Summer Smith (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
somethingwithturquoise) wrote2017-05-08 04:57 pm
somethingwithturquoise) wrote2017-05-08 04:57 pm
Entry tags:
Room 204; Monday Afternoon [05/08].
Summer knew she should probably be out there trying to make new friends, but she just had so much to text to her old friends back home that she was just semi-reclined on her bed, texting away, back and forth about various aspects of what was going on here, there, everywhere. There was also the occasional angry text to her brother (WHERE IS HE, MORTY? YOU HAVE TO GIVE ME SOMETHING, ANYTHING!) which received an aggravated response back (FORGET IT, SUMMER. JUST FORGET IT OK?), and, while she texted, she was also thinking about what her next steps would be, whether Morty was going to help her out or not. She'll figure it out; she could do anything she set her mind to, dammit.
The frenzy of messages was interrupted, though, when Summer received a phone call. There could only be one person who would actually be calling her, so she braced herself for the conversation about to come.
"Hey, Dad."
"Summer, we just got your workshop list, and I think we need to have a talk. We have a problem."
Rolling her eyes, Summer sat up. "Yeah, you're right, we do, Dad. Because they're all lame. Arts and Crafts? Advanced Takeout?" Which hadn't been bad, and she was hopeful for the others, but that wasn't the point. "What is this crap? You know they actually offer classes that might help me? Why can't I take those?"
"I'm not talking about those classes, Summer."
"Then what? Are you still butthurt about the food stuff?"
"You know what one I'm talking about Summer."
"Do I, Dad? Do I?" She did, but she wanted to make him sweat it out. "Is this about non-violence class?"
"Stop being obtuse, Summer. I'll have you know, no daughter of mine is going to be taking a...a...a pole-dancing class."
"Come on, that's, like, the one cool class they gave me, Dad. Besides, the Galactic Federation picked these classes, Dad, not me. If you have an issue with it, why don't you take it up with them, huh? They want me to take pole-dancing, Dad. I think they're trying to tell me something. My urge to move to the southwest and do something with turquoise is growing stronger again."
"You're not taking that class, Summer Smith, and that's my final--"
Summer started to make static noises into the phone, speaking a little more loudly between them. "What's that, Dad? KRrrrrccck What? Krrrrk I can't hear you over the sound of your fear of female sexuality and empowerment. Krrrrrrkkkk What? You're letting your own insecurities dictate what you deem appropriate for your nearly adult daughter? kkkrrssssstttt Oh, no, I think I'm gonna lose the ca--"
And she promptly hung up, settled back in with a smirk, and thought to herself that that went pretty well. She'd be ignoring any further calls from the Smith household that evening, thank you very much.
[[door's open, yo.]]
The frenzy of messages was interrupted, though, when Summer received a phone call. There could only be one person who would actually be calling her, so she braced herself for the conversation about to come.
"Hey, Dad."
"Summer, we just got your workshop list, and I think we need to have a talk. We have a problem."
Rolling her eyes, Summer sat up. "Yeah, you're right, we do, Dad. Because they're all lame. Arts and Crafts? Advanced Takeout?" Which hadn't been bad, and she was hopeful for the others, but that wasn't the point. "What is this crap? You know they actually offer classes that might help me? Why can't I take those?"
"I'm not talking about those classes, Summer."
"Then what? Are you still butthurt about the food stuff?"
"You know what one I'm talking about Summer."
"Do I, Dad? Do I?" She did, but she wanted to make him sweat it out. "Is this about non-violence class?"
"Stop being obtuse, Summer. I'll have you know, no daughter of mine is going to be taking a...a...a pole-dancing class."
"Come on, that's, like, the one cool class they gave me, Dad. Besides, the Galactic Federation picked these classes, Dad, not me. If you have an issue with it, why don't you take it up with them, huh? They want me to take pole-dancing, Dad. I think they're trying to tell me something. My urge to move to the southwest and do something with turquoise is growing stronger again."
"You're not taking that class, Summer Smith, and that's my final--"
Summer started to make static noises into the phone, speaking a little more loudly between them. "What's that, Dad? KRrrrrccck What? Krrrrk I can't hear you over the sound of your fear of female sexuality and empowerment. Krrrrrrkkkk What? You're letting your own insecurities dictate what you deem appropriate for your nearly adult daughter? kkkrrssssstttt Oh, no, I think I'm gonna lose the ca--"
And she promptly hung up, settled back in with a smirk, and thought to herself that that went pretty well. She'd be ignoring any further calls from the Smith household that evening, thank you very much.
[[door's open, yo.]]