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Smol Dangans Top level
Jun. 27th, 2016 05:58 pm[these public events have been coming increasingly common since her book has been published, and she hates them.
her agent always tells her that these things are necessary to get her books to be popular; she's not even sure she likes that. to be recognized as intelligent, for once, is something alien and exciting; but adults don't expect her stutter, or the manner in which she shies away from men, or the sharp, piercing glares she is still capable of throwing.
touko is finally successful, but she's already tired of the attention. she just wants to write, and be left alone. but now that her parents have learned she's a potential source of income--well, they've decided not to let go of that. and honestly, she appreciates the opportunity to better hone her craft.
this particular gala is a specific celebration for her--well, young japanese authors in general, but she's the guest of honor. japan's youngest author, a rising star, proof of the exceptional japanese literary tradition--she tunes them out, after a while. her hair is down for once, gently teased into soft curls by some woman who'd smelled of perfumes that made touko's nose itch. she had been nice, though, much gentler than touko's mothers tended to be with her braids. she's not exactly comfortable in the gown that her agent had chosen--a pale lilac color--but it was simple enough, and went down to her ankles, the length she much preferred.
and he'd listened to her when she'd said no to the heels. her flats were elegant enough, she supposed, but comfortable.
many other young girls might have felt like a princess, being so dolled up, being honored. but touko slouched in her sheet, traced characters onto the tablecloth in front of her, and waited for the speeches to be over. after all, the faster she could steal away, the faster she could get back to writing; the faster she could pretend to be anyone but herself.]
her agent always tells her that these things are necessary to get her books to be popular; she's not even sure she likes that. to be recognized as intelligent, for once, is something alien and exciting; but adults don't expect her stutter, or the manner in which she shies away from men, or the sharp, piercing glares she is still capable of throwing.
touko is finally successful, but she's already tired of the attention. she just wants to write, and be left alone. but now that her parents have learned she's a potential source of income--well, they've decided not to let go of that. and honestly, she appreciates the opportunity to better hone her craft.
this particular gala is a specific celebration for her--well, young japanese authors in general, but she's the guest of honor. japan's youngest author, a rising star, proof of the exceptional japanese literary tradition--she tunes them out, after a while. her hair is down for once, gently teased into soft curls by some woman who'd smelled of perfumes that made touko's nose itch. she had been nice, though, much gentler than touko's mothers tended to be with her braids. she's not exactly comfortable in the gown that her agent had chosen--a pale lilac color--but it was simple enough, and went down to her ankles, the length she much preferred.
and he'd listened to her when she'd said no to the heels. her flats were elegant enough, she supposed, but comfortable.
many other young girls might have felt like a princess, being so dolled up, being honored. but touko slouched in her sheet, traced characters onto the tablecloth in front of her, and waited for the speeches to be over. after all, the faster she could steal away, the faster she could get back to writing; the faster she could pretend to be anyone but herself.]
