![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smackenzieAfter lunch Marya rearranged the suitcases, cracked her knuckles, and went to work on her bedroom. Oscar followed her, of course, and sat on the floor and whined, and tried to get in her way, and barked at her when she dragged him out of the room and closed the door. She loved him, she really did, and she was annoyed she couldn't just tell him she wasn't going to leave him here and reassure him with the sound of her voice. She'd heard that worked on dogs.
Well, he'd figure it out when the van was all packed and she let him in it. And in the meantime she just had to suffer him sitting on the other side of her bedroom door and whining.
"Be quiet," she snapped at the door. Pointless, but it made her feel better. She unzipped the largest suitcase, opened her closet, and just stared at the clothes. She had no idea where to start. She had no idea what to bring. What was she going to need? What was she going to miss? And why the hell did she still have what looked like one of Cassandra's shirts? Marya didn't want to have to take that back to Cass on her way out of town. Although if she still had it, there was a pretty big chance that Cass didn't even know it was missing. Which was good.
Ok. So. Jeans, cargo pants, flannel shirts. Some Oxford shirts. The polka-dotted skirt, the ridiculous 50s style Pepto pink sateen dress with the crinolines, the one that looked like a vintage prom dress, that she'd worn to play a gig on Valentine's Day. She'd worn red tights and her red Chucks, and a boy she didn't know and never expected to see again spent some quality time chatting her up. He was kind of cute and kind of dorky and mostly just sweet, and he thought she was smokin' hot in her poofy skirt and high-tops - he said that, "You're smokin' hot" - which she thought was funny, so she let him buy her a drink and she flirted with him and told him sadly at the end of the night that she thought he was cute and sweet, and he'd make some girl a fabulous boyfriend, but she was sorry, she was queer. That didn't seem to deter him, but at least it was a good reason for why she wasn't interested in dating him, or really even flirting with him after that night.
She left her nice black pants and the skirt suit her grandma had made her buy to wear to Easter services a couple of years ago. It was a nice suit, but not Marya's thing, and aside from the once-yearly Easter service, she'd never worn it, and never planned to. And she had other things she liked better to remind her of her grandma.
In fact, she left all her formalish, professionalish, niceish clothes. She only ever wore that stuff because she had to, and now that the world had kind of sort of ended, or at least life as she knew it had kind of sort of ended, she didn't have to wear anything she didn't want to. She packed the vintage bowling shirt, though, because she did like that, and her pinstripe suit and the red tie she liked to wear with it. She had no idea when she'd ever have a reason to wear it again, but she didn't want to leave it. It was a nice suit, and she looked good in it.
She filled the suitcase with clothes from the closet - the pink dress with the floofy skirt took up a lot of space, even squished down, but the suitcase had been her grandma's, and Marya the First believed in ginormous suitcases - zipped it closed, dragged it into the hall, unzipped the next suitcase, and started opening dresser drawers. T-shirts, tank tops, a few pairs of boxer shorts of the kind that girls could wear in public, her blue flannel pj's with the penguins on them, the shorts she slept in in the summer, her yoga pants. She'd only done yoga for a few months, but she still had the yoga mat around here somewhere, and she loved her yoga pants. They were soft and comfy and made great sleep pants. She threw her bathingsuit in the suitcase, because she was going to California and she wasn't planning on swimming in the ocean in her regular clothes, and started filling in the random empty spaces in the suitcase with her underwear.
After she filled the second suitcase and opened a third, it occurred to her that maybe she should bring a sweater or a sweatshirt or both, so she put her green Fair Isle sweater in the bottom of the suitcase with the big dark gray Pluto-the-dog sweatshirt (not Pluto-the-planet) that her dad had brought her back from LA one year when she was in high school. He'd gone to the Hanna Barbera studios with some friend of his who worked there. He came back with a red Underdog t-shirt for himself, which Marya had liked so much she appropriated it when she went to college. And her dad liked it so much he knew it was gone and was annoyed. He made her bring it home for Christmas break, so he could have it back. Now it was out in California with him, wherever he was.
But she wasn't thinking about that. No. She wasn't.
She was instead thinking about underwear and bras and socks and the red tights that had kind of clashed with the Pepto pink prom dress. She was thinking that she was glad she'd done her laundry yesterday, because she sure as hell didn't want to do it now, and she wouldn't have to bring dirty undies across the country with her. Oh, maybe she should pack some soap or something to wash her clothes with. She wasn't sure there was much point in bringing the Arm & Hammer powder, because what were the chances that the electricity would stay on, and that she'd find a working washing machine to do her laundry in? Better to just bring a dedicated bar of laundry soap and plan to do it all by hand. Wouldn't that be fun, in a way that really wasn't.
After Marya had finished throwing her underwear and bras and socks in the third suitcase, she attacked her shoes. Which really meant she threw them out of the closet one by one, until she'd matched all the pairs and could see the bottom of the closet floor. She had a lot of shoes. It was her one really girly quirk. Of course, a lot of them were shoes and boots from secondhand stores, and there were pairs she'd only worn once or twice because they hurt her feet too much after half an hour, and she wasn't so girly or so invested in her appearance that she'd suffer foot pain for some really cool shoes.
She had a duffle bag in her closet and she unzipped that to put the shoes and boots in. She could just throw them all together and not have to worry about getting scuff marks on her clothes or her nice clean underwear. She figured she'd wear the red Chucks, because they were really comfortable. She packed her Mexican leather sandals, her combat boots, her black Chucks, bright green Chucks, secondhand Doc Marten Mary Janes, and the black and white wingtips she usually only wore with the pinstripe suit. She got her peacoat from the front closet and stuffed it in the duffle along with the hat and scarf her grandma had knitted for her when she was in high school. She also had a beat-to-shit jean jacket and an old Army jacket that she'd stolen from one of her ex-girlfriends, but she'd leave those out in the van, in case it got cold.
Oh shit, she should probably pack a smaller suitcase or something with just stuff to wear on her roadtrip. She didn't want to have to go through all the suitcases every morning trying to find clean clothes, or every night trying to find something comfy to sleep in. She wasn't sure but she thought she might have to sleep in the van, and she wanted to be able to get to what she needed with a minimum of investigating. So now she unzipped the suitcase with her undies and bras and socks, took out several pairs and some t-shirts, unpacked another pair of jeans and her yoga pants and penguin pajama top and a flannel shirt. That would have to do. She stuffed everything in another duffle - she had several - and dragged the suitcases one by one into the hallway and then into the spare room, where the accumulating cases of various kinds were taking over the floor. There was no way she was going to fit all that in her van. Dammit.
Now that she was out of her room, or at least out from behind a closed door, Oscar could follow her around like the nervous puppy he was. Marya stopped to rub his ears and give him some love and tell him she was going to have to find one of those little trailer U-Haul things you could hitch to the back of your car so you didn't have to rent a whole van but could move more stuff than could fit in the car. Oscar just whined back in his throat, which made Marya feel guilty, so she let him outside and threw sticks for him for a while. She used to buy tennis balls, but he couldn't catch them and always wanted to eat them, so she moved on to sticks. For some reason those were easier for Oscar to catch, or at least pick up, and he didn't want to eat them. Marya figured that whatever tennis balls were made out of was particularly tasty, but sticks, not so much. She was ok with that - it saved her some money and some hassle, and because he didn't like them, she didn't have to worry about Oscar getting splinters in his tongue from trying to eat a stick.
words: 1722
total words: 23,852
(note to self: marya must have a pair of hiking boots somewhere, and now she has to pack some sheets and towels and blankets and a pillow)
Well, he'd figure it out when the van was all packed and she let him in it. And in the meantime she just had to suffer him sitting on the other side of her bedroom door and whining.
"Be quiet," she snapped at the door. Pointless, but it made her feel better. She unzipped the largest suitcase, opened her closet, and just stared at the clothes. She had no idea where to start. She had no idea what to bring. What was she going to need? What was she going to miss? And why the hell did she still have what looked like one of Cassandra's shirts? Marya didn't want to have to take that back to Cass on her way out of town. Although if she still had it, there was a pretty big chance that Cass didn't even know it was missing. Which was good.
Ok. So. Jeans, cargo pants, flannel shirts. Some Oxford shirts. The polka-dotted skirt, the ridiculous 50s style Pepto pink sateen dress with the crinolines, the one that looked like a vintage prom dress, that she'd worn to play a gig on Valentine's Day. She'd worn red tights and her red Chucks, and a boy she didn't know and never expected to see again spent some quality time chatting her up. He was kind of cute and kind of dorky and mostly just sweet, and he thought she was smokin' hot in her poofy skirt and high-tops - he said that, "You're smokin' hot" - which she thought was funny, so she let him buy her a drink and she flirted with him and told him sadly at the end of the night that she thought he was cute and sweet, and he'd make some girl a fabulous boyfriend, but she was sorry, she was queer. That didn't seem to deter him, but at least it was a good reason for why she wasn't interested in dating him, or really even flirting with him after that night.
She left her nice black pants and the skirt suit her grandma had made her buy to wear to Easter services a couple of years ago. It was a nice suit, but not Marya's thing, and aside from the once-yearly Easter service, she'd never worn it, and never planned to. And she had other things she liked better to remind her of her grandma.
In fact, she left all her formalish, professionalish, niceish clothes. She only ever wore that stuff because she had to, and now that the world had kind of sort of ended, or at least life as she knew it had kind of sort of ended, she didn't have to wear anything she didn't want to. She packed the vintage bowling shirt, though, because she did like that, and her pinstripe suit and the red tie she liked to wear with it. She had no idea when she'd ever have a reason to wear it again, but she didn't want to leave it. It was a nice suit, and she looked good in it.
She filled the suitcase with clothes from the closet - the pink dress with the floofy skirt took up a lot of space, even squished down, but the suitcase had been her grandma's, and Marya the First believed in ginormous suitcases - zipped it closed, dragged it into the hall, unzipped the next suitcase, and started opening dresser drawers. T-shirts, tank tops, a few pairs of boxer shorts of the kind that girls could wear in public, her blue flannel pj's with the penguins on them, the shorts she slept in in the summer, her yoga pants. She'd only done yoga for a few months, but she still had the yoga mat around here somewhere, and she loved her yoga pants. They were soft and comfy and made great sleep pants. She threw her bathingsuit in the suitcase, because she was going to California and she wasn't planning on swimming in the ocean in her regular clothes, and started filling in the random empty spaces in the suitcase with her underwear.
After she filled the second suitcase and opened a third, it occurred to her that maybe she should bring a sweater or a sweatshirt or both, so she put her green Fair Isle sweater in the bottom of the suitcase with the big dark gray Pluto-the-dog sweatshirt (not Pluto-the-planet) that her dad had brought her back from LA one year when she was in high school. He'd gone to the Hanna Barbera studios with some friend of his who worked there. He came back with a red Underdog t-shirt for himself, which Marya had liked so much she appropriated it when she went to college. And her dad liked it so much he knew it was gone and was annoyed. He made her bring it home for Christmas break, so he could have it back. Now it was out in California with him, wherever he was.
But she wasn't thinking about that. No. She wasn't.
She was instead thinking about underwear and bras and socks and the red tights that had kind of clashed with the Pepto pink prom dress. She was thinking that she was glad she'd done her laundry yesterday, because she sure as hell didn't want to do it now, and she wouldn't have to bring dirty undies across the country with her. Oh, maybe she should pack some soap or something to wash her clothes with. She wasn't sure there was much point in bringing the Arm & Hammer powder, because what were the chances that the electricity would stay on, and that she'd find a working washing machine to do her laundry in? Better to just bring a dedicated bar of laundry soap and plan to do it all by hand. Wouldn't that be fun, in a way that really wasn't.
After Marya had finished throwing her underwear and bras and socks in the third suitcase, she attacked her shoes. Which really meant she threw them out of the closet one by one, until she'd matched all the pairs and could see the bottom of the closet floor. She had a lot of shoes. It was her one really girly quirk. Of course, a lot of them were shoes and boots from secondhand stores, and there were pairs she'd only worn once or twice because they hurt her feet too much after half an hour, and she wasn't so girly or so invested in her appearance that she'd suffer foot pain for some really cool shoes.
She had a duffle bag in her closet and she unzipped that to put the shoes and boots in. She could just throw them all together and not have to worry about getting scuff marks on her clothes or her nice clean underwear. She figured she'd wear the red Chucks, because they were really comfortable. She packed her Mexican leather sandals, her combat boots, her black Chucks, bright green Chucks, secondhand Doc Marten Mary Janes, and the black and white wingtips she usually only wore with the pinstripe suit. She got her peacoat from the front closet and stuffed it in the duffle along with the hat and scarf her grandma had knitted for her when she was in high school. She also had a beat-to-shit jean jacket and an old Army jacket that she'd stolen from one of her ex-girlfriends, but she'd leave those out in the van, in case it got cold.
Oh shit, she should probably pack a smaller suitcase or something with just stuff to wear on her roadtrip. She didn't want to have to go through all the suitcases every morning trying to find clean clothes, or every night trying to find something comfy to sleep in. She wasn't sure but she thought she might have to sleep in the van, and she wanted to be able to get to what she needed with a minimum of investigating. So now she unzipped the suitcase with her undies and bras and socks, took out several pairs and some t-shirts, unpacked another pair of jeans and her yoga pants and penguin pajama top and a flannel shirt. That would have to do. She stuffed everything in another duffle - she had several - and dragged the suitcases one by one into the hallway and then into the spare room, where the accumulating cases of various kinds were taking over the floor. There was no way she was going to fit all that in her van. Dammit.
Now that she was out of her room, or at least out from behind a closed door, Oscar could follow her around like the nervous puppy he was. Marya stopped to rub his ears and give him some love and tell him she was going to have to find one of those little trailer U-Haul things you could hitch to the back of your car so you didn't have to rent a whole van but could move more stuff than could fit in the car. Oscar just whined back in his throat, which made Marya feel guilty, so she let him outside and threw sticks for him for a while. She used to buy tennis balls, but he couldn't catch them and always wanted to eat them, so she moved on to sticks. For some reason those were easier for Oscar to catch, or at least pick up, and he didn't want to eat them. Marya figured that whatever tennis balls were made out of was particularly tasty, but sticks, not so much. She was ok with that - it saved her some money and some hassle, and because he didn't like them, she didn't have to worry about Oscar getting splinters in his tongue from trying to eat a stick.
words: 1722
total words: 23,852
(note to self: marya must have a pair of hiking boots somewhere, and now she has to pack some sheets and towels and blankets and a pillow)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-11-15 04:53 pm (UTC)*sits and waits for more*
no subject
Date: 2007-11-18 02:14 am (UTC)