[time stretches by in painfully slow increments. waiting is a special torture but she throws herself in routine, makes sure that even when her eyes trail back to her phone, it isn't for more than a second.
hygiene? check.
uniform on? check.
breakfast made? er, check. technically. her toaster short-circuited last monday, so she's been using the microwave as a substitute for... warming her bread. day by day, sunny is realizing that the microwave is less of a close brother to the toaster and more of a deliberately distant cousin, twice removed. still, as with the growing mold in the corner of the bathroom, or the ominous creaking of the pipes every time she uses the sink, sunny endures.
ding!
her hand flashes out — and completely misses it mark, fingers clumsily hitting the phone's edge, sending it sliding off the kitchen counter and dropping to floor with a clack loud enough to be heard next door.
literally. she can hear the faint sound of someone asking what was that? goddamn it.
kneeling, sunny gingerly turns the phone over in her hands, inspecting it for damage. no cracks at least. a lot of lint clinging to the screen though. she holds the home button, watches her and akira's conversation open.]
...hah. So cute. [and yet sHE HAS NO IDEA HOW TO RESPOND??? if she should respond. a metaphorical fork in the road.
...
face disfigured in a grimace, she taps send.]
[her hands close over her face, as if to shield herself from her own embarrassment. a long, strangled groan escapes her throat and, through the insulation of her wall, someone says, dude, i think our room is haunted.]
gimme the catfe au lait
hygiene? check.
uniform on? check.
breakfast made? er, check. technically. her toaster short-circuited last monday, so she's been using the microwave as a substitute for... warming her bread. day by day, sunny is realizing that the microwave is less of a close brother to the toaster and more of a deliberately distant cousin, twice removed. still, as with the growing mold in the corner of the bathroom, or the ominous creaking of the pipes every time she uses the sink, sunny endures.
ding!
her hand flashes out — and completely misses it mark, fingers clumsily hitting the phone's edge, sending it sliding off the kitchen counter and dropping to floor with a clack loud enough to be heard next door.
literally. she can hear the faint sound of someone asking what was that? goddamn it.
kneeling, sunny gingerly turns the phone over in her hands, inspecting it for damage. no cracks at least. a lot of lint clinging to the screen though. she holds the home button, watches her and akira's conversation open.]
...hah. So cute. [and yet sHE HAS NO IDEA HOW TO RESPOND??? if she should respond. a metaphorical fork in the road.
...
face disfigured in a grimace, she taps send.]
[her hands close over her face, as if to shield herself from her own embarrassment. a long, strangled groan escapes her throat and, through the insulation of her wall, someone says, dude, i think our room is haunted.]