5px; border: double 5px ffffff; margin:10px; float:left[/newclass][newclass=.solace]width:400px; color:ffffff; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; text-transform:uppercase; letter-spacing:4px[/newclass][newclass=.wreck]width:225px; color:757480; background-color:ffffff; padding:10px; float:right; opacity:0.5; text-align: justify; font-family:arial; line-height:11px; font-size:10px[/newclass]
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