in which a girl pines for her lost youth. /open!

[phunke!]

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did

The moment it dawned on Eliana that she had been stood up was, in retrospect, probably not the worst moment of her life. But it may as well have been.
...
It was a lovely wintry day, the kind that lends itself to beautiful scarves and rosy cheeks. Eliana loved these days; the clean, dry air lent itself well to tame curls rather than the frizzy summer mess she felt herself often burdened with. It was a small sandwich shop, the kind with a bell on the door and a warmth in which many people's voices take part; they rise and fall but mostly just sound notes of refuge on a chilly day. Eliana Ledessa, sixteen years and six months and four days, was seated at a two-person table by the window. The large and expressive clock on the wall had recently changed its mind from thinking it was nine forty two a.m. to thinking it was nine forty three. A shaft of sunlight washed through the glass and was caught sideways loitering in the blue of Eliana's eyes. It was why she had sat next to the window.
...
Forty three minutes was too late to be considered running late. Foot tapping in the first twenty had given way to finger kneading in the next ten, then anxious glances over her delicate shoulders and everywhere she could lay her startling (and startled) eyes for another ten. The past three had been spent projecting as strong an aura as possible of a sixteen year old girl who had been asked out on a date by a stunningly mediocre-looking guy and then stood up. An aura of teen devastation.
Eliana ran her left hand through her soft brown curls, twisting them down in the way that indicates distressed anxiety.
...
She had bitten her lip so many times it was a wonder her teeth continued to refuse to be a palate to liberally-applied red gloss. Her cheeks had pink marks from being pressed into her palms with too many sighs to count. Her eyebrows ached lightly from being pushed together in highly-exaggerated perplexed state.
"Oh," she whispered, "my gawd."
If someone didn't take pity on her very pitiable state soon, Eliana inwardly moaned, she would have to leave.
(Most would buy a sandwich, but this was impossible for Eliana; doing so would mock the fantasy of someone buying her one and she was simply not up to that.)

Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

[Morgana]

Thorne Rosalien

I waited for so long
Outside myself.

It fell on him. Crushed him. Poured over him like bricks crumbling from a wall, tumbling down his shoulders and piling at his feet. All of this was his fault. But, like so many other things, he was having time admitting it. It was hard enough having to take care of five younger siblings. Facing his own mortality at the same time didn't help that any.

He really shouldn't have gone to the sandwich shop that night, but he just needed a break from it all. He needed to pretend, for a moment, that things were just like they'd always been, and that he wasn't walking on a tightrope. He wanted to pretend it was still okay to flirt with whoever he wanted to, without being afraid of where it would lead. Mostly, he wanted to forget about all his responsibilities and just be a teenager again. Not an orphan with a pack of starving, rabid children to take care of, and a horrible job that made him feel worse with each passing day.

Thorne bought a ham and cheese sandwich, simply because it was cheap and he didn't have a lot of money. He considered getting some more for the brats, just as a treat, but decided it would be too epensive. He had to save any extra scrap of miney so his siblings would have someting to live off of when he was gone. Once a few months passed by and his condition got worse, the Hunger Games would be considered a mercy. At least that death would be quick. Of course, he'd probably infect anyone that came in contact with his blood. At least he'd keep killing long after he was gone. Leave a legacy, so to speak.

He was about to leave, find a nice bench to sit on where no one would bother him, when he saw her. A girl about his age with pretty brown hair and blue eyes. Exactly the kind of girl he hooked up with. Or at least, would have. Before. Maybe that was enough to make him cover the distance to her table, plop dwn next to her like it was what he'd planning all along, and give her half of his sandwich. "I'm Thorne," he told her. "Mind if I sit here?"

[phunke!]

children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

Eliana was beginning to develop a theory. This theory was that if she ran through a desired scenario in her brain enough times, it would take place eventually.
She was developing this theory due to the fact that a desired scenario she'd just spent twenty-four minutes repeatedly thinking about had reached fruition.
(Really, she'd thought about a cute, tall guy her age sitting down across from her that she wasn't surprised when it happened, despite the fact that its happening at all was a miracle of probability.)
...
Eliana knew what she needed to be at that moment: surprised, friendly, a little flattered. And, of course, she was; just a little less than her wide-eyed, blushing demeanor would indicate. But there was nothing untrue, once her mouth had melted from a perfect o into a half-shy smile, in the "thank ya" she used to repay him for his sandwichy generosity.
The sixteen-year-old watched in a moment of envious rapture as he seated himself across from her, all suave manner and quiet extroversion. It was the kind of air Eliana burned to possess and nearly did despite her lack of a natural knack for it. Yet she drank in his confidence gratefully, too, leaning forward in her chair in the stale light of a slowly-emptying shop; fingered her curls, one elbow propped up on the tabletop, assessing his face with a warm expression that masked the perfunctory coolness of the assessment.
...
"You're fine," she said casually in response to a query of whether she minded his sitting there. "Thorne, huh?" (The way she said his name made it almost two syllables, because she said it sort of like "Thoah" with an n sound at the end. Thoahne.
Eliana had picked up a somewhat odd way of speaking that had traveled down her mother's side, twisting and fading as it did so, until it reached Eliana: she'd liked its peculiarity, deliberately magnified it in her own speech.)
"I'm Eliana. Pleased t'meet'chah."

ooc; oh gosh I'm sorry this is late. :c thank you for being so wonderfully patient!!