[finding my way...][open]

[♥ poppies]

Legs pumped on the pettles of her bike, both wheels turning as she moved up the street. Mid-morning around eight o' clock she had already had breakfast and her mom had been gone when she woke up. Middle of the week on a Wednesday she had decided to go shopping so her mom didn't kill her about clothes later on. Bermuda shorts wrapped on her legs, all though hideous in appearance of a dark black with red plaid she didn't mind them. Her mother had brought them home a year ago, Melinda refused to wear them until that day. Loose around her hips she was making the excuse when she called saying her clothes were to big and she needed new ones. Melinda's mother wasn't rich but the credit card had been having funds come in from success and she wanted her to spend it on things she needed. Her own credit card gave her freedom to buy what she needed, on her bike the wind blew into her face and then dissappeared as another gust replaced it. An ugly olive green tank top was hidden by a small polo shirt that had been practically colored black. Once with the fancy pink and white pattern Melinda hated it and accidently dropped it in a bucket full of black dye, so it resulted in the new shirt.

One glance to her left she saw the local Wal Mart and turned the bike into parking lot as she shortened the bumps of her legs. Maroon hair was sitting nicely in an attempt at a ponytail she had tried earlier. Swinging her leg over the bike she pulled her shorts up and felt them fall back down barely on her hips. Lips were completely destroyed and small stitches were there after she bractically bit it off. Walking slowly into the store she saw people look at her, her lip was bleeding. Teeth sunk back into chomping on it as she walked for the Juniors' department. Quietly a woman approached her as she flipped through the rack of shirts. "Can I help you?" Damn it! Say something Melinda. You can't be silent your whole god damn life. That was one part of her, the other stayed perfectly quiet as she turned to stare with a blank expression. The woman turned and rolled her eyes walking away, as for Melinda she grabbed a few shirts and walked for the jeans. Seeing a few she thought were better than hers she flopped them on her arm.

Hands flipped through the shirts as if though it were a book, a bag strapped on her shoulder she pulled out a novel. Walking to the back of the Juniors' clothing area she sat down and opened the book. Crossing her legs she sat on the rug floor, her eyes looking up every now and again as she made sure no one was there. Finally the words sucked her in, the clothes she had layed next to her in a small pile as she watched each word. Mind blowing almost as the pages flipped through her fingers, suddenly the page slit her finger. Blood flowed but nothing seemed to make her notice until the blood dripped onto the page of the book. Oddly it dropped over a name, hers. In the book a girl named Melinda was part of an agency living a dream life basically. That one name covered in her blood started to make her feel weird.

[Beau]

Finally, Bridgette thought as she gripped the steering wheel of her beloved Maserati with white knuckles. She had just convinced Beau to allow her to drive to the store and back- she was in desperate need of a new shampoo. He’d figured that she was up to no good, only wanting to drive to New York City and back. Beau should’ve known better- Bridgette could never navigate around the place without him. And besides, Fairfield was a tiny city, she could never get lost, even on her way to their ‘outlet mall.’ Her lip rose, disgusted, as she pulled into the large parking lot, dusted with dirty minivans or pick-up trucks here or there.

She felt like a sore thumb- but a very sexy, intimidating, seductive sore thumb. Stepping from the low-riding car, she adjusted the dotted top of hers that ‘conspicuously’ let a bit of her black brassier peek through the plunging neckline. Her jeans didn’t need adjusting- they were too tight to even let her legs breathe. She couldn’t bend; her jeans would tear instantly. Her 5”11 height was pumped up to six feet perfectly, with the aid of inch-high strappy heels. Bridgette looked hot- even if she was just hitting up Wal-Mart for a few extra toiletries she had run out of during her rather short month stay.

Strutting through the automatic doors, she gave a venomous glare to the welcoming staff that attempted to offer a hand. She was Bridgette Austen- she didn’t need their help. Hell, they needed hers! Wearing those hideous blue vests... Bridgette tore herself away and strutted through, straight to the cosmetics. Of course, it didn’t take her long to sneer through their ‘highest quality’ esthetic supplies- they were all shit! Finally choosing a facial pack that weighed nearly twenty pounds (it was a ‘gift’ pack, supposedly) she set off for the nearest checkout counter.

While trudging, rather gracefully, she nearly stepped on a girl’s outstretched legs. Cursing loudly, she had to set down the large basket of facial and cosmetic supplies before it toppled her over. Exhaling deeply, she looked at her legs to see any damage done to her pricey shoes, jeans or legs for that matter. “Jesus,” She sounded exasperated. “That was bloody close!” She eyed the basket, not too keen with picking it up again and trudging to the counter and to her Maserati. Maybe she’d have to call Beau for some help.

[♥ poppies]

Oddly enough she felt a bit relief as she looked at the page, for her expression itself seemed as if it was almost blank. The words were being absorbed as they moved quickly across the page, however they paused now and again as her mind caught up with the words. No matter what she was one of the best readers and artists in the county probably, all though only a teenager still. Popping the book back into the small back pack she drug out a pencil and sketch pad. As she did that she felt something hit her legs, when Melinda noticed it was a woman.

Hearing her words she couldn't help but give a small giggle as she crossed her legs and said not a word. Her eyes did however drag over the woman's face, she looked somewhat familiar, maybe Melinda had seen her or someone she was related to. Flipping the pages to the fifth one it was a sketch of her bay Westphalian gelding, Tuck Everlasting, aka Sparrow in her book. Almost everyone though called him Tuck but Sparrow seemed better for her and easier to say her.

All though things seemed slow that day she looked at the girl and flipped the page from the picture of Sparrow to a picture of a mare she had seen on a trail ride named Turner. She had planned on finishing it that afternoon if the mare was in her pasture and see if the owner was around to give it to him. Flipping the page once more she grabbed her pencil and started on a sketch of the woman who had fallen, no matter what she drew almost anything. Quickly the face came into the entire portrait as it looked like her, all though she was moving it was already turning out okay. Within minutes the entire thing had seemed to come to life and the expression was almost real as well as the shape. So within the few minutes she sat there and the woman had tripped the portrait was fully compelte minus a real background. Ripping it out of the notebook she held it out to the woman and held no expression on her own face. Melinda was basically a blank page yet to be written on.

[Beau]

With a soft grunt, she heaved the gift pack from the bench and plopped down next to her, crossing her legs daintily and setting the package on her lap. She glanced down to the paper she’d been doodling on, and immediately she raised a perfect, well waxed brow. “I recognize that horse. Turner, right?” Bridgette couldn’t be too keen with the mare- she’d soiled her perfect, new boots she donned just to visit Beau at his stables. She was frustrated, and disgusted. Bridgette was so disgusted that she had Beau burn the boots because she didn’t enjoy the icky smell of shit and horse. “That’s my cousin’s horse.”

It was still a pretty picture, nonetheless. Bridgette faced her package now, eyeing its contents. They seemed quite half-assed as products- she would’ve much rather hit New York for their excellent spas, but Beau was ‘busy with his work.’ Snorting, she shook her head angrily. She needed to get up there, to model, anyhow. She sat in anger for the next few moments, before she glanced back down to the girl’s pencil, ignoring the annoying scratching sounds it went as it went on. Her jaw had nearly dropped when she saw the picture, or rather she nearly dropped her cosmetics. “That is gorgeous!” She exclaimed, eyes wide with pleasure. The girl had caught the perfect curve of her lips, the subtle eyeliner around her eyes and the waves that had flown down her back in a serious of curls. “It’s me.” She beamed a perfect, white smile.

[♥ poppies]

Turner, who was this girl? Yeah the horse in the portrait was Turner but still the man she had met mentioned a girl around her age a year or two older than she was. "Yeah. And your...Bridgette?" It had to be but what was the odds of meeting her in a Wal Mart when she looked to rich to be like that. Hearing her comments on what she drew of the woman Melinda couldn't help but give a small smile as she looked back at a woman eyeing her oddly. Flipping the notebook closed she tossed it in her small backsack and flipped it onto her back as she made it to her feet. "Your welcome." Taking a few steps she felt a bit like a magnet stuck to something metal as she looked at the girl, who she had called Bridgette. Thinking back to the Turner picture she knew that the mare still hadn't warmed up the lese bit onto Sparrow which made her a little sad for the gelding.

One day she'd get a picture of the two touching noses, let it be a drawing or a photograph the mare had to just warm-up to him. The handsome bay Westphalian had perfect features and would be a nice good friend for any horse. This girl looked pretty nice but possibly with some more talk they could be friends but who knew, as she looked at the woman. Melinda should probably stop called her woman and just 'the girl' instead.

ooc- no Melinda muse.

[Beau]

Bridgette had still smiled even when the young girl reluctantly answered back. She gave a toss of her brunette hair, and flashed a dazzling smile. The girl looked no younger than she was; maybe this town had more than country bums and hillbillies. Maybe there could be friends, even if this girl didn’t have the best of fashion sense, or even a fraction that Bridgette had. Nothing a small makeover could fix, though. “Yes! Am I really that famous?” She beamed. Maybe after being on the cover of at least four different magazines, and a full eight page fashion spread finally could pay off. She nearly frowned when she had tossed the notebook into her backpack, but still held that gorgeous smile. “So, you know Beau, then?”

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[♥ poppies]

ooc- no Melinda muse so i'll reply to this as soon as i get some