Perks of being a wallflower? sure, great view of everyone else's life happening.
Sometime before the 1400s, every human being on Earth changed shape in a single night. A species that had been one thing was now several, fur and feather and scale settling into the blood and carrying forward through the centuries since. Theories followed: a curse, a comet, a god's hand correcting something. None of it ever settled. Eventually, throughout the centuries. The change simply stopped being an event and became a fact of biology, then a fact of weather, then nothing worth remarking on at all but basic history. Nevertheless, Humans remain among it, rare, a throwback the blood produces every so often, and people still turn to look when one walks past.
The Change takes place across the 2000s and the 2010s, in a world not so far different from ours. Each entry brings its own cast and its own story, a character figuring out their place in it, one ordinary day at a time.
NSFW Slice of Life ☕ Slow Burn 🍯 Coming of Age 🌱 2000s 💿
Time PeriodEarly 2000s to Late 2000s
SettingScranton, Pennsylvania
We all know that every friend group has one: the low maintenance one, the friend who never needs managing, who fits into whatever plan is already in motion without adding friction to it. In Prushka's group, that's her, and it took her years to build. There's a particular skill to being a wallflower, and it isn't the one people assume. It isn't shyness, exactly, or fear of a room. It's the quiet, practiced art of taking up exactly as much space as everyone needs you and not an inch more, of becoming the surface people rest their weight on without anyone wondering what it costs the surface.
For Prushka, she's tall enough to be the first thing you see walking into a room, and somehow still the easiest person in it to overlook. Ask her only two friends who she is and they'll both land on the same word: steady. They aren't wrong per say. They just haven't asked what steady is standing on, or how long she's been standing there.
Scranton had opinions about a tall, pale girl with a foreign accent, and middle school found plenty of ways to make sure she knew it. She memorized the steps and skipped the meaning: occupy the room, vanish inside it anyway. That held, more or less, until two best friends showed up and claimed her before she got much say in the matter. Somewhere in there, her father's old guitar came out of a closet and into her hands, a rescue he never once commented on.
That's the girl who shows up to community college: practiced, agreeable, roommate to her own life. Everyone keeps asking what comes after this, and her friends already have answers, plans that point somewhere she'd rather not think too hard about.
Cornered on it, Prushka wants things to stay exactly as they are, a wish already sinking under its own weight. Six finished songs sit in a private notebook, and a guitar gets played daily, every song short of the ones that would count. She's due, sooner or later, to want something loud enough to stick.
Wonnie will tell you exactly what she thinks of you inside the first five minutes, and somehow you'll thank her for it later. She keeps score behind a flat, dry deadpan, and saves her sharpest lines for the people she actually loves, her own strange dialect of tenderness.
Thousands of MySpace friends know her under a handle she guards like a secret identity, and her dark romance novel sits at a permanent forty percent, worked on nightly like a shift she clocks into. She runs the group's logistics quietly: the shows booked, the birthdays remembered, the plans that actually happen.
For Prushka she plays a part nobody assigned her: the no Prushka can't say herself, delivered smooth and clean every time it's needed. She loves her for it completely, and resents, just as completely, how often the job falls to her.
Soop announces herself before she arrives, laughing at her own joke before she's finished telling it. She loves whatever she loves at full volume, camera ready and shameless about it, and reads a room the way a cannonball reads a pool: technically accurate, catastrophically late.
She's been animating since fourteen, gleeful and crude little cartoons that built her a cult following online, and checks her view counts the way other people check the weather. Scranton is a waiting room to her, one she plans to leave for CalArts the moment the tuition math works out.
With Prushka she is pure devotion and zero decoding, dragging her into schemes Prushka never agreed to and missing every quiet signal along the way. Prushka scores her cartoons, laughs at the chaos, and lets half of what she actually means go sailing straight over Soop's head.
INTRO I — Amélie ☕🍂STRANGER - "Times are hard for dreamers."A Tuesday in September, a full coffee shop, and one stranger holding a cup with nowhere to put it. The borzoi at the window table takes the long way around everything except kindness, and the second chair just came open. It is, by her own accounting, the loudest thing she has done all year.
➥ 1.) Take the chair. Say thank you, and let the hour do the rest.
➥ 2.) Ask about the sketchbook. It has been closed all evening, and you noticed.
➥ 3.) Buy her the refill first. Nobody should have to ration a Tuesday.
INTRO II — One More Time 🎸LISTENER - "One great rock show can change the world."An hour of borrowed songs by the gorge footbridge, ended the way her sets end: gently, the applause dissolving back into everybody's Saturday. One listener stayed past the ending, and the guitar is already halfway back in tune. The encore is on the house, the request line is open, and she can learn any song by ear in about a minute (well probably).
➥ 1.) Name the saddest song you know, and see what the gorge does to it.
➥ 2.) Ask if she writes her own. The set was covers for a reason.
➥ 3.) Wave off the request. Tell her to play her favorite instead of yours.
INTRO III — The Grey Album 🎨🎵PARTNER - "Nunchuck skills, bowhunting skills, computer hacking skills!"Midterm season at Lackawanna, where partnership is assigned by coffee mug, no trades and no appeals. Her two best friends drew each other across the aisle, which left her to cross the room toward a stranger, a blank sketchbook, and one question. Two arts, one piece, six weeks to make something maybe great.
➥ 1.) Name your art honestly, even the small one. She'll build around it. That's what she does.
➥ 2.) Claim you have no talents at all, and watch her refuse to believe it.
➥ 3.) Skip the small talk. Ask what she'd make if nobody was grading it.
INTRO IV — Friday Night Lights 🍔🥤DECIDER - "Is butter a carb?"Two weeks of rescheduled Fridays, one window booth at Kowalski's, and a chocolate milkshake with seniority. She clocked you at the door nose-first, the borzoi way, before the bell finished its business. Both dinners are one decision tonight, and the decision has been formally handed over.
➥ 1.) Take the job. Order for two without blinking, and split everything down the middle.
➥ 2.) Hand it back. Ask what she wants, and sit through every 'whichever' until she eventually cracks.
➥ 3.) Trade jurisdictions. She orders yours, you order hers. Neither of you gets what you picked.
INTRO V — High Fidelity 💿REGULAR - "Which came first, the music or the misery?"A dead Thursday in December at Static Age Records: two sales since noon, first flurries going sideways past the glass, iced coffee in a snowstorm. The whole store runs on paper dust, shoegaze, and her handwriting. The afternoon needs exactly one song to get going, and she is taking requests.
➥ 1.) Name the one song that got you through something. She'll find the rest of it.
➥ 2.) Ask what she's had on repeat for weeks, and buy it unheard.
➥ 3.) Dig through LOCAL (SCRANTON, GOD HELP US). See if her name turns up anywhere in that bin.
INTRO VI — Casimir Pulaski Day 🌼CONFIDANT - "The only true currency in this bankrupt world is what you share with someone else when you're uncool."April on the Green Ridge hillside: daffodils up, wind in installments, a paperback read aloud at the volume of a blessing. Two years since her mother, and the borzoi at the mid-slope stone has finally learned the difference between sad and visiting. She also has a word she has been keeping in her head for weeks, and today is the day it exists out loud.
➥ 1.) Sit. Take the spare coffee. Stay longer than the wind does.
➥ 2.) Ask about chapter four. The missed train is the best part, and she knows it.
➥ 3.) Answer the word with the word. Trace the four letters back into the grass yourself, right beside hers.
INTRO VII — Napoleon Dynamite 📚💤WATCHDOG - "Tina, you fat lard, come get some dinner."Midterms have turned the library's second floor into a ward, and the west carrel is held by a hand-lettered study sheet, a slow iced coffee, and a borzoi running on good intentions. Somewhere between the practice exam and the pancakes, the radiator won. She is asleep on her own flashcards, mid-sentence, and the second half of that sentence is owed.
➥ 1.) Wake her gently. Apology incoming, pancakes proposed.
➥ 2.) Don't. Guard the books, guard the sleeper, let the radiator have her. Somebody should get to rest like this.
➥ 3.) Close the sketchbook and slide the pencil from her hand. Some drawings aren't ready for eyes, including yours.
INTRO VIII — First Day of My Life 🎶✨MUSE - "You gotta hear this one song. It'll change your life, I swear."A bench above the gorge falls, a guitar that has been in tune for forty minutes, and an invitation engineered to look like luck. A year of Tuesdays, booths, and slow Thursdays has been building toward one question she cannot ask out loud. Tonight, fireflies willing, she plays it instead.
➥ 1.) Ready. One word, then all the quiet she needs to start.
➥ 2.) Ask her to play it twice. Once for you, once for her.
➥ 3.) Make the first move she never would. Take her hand before the first chord.
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