DIAMARI CATCHALL

[prettybomberhead]

because these two need a place to just be over the top losers

Comments

NOT GONNA WRITE YOU A LOVE SONG

[prettybomberhead]

[ but you totally are ]

WAIT THIS ISN'T WHAT I HAD IN MIND

[prettybomberhead]

[ it seemed like a good idea at the time ]

[shinelikea]

For the remainder of the evening, Dia is on cloud nine. At home, Ruby isn't sure what to make of her chipper humming and the periodic, seemingly baseless giggles, most especially in contrast to the indignant storm with which she left the clubroom earlier that day. Dia has no good excuse for almost missing dinner, either. She wants to tell her, and she will-- she just needs a little time to process it herself, first.

But processing can come later. For the time being, she's a giddy, giggly mess -- to the point where she can barely bring herself to mind her runny nose, or the faint itch at the back of her throat.

At least until morning comes, and she wakes up feeling like death itself. Bleary eyes, clogged nose, aching throat, and a listlessness that runs down to her bones, making the mere act of leaving bed a task of garagantuan proportion. The whole grody, disastrous package.

In hindsight, perhaps she ought have let Mari call that car.

As Dia Kurosawa is rarely one to succumb to illness, at first, she's fully intent on heading to school as she is. But Ruby, of all people, gives her an especially stern earful about how she'll only make her condition worse, harm her performance in class and in practice, and risk contaminating those around her. All words Dia recognizes well from her own mouth, but still, the shock of being so thoroughly lectured by her own baby sister is enough to make her fold.

So here she is. Sick, in bed, alone. She's successfully passed a few hours reading and napping, but now she's awake, miserable, and dangerously close to climbing her bedroom walls from sheer boredom. Is this what they call cabin fever? Goodness, it's dreadful. And with practice after school, Ruby won't be back until evening...

For the twentieth time that afternoon, Diw blows her nose. One side is still clogged, the other is leaking. The trash can at her bedside now fosters an awe-striking tissue mountain. Ugh, what a nightmare...

[shinelikea]

If there's one thing that hasn't changed since they were little, it's that Dia remains bound to Mari's whims.

There are few people on this Earth that could coax her out of her home at nine PM on a school night -- as a matter of fact, Mari makes up exactly one half of them. But it's Mari who wanted her over, and so here Dia is, duffel bag slung across her shoulder, knocking on the suite's wooden door barely half an hour later.

She knows it's open. Manners are important.

"I'm here."