[color=336699]"Cry, baby cry... Make your mother sigh." Veronica's fingers moved effortlessly across the strings of the guitar, strumming out one of her favorite Beatles songs. "She's old enough to know better..."
In a few minutes, she knew, someone would come in the door and laugh at her, or - even worse - sing along. She shuddered at the thought, considering stabbing them in the eyes with the pick she had laying on the counter. Idiots. She shook her head, continuing the song. "The king of Marigold was in the kitchen, cooking breakfast for the queeeen... The queen was in the parlor, playing piano for the children of the king."
Although playing the guitar came naturally to her, like most everything else, she worked on it quite a bit, until she could honestly call herself good. Her voice was wavering, haunting, darting in and out of the verses just how it should be sung. "Cry, baby, cry... Make your mother sigh... She's old enough to know better, so cry, baby, cry."
She took a deep breath, suddenly realizing she was silently doing just as the song suggested. She swept the tears away with her fingers, frowning slightly. Why was she crying? She wasn't homesick, no... She hated her life back home, with the overprotective parents and the idiotic peers. Honestly, she didn't give half a crap for anyone back home, and she knew they felt the same for her. They'd probably already forgotten her, by now.
She pulled her legs up on the desk she was sitting on and crossed them, chewing on her lip thoughtfully. And it wasn't that she was unhappy here, either... Although she'd been at the school a month with still no friends, it wasn't as if she'd had it any better back home. She was doing wonderfully well in her classes, could roam around anywhere she wanted, and her parents sent her enough money that she could buy anything she wanted.
Maybe she was just getting spoiled. She wiped the tears away again, sniffing quietly and placing her hand back on the frets of the guitar. Where was she...?[/color]
In a few minutes, she knew, someone would come in the door and laugh at her, or - even worse - sing along. She shuddered at the thought, considering stabbing them in the eyes with the pick she had laying on the counter. Idiots. She shook her head, continuing the song. "The king of Marigold was in the kitchen, cooking breakfast for the queeeen... The queen was in the parlor, playing piano for the children of the king."
Although playing the guitar came naturally to her, like most everything else, she worked on it quite a bit, until she could honestly call herself good. Her voice was wavering, haunting, darting in and out of the verses just how it should be sung. "Cry, baby, cry... Make your mother sigh... She's old enough to know better, so cry, baby, cry."
She took a deep breath, suddenly realizing she was silently doing just as the song suggested. She swept the tears away with her fingers, frowning slightly. Why was she crying? She wasn't homesick, no... She hated her life back home, with the overprotective parents and the idiotic peers. Honestly, she didn't give half a crap for anyone back home, and she knew they felt the same for her. They'd probably already forgotten her, by now.
She pulled her legs up on the desk she was sitting on and crossed them, chewing on her lip thoughtfully. And it wasn't that she was unhappy here, either... Although she'd been at the school a month with still no friends, it wasn't as if she'd had it any better back home. She was doing wonderfully well in her classes, could roam around anywhere she wanted, and her parents sent her enough money that she could buy anything she wanted.
Maybe she was just getting spoiled. She wiped the tears away again, sniffing quietly and placing her hand back on the frets of the guitar. Where was she...?[/color]