B. Davis

Brooke had graduated to opening the door. Because the common room was where the ice cream was and she'd felt in desperate need of it and if she'd made it that far, well, why not leave the door open? She'd just be sitting on her bed with her ice cream. Straight from the carton, natch.

After all, it wasn't like she was going to freak out, turn into Jaina, start writing things on her mirror in lipstick and buy a gun, right? That would be crazy. In high school, you worked through the trauma.

[Door and post are open, but mainly I had to mock canon.]

Brooke didn't have classes today, so she'd decided to sleep in. After all, with all the sunbathing, boys, talking with friends, drinking, time in the room, more sunbathing, even more drinking, shopping, radio, getting to know her fellow students (and teachers) by being friendly, more drinking, getting to know her bedmate, deciding she had some questions for a squirrel and introducing a certain Peter to a few certain Brooke Davissy beach activities, she was a little exhausted. Also, detoxing.

So it was a while before she pulled herself out of bed to get up, shower and get dressed, intending to hit the common room for some breakfast that didn't involve tequila or anything resembling pineapple. When she went to put on her shoes, though, thinking that indoors meant she could still wear something strappy, she was surprised when one tried to hop away from her.

( cut for shoejinx )


[Hi, that was the linkdrop from hell. Establishy!]