in this world of ordinary people, extraordinary people

[forthsofar]

It felt as though they'd been planning this for months, and in a way they had; the idea of it born from scattered conversations through the winter as they rebuilt their friendship, vague we should dos and have you ever been tos laying out the bones of the idea. It had just been their will to actually carry out said plans that had faded a little as the winter bled into early spring, their time and energy subsumed into more immediate concerns: exams at school, Rosie's preparations for the choir concert, the unsettling strain of all that had happened with (and to) Tim.

With some of that strain now past and the rest of it on its way out, Rosie had begun considering it again, going up to Eponine after dinner a few nights ago with a bright flier in one hand and an oddly nervous flutter in her stomach that she couldn't quite explain. "There's a new exhibit at the museum," she'd said, holding the advertisement out, "if you still wanted to go?"

They'd settled on Saturday afternoon, the forecast having called for rain and a bit of chill. It seemed the perfect sort of weather for staying all day long within the cozy stone walls of the Darrow Art Museum, or huddled inside a booth at Phoenix Records. When the day itself arrived, bright and warm and summerlike, Rosie had to laugh--even as she was determined not to postpone their plans yet again.

Inspired by the delightful surprise and the new lightness in the air, it's easy for Rosie to succumb to the turn of the season and the sense of something beginning; to pull a dress to suit the weather from the back of her closet, to slip her feet into a pair of summery sandals, to fuss with her hair a little more and slick on a new shade of lipstick before admiring herself in the bathroom mirror. And while it's a bit silly given the nearness of Eponine's room to her own, once she's finished getting ready she knocks on her friend's door, just the same as she might if they lived down the street from each other rather than merely across the hall.

"Ready to go?"

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[daughterofawolf]

Eponine hadn't forgotten, exactly, that they kept making plans and not doing them, but they'd both been busy, and she generally thought of Rosie as even busier than she (which she was, to be fair). And plans are fickle things. Eponine knows well that there are many that are only ever an idea, something said in politeness or even real affection, but meant for only the moment more than destined to become a real event.

So when Rosie'd come up to her proffering a flier, it had caught Eponine by surprise a little. So had how warm and nice it felt to be picked out of anyone else to go to something like a museum, and she'd readily agreed and even picked out a date.

Eponine doesn't normally fuss with clothes too much -- her natural style seems to fall into the right balance of feeling pretty, being easily moved in and looking intimidating for what she wants to accomplish. Today, though, she's still examining herself in the mirror, trying to figure out if the corduroy shorts, printed men's buttondown she's buttoned all the way up, rolled up neatly at the sleeves but left untucked, tights and boots are nice enough for the museum and for going out. It doesn't feel quite enough, and she's added and taken away a few accessories already.

There's a knock at the door, then, and she doesn't have much more time to decide; she just makes a face at herself, finishes off her eyeliner and answers the door.

"Ready," she says, throwing it open, and blinks at Rosie. "You look -- lovely," she says, and then grins at herself. "I didn't mean that to come out like it was a surprise. Is that dress new?"