A Day in a Life

A warm, clear day down on Earth, in that small town. So few clouds floated overhead, and a warm breeze was fresh in the air.
Susannah's limbs were a little sore from her previous class, but the Dancer was quite used to aching muscles nowadays.

But, she had lazily decided to stay in her Ballet gear. What would it matter, anyway? It was comfortable.
So through the warm sun she strolled, still admiring the verdance of the little town.

Delaney was a multitasker.

She had been that way ever since she was small; her brain moved much too quickly for the rest of her body to keep up, and she was always trying to compensate for this by accomplishing as many things at once as she could to free up space for anything else. She was doing this as she walked down the pavement, fumbling with the strap of her camera. It was slightly frayed at the end, and thus hard to thread through the loops on the plastic body. She had nearly smacked into a tree or some other inanimate object multiple times on this five-minute walk to the town, already.

She finally stringed the strap on and slid it around her neck, cupping her hands around the bottom of the camera but letting the thick nylon support most of the bulky tool's weight. She snapped off the lens cap and started looking around for subject material. Good pictures came in unexpected places.

It didn't take long for her eyes to lock onto a person in the near distance. The girl, maybe around her own age and dressed entirely in ballet attire was strolling lazily, as if she hadn't a care in the world.

I want a picture of her. As odd as it was, this thought was often the first that popped into Delaney's mind when spotting a human, or anything she thought to be beautiful or interesting. But sometimes strangers didn't like random, gawky people approaching them and snapping a photo, so instead Delaney stood awkwardly in the middle of the street, undoubtedly looking more than a bit foolish. She ducked her head.

Sauntering along the aged cobblestone path, Susannah rolled her gaze from blossoming plants to whispering trees, quite in love with the cozy place.
Quickly, her eyes fell to a pretty-looking young lady by the street; she looked quite well-kept, but a little shy.
Lost, perhaps?

With a polite smile, Susannah decided upon walking up to the girl.
"Hello," She greeted, hoping her somewhat fragmented English wouldn't prove to be a problem.
"Might everything be alright?"

Delaney blinked. She wasn't used to being approached. It took her a minute to get all of her ducks in a row, to use the ancient phrase, as she liked to do, but once she had pulled herself together she mustered a smile.

She held up her camera, and said, "I'm sorry, I don't mean to stare. I was just wondering if it would be all right if I took a picture of you?" Absently, she bit her lip. "I'm a photographer," she added, a bit dumbly.

Susannah hesitated for a moment, her mind ticking away as she took a second to translate the English in her head.
A Photo? She thought over it briefly. a smile crawling across her face. The Camera in the girl's hands looked quite elaborate, of course, not that she knew anything about Photography. But it looked quite expensive, and professional. The girl herself carried an air of experience, as well as a nice, polite smile.

"You want a Photograph of me?" She asked. It wasn't a regular occurence for the dancer; but she couldn't deny the fact that she enjoyed the very idea of it. Besides, it seemed like fun. Why not?
"That can be arranged." Susannah confirmed with a grin.

Delaney mustered a quick smile. "Great. Thanks," she said, automatically reverting into autopilot as she checked the settings on her camera. There was a lot of mumbo-jumbo to be sorted out in photography, but the days of overexposure and ruined film were long over, chased away by the simplicity of the Digital Era in the early 2000s. Of course, hers was far superior to the models of that particular age, but the same principle was still in place. You point, focus, shoot, and take the picture.

"Can you just..." she waved her hand to the right, towards a bench. "Sorry. I'm a perfectionist." She smiled apologetically. "And right hand on the arm of the bench, if you please." She had detected a thick Russian accent in the dancer's voice and was careful in her selection of vocabulary to avoid a glaring miscalculation.

Susannah quickly batted away a small spark of camera-shy butterflies and smiled, sitting upon the bench and following the Photographer's instructions.
She didn't quite try the idle and bored look she saw on so many models in advertisements, rather waited for further suggestion, keeping an easy smile upon her face.

The young Photographer seemed quite kind with her etiquette, a sweet smile on the young woman's face.