"It's you and me, there's nothing like this
Miss Americana and The Heartbreak Prince
We're so sad, we paint the town blue
Voted most likely to run away with you"
｡ﾟ❁ུ۪ °ₒ 𓂂 ˚
In which Harley Gilmore prefers to...
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"She was happy and energetic one minute and faint the next. Connor said she's like that sometimes." Harley recounted to her mother as the two sat on their front porch, the girl wearing a paint-stained pair of overalls and a small sponge in her hand.
"Maybe I upset her. We were just having tea and sharing stories, and then she was saying she needed rest and practically shooed us out of the door."
"I knew we should have sent you to etiquette. classes." Harley gave her mother a sharp look, not in the mood for jokes as she dipped her sponge into a skin-toned acrylic paint she had mixed on a wooden palette.
The girl much preferred oil paint to acrylic, but if she wanted to get a good grade in her art class she would have to put her bias aside just this once. "It was so embarrassing. I just know I did something wrong."
"She doesn't hate you, nobody could ever hate you." The older woman chuckled, watching as Harley furiously dabbed the canvas lying between the two Gilmore girls with a sponge. Lorelai was happy Harley was painting again.
It seemed she had been so preoccupied with Chilton and cheer and socializing that she had forgotten the things she enjoyed most in this world. "Do you remember Suzy from the third grade, she hated me, and Carter Smithman. and Paris, Paris hates me."
The girl's words were met by a humorous scoff. "And then there's Spencer, who seems to hate me most of all," Harley huffed. "Oh honey, Spencer does not hate you."
"He won't even look at me at dinner the other night." Harley countered as she rubbed the thick canvas fabric so hard she could feel it slowly wearing down. "Spencer loves you, and he probably won't ever admit it but you hurt him. It takes time to heal from heartache."
"Heartache is a cheap excuse to cover the fact that I hurt his manhood." Harley barked loudly before slamming down the wooden palette in her hand. "Harley-" The blonde cut her mother off. "Sorry, I know you're just trying to cheer me up." The girl sighed as she ran a bracelet-clad hand through her messy hair.
"It's late. I should clean up."
"Okay." Lorelei faked a smile as she began helping her youngest daughter clean up her art supplies. Once inside and upstairs, Harley was met by Rory. She was laying on the blonde's bed, a book in hand.
"Hey, Rorybug, Whatch'ya reading?" Harley questioned in a singsong tone. "A moveable feast." The girl answered as she slid a bookmark into its pages and closed it.
"Did you finish?" Rory questioned her sister as she scooted over to make room for her. "No. I thought tragedy was supposed to inspire masterpieces, not headaches." Harley sighed dramatically.
