Coffee by Pick and Bow (Lyra)

[Octavia]

The days were growing short. To Octavia's right, the sun was settling down towards the horizon, orange hues meeting afternoon blues. The air moved like the breaths of deep sleep, still for a moment, then coming up just barely strong enough that, as she passed the splintering fence of an older home, she heard just a single soft note from the rod of a wind chime from its backyard. Somewhere in the distance, a lawnmower engine hummed. As she passed a yard, a sprinkler sounded out a continuous whisper, the water pattering against tousled hedges and the bark of a young & lone maple tree, a bit sprinkling as dark grey dots on the sidewalk in front of her. Apart from the passing of the occasional car, she was alone with the murmurs of a Saturday in Ponyville, the footsteps of her boots edging out the other little sounds with the dull pops of a metronome set low. She checked the time on her phone, the characters punctuated with delicate serifs: 5:12 PM. Buoyed to find she had been making a decent pace after all, she put the phone back in the pocket of her trousers, wiggled her shoulders a little to adjust the press of the chains of her cello case on them, and kept to her walk through the neighborhood. A few short blocks and bends in the street later, she followed the sidewalk right onto another street that went straight along towards the boulevard. As she walked, she could not help but look at the middle school as she passed along its galvanized fence, its facade of roughly-finished, brown-black bricks giving it a dated look. It looked so small to her compared to Canterlot High, but she vaguely remembered how big it seemed to her when she was just a 12-year-old girl with a new bookbag and no idea what to expect. As she passed the main building, her look settled on the second of the buildings with a silent sigh. It was the gym, but inside, the polished wood of the basketball court had been more a home to most of her memories of practicing with the school's modest orchestra after school than a place of sports. The memories seemed a little distant now, and even a little boring. Three years of hearing her playing echoing off the same steel walls and the same unoccupied bleachers was exciting at the time, but since then, she had made it to high school, had started playing in better ensembles, and she had met Lyra with her quirky buttons, easygoing smile, and always something to talk about such that Octavia often found herself distracted by whatever she might have been thinking about beforehand to join in the topic. The bus stop past the middle school was nice enough, especially for being just past a middle school, the thick pine-green paint of the canopy's posts weathering years of assaults by students' neon-colored gel pens with armored grace, though the plastic that held the latest ads had long been scratched up with so many crass words that they were virtually impossible to read among each other, and probably for the best. Octavia lowered her case against the bench and smoothed over the shoulders of her jacket. For tonight, she had chosen a nicer outfit, her fitted jacket black with subtle charcoal pinstripes, the lining a satiny lavender. To coordinate, and for the sake of looking more casual than she usually did, she chose a black blouse with pink stripes to accompany her bowtie. Nothing necessarily spectacular compared to the norm, but spectacle was hardly ever her style. She checked her phone again. "Ah, plenty of time." After sweeping aside any dirt that might have been on the bench, she took her seat with a straight posture, glancing in the direction of Lyra's apartment complex up the boulevard a little ways. Octavia didn't see her, but the bus was still fifteen minutes out.

[Lyra Heartstrings]

Lyra didn't have much of a varied wardrobe, but it was still taking her a while to pick out what to wear. Octavia had invited her to go with her to a coffee shop that was holding an open mic night. Lyra only knew as much about the place as her friend had told her, and while she wasn't informed of a dress code, she didn't want to accidentally embarrass her friend. Octavia always dressed so nicely, and was all about jeans and sneakers. At least they both liked pants.

Octavia had invited Lyra to a place she knew. She seemed to know enough about the place to give the impression about being a regular there, so she might get recognized. If Lyra was going to tag along, she didn't want to make her friend look back for bringing her. They might also be there somewhat late. A dark Autumn night wasn't the best kind of weather for her shorts, and depending on how much walking she'd have to do jeans might be best. Now Lyra just had to find a decent pair.

Amber eyes scanned her messy room for suitable clothing. A pair that were scuffed up, but not with a hole yet, went into a maybe pile. One with a hole got tossed onto the bed for a no pile. After some searching it came down between the scuffed up ones, and another pair with a grease stain that never came out. Lyra hopped into the scuffed up jeans, and pulled on a plain yellow t-shirt and a white longer sleeved one over it. She left the long sleeved shirt unbuttoned and tossed her on her military jacket over that.

Once she had her things, left her mom a note on the kitchen counter (and some text messages as a reminder), she tied her sneakers and headed out with her electric guitar in it's case. Getting to the bus stop was something Lyra could do in her sleep, even on foot. Normally she liked to take her bike out with her when she went out, but she wouldn't be able to fit it, her guitar, Octavia, and her cello on it all at once. Maybe if her cello case had wheels... too late now.

"Hey Octavia!" Lyra called out with a wave as she saw her friend at the stop. She practically lived on the other side of town and was there before her. "I didn't think you'd beat me here to the stop. Did you get a lift or something?" They had agreed to meet near Lyra's so she'd know how to get there on her own later.

[Octavia]

As she waited, Octavia tried to relax. She closed her eyes with a disciplined breath and started to consider the pieces that she might have played later on. Yet, the red of the sunlight shining through her eyelids was simply just too annoying to allow a deep meditation on anything, so she ended up looking at the legs of her trousers, picking off a tiny tuft of red lint from some other garment, then trying to smooth out a wrinkle with a brush of her hand. That led her to notice that her trousers had been improperly pressed to begin with, pinches pressed into the fabric where it tapered at the sides of her knees; how had she not noticed it before now? She leaned forward on the bench seat and tried to somehow smooth the little pinches out with her fingers, and when that did not work, she tried to tug on both sides of a pinch to stretch it, but that did not work either. It did not occur to her how silly she might have looked, until -- "Hey Octavia!"  She sat straight up and looked in the direction of Lyra's voice, seeing her crossing from the opposite sidewalk. As if to distance herself from her instance of nitpicking even more, she stood up as Lyra finished crossing. "I didn't think you'd beat me here to the stop. Did you get a lift or something?" "Good afternoon, Lyra. And...I didn't get a lift...not as such. I suppose I thought it'd be nice to have a bit of a stroll?" She was already smiling a little to see her friend, but she smiled a little more as she spoke, almost wanting to laugh at herself. "The walk was forty minutes, but it is a rather lovely day." What she did not say was that a ride to the bus stop would have meant asking for one and dealing with her mother's questions, basically forcing Octavia to lay out an itinerary of her plans and a justification for every point along the way. Sure, she inevitably would get terse texts asking about where she'd gone, but as long as she was already away, she could handle it. "I trust you're doing well today?" She noticed that Lyra was more warmly dressed than usual. Chances were, they would not be in cold too much during the evening, but if they went anywhere after the Windigo, at least they would both be prepared if they had to walk anywhere or in the worst case scenario, missed the last bus home. "I like your jacket, by the way." She knew she could simply say that it looked cool, but the word never sounded quite right coming from her. "It looks...strong and noble." Her smile turned the slightest bit sheepish as she nodded to punctuate her words.

[Lyra Heartstrings]

Strolls were a nice thing to have occasionally. Get up, walk around, see where your feet take you, and how things are going around the neighborhood. Octavia had done it with her cello, for forty minutes. That was a little insane. The day wasn't that lovely for Lyra, but she chilled easily. Being skin and bones had its drawbacks. "You walked that long, and that far, carrying your cello. Your cello. Even if there's wheels on the bottom of that case you're crazy."

Lyra had walked long distances with her electric guitar before, but it was light. All she had in the case besides it was a cable, some picks, and some buttons. She had never carried a cello before, but it looked big and heavy. Not to mention that the case for one would be heavier and sturdier than the soft case Lyra had. "Please tell me you wore comfortable shoes."

"I'm doing okay. Had a little trouble finding something to wear. Had to do my mom's laundry before mine so I'm not exactly in my Sunday best here. I should be okay for where we're going right?" Octavia's comment on her jacket answered that question clearly. If the jacket would fly, so would the rest of her attire.

"Thanks. Bon Bon helped me with a few of the patches, and I change the buttons I have clipped on regularly. Even has my name on it." Lyra turned and tugged on her jacket to show Octavia where it clearly read Heartstrings. It was her father's name, but also technically her name too. She had found the jacket in one of the boxes after she and her mother had moved. "Its a big jacket, and I thought we might be out late. You never really said when we'd wrap things up, and if you want to go do something after I'm down with that. We don't hang out too much."

[Octavia]

"You walked that long, and that far, carrying your cello. Your cello. Even if there's wheels on the bottom of that case you're crazy. Please tell me you wore comfortable shoes." Octavia glanced down. Underneath all the polish were the tops of a pair of leather motorcycle boots. They had taken forever to break in. For weeks, it seemed, she had to stay in the bath longer just to let her reddened ankles to stop aching, but it had been worth it. These boots were now comfortable everywhere: walking, standing, anything, and with enough polish, they could pass as something a bit more formal. “They aren’t exactly high fashion, but these get the job done, rather? But, honestly, my cello isn’t that heavy, ten pounds or so? Then the case another twenty? It’s…you get used to it, I swear. I'm not a glutton for punishment or anything.” She wasn’t about to bring up the chains. Those took a lot longer to get used to. "Bon Bon helped me with a few of the patches, and I change the buttons I have clipped on regularly. Even has my name on it. Its a big jacket, and I thought we might be out late. You never really said when we'd wrap things up, and if you want to go do something after I'm down with that. We don't hang out too much." The was a certain strength to the embroidered lettering that spelled out Lyra's last name. It was the military appeal to be sure, and though Lyra was presumably not the original owner, it still suited her, especially as she gave it her personal touch with the patches and buttons. There was a bit of envy there. There was, after all, a small, but important difference between tailored and personalized. “I admit, I have, in a possible impulse of jealousy, realized that I don't have a charming jacket with any of my names on it. You should look wonderful tonight. But, on the matter of later on...well...Agreed.” Her tone was light, almost singsongy. “There’s a considerable difference between hanging out at school and, well, really hanging out, I suppose.” She wasn’t sure she could say the phrase, hanging out, without sounding awkward either. “So, my thoughts are, if we’re not too tired afterwards, perhaps we’ll find more, or rather, additional pleasant diversions. Though...if we do, we may need a backup plan. I believe the buses only run until nine or so...”

[Lyra Heartstrings]

Lyra's gaze followed Octavia's down to the girls boots, and her eyes nearly bugged out of her head. For all of Octavia's prim and polish she had a pair of biker boots. Even with all the polish they were still boots that Lyra would have never guessed Octavia would wear. When she looked back up she noticed the chains on the cello case. Slowly a sly grin crept up on the musician's face."Well well, behind all the formality and high class style there's a little rebel in you." She let out a small laugh. "I am SO going to be a bad influence for you, you know that right?"

It was true. Lyra was bound to try and nurse that rebellious side which could get her friend in all kinds of trouble with her mother. Lyra didn't know much about Octavia's mother, but odds were the two of them would clash if they ever met. She'd have to start slow and subtle with Octavia's training. Nothing too drastic like getting something pierced, or tattooed. Lyra herself hadn't even gone that far... though her fear of needles played heavily in that.

Octavia brought up a few good points, and a nice compliment. Now knowing there was a little rebel in Octavia, it sounded adorable as she tried to stay proper while she spoke about hanging out. She might have to get the camera to work on her phone and record Octavia saying and using other slang words and phrases. "Most buses stop around then, but not all of them. There's a few that run along the major streets. Those can at least get you in the right neighborhood. Depending on the time I might be able to get my mom to give us a ride. She's a nurse and works late a lot. If we need her whens he gets off work she'll swing on by if I let her know. I just wouldn't want to disturb her after she got home."

Lyra was more concerned with getting Octavia home if/when needed. She didn't know what her friend's situation was, and didn't want to find out she caught a cold because she got lost taking the wrong bus home or something. If Lyra got caught out super late she had two options. She could either make her way home, or if it was closer, wake Bon Bon up and crash there. It wouldn't be the first time that happened.

[Octavia]

"Well well, behind all the formality and high class style there's a little rebel in you." Octavia glanced away for an instant before looking back to Lyra, her smile going just a tinge enigmatic as if to say, perhaps there is, perhaps there isn't. "I am SO going to be a bad influence for you, you know that right?" It was true. Chances were, Lyra would lead her to different places. There was a certain something in the way she carried herself that Octavia found herself with a strange flavor about in her mind, like old lime juice. She liked the way she did things. But lately...well...she could not help but wonder if that flavor was the taste of friendly jealousy. Her eyes poked up and abouts, and her lips started to move another instant before she could quite place the words, but the craftiness of her smile remained. "Me? A rebel? Hardly ~ I just prefer certain comforts and ... discomforts. But if I were to be influenced, I wonder what influence I might leave on my potential influencer." Her smile went wry for just a blink. There was a feeling, a want to leave a certain impression, to show Lyra something, but no word came to shake hands with the feeling, and so she just got the slightest bit annoyed at herself. "Most buses stop around then, but not all of them. There's a few that run along the major streets. Those can at least get you in the right neighborhood. Depending on the time I might be able to get my mom to give us a ride. She's a nurse and works late a lot. If we need her whens he gets off work she'll swing on by if I let her know. I just wouldn't want to disturb her after she got home." Up the street behind Lyra, their bus came up over a hill, the tiny mirage coming up off the asphalt obscuring the street label at the top. "Speak of our particular devil..." Octavia started towards her cello case. "I suppose we'll see how things go...I wouldn't want to inconvenience your mother...we'll do our best to have fun but...stay considerate?" She pulled the hardcase along on its wheels towards the stop next to Lyra; no sense in enduring the chains just to bring it along a few feet onto the bus.

[Lyra Heartstrings]

Lyra raised a brow in curiosity and amusement. "I'm as free as a bird, and this bird you cannot change." Lyra said with confidence as if it was a certain fact of the universe. She had a feeling though that if Bon Bon were there she'd try and hide a snerk at the statement. Maybe a truer statement would be that Lyra would always be herself no matter what. Wasn't there some sort of song from an animated movie about being yourself?

The musician looked over at the bus when Octavia pointed it out. She adjusted her guitar case so she was holding it in on hand instead of carrying it on her back and began fiddling through one of her pockets with the free hand. She was looking for her bus pass, it was always good to have it ready when boarding. "Unless she's physically unwell or something majorly bad happened she'll be happy to give us a lift. I'll text her as things go on just to keep updated though. She wouldn't pass up the chance to meet a friend of mine. She's only really met Bonnie, but we've known each other since we were little."

She had her pass out by the time the bus pulled up. When the door opened she skipped up the steps and held it out for the driver to check. Her pass was good for an entire year, it only took a quick glance to confirm it's status as valid. Some day she'd have her own mode of transportation aside from her bicycle. Then maybe some day she'd also be able to afford gas for it.

[Octavia]

Octavia followed behind Lyra, carefully bringing her cello through the doorway, and drew a bill to pay with. For a solid couple seconds after Lyra continued past the driver towards a seat, Octavia unfolded every fold in the bill. "No...how did I miss it?" There was just something so utterly irritating about messy money. She did not consider herself a neurotic perfectionist, but this was just a pet peeve. But when a pause sounded out, she gave the driver a half-sheepish grin and slid pushed the bill through the bill slot and followed behind Lyra, turning back to request a transfer ticket so she wouldn't have to pay for her fare for the rest of the day. "W-Well, that wasn't entirely awkward. I was going to say, or rather, saying now, is that it would be good to meet and talk with your mother for a while. I have felt rather odd about staying at your home on occasion without having ever met her. I could end up creating a poor impression." Octavia looked to the seats. There was easily room to sit, but the seats on this particular bus just seemed a bit too...dirty. Of course, she remembered, she took the school bus, the seats the same sticky blue textured vinyl day after day, but at least the seats were not covered in fabric that had gone stained dark after years of being sat on by thousands of pairs of jeans, possibly dirty ... she grabbed hold of one of the bus' bars. Those probably were not the most sanitary either, but she would just have to remember to wash her hands at the coffeehouse later. Her expression of calm confidence wavered a little, but she caught herself. After all, rebels did not lose their ... cool ... over a bus seat. But then, with a little grind of her teeth, she took a seat after all and sat with her back straight, holding her cello up in front of her. "The ride is a little long, about half an hour or so, then there is a ten-minute walk after we get to our stop, but it's not an unpleasant walk."

[Lyra Heartstrings]

Things being odd at Lyra's apartment was common. She wasn't used to having company over that wasn't Bon Bon, and even then it had taken a little bit to get used to having her over. She was very self conscious about the place, afraid that anyone she brought over might judge her. If she had to meet with someone after school to work on something like a project, it was always the last resort.

"Don't worry about it Tavia. She works long hours, sometimes at odd times. Her jobs important helping save lives." Lyra didn't mention a lot of things, like how she didn't get to see as much of her mom as she'd like, but Octavia didn't need to know that. Lyra had adapted to things and learned to make the most of the time she and her mom did spend together.

Seeing Octavia shuffle around trying to get settled made her smile, just a little. She wasn't taking delight in her friends discomfort, but was a bit happy to know she'd put up with it to show her to this coffee shop. It was something that she had learned to put up with long ago, but luckily she could help out her friend a little bit. "Hold out your hands." she said as she sat down next to Octavia and began going through a pocket in her guitar case. It took a few seconds but she produced a small bottle of hand sanitizer. "Mom says keeping your hands clean can keep you from getting sick a lot of the time, so I keep some of this stuff around. Your hands might be a little dry, but it'll kill anything you picked up."

[Octavia]

"Don't worry about it Tavia. She works long hours, sometimes at odd times. Her jobs important helping save lives." Octavia hummed an affirmative note and nodded. When an odd feeling prodded her, she understood it. Her own mother didn’t do anything like saving lives. More properly, she mostly ruined them as far as she was concerned. "Hold out your hands." Octavia held out her hands, for an instant scrutinizing the shellac shine of her nails painted soft pink – still in good order. She turned her hands over, palms up, watching Lyra. Immediately, something seemed … strange when she brought out the hand sanitizer. "Mom says keeping your hands clean can keep you from getting sick a lot of the time, so I keep some of this stuff around. Your hands might be a little dry, but it'll kill anything you picked up." As Octavia rubbed and spread the cool alcoholic blob throughout her hands, she gave her friend her usual knowing smile, though in her mind, she did not feel like she was knowing as much as learning. Octavia thought to herself that if her own mother had said not to backflip off a building into a pit of snot squeezed through the football team’s used socks, Octavia would consider doing it anyway – just consider it, mind – just to spite her. Lyra was quite a bit different, she thought, taking advice, keeping the little bottle of sanitizer. She didn’t presume to know the whole story, yet she could not help but be amused at a condensation of envy-scented vapor in her thoughts.

“I suppose so. I mean, rather, that I know so? Thank you, Lyra. Your mother seems to be looking out for you as well as others. My mother’s advice is less … appealing? You know how to stay healthy, and I … well, I know how to tip a car valet in a way to put them in their place? How to make a point of my success without being obvious about it to a rival? Not precisely practical or friendly advice. And … you definitely don’t want ‘the talk’ from her …“ She grimaced theatrically at the memory, but took back her smile, then the bus lurched forward. She reached forward to keep her cello from falling back onto Lyra or her guitar and held it still by the chains – wouldn’t get out of hand that way. “I have been meaning to ask you … do you have any plans for the Holidays?”

[Lyra Heartstrings]

As much of a rebel as Lyra seemed to be on the outside, she wasn't very much of one on the inside. She listened to her mother quite a bit and very often kept her words in mind. To be fair, she had seen pamphlets and pictures of various things to have been scared away from certain activities. Not to mention hearing all the things her mother saw during her day.

She listened to Octavia describe her own mother and was shocked to say the least. The woman sounded pretentious and condescending. There were too many different opinions to be gained from the warning about Octavia's mother giving 'the talk' but for the most part they were probably bad. Her mouth hung open in shock at it. Lyra knew things like how to use the entirety of a home first-aid kit, perform CPR, how to break out of being held, and how to put someone in a sleeper hold.

"Tavia... your mother and I can't ever meet. I might be able to annoy her so much she has a heart attack, or get upset to the point of devolving into grunts and other vocalizations instead of words." she said only semi-joking. The two would not get along at all. "Luckily if she did do that, have an attack I mean, I know what to do until paramedics arrive."

"I don't know what I'm going to do for the Holidays. It depends on my mother's schedule. Hospitals get a lot busier at that time. When I'm not with her I'm generally at Bon Bon's. We grew up together, and her family looks out for me like one of their own. They know my mom can work long and odd hours during the holidays, and they know it'd just be me alone in the apartment." Lyra felt closer to Bon Bon's family than she did certain relatives of hers. The first year she had been back in Ponyville had been rough, and they had gone out of their way to make things enjoyable during the holidays for her.

[Octavia]

Octavia listened, finding as dignified a position as she could in the bus seat. She brought her hair forward over her shoulder in an effort to keep it from touching the back of the bus seat or the frames of the windows or even the windows themselves, all lightly smeared by hands and pressed faces or who knows what else. She did not want to rest her sanitized hands at her sides, so she crossed her legs at the knees and rested her hands, clasped, on top of a knee. It was all nothing to be irritated over, however. In fact, she nearly snickered at the thought of her mother meeting Lyra and storming away on her knuckles, grunting like a cranky ape, tearing out the rosebushes in the yard and bumbling out to the streets to be captured by animal control after tearing off mailbox covers searching for bananas. Perhaps she let herself get too far with the thought. “A part of me would enjoy seeing her devolve into a roaming primate, but the rest of me would prefer to avoid conflict, as amusing as the possibility sounds. It would be a lovely exercise in symbolism.” Her thoughts went to what Lyra had afterwards. The image appeared of Lyra leaving a dim apartment, walking along sunset streets, then being welcomed into a home lit from basement to attic in warm, 75 – watt lights from dozens of lamps, shades overhanging pictures of smiling people framed without regard for brand or aesthetic, but rather, framed in the themes of places that family had been: theme parks, landmarks, a big birthday party. The smell of turkey would waft around all those pictures, some of which Lyra might be in, over doilies holding wide bowls of cookies, under dusty glass fixtures of crystal-cut glass, and into smiling faces. It was, perhaps, a scene from a holiday card, but it was tempting. “Bon Bon’s family sounds very kind. I’m grateful you have more than I for options. During the holidays, my family goes somewhere expensive without going anyplace other than the hotel, my mother drinks and criticizes us until she falls asleep and my father waits until she’s out to tell us a few uplifting jokes and share the egg nog until bedtime. It’s all rather … impersonal, I suppose.” She was quiet as the bus’ computer voice announced a street and the bus stopped. People left, people came on, and soon, they were off again. “I asked because … if there is a way I could escape my family’s holiday experience and perhaps join a more … jovial one somehow …”

[Lyra Heartstrings]

Lyra's heart slowly broke as she heard Octavia recount how her family spent the holidays. That was no way to do it! The Holidays were all about coming together with loved ones and spending time with them in joy. Her father sounded like a decent fellow, but her mother... that was a different story. She sounded like the complete opposite of her own.

The musician reached out with one arm and put it around Octavia, drawing the other girl in close for a hug. It didn't matter if she wanted it or not, she deserved it. "What you're asking Octavia..." she started, unsure of what to say. "It's really conflicting in my head. On the one hand the Holidays should be about family, but on the other hand with a mother like yours... you could use a vacation."

She stroked her chin as the wheels in her head began to spin. "That said... you're talking to the teenage daughter of a nurse. I know all the ways to get caught in faking sick, and all the ways to pull it off. I might, might, have an idea or three. Easiest way I can think of is to make it seem like you're too sick to travel, but not so sick that someone has to stay with you all the time. You have any allergies, like pollen, or dander?"

[Octavia]

Her smile weakened as she saw the same happen to Lyra. No doubt, she sounded self-serving, phrasing the question in terms of escaping her family more than the way should would have rather phrased it. Perhaps, the other way was the way she should have phrased it, but as she opened her mouth to begin an apology, Lyra reached around her and gently pulled on her shoulder. Octavia followed the small pull with a set of blinks and a curious hum, and let her face rest of the front of Lyra’s shoulder, cheek against a cotton-nylon blend. Her eyes pointed down and spotted the holes where rank and ribbon would be pinned. Looking up, she saw Lyra’s cheek. Octavia adjusted her boots’ press into the bus floor so she wouldn’t simply fall over onto Lyra. That was about as much consideration as she had thought to give to the strange moment. The first thought that caught up was a wondering; what had she said? "What you're asking Octavia..." There was a pause. She could not see Lyra’s eyes, so she watched her lips for a frown or a sign of understanding all this. “It's really conflicting in my head. On the one hand the Holidays should be about family, but on the other hand with a mother like yours... you could use a vacation." The cellist did not know she had been holding her breath until a small sigh escaped her. She watched Lyra stroke her chin, side of index finger and the pad of her thumb coming together in a soft pinch. Her hands seemed a little dry, perhaps from the santizer. Later, if Lyra did not carry any hand lotion, Octavia considered that she would have to make a point to share some of hers. It was only after that thought did she catch up with the fact that she truly could have used that vacation. "That said... you're talking to the teenage daughter of a nurse. I know all the ways to get caught in faking sick, and all the ways to pull it off. I might, might, have an idea or three. Easiest way I can think of is to make it seem like you're too sick to travel, but not so sick that someone has to stay with you all the time. You have any allergies, like pollen, or dander?" As she listened and watched Lyra talk, she could not help but become both excited and uncertain at the same time. Still, it seemed like Lyra’s smile was making a comeback, and her thoughts leaned towards the optimistic despite the plan that was possibly materializing. But at the last question, Octavia found her own crafty smile returning. The jacket was somehow both smooth and rough against her cheek. “As it just so happens, juniper makes my eyes hurt and my nose runny, and if you add a touch of cat, my face gets a little puffy and after I punish the person responsible for the cat, I dive right into my bed and have myself a lovely little ruined day. There’s this girl in my government class who I swear has never heard of a lint roller. I cannot remember her name, so I simply regard her as 'Walking Cat Plague' in my head, especially when she wears one of her wool sweaters out from a kennel or litterbox or wherever cats generate pure discomfort from.” She took a quiet breath. Somewhere in the bus, somebody received a text message alert in the form of a crunchy, low-quality Pop chorus. Hopefully, they were not popular enough to get another text until either of them left the bus. “I … don’t suppose itchy facial inflation and hoping that all cats go wherever Disco went during an aggravation-coma would be a … helpful result?”