B. Davis

The school moving was weird. Like, really weird. Brooke didn't get it, and she didn't want to, and she was trying not to think too hard about it.

Except for when she thought that it would be a crime not to take advantage of this. Which was why she spent some time dolling herself up in order to make herself presentable and hit up the Greek nightlife. Maybe *cough* introduce herself to the locals and all.

See, the whole island-moving thing had its perks, beyond the usual jokes.


[Establishy! Yeah, I had to.]

After leaving the sleepover because she'd slept over and now she was up and that meant the sleepover was over, Brooke came back to her room because she needed an outfit that wasn't footie pajamas. Footie pajamas were cool but they were for sleeping and not for wearing out of the house.

So she put on playclothes, though she had a little trouble with the shirt and that was how it ended up on backwards, but she matched so it was okay. And just before she was about to head out the door, out of the corner of her eye she saw the makeup that had been left out on the desk.

Brooke wasn't supposed to wear makeup. Her mom said it would make her look like cheap and not like the sort of girl people would want to hang out with, but her mom wasn't here. She went to the door, stuck her head out into the hall to make sure no grownups would yell at her, and once she knew the coast was clear, she climbed up into the chair and got to work making herself pretty.

[Door and post both open!]

Brooke came back to her room, tossed her purse onto her bed, and then noticed the cleaning supplies already hard at work on the area around said bed. Confused and a little worried that maybe the wrongbad kinds of hallucinogens had been slipped into the water here, she said, very eloquently, "Um."

The cleaning supplied didn't listen, and in fact moved on to start work on the windows.

Okay, probably not hallucinating. Figuring no one would believe her otherwise, she grabbed her camera from the top of her desk and took a couple of pictures before noting, "You missed a spot."

That was when the broom started towards her, and not wanting to get in the way of an angry... cleaning utensil thing while it was working, she told it, "No tip for you," and headed out pretty quickly.


[Establishy.]

Brooke took her time getting ready, which was because most of it was spent either making sure she was wearing exactly the right push-up bra for the dress, and making sure her eye makeup was mask-proof. But at least she knew she looked fantastic, mutual stag date or not.

...That really did sound kind of dirty.

[For Peter, though the roomie's welcome to ping in before. Oh, and door's closed.]

Brooke was seemingly having a staring contest with Suri the egg baby. On one hand, she'd like to go out and do something, but she didn't want to leave Suri on her own, and she didn't want to have to carry her with her everywhere. "This responsible parent thing sucks," Brooke said.

Suri didn't answer. Since Fandom was weird, Brooke was relieved.

"Real babies at least do something," she went on. "There's crying or smiling or something that makes the parent think they're not wasting their time. I assume."

Still nothing. Despite her words, this was a yay.

"You're so cramping my social life," Brooke complained.

[Open if you'd like.]

Okay, the first sewing attempt hadn't gone well. It had gone pretty badly, actually. The SAT-word-prone would have probably called it dismal, but she'd managed a few good designs and that was a start, right? It just meant she was trying to see if she could maybe unstitch what she'd already stitched in hopes of saving the material. This was a lot easier when she could just blow money on anything, though if she had that problem, she wouldn't be doing this in the first place...

And she might have looked over at her phone a couple times in light of a certain voicemail. Shut up, she was thinking.


[Post is open, as is the door. Once a Tree Hill resident, always a walking invitation to come in and rob the place. And I never mixed up my doubles' rooms, really.]

Brooke woke up later than she'd planned, and only because her phone was ringing. After debating for a moment, she picked it up, figuring that she'd just have to listen to it otherwise. "Hello?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "I'm sorry, I thought this was Brooke," Peyton said finally.

"This is Brooke. Who's this?"

"...Peyton. You don't sound like Brooke," said the wrong curly-haired blonde best friend.

What the hell? "Trust me, I sound like me. How did you get this number?"

"My phone," Peyton said slowly. "Look, sorry, I guess the lines got crossed or something."

"Guess so," Brooke said. "Sorry." When she hung up, it occurred to her that this wasn't even her phone. Huh.


[Establishy, unless the roomie wants to ping in. Brooke Davis is now Brooke McQueen from Popular. Whee, excuse to mainline!]

The fact that Brooke didn't go out on her first night in a new town only to wake up nice and hungover meant that she was up surprisingly early on Saturday morning. Surprisingly early for her, at least. And she kind of spent some time rationalizing that she had met plenty of people yesterday, and she didn't want to... something or other. She was bad at rationalizing anyway. She'd just wanted to babble at Peyton for a few hours, especially given the whole Lucas situation. There were no words for that sort of weird.

While she was definitely coming up with things to get up to today, she really had to get her room in order. She'd unpacked yesterday, but today she decided to spend some time getting out her pictures to stick back up on her wall. Just to make things feel a little more like home.

...Okay, make it feel like the home that wasn't new and tiny and in the wrong state and still being unpacked that she had hardly even seen yet.


[Will be a linkdrop. Post is open, so's the door. Please, like anyone on OTH ever closed their doors.
ETA: Subject to SP as I have to go out for a bit.]