people watching [open]

seven was not particularly fond of skiing, but seeing as her father ran harriman, she was rather obligated to go on the annual ski trip. she did, however, adore the snow, and maine, and thusly she was content to enjoy the lovely maine weather without forcing herself out on her coltish limbs to fall down a mountain. thus it was that, with her hair hanging around her ears and face underneath her cream vintage hat, a white frock with a festive red pinafore overtop, opaque white tights and red mary janes, seven was feeling quite festive to counter her typically reclusive mood.

carrying her big turqouise typewriter with her, almost the size of its bearer, seven carefully moved towards the starlight lounge. having already braved the stairs with the behemoth after tiring of waiting for the elevator, her arms were beginning to tire just slightly, and the haven of a very nearby fireplace, armchair, table combo at the near edge of the room was practically beckoning her name out loud. slung over her shoulder was an enormous mary poppins-esque white and floral print satchel filled to bursting with all sorts of paper both blank and bearing words.

finally reaching the comfy chair, seven set her bag down at her feet, pulling a small coffee table up that rested perfectly in front of her as a desk. opening her typewriter travel case, she propped up the lid behind the actual typewriter, slid a sheet of paper in, and turned her blue eyes onto the unsuspecting public before her. what to write, what to write...

this was one of her most favorite activities. her tiny fingers resting on the keys, twitching excitedly as they waited for a person, people to jump on, to invent a story for. finally she spotted them; a canoodling couple, presumably honeymooning, in the corner. with a flash of imagination, she was off.

'as she sat in the rich lounge midday, just after lunch, of a lovely maine ski resort, mrs. somebody, having been of that title only a few days, had only just begun to realize over a hot chocolate and yet another conversation of her uppity and fat husband prattling on about god knows what that she had perhaps made a very horrible mistake.' seven typed diligently, the clacking loud as the words whizzed by in their beautiful old-fashioned ink type, a wry ghost of a smile on her lips as she let her eyes turn back to the seemingly happy couple, the man giving the woman an eskimo kiss, the woman giggling and kissing his brow happily.

'as he rubbed his horrendous, bulbous nose upon hers, the newly mrs. somebody, formerly humbert, could only think god! how repulsive is this husband of mine, and perhaps i should have told him before our wedding that i am no longer in love with him, but have been carrying on a steamy affair with his best man for some months now.' with a cynical chuckle seven continued in the unhappy tale of mrs. somebody for a few minutes, until the couple got up to move and she had typed a whole page, ending with. 'ah, well. divorce is so expensive nowadays. perhaps if i'm lucky, i'll be a young widow before the trip is out. he's really a dreadful klutz...'

"well that's not very nice." scorned Thom, hovering over Seven's shoulder, not quite a devil or an angel. He had snuck up behind her and had been reading every word as she typed it, aware of her targets and quite amused at her displays of fictional schadenfreude. "I mean, how do you know they're newlyweds in the first place? they look too old to me. And he's really not that fat, he's just a little rotund."

Thom took advantage of Seven's shock-induced speechlessness and pulled another chair up next to her, plopping down and raising his hand to indicate some more intriguing subjects. "Now look at him. He's probably one of those Russian spy types, putting polonium in someone else's drink. Why not write about that?" Thom was indicating a slightly suspicious man in sunglasses, sitting at a bar and surveying his surroundings. His glare crawled toward Thom's finger, and Thom quickly shifted it and looked away, acting as if he had been indicating the bartender. "See, there's exciting stories everywhere. Why pretend life sucks when it already does?"

Thom proceeded to focus on other seemingly random people throughout the starlight lounge, acting as if Seven were not there at all, and taking notes in a small composition book he had extracted from his bookbag.

the voice over her shoulder very suddenly startled seven, and she physically jumped as she was reaching to remove the page from her typewriter. it took her a while for her to recognize the voice, and immediately it forced her blood to simmer on its way to a steady boil. thom. of course it was, who else would it be bothering her peace? plucking the page angrily from her typewriter and setting it down on the table. a waiter passed, and she tersely ordered a hot cocoa.

"must you irritate me while we're on holiday, thomas?" she asked, extreme annoyance in her voice as he pulled a chair up next to her, the haughty little jerk, and pulled out his stupid little composition book. "and it is really obvious that they are honeymooning- no couple that wasn't just hitched canoodles like that. it's obscene!"

as the waiter brought her a mug of piping hot cocoa with marshmallows on the top, seven had just loaded a new sheet of paper. tenderly she took up the cocoa, blowing on it carefully and taking a tentative sip. still pretty hot... she decided to give the cocoa a moment to cool, and turned her attention back to her typewriter.

"anyways, a spy, thom? that's completely droll. you're such a little boy." annoyed, pursing her lips as she scanned the room for a new story. "there are not exciting stories everywhere. you have to make life exciting; you simply cannot trust it to do it on its own."

her muse was completely destroyed, but out of spite, seven was searching desperately for a story out of the crowd before her. it was true, the guy at the bar looked a little like a spy. and a spy would be a pretty interesting story. but there was no way she could possibly pick that now that thom had brought it up. unwillingly, she settled on the rich-looking girl holding a small dog on the couch near them.

'the young heiress surveyed her peasants haughtily, her velour tracksuit as heinous as the window hangings on her right.'