Post by søren teodor of norway on Aug 22, 2012 0:01:29 GMT -5
[style=width: 300px; height: 270px; background-color: cccccc; opacity: .7; padding: 5px; overflow: auto; text-align: justify; line-height: 95%; font-size: 9px; font-family: arial; text-transform: lowercase]If there was fun going down somewhere, no matter how childish and immature that fun may be, Soren was sure to be in close proximity to it, or at least, on his way towards it. When the Vineheart staff had announced that their before-spring-break activity was going to be a carnival, a real honest to God carnival, not some mock-up created in the gym, but a real one with rides and actual prizes, Sor had been half-tempted to offer his services as a clown. But as he hadn’t actually been to a carnival, or even a street fair, since starting school, he knew his best bet was to enjoy it simply as a guest rather than burden himself with a job that he’d probably be horrible at. Clowns, after all, were known for their more simplistic humour, nothing like Soren’s biting wit and sarcastic quips that came at the most inopportune moment, for everyone else, that is. Clearly, had Soren really done it, the only person he’d really be amusing would be himself, and the few others that shared his peculiar and specific sense of humour, but even his funny bone could enjoy a good carnival when the opportunity arose. Fruitful for him, but for few others. The decision to just meander around like just another student was certainly much better.
The last carnival he could remember attending was a street fair in Stavanger that he’d managed to convince his parents to let him attend when he’d been eleven with a cousin who lived in the area. At the time he’d been far too enraptured with the glittering lights and the surreal amount of sound to really appreciate the experience for what it had been. Yet he remembered it fondly, especially the moments after he and his cousin had gotten off the Tilt-a-Whirl and both young boys had immediately run for the nearest trash cans, laughing raucously afterwards and swearing that they’d never do that again, only to find themselves in much the same situation not fifteen minutes later after spinning a little too quickly on the Teacups. At least this time around he was older, knew what to expect and how to deal with the excitement ... and he had a slightly stronger stomach. Except he was staying away from those damned teacups, they were nothing but trouble.
Making a quick decision to forgo a jacket even if it was only March and winter was just starting to release its clutches on Mother Nature, it took Soren no less than five minutes to throw on clothes and head out the door. He’d grab a hot dog or something for lunch at the carnival since he really didn’t feel like stopping at the cafe. Besides, if he was going to have the carnival experience, he was going to do it one hundred percent, greasy hotdogs and all. There would certainly be no lack of food; Vineheart was notoriously known for always keeping their students well fed. He wouldn’t be surprised if the carts were full of gourmet hotdogs with ridiculous toppings, even when all he wanted was a weeny on a bun with maybe some mustard and relish, and onions if he was feeling particularly adventurous.
Clearly he wasn’t the only one excited about the carnival, he noticed as he made his way to the front lawn. There were more students scattered on the grass than he was sure he’d ever seen before and even more were winding through the stands and stalls, playing games and winning prizes. Impressive, he noted after glancing down at his watch, not even a half-hour in and the events were in full swing. Soren was itching to try everything, but first things first and before his stomach start growling, he needed food. Meandering over to one of the food carts, he spotted a familiar, pretty blond head amongst the masses. “Sofia,” he said, raising his voice over the sound of the commotion, just enough to catch her attention.
The last carnival he could remember attending was a street fair in Stavanger that he’d managed to convince his parents to let him attend when he’d been eleven with a cousin who lived in the area. At the time he’d been far too enraptured with the glittering lights and the surreal amount of sound to really appreciate the experience for what it had been. Yet he remembered it fondly, especially the moments after he and his cousin had gotten off the Tilt-a-Whirl and both young boys had immediately run for the nearest trash cans, laughing raucously afterwards and swearing that they’d never do that again, only to find themselves in much the same situation not fifteen minutes later after spinning a little too quickly on the Teacups. At least this time around he was older, knew what to expect and how to deal with the excitement ... and he had a slightly stronger stomach. Except he was staying away from those damned teacups, they were nothing but trouble.
Making a quick decision to forgo a jacket even if it was only March and winter was just starting to release its clutches on Mother Nature, it took Soren no less than five minutes to throw on clothes and head out the door. He’d grab a hot dog or something for lunch at the carnival since he really didn’t feel like stopping at the cafe. Besides, if he was going to have the carnival experience, he was going to do it one hundred percent, greasy hotdogs and all. There would certainly be no lack of food; Vineheart was notoriously known for always keeping their students well fed. He wouldn’t be surprised if the carts were full of gourmet hotdogs with ridiculous toppings, even when all he wanted was a weeny on a bun with maybe some mustard and relish, and onions if he was feeling particularly adventurous.
Clearly he wasn’t the only one excited about the carnival, he noticed as he made his way to the front lawn. There were more students scattered on the grass than he was sure he’d ever seen before and even more were winding through the stands and stalls, playing games and winning prizes. Impressive, he noted after glancing down at his watch, not even a half-hour in and the events were in full swing. Soren was itching to try everything, but first things first and before his stomach start growling, he needed food. Meandering over to one of the food carts, he spotted a familiar, pretty blond head amongst the masses. “Sofia,” he said, raising his voice over the sound of the commotion, just enough to catch her attention.
sofia/rach; 664; click here; epically late, sorry love
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