Dia slumps forward onto her desk, frustrated groan buried behind her arms. The pen slips from between her fingers in a moment of neglect, clattering to the floor. She hears it roll all the way to the other side of the room, and only heaves out another groan.
"Honestly, what is this," she moans, lifting her head just enough to be able to see above her crossed arms. The open notebook before her is an unsightly jumble of scribbles and scratches, not a single line free of annotations or strike-throughs. The page before it is just the same, as is the one before it, and the three before that.
She refuses to call it a writer's block. It's simply that she holds herself to exceptionally high standards. This upcoming concert, in particular, will be their first performing in sub-units -- that means she has to write a song that won't just flawlessly capture the essence of Azalea, but will stand out among the other two groups as well. Something that will leave a strong impression in people's memories. Something...
Well, something that's not this, that much Dia knows.
Flipping the notebook shut, she reaches for her phone. The Azalea group chat has about a dozen unread messages: Kanan and Hanamaru cheering her on before moving on to discuss possible outfit designs. The conversation concludes, as if to rub salt in her wound, with 'I guess we can't really know what'd be best until we know what kind of song we're doing!'
Kanan's cheery dolphin sticker does nothing to alleviate the sting.
"I'd like to know that, too," Dia mutters through a scowl, tapping the conversation closed without a response. She appreciates their support, of course, and they are doing the best they can... but they're absolutely no help to her right now. Previous attempts in consultation yielded well-intentioned but ultimately unproductive advice: Kanan's suggestions included 'ocean', 'water', 'swimming', and 'diving' ("Haha... sorry, you know I'm no good at this stuff"), and brainstorming with Hanamaru sent them down a two-hour association chain that somehow resulted in a sci-fi adventure scenario featuring astronaut zebras hunting for magic crystals in space. The lyric submission deadline is this coming Friday-- she really can't afford to be wasting so much time. But she's been making no progress on her own, either...
Perhaps she'll take a moment to check on the competition, then. Opening a new chat window, Dia sends out:
Good evening, Mari-san. I trust you've been having a frugal Saturday?
no subject
Dia slumps forward onto her desk, frustrated groan buried behind her arms. The pen slips from between her fingers in a moment of neglect, clattering to the floor. She hears it roll all the way to the other side of the room, and only heaves out another groan.
"Honestly, what is this," she moans, lifting her head just enough to be able to see above her crossed arms. The open notebook before her is an unsightly jumble of scribbles and scratches, not a single line free of annotations or strike-throughs. The page before it is just the same, as is the one before it, and the three before that.
She refuses to call it a writer's block. It's simply that she holds herself to exceptionally high standards. This upcoming concert, in particular, will be their first performing in sub-units -- that means she has to write a song that won't just flawlessly capture the essence of Azalea, but will stand out among the other two groups as well. Something that will leave a strong impression in people's memories. Something...
Well, something that's not this, that much Dia knows.
Flipping the notebook shut, she reaches for her phone. The Azalea group chat has about a dozen unread messages: Kanan and Hanamaru cheering her on before moving on to discuss possible outfit designs. The conversation concludes, as if to rub salt in her wound, with 'I guess we can't really know what'd be best until we know what kind of song we're doing!'
Kanan's cheery dolphin sticker does nothing to alleviate the sting.
"I'd like to know that, too," Dia mutters through a scowl, tapping the conversation closed without a response. She appreciates their support, of course, and they are doing the best they can... but they're absolutely no help to her right now. Previous attempts in consultation yielded well-intentioned but ultimately unproductive advice: Kanan's suggestions included 'ocean', 'water', 'swimming', and 'diving' ("Haha... sorry, you know I'm no good at this stuff"), and brainstorming with Hanamaru sent them down a two-hour association chain that somehow resulted in a sci-fi adventure scenario featuring astronaut zebras hunting for magic crystals in space. The lyric submission deadline is this coming Friday-- she really can't afford to be wasting so much time. But she's been making no progress on her own, either...
Perhaps she'll take a moment to check on the competition, then. Opening a new chat window, Dia sends out:
Good evening, Mari-san.
I trust you've been having a frugal Saturday?