- - PUMPKIN SOUP {Pigsday}

[THURSDAY DAVENPORT]

So the Coney Island trip. It was, like. Possibly the best day of his life. Ever. And that included the day that the teachers discovered the Alice in Wonderland mural he and Thursday had painted over the lockers at his old school--actually, you know what, fuck "possibly," that was totally the best day of his life.

The only thing he regretted was that he hadn't kissed Pig.

It was hard to tell, with her. Whether she wanted something or not. Sometimes it really seemed like she did -- other times, it was so hard to tell. He was learning the intricacies of her body language and the subtleties of her expressions as quickly as he could, but he'd been nervous that he might... like... frack things up, because he was really really good at fracking things up. So he hadn't kissed her.

What if she'd wanted him to kiss her? What if he'd been wrong? What if she liked him, too, and now she thought that he didn't like her because he hadn't kissed her at Coney Island? Shit. Shit, shit, this was complicated. He'd never had this many... feelings about one person, like, ever, besides maybe his brother -- but his feelings for Tuesday were so straightforward, so familiar.

This was way different. This was, like, the difference between an acid and a base up in here, some chemistry shit. Like, literally chemistry.

...ew, that sounded like a line out of a romance novel. Right. Moving on.

He'd wanted to make sure they were still... friends, that she still liked him, because he'd had this sneaking suspicion that maybe he'd really messed up and he hadn't realized it and he wasn't going to until Pig looked him in the face and told him he'd really messed up. He'd had all sorts of wacky dreams about it, about a hundred-foot-tall Pig glowering at him and demanding to know why he didn't kiss her, he was supposed to kiss her, or why he hadn't done this or done that or bought her a huge present while they were there or something. Not that either of them had really had a lot of money on hand, but still. The dreams weren't logical. They were just scary.

Either way, to make his subconscious chill the firetruck out, he'd decided to pay his favorite Pig a visit.

His color schemes were still a little... black and white. He hadn't quite gotten the courage back to pull back out that embarrassing yet expert fashionista streak of his. Still a bit too self-conscious. He could still feel the healing wound between himself and his brother. It felt like he was in mourning. It wouldn't be right to dress too loudly, somehow.

Whatever.

Either way, that afternoon, after class, he dropped off his shit in his dorm and trekked all the way over to Pig's, hands in his pockets. He hesitated outside for a moment. What if she wasn't there? What if she didn't want to see him? What if she was busy? What if she was sleeping?

God, freaking stop it, you goon.

Taking a deep breath in and out, he knocked three times on the door. "Rube? It's Oz. You present?"

ooc: outfit

[GEORGIANA 'PIG' SPENCER]

Tuesday didn't know anything about anything, Thursday obviously didn't like her. OBVIOUSLY. He had every opportunity to kiss her. And he didn't. And that was okay. It was really okay, because even if he didn't want to be her boyfriend, he was still a great friend! Her best friend. They were friends.

Just friends.

Great.

She lounged on her bed, trying not to think about how much she fancied her best friend, listening to music. Classes were over, homework was done, and she was utterly bored. She considered calling Thursday, but it would not improve her dreams. Dreams of Thursday without his shirt... And other things. Coney Island had been the most perfect day ever. The only thing that would have brought it over the edge was a kiss, and she had dreamed of every way it could have gone. Long and sensual, quick and sweet, lots of tongue, no tongue, on the neck and collarbone, on her earlobe. Maybe she wasn't his type?

Standing, she examined herself in the mirror. Her breast weren't impressive by any means. All the Spencer women were card carrying members of the itty bitty titty committee. Pig was president. Her hips were wide, and her bottom was full. According to most rap songs, guys were into that, right? Her arms and legs were skinny and knobby, and her lips were far too full. With her hands, covered in green opera gloves, she pushed her breasts up to try and give them some fullness, but puffed at her bangs in the futility.

Liking boys was way too much work. Falling face first back into her bed, she heard a knock at the door. Through the cheap plywood, Pig heard Thursday's voice. How could he ever be mistaken for his brother? Tuesday Davenport was way too sure of himself. He had a saunter to his words, a sort of cheeky bastardness to him. Most girls found it attractive, she supposed, but it wasn't her taste. She liked Thursday's, what had she called it? Understated nobility. His inability to see how amazing he was was as infuriating as it was endearing. "Yeah. Present and accounted for, Ozzie." Rolling out of the bed, she opened her door.

Her dress was no more outrageous than usual. Yellow shorts which hugged that full bottom in ways she didn't even realize, a blue shirt, rainbow socks that came up her thighs, zombie slippers, a pink headband. Just business as usual for Pig. She gave a small smile, smelling the lemon lip balm on her too full lips. "Hey stranger, where have you been? I haven't seen you in a while..." Since Coney Island.

Going back to the bed, she patted for him to come on in. He looked so nice... His muted colours still had a quirky sense she liked about them. And she was positive he didn't need those glasses. Grabbing them lightly, she put them on. "Keepin out of trouble? Decided to give the ladies a rest and come check on little ol' me?" She teased, trying very hard (and failing harder) to put on a Daisy Mae accent. Southern just did not work on her voice. Not at all.

outfit:: Pig outfit.