Scribble: What? I'm feeling romantic while listening to 8-bit music.

      A quiet sigh fluttered in the air, carried aloft by butterfly wings. As azure eyes followed it drift along the breeze, the girl felt the memory of warm, soft skin gently caress her cheek. Without a thought, her own slender fingertips graced the blushing skin, as her eyes slipped beneath their lids.
      Even after so long, she thought, a gentle breeze tousling long, raven locks as it passed, it still feels like only a moment ago...
      So entranced, only the touch of soft, familiar lips could force her eyes open, pressing against her uncovered cheek. Startled, she turned in fright, only to be calmed at the mischievous smile and pair of emerald eyes awaiting her.
      "Sorry," came the sweet melody, as slender arms found new ways to intertwine, "I couldn't resist..."

Scribble: Trying to pull nothing out of something.

      She slides past the counter, disappearing into the kitchen once more. Her hair seems to follow her a few paces behind; her face is just a made-up mask, stolen from a dime store Pierrot.
      A door opens, another customer slides into the bar. She emerges once more, hair barely moving, face barely moving, holding a basket of fresh wings so close that the oil's gotta burn. Not a flinch, though.
      Stepping back into the twilight of swinging lamps and burnt-out bulbs, she smiles, as shadows steal away the thick lines of compound and eye shadow, leaving her resplendent. Her hair is absolutely perfect, raven locks that never stray no matter how many times she turns her head to take an order.
      Now who is the fool, of course.