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( open ) everything else was just remembering.
It isn't a feeling Sarah is used to anymore.
Boredom.
It has been a long, long time since she's been able to stand still, and she finds, more often than not, she does not know what to do with this stillness. Being on the ship means having an imposed vacation from her real life and her real problems, and while she can't say she's entirely against that - it also feels like hiding. Pretending. Waiting can be more excruciating than having no time at all, and Sarah would know. For the first eighteen years of her life, she thought she wouldn't have the time to wait.
Now she has it to spare, and she is reacquainting herself with pleasures she's forgotten; watching old school movies while indulging in chocolates and staying up late into the night to watch the stars. These pleasures are age-worn in her memory, like a picture that is fading. She also finds, like most people do, some things are like riding a bike. A sketchpad and charcoal pencils have been located, and the rest becomes simple.
There is a bar by the pool and there is a fallen angel by the bar. She holds the sketchpad in one hand and the charcoal pencil in the other, like she is remembering.
She will offer to draw a face portrait to anyone who is interested, like she did the first day she ever arrived to Chicago.
There's a symmetry to that.
( ooc: prose or spam, i will match you! )
Boredom.
It has been a long, long time since she's been able to stand still, and she finds, more often than not, she does not know what to do with this stillness. Being on the ship means having an imposed vacation from her real life and her real problems, and while she can't say she's entirely against that - it also feels like hiding. Pretending. Waiting can be more excruciating than having no time at all, and Sarah would know. For the first eighteen years of her life, she thought she wouldn't have the time to wait.
Now she has it to spare, and she is reacquainting herself with pleasures she's forgotten; watching old school movies while indulging in chocolates and staying up late into the night to watch the stars. These pleasures are age-worn in her memory, like a picture that is fading. She also finds, like most people do, some things are like riding a bike. A sketchpad and charcoal pencils have been located, and the rest becomes simple.
There is a bar by the pool and there is a fallen angel by the bar. She holds the sketchpad in one hand and the charcoal pencil in the other, like she is remembering.
She will offer to draw a face portrait to anyone who is interested, like she did the first day she ever arrived to Chicago.
There's a symmetry to that.
( ooc: prose or spam, i will match you! )
no subject
WAILS, this makes the narration want to throw Adam at her too. HE IS ON THE SHIP.Ethan sees the lack of recognition in her expression, and he keeps the smile on his face which is also subdued but friendly, genuine. It is good to see her even if she doesn't know who he is. It's especially good to see her as old as she is, knowing she lived past what the books would say she could live to.
He also knows what that means and what a loss that must be in a way no one but her will ever know and feel but it is good to see her, living, breathing, with a sketch book in hand and a smile on her face even if that smile is subdued.
"There's quite a lot to be inspired about on the ship so it shouldn't be very long," he says with a sideways smile. "Are you new?"
no subject
She realizes that answer might be a tad confusing, so she elaborates. She really is better than she used to be at striking up conversations with strangers. Or what she thinks is a stranger. "It's not my first time on the ship, but I haven't been here long the second time around. Maybe a couple of days? The door won't budge, though."
And she's already tried everything; she knows that door ain't budging until it wants to.