[ alfyn has, once again, brought blankets and pillows with him to his curfew. he deposits them neatly folded and stacked on a, like, bench for people to take as they desire.
when not gravitating to other people, he can mostly be found actually seated on the grass, instead of at one of the tables, absently threading flowers into a flower crown for something to do with his hands as they hang out. his energy is kind of anxious, but stubbornly hopeful as always, while he does this, a reed of grass in his mouth. ]
[ he bumps his shoulder up against her gently as they work, just trying to focus on the task and being bastions of serotonin where possible in this group of depressos and introverts.
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when not gravitating to other people, he can mostly be found actually seated on the grass, instead of at one of the tables, absently threading flowers into a flower crown for something to do with his hands as they hang out. his energy is kind of anxious, but stubbornly hopeful as always, while he does this, a reed of grass in his mouth. ]
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he wiggles it cluelessly from one side of his mouth to the other. ]
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Doesn't that taste like dirt?
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What is that?
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[ he takes the grass out of his mouth and flicks it away, working on braiding the stems deftly, adding new flowers to braid in as he goes ]
It's a flower crown. I learned how to make 'em as a kid out of the wildflowers back home.
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her vibes less anxious than most, trying to radiate more positive emotions... for everyone's sake. ]
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really keep killing off our extroverts. ]
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Such a quiet night.
[ not that she minds! the vibes are just so depresso in this club (garden) ]