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Niagara Falls is gorgeous, but there's only so long you can stand at the railing staring at it. Emily is, therefore, giving her feet a rest with one of the convenient benches and snapping photos of miscellaneous attractive objects.
She isn't taking pictures of specific people, because, privacy, but in a crowded place like this you can't exactly complain if you happen to be in frame when someone's trying to take a picture of a rainbow or a flower. Or if someone happens to notice your bracelet when the sleeve of your hoodie rides up a little. Or that it's not actually a bracelet, but some kind of...vine? With thorns?
Okay, they could probably complain some about her getting up to follow them, but it would bother Emily for weeks if she never found out whether she had seen wrong or not.
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iamnotpolaris
iamnotpolaris
She holds them carefully enough to not prick herself on them and accidentally destroy her clothes. "Thank you."
iamnotpolaris
"I think I'm going to go placate my sister in person with a more complete explanation and then find a bathroom stall to test one of these things."
iamnotpolaris
"Probably!"
Sister is located. Sister is mildly irate at the cryptic text message. Sister is 'splained things. Sister is shown flowers, and insists on standing outside the stall while Emily tests the blasted thing.
It feels about how she expected it to. It feels like running a marathon, or completing a really long, intense dance routine. It leaves her gasping on the floor and feeling on top of the world.
(She doesn't identify as a masochist. She's never had a sexual response to pain. But she knows this isn't normal.)
And she's left with a bodysuit made of the pink petals and yellow stems of the first flower she picked (healing is nifty, and call her stereotypical but pink is her favorite) and a rose on her wrist, and when she gets up her body is exquisitely responsive to her intentions, and when she puts her clothes back on over the flower and goes outside she can do five cartwheels in a row.
Best day.
Sister is located. Sister is mildly irate at the cryptic text message. Sister is 'splained things. Sister is shown flowers, and insists on standing outside the stall while Emily tests the blasted thing.
It feels about how she expected it to. It feels like running a marathon, or completing a really long, intense dance routine. It leaves her gasping on the floor and feeling on top of the world.
(She doesn't identify as a masochist. She's never had a sexual response to pain. But she knows this isn't normal.)
And she's left with a bodysuit made of the pink petals and yellow stems of the first flower she picked (healing is nifty, and call her stereotypical but pink is her favorite) and a rose on her wrist, and when she gets up her body is exquisitely responsive to her intentions, and when she puts her clothes back on over the flower and goes outside she can do five cartwheels in a row.
Best day.
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