Sound & Vision - Text, Voice, Visual, Letters written in

[Millicent Grim]

[From event side play, live-post with Nate's player. Thank you.]

The subtle mess of noise playing on the line was a common indication that Nathan was calling from out on a street. Whether Laurent answered his call or let it pass on to voice message recording, the request would arrive in the same format. "Hey. I mean, hello. I need some... advice, and maybe some instructions, and I think maybe you'd know about this, so if you have a couple of minutes...?"

Laurent picked up the phone, even though he didn't recognize the number. There was a low purrrrr on the other end of the line as Nathaniel spoke, though it likely was lost in the street sounds. "My, my, Nathaniel." Like he could lick the name through wires. "You dissipate out of the self-imposed shadows and I'm one of the first people you call? What oh what could you need from me?" Then under his breath, to himself. "That's an intriguing notion in and of itself."

"....I need to know what kind of rope. To tie someone up with. Someone you like--someone that I like. Do I just get it from the Home Depot? And how much? I've seen the internet, but should I trust it?" Had Laurent seen the internet? That was a topic for another conversation.

There was silence on the phone for a moment, then Laurent's silver voice slithered a little more swiftly through a question that he found absolutely necessary. "Wait. What kind of tying up are you talking about? Someone we like? Vampire or--?"

"--it's not a vampire," he was polite enough to stop himself from saying that was gross. Mostly it was just cold, but that ruined it for him. Not Laurent's problem. "The kind that leads to sex." A little bit impatient, but probably on account of a youthful sort of embarrassment at all the details -- or discussing it in front of a bar while trying not to be overheard.

"Hmm," came through, thoughtfully, from the other end of the line. Then there was silence that likely didn't help with that sort of embarrassment. Then: "...you called me for bondage advice? I had my hand on-- I guess that does make some sense." He could probably actually hear the old vampire thinking, turning ancient Gaulic gears. Laurent was not used to helping people, not with things like this, and not mortals, and not-- Let's just say this was a bit different for him and Laurent was actually taken aback. Then, he simply answered. "Shibari rope. You can order it online. Probably a specialty shop downtown, too."


"I'm sorry if that's offensive? I don't assume it's your number one hobby or anything like that. I--you're just the oldest, classiest person that I know, I think, and so--yeah. I think I can figure out the knots. Maybe I'll go find a book. Shibari. Thank you. For answering."


Laurent laughed. And it was actually an amused laugh. It did not disappoint, it was a sonorous but somehow creepy laugh. There was an echo quality to it, like it was disembodied. "Offend? Moi? A hobby? Do you even know what my hobbies are, child? -- Classiest? I am entertained by that, and that you are also defining rope tying as classy. My my, where have you been? -- Other than putting the fear of the Christian god in our drivers?"


"I--nope. I don't think I'd thought about what they might be, but if they don't involve disemboweling me or sucking my blood, I am pretty sure they're really interesting. By the way, this conversation never happened? At least not for a few weeks, yeah? It's a surprise. Some of it probably isn't, but I don't think she'd be into that side of it. They make gold and silver--everything can be classy if you're doing it right, right? I've been around. The Christian god is kinda easy to shock, so I mean..."


Laurent chuckled. It was genuine, so he forgot the sound effects. "Pretty sure I've had enough of your blood for this life time. Fascinating stuff, that. Mmm. And of course, in truth, I can't think of another person who is more capable of keeping a secret. Save Lars. But I'm not sure if that's because he doesn't talk or he doesn't listen. Germans. Ah. Mmmmmm. And you're right," a pause, there was a soft sort of far-away squealing sound that sounded like a very tiny person in pain. "Yes, yes he is."


Nathan stopped himself from asking if Laurent and Lars were an item, or any variation of such a question, less sure on the mobile call how the vampire might take it if he was mistaken. Their relationship was not his business in any case. He had even less idea what to say about Laurent having enough of his blood, though the statement did make his mouth thin wondering if that was a reference to Millicent or to someone else. Was he going to try to blame the car on Millicent here? "I suppose he was just following protocol on why the backseat should be detailed or something? It's not going to stop any time soon," an obvious statement, given the nature of the call.


"I think it had more to do with the fact that your sister is famous? And that, ohhhhh, I don't know," he purred into the phone. Somehow his voice getting a little loud, no, closer, no, looming, no, both? "the fact that you look very much alike. We're currently deciding what we should do with him. Or the body." Laurent licked his lips, the pause was poignant. "Oh, I don't care about you stopping. In fact, I think I prefer that you not. Highly entertaining all of this. Also, I mean, have you ever thought of children?" Laurent wasn't certain whether Nathan would understand his personal feelings on this, but he was willing to go wherever his reaction went.


There was a quip on the end of his tongue about vanity, which he killed before it could escape because he refused to put Millicent under the proverbial bus. There was a momentary rustle, a lingering pause, and Nathan cleared his throat so that his voice wouldn't crack when he answered. "I don't think we're ready to discuss that yet. I'm sure if it occurs to her, she'll let me know. Sorry for your loss? Is--" Was he prepared to follow through? Although he asked it from inside the shell of the sweater he'd pulled fully over his head, it seemed important. "Is there something I can do to compensate for it?"


There was, essentially, another purr on the other end of the line. Like that was a natural way for him to pause when only communicating with voice. Perhaps it was, as the Tzimiche could not f*** with reality in any other way. Now, Facetime was a whole other thing all together. Laurent rather enjoyed Facetime. "Not ready to-- Occurs to her? Did it occur to you?" And there was absolutely no way in the world Laurent would let that question go without answering. He had a morbid curiosity. No s***. This era of genetics and science thrilled him with all sorts of new ideas and possibilities for perversity. "Oh, we probably wont kill him," said with a 'you silly' timbre to it, but without the pet names. "If he can't keep his mouth shut about such things, what good is he to us? Eh. Boys will be boys. Couldn't stop talking about the show he got, y'know?" The colloquial was perverse when it rolled out of Laurent's mouth.


Maybe Nathan was disappointed by that clarification, or an opportunity missed to elevate himself in regard to Laurent's respect, or both. "Well it fucking occurs to me now that we need to have a conversation about birth control. Otherwise no, it hadn't. So thank you again. I don't think I'm out of line assuming she knew exactly what she was going to do; I can only imagine that she called a car from the Club on that account... Exhibitionism isn't my bag, and neither is ruining her career."


"Have I upset you? Upsetting you was not my intention. I was just... picking your brain. Without, you know, actually. As for the rest, do you think she's really that self-possessed....all the time? I'm not too sure."


"Oh. No. I'm just prone to foul language. I appreciate that, thank you. None of us are, all of the time, but I think it's giving me more credit than I'm due really to assume that she's just mindlessly...." f***ing me. "Making these choices."


"Perhaps I'll ask her," the vampire thought aloud.


"If it suits you?" Nathan didn't know the depth of relationship between Millicent and the vampire, but he didn't seem perturbed by the notion.


"Do we do things for any other reason, my dear boy?" The grin was palpable. Then, uncharacteristically Laurent added. "For the record, I don't have a problem with.... your relationship with your sister. In fact, I'd meant to encourage it."


"That's a relief. I, uhm... yeah. It's unconventional." So was this conversation. "We're out for drinks, so I can't talk much longer but if you have any more recommendations or suggestions about what I was talking about before.... I'm a quick study."


"Mmm." And that grin happened again, through the phone. As well as some odd static. "I'll send you something. Actually-- yes. I will. Enjoy drinks, Nathan."

[Olivia Diogenes]

[Text from Olivia to Laurent] Babe, bubi, bubala... I have a friend who wants to see you.
[Text from Laurent to Olivia] Does she wear her heart on her sleeve and have shiny golden rays of evil framing her beautiful, maudlin face?
[Text from Olivia to Laurent] Yeah. Sure.
[Text from Laurent to Olivia] Bring her to my place. Sundown.
[Text from Oliva to Laurent] Put some of that fancy monk-stuff on ice.
[Text from Laurent to Olivia] Oh dearheart, of course.

[Olivia Diogenes]

Liv found herself smoking outside of the bar. A busy bar. Not her preferred bar. Perhaps that was the reason for her apprehension. Or perhaps she was dusk-dreaming. She was vaguely aware of how comfortable she felt in the long cast shadows of the half-alley, half-loading area. As usual, like the rebel beatnick of her heart, she was all in black-- a lithe catspaw slipping silently into obscurity. Yet, she'd been there for a while, transforming, disintegrating, igniting the hot red cherry of her cigarette with her languid inhalations as the sun turned something similarly hot-crimson and choruscating. The beacon to find her was likely on purpose, like the soft humming to the tunes in her earbuds.

The sun is falling down outside the city walls
She's glowing like the cherry on my cigarette
Beaten sweater, diamonds sweating down her neck
I cannot take my eyes off her silhouette

She found herself absently palming her phone. She'd already scrolled to his name. She'd been staring it down. Thinking. Debating. Cultural diplomat and child of the forest. She pursed her lips. She worried the lower in her teeth.

She decided to text. Innocuous, right?

[From Olivia to Writ] Hey. Whiskey?
[From Olivia to Writ] I can text you the address.
[From Olivia to Writ] Also... Hi.


[tunes by Borns]

[Millicent Grim]

[From Discord CE server event, posted from play. Thanks and credit to Nate's player]

Millicent didn't really know anything about magic. Well. Except what she had read. And she had read quite a lot. Her home was a veritable museum of old texts and beautiful illuminated manuscripts that she had rescued from collectors and time. She stumbled upon these things and had a love for them that was cursory and frivolous as well as bone-deep. Her matrilineal heritage was still rather lost on her. She perhaps had a suspicion, but it was never part of her understanding of herself or her identity. She had enough to deal with as it was. And magic had never imposed itself on her. She was just a girl. She was aware of the implications of her middle name, 'Rowan.' But few knew it, and she rarely paid it mind. She left that to her cousin.

So, it was not clear as to whether there was a sensitivity to the pulse of -- something, something dark-- that had flung itself from DSL, or merely a question of range. She had been on her way there to grab a drink. She enjoyed the bartenders, Julian and Moriah, and as much as she loved engaging in the new and exciting, she was somewhat of a creature of habit. Of comfort. However, just around the corner from the bar, she gripped the wall of the coffee shop she passed and found herself in discomfort and nausea. A sickness that seemed to come from her head, a wave of dizziness, as well as her stomach. She swayed and pushed herself from the wall, but then idly, almost drunkenly, found her way to the curb and unceremoniously dropped herself there-- sitting on the darkened, dirty curb in her white, flouncing dress. She put her chin in her palm and sat there, composing herself. A few full minutes passed before she reached into her small bag and pulled out her phone. "Ugh," she said once the line connected.

Answering the phone he'd palmed out of his pocket, a more predictable greeting got caught in his mouth when a semi-disgusted exhale landed in his ear on the call. "...That's so hot. Do it again, but slower this time," his tone was droll and he left a pause in the conversation in the case that Millicent might concede or to enjoy a trickle of audible amusement. "What? Are you alright? I'm just a few blocks over, I'll be there in a little bit..." Not alarmed yet, again he left space for her extrapolation of what this particular 'ugh' meant.

And meanwhile, the pace of his stride became a bit less lackadaisical to quicken his arrival at their agreed meeting point. The prior engagement had been informal and so were his clothes: suede boots that weren't particularly precious a couple shades darker gray than his deteriorating jeans, a graphic tee swallowed by a cowl-collared cardigan. He kept his eyes to himself behind a pair of wayfarer sunglasses that were cheap enough not to care whether he misplaced or broke them, the swath of black plastic across his face making the wind-licked fringe of white hair more dramatic than it might have been otherwise.

[Millicent Grim]

[Parts by Slane.... written by Slane]


Millicent hugged the sleeves of her silk kimono a little tighter around her, as though she could transform the extra fabric into a blanket or armor against the cold. The snow-white silk fluttered in the soft breeze. She preferred this to closing the mud room door near the kitchen. She liked the fresh air and the light wind off the brook behind this side of the church-home. She liked the smell of the fresh water and the grass. Every detail about her home had been thought out. Even the lay of the land. Something she had learned from her time on the Isle of Skye. And it was good that it had. Because she spent a lot of time here. Alone. And it had memories.

It reminded her of things. Of foundation stones and infinity.

Millicent sort of swayed over to her cell phone, sitting on the counter among the detritus of her morning project. Apple pancakes made in the German style. There was flower everywhere, even on the phone screen.

Text from Millicent, to Slane: I have this urge to have you come over and show you some things in my place. But like... I don't intend to be forward or weird.
Text from Millicent, to Slane: I just...
Text from Millicent, to Slane: How does that sound?
Text from Millicent, to Slane: As I mentioned, I haven't been feeling the Inn lately, and I have this weird urge to make this Scottish thing I learned to make. I guess that means I want to cook for you? Whatever, go with it.
===============================================
He was smoking a cigarette outside when the first message landed. He didn't hear the phone buzz. On the charming stone stoop of his home he took one last inhale. His exhale was heavy, smoke pushed out of his nose in twin lines as be bent down to extinguish his cigarette. Seconds later, when the cloud of cancer moved on, he stepped inside.

The rental cottage was neat, charming and impersonal. His books were splayed open on the table. In the kitchen he used a toothpick to skewer an olive out of a jar, popping it into his mouth and securing the lid. The refrigerator door shut with a sinking ssstttttiii sound. His mouth worked on the rubbery, salty flesh of it as the toothpick tucked into the corner of his lips.

He examined the door lock to the bedroom and whether or not the steel it was enforced with looked inconspicuous.

Bzzzzz. Bzzzz. His gaze moved. He swallow the olive and moved to his phone, grinning at the name which popped up. Red Dress was calling.

Text to Milli: It's not forward. Maybe not weird until you said it was weird.
Text to Milli: Same place I walked you to?

The place where lights of a cathedral glittered over the dark.
===============================================


Millicent was forking spoonfulls of apple pancakes into her mouth as her phone buzzed.

The image was straight out of a manga page. Her hair was wound up into bun-pigtails, little white tufts of imitation ears. The flour on her was more just a commentary on texture, lost in the milk-white of her skin. It was not unlike a Jackson Pollock, though it took up a little less real estate. She wrinkled her nose as the second buzz came in, but it was an affectionate nose-wrinkle that included a smile.

She licked her fingers diligently and plucked out her reply.

Text from Millicent, to Slane: Hmm. True. Fair. I retract the weird comment.
Text from Millicent, to Slane: Did that work?
Text from Millicent, to Slane: And yes. Same place. How about just before sunset, so it's not as spooky. And I have a killer view we can eat to.
Text from Millicent, to Slane: 6:30? You can pick the day.

===============================================
There was a look to his table, full of pages and wards. Words and drawings of an old language meant for the nephilim. He turned from them, punching in the response.

Text to Milli: No time like the present.
Text to Milli: Think you can handle that?
===============================================


Millicent was softly humming to herself as she cleaned up the kitchen accouterments. Gentle, mellifluous, reenacted falsettos came out here and there. There was an art form in mimicry that was exemplified here, as she made it sound as though the highest of the male vocal range was also difficult for her in a similar, tremulous sort of way. It was not. But it payed homage to the recording artist, and gave her something to do.

"This can't be truuuueee girl. Your love for meeeee girl..."

And I felt good inside sweet heart
Do doo do do dooo do dooo

Eddie Holman. 1950 something.

The calm, late morning laziness of an artist in repose permeated the kitchen like the warm, cloying embrace of the pancake scents-- home made apple stuffs and bakery sweetness.

Millicent flitted here and there, like a ghost who has been left to ransack the family home while they were away on vacation. The white silk kimono and Japanese style hair made her part spectre, part kitsune. The vision was rare, as the sunlight was rampant and a large part of the scene. Flour motes and amber light. It glittered off steel and marble surfaces, it flashed in her white hair and gave her substance that belied the phantasmal feel of the moment. Alas. But that's what mornings were in this house. Half real.

She picked up her phone.

"S***."

She looked around the kitchen.

She typed her reply.

It was probably a tic in the column of 'All women are duplicitous.' But no one would ever know. And it wasn't really true.

Text from Millicent, to Slane: Psh.
Text from Millicent, to Slane: Of course I can.

===============================================
Fingers scratches at the roughness of the side of his face. He smiled at what was an easy, quick response.

Text to Milli: See you then.

His eyes lifted tot he rental home. The only mess he had to clean was from making coffee. There was a look down to the faces of peeled up papers on the table. Yes... yes. Of course, he knew. But what was the harm in a later-night conversation?



===============================================

[wonderlandfill]

8/13/17, Posted 1:52 a.m. by Twitter user @starsinmypockets:

Played @Millicent_G's piano and 100 year old harpischord! Left her cuddling hot Greek dude @Sacrifice_Club studio. #lolmylife #hewashottho

***

8/14/17, around 11:30 a.m.

Text from Stacia: Yo, bitch. Going out without me, hanging out with rockstars? WTF.
Text from Meadow: Uh. What?
Text from Stacia: don’t play coy. The tabloids are blowing up. Your handle’s all over the place.
Text from Meadow: ...It is? Oh ****. What did I say? There was a lot of scotch involved…
Text from Stacia: Oh lmmfao. You were drunk tweeting again? Priceless.

Wide awake now despite her hangover, Meadow pulled up the twitter app on her phone. She had so many notifications stacked up that the little ticker just had plus signs instead of a number. Most of the notifications were either retweets, or @replies wanting to know who the guy was. She checked her own tweets next to see what she’d actually said, then pulled up the direct messages tab.

@rmz_rhydin: Hey stars! Hanging with Millicent Grim, nice. We’d like to get further comment from you?
@starsinmypockets: There isn’t much else to say, but okay.
@rmz_rhydin: Good deal! First for our records: Meadow Starling, any relation?
@starsinmypockets: You see the little check sign by my name, right…?
@rmz_rhydin: Hey, just had to make sure. So what happened? Tell us a little more about your night.
@starsinmypockets: It wasn’t some big thing. Went to a bar. She was there and so was this guy. Talked. Drank Scotch. Talked more. Decided to play music.
@rmz_rhydin: Whoa, you got to jam with her?
@starsinmypockets: Hell ya! It was amazing. That was like… the point of that tweet, lol.
@rmz_rhydin: So who was the guy?
@starsinmypockets: idk
@rmz_rhydin: You don’t know? But you said he was hot!
@starsinmypockets: LOL, so? You know the names of every hot person you come across?
@rmz_rhydin: But you played music with him?
@starsinmypockets: LOL, so? You know the names of every person you jam with?
@rmz_rhydin: Okay, but he was cuddling M.G.?
@starsinmypockets: I dunno that ‘cuddling’ was really accurate. Hanging out together? Idk. I left.
@rmz_rhydin: Were they kissing? Holding hands?
@starsinmypockets: Not while I was there.
@rmz_rhydin: What about after you left?
@starsinmypockets: how would I know? I wasn’t there.
@rmz_rhydin: What can you tell us about him?
@starsinmypockets: ...he’s hot.
@rmz_rhydin: C’mon, you gotta give us something.
@starsinmypockets: Do I? Feel like I already gave you guys more than enough.


Text from Stacia: Hey
Text from Stacia: Where’d you go?
Text from Stacia: I know you didn’t go back to sleep on me, bitch…
Text from Stacia: Don’t make me call you.
Text from Meadow: Sorry. I was DMing with RMZ Rhydin
Text from Stacia: NO WAY, really??
Text from Meadow: I don’t get what the issue here is. They’re making a way bigger deal out of some one-off stupid tipsy fangirl tweet than even the Danny fiasco last month
Text from Stacia: I know, right? RMZ’s about got you on speed dial.
Text from Meadow: Ugh. I know. So hungover. Need a shower. Do me a favor?
Text from Stacia: Maybe. Whatcha need?
Text from Meadow: Take my phone away from me when I’ve been drinking?
Text from Stacia: LOL. Right. Have you met you drunk? That would take an act of Congress.
Text from Meadow: Haha. It was worth a shot.
Text from Stacia: Food later?
Text from Meadow: Sure. Lemme just get presentable first.

****

Text to M.G.: Seems I was more intoxicated than I realized when I left. I don’t even remember writing that.
Text to M.G.: Somebody should probably (definitely) take the internet away from me when I’ve been drinking.
Text to M.G.: I’m so sorry for the hassle and inconvenience. Sad
_________________

[wonderlandfill]

Text to Millicent Grim - 10/16/17 12:53 a.m.: rainbow_1
Text to Millicent Grim - 10/16/17 12:57 a.m.: rainbow_2
Text to Millicent Grim - 10/16/17 1:13 a.m.: rainbow_3
The third clip is incomplete. It's a short snippet of the original file that Milli sent her nearly a month prior, but it's been altered to include the mirroring part from rainbow_1, and a minor triad harmonization on the chorus in Meadow's voice. It matches, maybe exaggerates the sad longing of the original cover.
Text to Millicent Grim - 10/16/17 1:17 a.m.: ...Or something like that, anyway.
Text to Millicent Grim - 10/16/17 1:19 a.m.: Sorry for not hanging with you at that thing the other day -- you two looked a little busy and I...shall we say.... got distracted.
Text to Millicent Grim - 10/16/17 1:21 a.m.: Anyway. Let me know what you think. xxx
_________________

Text to Meadow [10:00 am, 10/16/2017]: I noticed. ^^
Text to Meadow [10:01 am, 10/16/2017]: These are great. We should come up with a time you come by the club. Shop talk.
Text to Meadow [10:01 am, 10/16/2017]: Perfect timing, really. I want to record in a few weeks.

***

Text to Millicent Grim - 10/20/17 5:45 p.m.: Hey. You got the last hot guy I saw around here. Can't blame a girl for seizing the opportunity.
Text to Millicent Grim - 10/20/17 5:47 p.m.: img attachment
Text to Millicent Grim - 10/20/17 5:52 p.m.: Glad I'm on the right track. When do you want to get together?

***

Text to Meadow [6:10 pm, 10/20/2017] I didn't even notice he was hot the first time we hung out. I dunno. I blame Scotch.
Text to Meadow [6:10 pm, 10/20/2017] I saw that surfery guy at the gala. Nice. Worth it?
Text to Meadow [6:10 pm, 10/20/2017] Hmm. How about the week after Samhain? Any day.
Text to Meadow [6:11 pm, 10/20/2017] Oh and I met a guy named Slane the other day. You eyed him once in the Inn. ...long story maybe.

***

Text to Millicent Grim - 10/20/17 6:17 p.m.: It was a good night.
Text to Millicent Grim - 10/20/17 6:18 p.m.: Did I? Was I drunk at the time? I was probably drunk.
Text to Millicent Grim - 10/20/17 6:19 p.m.: Name doesn't ring a bell. What's he look like? Is he hot?
_________________


Text to Millicent Grim 11/11/17 - 6:45 p.m.: Meant to tell you.
Text to Millicent Grim 11/11/17 - 6:45 p.m.: I met this hot dude.
Text to Millicent Grim 11/11/17 - 6:47 p.m.: He suckered me into helping him plan a party.
Text to Millicent Grim 11/11/17 - 6:47 p.m.: Did I mention he was hot?
Text to Millicent Grim 11/11/17 - 6:48 p.m.: Anyway, I did it.
Text to Millicent Grim 11/11/17 - 6:49 p.m.: So you should come.
Text to Millicent Grim 11/11/17 - 6:50 p.m.: And wear white.

***

Text to Meadow 11/11/17 - 7:15 p.m.: How hot? Worth the effort?
Text to Meadow 11/11/17 - 7:15 p.m.: And...what Kind of hot are we talking about?
Text to Meadow 11/11/17 - 7:16 p.m.: But yes... I would love to. What kind of shindig? And... How many people can I bring?
Text to Meadow 11/11/17 - 7:16 p.m.: Is that rude?

***

Text to Millicent Grim 11/11/17 - 7:35 p.m.: Like...Sons of Anarchy hot.
Text to Millicent Grim 11/11/17 - 7:37 p.m.: <picture>
Text to Millicent Grim 11/11/17 - 7:39 p.m.: You can bring the hot guy yes. Maybe one or two others max? I don't actually know the girl whose birthday it is but she's a local actress and she looks cool.
Text to Millicent Grim 11/11/17 - 7:41 p.m.: <picture>
Text to Millicent Grim 11/11/17 - 7:42 p.m.: It's a glow party... which is to say that *everything* is UV reactive.
Text to Millicent Grim 11/11/17 - 7:43 p.m.: So wear white or I'll cover you in glow in the dark paint and glitter.
Text to Millicent Grim 11/11/17 - 7:43 p.m.: Actually, scratch that. I may do it anyway. Smile

***

Text to Meadow 11/11/17 - 7:43 p.m.: Oh. Damn. I see the appeal.
Text to Meadow 11/11/17 - 7:43 p.m.: Haha... I will bring two hot guys, then. My manager needs to have a good time, he's been kinda brooding and sad. I will introduce you. You would like him if you can get him out of his funk.
Text to Meadow 11/11/17 - 7:45 p.m.: Mmm. And... yes. I can do that. White.
Text to Meadow 11/11/17 - 7:45 p.m.: ...I'm a huge fan of glitter and ...creativity. See you there!
Text to Meadow 11/11/17 - 7:45 p.m.:We must get a few dances in. We must.