Lisa had been having a little bit of a stressful week, if she were being honest. After the thing with the earrings Sunday, she'd done equal parts mild handywoman work putting up a few cheap security cameras, and research into the song "she'd" played at that concert. The former had been easy enough given a stepstool, and Lisa could privately admit she'd never been so happy for her phone not to tell her something.
No, she was here this morning because she needed to do a little more research, and armed with a somewhat imposing Japanese-English dictionary and a plastic bottle full of lemonade, she'd slid into a chair at the table with an undignified huff, messenger bag softly plopped onto the table with the rest of her things. She'd come to find a little bit of solace in the earrings from the other day, now, and she relaxed a little as their weight shifted as she rummaged through her bag and pulled out a spiral notebook with a (somewhat roughly) hand-drawn symbol of a rose in blue ink, and a small sheaf of sheet music, largely blank. A few notes were filled in, but the most obvious mark was the title "LOUDER" boldly written across the top of the first sheet.
She'd gotten to the point of giving the lot a blank, lost stare before a voice close by requested a pen. She immediately went back to her bag, absently answering, "I'm not certain I have one, but I can check," as she emerged with a handful of utensils - a well-worn gel pen, a woodcase pencil, and a plain black pen, the last of which she offered across the table. "Mm, here," she prompted, before she stopped cold. I always carry half a dozen pens, why did I say that? She shook her head, wrote it off as a bad brain moment, and smiled up at the person asking for the item.
library, let's say Thursday;
No, she was here this morning because she needed to do a little more research, and armed with a somewhat imposing Japanese-English dictionary and a plastic bottle full of lemonade, she'd slid into a chair at the table with an undignified huff, messenger bag softly plopped onto the table with the rest of her things. She'd come to find a little bit of solace in the earrings from the other day, now, and she relaxed a little as their weight shifted as she rummaged through her bag and pulled out a spiral notebook with a (somewhat roughly) hand-drawn symbol of a rose in blue ink, and a small sheaf of sheet music, largely blank. A few notes were filled in, but the most obvious mark was the title "LOUDER" boldly written across the top of the first sheet.
She'd gotten to the point of giving the lot a blank, lost stare before a voice close by requested a pen. She immediately went back to her bag, absently answering, "I'm not certain I have one, but I can check," as she emerged with a handful of utensils - a well-worn gel pen, a woodcase pencil, and a plain black pen, the last of which she offered across the table. "Mm, here," she prompted, before she stopped cold. I always carry half a dozen pens, why did I say that? She shook her head, wrote it off as a bad brain moment, and smiled up at the person asking for the item.