[ The town verbally grows in acceptance of the obvious ominous storm that's moving toward them, and Malia prefers that to the fake dispositions of most of its residents. There are more flavorful characters that go against the grain and she gravitates to them upon the happenstance that she learns they arrived there exactly as she did.
Out in the morning, she sticks to the shops to try to learn more. Yet, 'worse' isn't very specific, is it?
When the hail starts, she's just gone inside, but the appearance of the weather doesn't dissuade her. In fact, she intends to step out into it, wanting to gauge how bad it might be. Steps out, most of her body still inside as she holds the door open, one hand reaching out to be pelted by one of the larger pieces of hail. She cries out, grimacing and pulling back, stepping back and letting the door shut. Front of her body streaked from the rain. Oops. Staring outside with a furrowed brow. Finally, she turns to actually looks around.
Where is she? It smells...not so horrible. Warmth. Nice aromas, and something's baking somewhere, but the decor of the place is unlike anywhere she's seen before. ] What the hell is this place? [ A tea room, Malia. Have you no culture at all? Who else could be there? Are they mad if she let water pool in through the door as she tested the outside for safety? Or maybe uncertain that she's asking about the place she went into. ]
17th
[ She's drawn to the evening's festivities as much as the ones in the sunny hours of the day.
However. Not everyone thinks that Malia should be there. How old is she, she's asked? ] What does it matter to you? Do I look like I'm trying to drink anything? [ Is this worker (or another resident, unwilling or otherwise? OOPS) of the family fun time after-party moving to lay a hand on her shoulder? They are. Oh. She reaches to grab it. ] No. You can't tell me what to do. What are you, the sheriff? [ With that accompanied by a deluge of feeling like she's absolutely an adult which is so what any mature adult would think, her eyes flash electric blue for a second at them, nodding and dropping their hand away. ] Go do something useful. Like kick people out of the party who actually deserve to be. [ Are they still advancing on her? Hopefully not, because she's walking away to look around at the less annoying patrons of the party. She's eighteen: she can do what she wants! Plus, no drinking. She can't get drunk. What's the point? ]
Malia Tate | 16th and 17th | Open
[ The town verbally grows in acceptance of the obvious ominous storm that's moving toward them, and Malia prefers that to the fake dispositions of most of its residents. There are more flavorful characters that go against the grain and she gravitates to them upon the happenstance that she learns they arrived there exactly as she did.
Out in the morning, she sticks to the shops to try to learn more. Yet, 'worse' isn't very specific, is it?
When the hail starts, she's just gone inside, but the appearance of the weather doesn't dissuade her. In fact, she intends to step out into it, wanting to gauge how bad it might be. Steps out, most of her body still inside as she holds the door open, one hand reaching out to be pelted by one of the larger pieces of hail. She cries out, grimacing and pulling back, stepping back and letting the door shut. Front of her body streaked from the rain. Oops. Staring outside with a furrowed brow. Finally, she turns to actually looks around.
Where is she? It smells...not so horrible. Warmth. Nice aromas, and something's baking somewhere, but the decor of the place is unlike anywhere she's seen before. ] What the hell is this place? [ A tea room, Malia. Have you no culture at all? Who else could be there? Are they mad if she let water pool in through the door as she tested the outside for safety? Or maybe uncertain that she's asking about the place she went into. ]
17th
[ She's drawn to the evening's festivities as much as the ones in the sunny hours of the day.
However. Not everyone thinks that Malia should be there. How old is she, she's asked? ] What does it matter to you? Do I look like I'm trying to drink anything? [ Is this worker (or another resident, unwilling or otherwise? OOPS) of the family fun time after-party moving to lay a hand on her shoulder? They are. Oh. She reaches to grab it. ] No. You can't tell me what to do. What are you, the sheriff? [ With that accompanied by a deluge of feeling like she's absolutely an adult which is so what any mature adult would think, her eyes flash electric blue for a second at them, nodding and dropping their hand away. ] Go do something useful. Like kick people out of the party who actually deserve to be. [ Are they still advancing on her? Hopefully not, because she's walking away to look around at the less annoying patrons of the party. She's eighteen: she can do what she wants! Plus, no drinking. She can't get drunk. What's the point? ]