Because misery loves company

[gabrielle]

A one on one roleplay between GreyZone and Gabrielle;

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​

"It weeps for you late at night, when sleep does not come easily.


It weeps for the one you miss. It weeps for the dreams on the tips of your fingers.


It weeps for appointments missed and it weeps for the tears in your pillow.


It weeps for the silence and it weeps for the noise.


It weeps for formal letters where once, language was spoken as close to your ear as possible.


It weeps for betrayal, intended or not. It weeps for the friends you once were. It weeps for the colors faded.


It weeps for sunrise. It weeps for a death in the family and it weeps for words that can never be taken back.


It weeps so hard and so much and so often. So you don't have to. So you can carry on. It weeps for you. When you have run out of weeping.

? Pleasefindthis, The Reason the Willow Weeps.
​

You're not alone. Because misery loves company.


I'm not gonna lie, my skin and bones have seen better days.

"Maybe it'd be easier if we all came with an instruction manual to show us when it's appropriate to cry in front of someone else. I need an oil change every five years or else my heart stops ticking on time. A kiss on the neck means self-destruct. Trace my back and I'll start hydroplaning.




Thumb through this how-to-pamphlet on how to keep your fingers from shaking when you're sitting beside a boy who can say your name just right, and let me know what page I should go to when I want to know how to survive this winter without burning all these matches just to relight my own eyes.





How do you keep the monsters at bay? Check page 67.


How do you cook a Thanksgiving turkey without dropping it on the floor and making your mother cry? Turn to page 18.


What number do I call if someone replaced my bones with broken glass? Because I don't think insurance covers that. I'm an old model. A 1994 edition of a car that you probably didn't want in the first place.


This radio doesn't have all the stations and the glove compartment doesn't even have any gloves in it, but I can promise you at least this;


I will never fail to inflate my lungs for you when you're a hundred miles deep, heading headfirst towards a telephone pole, - screaming - because you have pulled out all your own brakes." ? Shinji Moon. Instruction Manual.

Welcome to the sleepy, overcast village of Monticello, New York.

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Residing in southern upstate New York, Monticello is a tiny village of 4 square miles and a population of around 6,700 people. Despite being one of the largest settlements in the Sullivan County, it's small and quiet. The streets are empty on most days, and the buildings seem to have never changed since the mid 60s. Tall trees stand in abundance, turning brilliant shades throughout the year. Nearly all of the land in Monticello is covered by forests. There are no dry seasons, and thunderstorms are incredibly common. The summers are warm and humid with averages in the seventies; the winters are frigid with averages in the thirties accompanied by frequent snow.


Although the people here are quite what you'd expect them to be in such a small place--traditional, the type to know everyone and their secrets--the underground scene is quite the contrast to your average Joes and Carolines. The youth of Monticello has culture. With the abundance of poverty and run down buildings found outside of the town's center, it's not uncommon for those living there to get into certain scenes. Outside of the beauty and quaintness found naturally in Monticello, you find the rock scenes, drugs, dance clubs. This list could go on. It's everything and anything found in New York City downgraded with the poverty and small population of Monticello in a few select buildings. It's the scene for every messed up kid in town, and with the outdated traditions that don't go so well with the new of today's culture, those types aren't at all in scarcity.


Despite the small population and close-nit community, Monticello has a high poverty and crime rate. There is a clear distinction between the rich and the poor, and with messed up teenagers on both sides of the two social classes who aren't all too conforming to their parent's wishes, you're stuck with rebels. The officers of law enforcement know everyone, so how could they possibly send their best friend from third grade's kid to jail? Take the lack of discipline and a youth out to make trouble, there is too much crime and too low of grades in the high school. This village is a small place; what else is there to do than cause drama in the most unruly way a teenager could think of?



​

Gabrielle's // GreyZone's

Maxwell Carrigan. // Jenna Lawson.


16. 5'7" // 16. 5'3"
​

 

[gabrielle]

"Run, you idiot!" Those very words seemed strikingly philosophical (hell, maybe even fate-sealing) as they were half-assedly called out over the shoulder of a running flush-cheeked companion whose voice was just beginning to break. Boys of which were moments ago considered calm companions were suddenly scattering at the sight of something just behind Max's own shoulder. It was almost admirable how quickly they were able to disappear. In the frame of seconds, they were here at one and gone by the next. If one didn't know any better, they might just mistake the boys for having been fabrics of uncertainly imagined assholes who ditch at the slightest bit of real threat and danger. Maybe they shouldn't be called assholes, though. It probably makes them the smarter ones out of the group and not cowards considering they were saving their own asses here, but wouldn't it make them much more brave if they stayed to save those outside of themselves?


You see, humans are selfish, he knows. That statement in itself has nearly become a theme of truth in his pathetic life, but he's not any better. If he were any better, he wouldn't be at the local drunk's filth-ridden shack of a home trying to steal alcohol, now would he? Max clearly was not the most clever boy.


Shck-cht.


That fact quickly became a very prominent truth as the unmistakable sound of a shotgun being loaded filled the silence. The lack of noise had become increasingly uncomfortable as it had grown, but perhaps he should truly be careful for what he wishes for. The silence was most definitely more preferable than hearing a gun being loaded right behind you.


It's safe to say that Max didn't take any more time to consider the earlier advice given to him as soon as a sharp turn of his head was taken. It was a minuscule of a gesture: him looking just slightly over his shoulder and behind himself, heather eyes wide under curled lashes above the density of freckles covering his cheeks. His sights were met with a familiar form: a beer belly, beard, and up just a bit higher, hatefully glassy eyes. Oh, and how could we forget the shotgun. Yeah, that's there to. We can't ever miss that.


Max took off, moving without watching where his feet were landing as a shattering rattle of a gunshot left him reeling. The walls seemed to shake as he tripped; it was unsure whether the shock of the sound or the beer can on the floor had caused his imbalance. Maybe it was both, but either way, the clumsiness of his actions could have very well saved his life if Mr. Admirable here had decent aim. He probably didn't, but it should be a given that Max didn't want to find out. He gracelessly pushed himself to his feet; the beer can which had tripped him was left flying almost in the illusion of dust should he be in a cartoon. You know, those ones where the guys running off left clouds of dust in their wake. It was an amusing thought, but it was one that Max simply did not have the time to entertain for very long. Obviously, he had more important things to mind.


"Run, you idiot," was quickly becoming one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to him as he nearly threw himself out of the back door. A left was immediately taken and followed by him shoving himself over the fence, falling to the ground on his hands and knees in a panicked mess. It left blood on his hands and grass stains on his already torn up jeans, but no mind was paid to that as adrenaline kept only one thought imminent: to get the hell out of there. The process of jumping a fence, running, and jumping another fence into the next yard lasted for only three more residences. Lucky him, the last one had a dog in it.


To put it simply said dog didn't take too kindly to some 5'7" mess of a scrawny kid with cheap clothes, a newly deepened voice, curly blonde hair, and freckles dramatically forcing himself into it's yard. It was the first thing Max saw as he looked up: teeth surrounded by matted fur blurred by the rush movements its short legs provided. The dog almost seemed more surreal than the gun with it's buzzing growl and demanding bark. Max quickly gathered himself to his feet, holding his hand out in protection as if that'd do him and good. He was jittery with the incredibly high-strung state of his being, but even so, he managed to try and inch away from the dog despite of his shaking hands. Apparently this wasn't at all acceptable to the dog; its jaws snapped at his hands in a flash, causing Max to pull back with the loud mention of "Fuck!" on his lips, his voice cracking. With that he took his chances breaking out into a run, the dog tearing a hole into his jeans as he moved. Max pointedly shoved it away and went for the next fence. The fixture suddenly became a thing of great appreciation, providing a means of escape from his current situation deemed to be the incredibly treacherous end of his days. He was moments away from evading the thing he'd decided was a vicious little bastard whenever its teeth sunk into the back of his right leg.


"Oh my--HECK!" He yelled, his voice surprisingly high-pitched in his pain and fear. It had him slipping from the fence and falling to the ground once more as the dog shook its head, only worsening its bite. It felt like knives were being dug into his skin and set on fire, burning in searingly sharp pain as the knives only sunk in deeper and deeper. His breath caught in his throat as he held it almost as if not breathing would help him not feel it; the pain of it seemed as if that was all he had ever known and ever would know as he threw fists at the dog. Nothing seemed to help in getting it to leave him. The seconds that had passed felt like they took minutes up until the dog released its hold and ran off at the call of its name. Left with flushed cheeks and teary eyes, it was only then that Max took notice to the sign reading "BEWARE OF DOG," hanging on the fence.




As deep of a meaning Max had managed to find in such a simple phrase commanding him to run, there comes a certain point at which it proves to be a meaningless mention. You run out of breath. Your throat and lungs begin to feel as if they are burned. Your legs begin to ache. You can't go on running forever. In Max's case he hadn't stopped from exhaustion though, no. Authority had. Someone had the grand idea of calling a cop over, and please tell him how he was the only one to end up in the patrol car. That really is just his luck, isn't it? Talk about a shitty day, yeah?


Run. Hm. That seemed to be all he's managed to do during his whole life. Run away from family. Run from the ridicule. Run from the raised voices and stern expressions. The concern and good intentions. Company that isn't poison. Run towards the unruly and unfathomable. Towards the freaks, creeps, and anyone else that a kid's parents would tell them to avoid. Run towards what will ruin you, because that's the best idea you'll ever get, right?


Max sighed, keeping his forehead against the window of the vehicle and his arms crossed. Summer was doing a number on him with his previous antics of running around along with the long sleeves he wore. Sweat kept him conscious of the sticky feeling on his palms and the ends of his hair keeping along the back of his neck curling even more with the humidity. The wound on the back of his leg kept with a dull ache; his blood stained the fabric surrounding. Scabs were present on his palms and there were stains on his knees and elbows courtesy of gravity and the grass. He was certainly looking pretty rough at the moment and was well aware of it.


As per usual his address didn't need to be requested for, and the cop followed Max into the mess of a home that existed as Olivia Winston's foster home in one of the many lower end sides of town. The home was just like any other in the neighborhood: close to the homes beside it, a small yard, chain link fence, a porch, chipped paint, the list could go on. It's a humble little place following the vaguely run-down look of the neighborhood; although, the interior of the home was a bit different. If anything, it was welcoming. Messy, yes, but it wasn't a cold place. There were welcoming faces and an overall look to the place that made it look as if it could actually be called "home." And a home it certainly was to Max. He's been living here for about three years, and if Olivia has dealt with him and all of the trouble he's caused for that long, he'd be damned if he wouldn't be able to refer to it as such.


"Thanks for the ride, Mr. Peterson." Max muttered before giving an attempt to abscond to the boy's room in place of following him to the kitchen where Olivia was sure to be. Unfortunately, his attempt was made useless as the cop took hold of Max's arm just above his elbow. He tried to tug away, but all he got in response was a tightened grip as he was pulled along with stern words of "You know better." Yes, he did know better, but that didn't change the fact that he didn't agree with it. Oh, the woes. Max was well aware of the oncoming doom present in Olivia's disappointment, and the closer the dreaded kitchen came, the more prominent his frown and furrowed eyebrows became.


"Hey, Liv. Sorry to interrupt." Mr. Peterson started with a nod towards her and another girl Max hadn't taken any notice to as of yet. His attention was pinned on the wall away from the faces of anyone that found themselves to be present. The point of it was to avoid the look of clear annoyance that was sure to cross Olivia's expression before she'd paint on a pretty little smile just for the sake of image and decency that was made useless by now. Max didn't even need to be looking at her to feel the daggers she was throwing with just one look.


"Max," She started in an exasperated whisper, yet at the same time her tone held a harsh sharpness to it that pulled a flinch from Max. It took in the form of tensed shoulders and him looking even more away. It was most likely seen as disrespect in the eyes of all watching, but really, this was nothing new with his typical anxious behavior. She didn't bother to try and get him to look at her; she knew she very well had his undivided attention even if she didn't have his sights. Just as Max had been able to predict, a pleasant look to her features was forced up as she spoke once more saying, "Excuse me, Jenna." as she walked out of the room with the cop. This was per usual. They'd go to another room and speak to each other, Olivia would return, bitch him out, he'd be grounded, and the process of getting into trouble would just continue. But wait... That was a new name. Jenna?


As the two adults left the room, Max finally glanced up and found himself looking towards an unfamiliar face. And the first thought to cross his mind? Holy shit, she's beautiful. All reasonable processes of speech seemed to suddenly fail him in that moment, and it took him a few seconds to register that he was probably looking like the biggest creep out of them all just staring at her like that. He pointedly forced his gaze away from her to nothing in particular, scrambling for something to say and turning up with nothing at all worth while. A hand ran through his hair before both went to his pockets as he glanced towards the suitcases at the girl's feet. The existence of such things made it known that she'd be staying with them, but he couldn't help but feel doubt over her being in the same situation as the rest of the kids here. As petty as it may sound, she just didn't seem like the type to live here. To him it was almost as if she belonged more in places unfathomable to him. To places with privilege, not in a ghetto with rule breaking brats hanging out on the street. It's almost life-changing just how much the sight of a pretty face could make a guy suddenly aware of all the things wrong with himself outside of the obvious of him just having been dragged into a foster home by a cop. For example his clothes: they were baggy hand-me-downs and were rather torn up. Not to mention that he was pretty much wearing things suited for winter with his long sleeves. Let's not even get started on anything further with this, because the list could go on.


Pulling a simple thought of just fuck it, a quick lick of his lips was given as he mustered up all of the courage he could in forcing himself to speak, jokingly saying "I guess I just ruined a good first impression for myself." with the slightest hint of a crooked upturn of his lips.

 

[GreyZone]

"Please get out of the car, Jenner," Jairus told her in an exasperated voice, squeezing his eyes shut as his head tilted back to rest on the seat behind him. "I have to be back in twenty minutes and you insisted that I drive you, so just please--" His dark blue eyes that matched hers exactly scanned the desolate neighborhood that he was supposed to let his little sister out into, just like he had at her group home a few months ago. "You know, what happened to that place? Cynthia was nice, I thought you liked the girls there, it was good... You had some friends, didn't you?" He knew that Jenna struggled--for more reasons than one--to make friends, but the group home had been good, right? He had lucked the fuck out by being eighteen before other people became aware of just what was going on in there home.


Jenna looked over at him, trying so desperately to hide the absolute despair that she was in to be dropped off at yet another place that she didn't want to be in. This was the sketchiest neighborhood yet, and she didn't know how she felt about it. But then again, the pruned hedges and the matching brick homes in the subdivision of the other foster home she almost was accepted into seemed just as horrible. "No," she replied after having to clear her throat to get any sound out. "I mean, the Mexican girl gave me a tampon once, but that's it..."


He cut her off there. "That's all I need. That's all I need. You can stop there."





She inhaled sharply and looked over at her brother, a sob catching in her throat. But before she could say anything, he held out a hand to keep her from speaking. "It'll be okay. You can text me, Skype me, call Arden--" Arden. The dreaded girlfriend of his that he had barely even told her about. "You'll be okay. I promise, Jenna. You only have two more years before you're out of the system, you can go to college, it'll be all good. All good, okay?"





"Are you convincing yourself or me?" Jenna asked, chuckling a little even though her arms were crossed firmly underneath her chest. But at his glare, she finally threw open the door of his beater and planted her feet on the ground. His eyes scanned her outfit, and she glared at him for a moment because she knew that he was judging her harshly. She was wearing an ancient t-shirt with a French band name on it (mind you, the sides were cut to reveal a lacy bralette and the back was shredded to display even more), a burgundy skater skirt, and black tights that were missing just as much as her shirt was.





"What are you, a walking advertisement for Good Will?" Jairus chuckled a little and reached across the console to brush a strand of her curly hair out of her face and behind her ear. "I'm just being a bastard. You look appropriately filled with angst. The glower really becomes you."


She promptly slammed the door on him at that, heading up the short walk to the house, her suitcase that was trailing behind her covered in stickers of places that she had never been to.


_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________





Jenna was talking things over with her foster mother when some blonde boy with a police officer on his arm stampeded into the house. She didn't even flinch; her hip leaned against the counter and one eyebrow arched as she took him and his particular predicament in. She had managed to actually calm down as soon as Jairus had left, and she had her icy mask back on that she had perfected, the one that kept her from getting friends. Her brother knew exactly what it was, he just didn't have enough balls to actually confront her about it.


Her eyes took in the scene with little humor or life in them, her arms firmly crossed as she took him in. He was cute, yes. Actually, cute was an understatement. Granted, he would be a lot cuter in actual clothing and not covered in blood. What had he been doing, impaling himself on one of the chain link fences outside? Who the hell knew when it came to foster kids.





"Are there such a thing as a good first impression somewhere like this?" She asked with one corner of her lips raised up. Her right hand extended to shake this. "Jenna Lawson."

 

[gabrielle]

Aside for her good looks, what was noticeable more than anything for him was the expression she held. It seemed to be the near epitome of poker faces. Concealing of seemingly anything aside for the presence she held; it was a quality that Max knew he didn't hold himself. Oh, did he wish for things to be different. It was no secret to those that knew him that he was an emotional person. How could it not be known as such whenever every single thought that crosses his mind seemed to show clear as day on his face? Trust him, he knows just how expressive he can be. People have told him more than once. Oh, Max. What's wrong? You look like you just saw your dog get run over. Well, jackass, your insight is wrong. He's allergic to dogs. Oh, Max. Calm down. You look like you're about to murder everyone in this room. Well, apologies dearest dandelion. It's not really his fault that he looks like the world's most pissed off kid with the slightest hint of feeling annoyance. Really. It's not his fault. What is he supposed to do? Try and hide it with a smile that was sure to be noticeably forced? Uh, no.


The only thing he could see that would give him a single hint as for what she was feeling was the slightest arch of her eyebrow. Even then that was stretching it, though. For all he knew her face was always like that, and here he is making assumptions. It makes an ass out of himself and everyone involved whenever assumptions get brought up, mind you, and so with that thought, his attention was turned towards her clothes for the briefest moment. And hell, as if he knew what a raised eyebrow even meant! Anyways, it should be known that he was trying to be discreet with the image she wore, but let's be real here. He's probably blatantly failing.


Her fashion was almost humoring in the slightest sense. Here was a boy that struggled to keep a piece of clothing that didn't have a single hole in it, and trust him, it wasn't for looks. It was because what he wore was cheap, and he wasn't necessarily one to be careful. Take today for example. He went and got his jeans all torn up today worse than what they already were thanks to the aggression of animals in today's world. Who even keeps a dog like that? It's dangerous. Okay, yeah, it's understandable as for why you'd get a guard dog with the neighborhood they were in, but still. He's nursing hurt masculinity over here. Who gets bested by a dog like that? Him, apparently.


Anyways, the thought of intentionally putting holes into your clothes seemed to defeat the purpose of actually wearing clothes in the first place, but that's not to say that he was complaining. It was humoring in the ironic way. This is a teenage boy here; c'mon now, of course a little bit of skin showing doesn't bother him. What does bother him, however, is how he's bound to make himself look like a damn perverted creep if he keeps looking.


With that thought Max tugged his eyes away from her once more, feeling too ashamed to look at her face and too lacking in will power to look anywhere else of her. Instead he focused on the stickers of her suitcase, finding himself wondering if she's actually been to those places and by what means along with bits of nostalgia of his childhood. Travelling used to be one of those grand dreams of his, but you know, National Geographic books make up for the real thing just fine. That's just his life, yeah? Making up for what you can't have. It's better to have the next best thing rather then nothing at all, right? A foster home rather than no home. Cheap clothes rather than no clothes. This list could go onto things that he didn't want to be thinking of, so hey, what's the next best thing in this case? A distraction. Pay attention to this conversation, Max. This girl is speaking to you.


"Is there such a thing as a good first impression somewhere like this?" Her words prompted the slightest raise of his shoulders in a sheepish shrug, the crooked smirk of his widening in a show of dimples as he took notice of her smile. No mind to how it was the smallest, tiniest little things of a hinted smile. He still took it as one, and that was the smallest of wins to him. Was he sounding desperate yet? Hm. "Jenna Lawson." His eyes moved from her lips towards her hand as it was held out to him, and for a moment he was at a loss, not quite knowing what she was doing. A rush of nervousness befell him in the panic of what is this? before his hesitance was cut with the realization that she was just going for a handshake here and nothing of the sinister sort. As if a sinister handshake would've been what she was going in the first place. Psh! Holy shit, Max. You're majorly fucking up here. We get that she's pretty and intimidating and all, but get a hold of yourself, you dweeb. This isn't the first time you've seen a pretty girl.


Knowing the look of discomfort that was sure to cross his expression with that bout of self-loathing, he reciprocated the gesture, unknowingly taking a hold that was a bit on the firmer side courtesy of his apparent nerves. He's thoroughly convinced himself of that he was royally messing this up and that she would see right through him with all his nervousness and everything else included. That in itself almost made him want to just turn around and walk straight out of the door and never return, but again, hide the discomfort, please. Distractions. We need distractions.


"I'm Max." He said shortly, still keeping the close-lipped smile on his face despite it's fading appearance. The use of this full name was pointedly avoided; he couldn't stand the use of this first name and even more so for his last. Those things remind you of family being they're the ones to give you those things, yeah? Well, family was not what he wanted to think of, no. It was the very thing he wanted to avoid thinking of as much as he could. Anyways. Moving on.


"And unfortunately for me, probably not." He added, letting go of her hand and returning his to the pockets of his jeans. The softness of her hand in contrast to his was something that he made a point not to linger on the thought of, but it wasn't something he could ignore completely as he looked towards her eyes. The beauty in them was something undeniable. They reminded him of clear waters, and if he looked long enough, he was almost convinced that he'd see sparkles. But hey, let's not be a sappy romantic on top of being a creep. Enough of this nonsense. "I guess it could be worse, though." He said, pulling his attention away from her and back towards the suitcase. "I could help you bring your things to your room if you'd like. Olivia will probably be a while. She always takes too long talking to that guy. C'mon, I'll show you around." He said with a nod towards the hallway, holding out his hand to be given the bags she carried.

 

[GreyZone]

Oh, did she ever notice his appraisal of her body and her face, trying to understand her. It made Jenna almost feel bad for him, like she needed to warn him that he could try but he would never succeed. Because of her incredible poker face, girls thought she was a bitch and boys were terrified of her. But then again, it wasn't hard to get a terrified boy to do anything for you, and that just cemented in those terrified boys' girlfriends' minds that she was a bitch. It was quite a lovely cycle, actually. One that she didn't mind being on. She had gotten into a great service at her old home--if a boy bought her an undergarment or outfit, she would strip for him in it, as long as she got to keep it and he didn't touch her. That's where most of the wardrobe of the infamous Jenna Lawson came from in the first place, and she couldn't give a flying fuck if people called her a slut because of it.


Actually, she did give a flying fuck about it. Many, as a matter of fact, but that was beside the point and no one needed to know that.


She watched the rush of different emotions all flash over his face like he was a blank screen someone was projecting a slideshow on. What where they--confusion, slight anger, humor, a bit of lust? chastising himself, curiosity, panic, discomfort. Like a damn movie, right on the boy's face. He was a cute boy, but she was shocked that the foster home system hadn't pounded a poker face right onto that sucker. If he hadn't learned yet, when the hell would he?


"I'm Max." Just Max. No last name, no other description, just that. Had his family hurt him so badly that he didn't even use his last name? It wouldn't surprise her, but Jenna liked her last name. She liked her dad, and it was his, after all. And her name held some weight in the right crowds, and she wasn't about to disrupt that. No, never.


Jenna didn't let him take her bags, and didn't respond until they were well upstairs. She began to shift her weight from one foot to the other, more than a little restless as she looked around the house. How long will I be here for? She highly doubted that she would stay until she was old enough to get out of the system. Maybe she could get an older boyfriend, room with him. But stay here for two years with the Moving Picture Boy? Hell no.





"Is there anywhere we can go?" She asked, her voice clear and smooth. She had always loved giving book talks in elementary school because she always got extra credit and she always gave that credit to her voice. If her face was as blank as a sheet of printer paper, her voice betrayed everything. It was wonderful and horrifying at the exact time. Especially since she cried so easily. "I had to be in a car for hours and I'm going fucking insane." That's when her eyes fell to his leg, the holes in her jeans. "So the boys around here do like impaling themselves on those delightful-looking chain link fences. That'll be good to know for future reference."

 

[gabrielle]

As his offer to help was seemingly ignored, Max went ahead and went about walking down the hall and up the stairs without commenting on the fact; although, that's not to say that it didn't linger as a curiosity. It wasn't that he was offended, no. He just had a tendency to look into things far too much. It was such a small gesture that could have a range of different meanings behind it, all going from indifference to being stand off-ish. Whichever one it was, most were not appealing. Was as she just one of those die-hard believers of misandry to where she did away with anything having to do with boys, getting pissed off at the slightest thing that could possibly hint that a male was better than her such as holding a door open or carrying things for her? (It's called being polite, you self-conscious child.) Was it that she thought he was weak? It'd be a lie to say he looked very strong at all. In truth he was just plain thin, and the muscle tone he has was all thanks to a lack of body fat. He's wearing baggy clothes for a reason, you see. Those bones of his aren't the most attractive things.


Or maybe she thought he was a thieving little shit that'd tear open her bags and run off with a handful of its contents right before her eyes? Because you know, panty raids. So exciting. It's almost as great as getting some dresses. Right, because he'd manage to do so much with some of her skimpy clothes. Maybe he should try it now and if he succeeds, become a cross-dresser. That'll be such an attractive look on him, yeah? His bony little ass in some dress with a stuffed bra and padded shorts. Ha. He could probably even pass without a wig with his hair being so long. Curly as it was, it reached just below his jaw and touched his shoulders just barely in the back; length would probably be added if it was straightened. Yes, with barbie-blonde hair as soft as it looked he'd be the best drag queen. All he'd have to do to top it all off would be to learn how to walk in heels and shave for once. Everywhere is luckily blonde enough to not be noticed much to the dismay of his masculinity aside for his face, chest, and navel. Aside for that he's got the singing and dancing skills down. This should really be a thing.


Wait, no. What is this, Max? Are you really imagining yourself as a drag queen here? Yes. Most certainly. Now let's move on before we start thinking of something even more out there and freak this girl out should she be telepathic. Because that's such a realistic possibility, right? C'mon now, her carrying her own bags probably meant nothing. Why are we thinking about this so much; it's not a big deal. You're such an odd child.


With the silence drawing on between them with each passing moment, he was beginning to fall under the impression that she was a rather untalkative girl. He personally wasn't one of those to be a chatterbox on a constant either; so having that being said, it wasn't something that he didn't understand nor thought of lowly. Rather, he was indifferent to it. His response hadn't been particularly open ended, so he could see the reasoning behind her lack of filling the silence. It's not like they couldn't go a second without speaking, and hell, they were nearly complete strangers! A conversation wasn't really bound to be something that would spark immediately. He wouldn't put it past her to avoid speaking to him much at all after this; he was convinced that this was just one of those mandatory interactions. It's always like this with new people to him. They usually come in all torn up about something (not that they could be blamed, of course), someone will make it a point to help them out for the first few days, and then they typically keep to themselves. It's not something that's unfathomable. Not everyone is lucky enough as he is to have stayed in the same home for over a year; so if you're one to move around a lot, you're bound to give up on forming close relationships as far as he's concerned.


And watch, just give him a while, and he'll have forgotten her name just for the simple fact that they won't talk to each other. It's a really terrible thing, but he does have to admit to not having the best of memory due to certain aspects of his lifestyle. Names are most definitely the worst for him, then it's faces that he forgets. Oddly enough it's what people say to him that he remembers. He can recall just about the exact location and content of a conversation that took place over three years ago, yet he can't recall the other's face or name for the life of him. Appearance-wise all he remembers of that person was that they were a girl with pretty long and wavy dark brown hair and dark eyes. That's kind of sad, isn't it? Especially so whenever she'd made a pretty decent impact on his life during that time, but oh well. That's enough of that; it's a story to think about for another day. Now just wasn't the time.


As they walked he pointed out things here and there such as the living room, restroom, and master bedroom that they most certainly were not allowed to go into. Upstairs wasn't any more interesting with just two bedrooms and restrooms: one for the girls and the other for the boys respectively. The bedrooms were pretty spacious being able to fit quite a few beds and dressers, and the restrooms were just average things. There wasn't much of anything that was interesting about this place. It was disorderly with so many people living here despite the home being mostly empty at the moment. The majority were either in summer school, camp, at work, or gone being they graduated and moved out.


The age-range of the residents here leaned more toward older children rather than younger ones, the youngest being ten years old. Max admittedly didn't know most of them all too well. He was the type to make friends in the neighborhood rather than within the home. There were only a handful of those that he lived with that he'd actually consider his friends: James, Richie, Connor... There weren't many. It was for good reason, too. You already have the instability of living conditions, social afflictions of others, and then his own temperament to have to deal with. As much as he hated the fact and would deny it should it be brought up, Max just wasn't good at getting close to people and keeping them as friends. He's just too moody for it to begin with, and even if people wanted to deal with it, he wouldn't wish for them to have to. Max is just the queen of toxic relationships over here. Yes, queen. What kind of king would be as dramatic as he is?


"Is there anywhere we can go?" Her voice caught his notice with the slightest of starts almost as if he were surprised at how badly he'd spaced off while talking to her. He'd admittedly given her less than half of his attention to explain where things were. At best he would've seemed distracted and at worst, rude. Let's hope it's the former. The realization only had his previous vacant expression that had held throughout the unimpressive tour of his turning more into something more concentrated as he actually began to pay her some mind; his lips parted as he almost began to reply to her before she'd continued speaking, adding, "... So the boys around here do like impaling themselves on those delightful looking chain link fences. That'll be good to know for future reference." He couldn't possibly fathom what purpose such a fact would be a good reference for, but he didn't question it as he followed her gaze down to his leg to meet the lovely sight of rust-colored stains and rips in his jeans. Looking at it only brought his attention back to the dull ache of it which had been successfully ignored with distracted thoughts; his eyebrows lowered with a slight frown on his lips and squint of his eyes giving off the clear look of a displeasure over his current situation.


"A fence didn't do that." He replied, looking back up towards her with his pained grimace already beginning to fade into something more neutral; although, those who don't know him might not consider it to be as such. A neutral expression for Max consists of a look that is typically taken to be annoyance, anxiety, or solemness by strangers and acquaintances. It was usually looked upon as annoyance, but really, that's just his face. He's honestly not agitated on a constant... Most of the time at least. "I got over those just fine." He continued as he recalled the little stunt show he preformed, but oh, the grass stains on his elbows and knees begged to differ. "It was a dog that just so happened to decide that it'd be a grand idea to... Well, you know." Bite, Max. Bite is the word you're looking for. Don't start with that tongue tied quirk of yours now of all times.


"And unless you'd like to join me on a trip for a tetanus shot, I'm afraid not." He said, replying to her original comment. He was admittedly pretty lazy with his healthcare, meaning he was not up to date on his shots and could very well end up in a pretty damned state thanks to a simple dog bite. Actually, it probably wasn't so simple being he could feel it still bleeding courtesy of the sickening sticky feeling on his leg, but still. He'd rather not freak himself out here.


"But if you want, you can come with to a friend's house later on." He said with a slight nod, not really thinking that she'd even entertain the thought. His friends really weren't the best people to be around, and you have to remember his initial thought on her as being too good for such a scene as this. While he befriended people of which he found fun to be in the company of, that didn't mean they were good influences, no. C'mon now, he wouldn't have gone off and broken into someone's house earlier if it weren't for them. Max's friends... Well, they're honestly the types that those who have good standards try to avoid. They're the drug users, underage drinkers, types that you'd think would commit arson and armed robbery. Sure, they're nice people and all, but man, do they do some reckless shit. Max isn't any better, though. If he were, he wouldn't be hanging around them. And here he is inviting some girl he doesn't even know into that kind of mess! Smart one, Max.


But hell, who was he to assume that she wasn't the type to be around those things? She could very well be a hardcore drug user, and here he was just going ahead and thinking to himself that she'd never even consider such a thing. Yet if she was a drug user that didn't make things any better... He'd be enabling addiction in that case, wouldn't he? Well... Shit. Okay, how about we just stop making assumptions and let the damn girl decide for herself. If she wanted to be a hardcore drug addict then so be it! With or without him she'd find a way to do it, so if it came to that it wouldn't be his fault either way. But okay, why are we hypothetically already beginning to make excuses for ourselves whenever the chance of this actually happening wasn't very high at all? Geez, this is the problem with having a habit of overthinking things; those what-if situations almost always lead to anxiety with him.

 

[GreyZone]

Jenna watched as they walked through her new home with bored curiosity. It was standard, almost identical to the last group home that she had been in; although, that had been all female. Her first group home, her mother had actually looked into it (ha! Can you possibly get more ironic than that? She couldn't care for Jenna herself, but oh, she would make sure she was fostered well if it was the last thing she did), and didn't want her anywhere near young men. Was that a surprise? She looked down at the black lace bralette visible under her favorite shirt and shrugged. If boys couldn't handle it, why was it her fault? There was nothing as horrible as tens of girls with daddy issues stuffed into one house, their periods synced, all ready to snap at anyone who dared to ask the wrong thing about their past.


Even if she hated every single damned teenage girl in her last group home, she had learned a lot. She'd learned how to use anything but an actual mirror to get ready in the morning, how to make pads last so long that she could stretch a box over a whole year if she needed to. She knew to only buy ELF makeup because the most expensive was only three dollars, and to only buy used books on Amazon and how to cheat your way into free shipping so you would pay a penny for it. She learned how to avoid the mother of the house to the point where if her mother called and asked about her, the damned worker would reply through the damned phone they were never allowed to use, 'Sorry, who is Jenna?' It was so easy to disappear. A little too easy. She was shocked that she didn't have some sort of identity crisis because of it.


The only way that she had survived living in such a dire place with such unevolved numbskulls was her brother, Jairus. He was in college and would pick her up every weekend, take her to parties with his redheaded girlfriend that she was trying so hard to hate. She didn't know why, but every time she was with them, she marked her territory. Jairus was hers, not whoever the hell she wanted him to be. But then again, Redhead had an older brother who threw the best parties that she had ever been to, and he never questioned her age. If she wanted to get a drink, she'd just stride over as her sixteen-year-old self in a pair of heels, let him touch her ass and pretend it scandalized her innocent mind, and she'd be hooked up. She often hooked up with that older brother, just because he was so good. He was a bachelor in his late twenties, with a doctorate and a mind-numbing job in biochemistry and pharmacy, who didn't mind a high school girl blowing him every once in a while. It was sad, honestly. But then again, anything was better than what had happened at home.


She shouldered her own bag, watching as this kid eyed her for it. What, did he think she would honestly fall for that? No way in hell do you ever let another foster kid touch your luggage, get a good feel for it. She had lost too much the first time, when she let the president of the welcome committee (nothing more welcoming than an angsty emo with a shaggy hair cut and a pentagram on her shirt who's email address was mexicanpapi666@hotmail.com. She'd found her Craigslist when she left it up on the computer one day. Probably wanted fresh meat to sacrifice), hold it and suddenly, a few choice items were missing. Namely, condoms and lotion. Two things that are deemed unnecessary, and therefore, never bought for foster girls. But then again, underwear and socks were almost extinct as well.


"It was a joke," she replied in an exhausted voice, setting the bag down in the corner. "But I really would go get that shot with you if it meant that I didn't have to stay here for much longer." The last thing that Jenna wanted to do was to listen to house rules, or allow herself to be dormant enough to think of why she was truly here. That never ended well.


She immediately perked up when he mentioned going to a friend's. Maybe she could actually get into a crowd here, a crowd of people who weren't in college and who didn't have a personal assistant yank her out of bed in the morning. Her brother (Jairus, not either of her other two brothers that she hated with a living passion, mainly because they were already out of the system by the time They realized that their mom was batshit crazy and didn't give a fuck that she wasn't. They were Jenna's greatest enemy, because They always stuck their noses where they didn't belong and ruined her life) had always told her that, good thing she's pretty, because she's a living nightmare otherwise.

 

[gabrielle]

As distracted as he could be at times, Max was pretty unaware of her suspicions of him being a klepto even if the possibility of her thinking as such had crossed his mind. Entertaining the thought of it had been a bad joke at best, and it was one he himself wouldn't even laugh over. His humor was just weird like that. See, he was a noticeably serious person. His jokes were just half-assed things that were more often than not only jabs at himself. They were made mostly as distractions from other topics. Someone's getting too intrusive? Oh, let's shove a joke at them to throw them off. That always works well, doesn't it? It was probably one of the lesser coping methods on the range of what was healthy for a person and what wasn't, but it was a thing for him nonetheless. For his standards it was probably one of the most healthy coping methods he had, aside for throwing feelings into distractions provided by things such as cleaning or cooking. Those habits of his weren't the most traditional for a male per say, but who the hell cares about gender stereotypes whenever you're fixing up a mental state?


Anyways, he missed her protective watch over where his attention went and so the matter wasn't commented on. It was such a silly thing for him to even consider in all honesty. While his track record with... Well, not having stolen anything wasn't particularly the best and still continued to worsen with time, he wouldn't be as stupid as to take something from this girl. There was just no point. Hell, there's a cop in the house right now! Even if there wasn't, he would have no desire to do such a thing. He'll attempt to take cheap alcohol from some jerk down the road with the help of peer pressure, but taking from a girl he didn't even know on top of the fact that she most likely had nothing that would benefit him? If you don't care about the fact that the kid had some decency and morality, it still would be a waste of effort in itself. Seriously, what would he realistically take? Condoms assuming that she had some? As if he even had much of a sex life! Ha! Please. He's only ever been with one girl before, and their relationship was on the border of dangerous found right in the middle of barely tolerable and fucked up to all hell. Yet he couldn't deny caring for her. It was a toxic cycle with the two of them, but neither seemed to be able to ever really walk away from the other.


A thought crossed his mind wondering if this new acquaintance of his had any sort of significant other, but it was not out of interest of pursuing a relationship with her. It was more or less just a simple curiosity with no motive, and with the matter not being his business, he didn't ask nor did he think of the topic very much at all.


"It was a joke," His eyes didn't follow her as she put down her things. In that short moment he had looked over his shoulder to get a glance behind himself, just seeing the empty hallway as he lingered at the doorway of the girls' room. It was just a nervous habit of his; he unfortunately had many. The feeling that something or someone was behind him was something that nearly always lingered, making him feel a twinge of nervousness only somewhat placated by this action. People who noticed typically took it as either him being suspicious or just paranoid as hell, but whichever one it was, Max didn't care. He'd really prefer dealing with looking over his shoulder every now and then rather than letting anxiety continuously nip away at him.


With that thought, he didn't concentrate much on how graceless he seemed to have been in response to her humor. He didn't think that her comment had been humorless, but again, he was just a serious person. Of course he replied in a literal manner. There really wasn't much to think of passed that. "But I really would go get that shot with you if it meant that I didn't have to stay here for much longer." As for that... Now he wasn't so sure on if that was meant to be humor or not, and it showed in the slight tilt of his head and furrowed eyebrows. It really can't be stressed enough just how much his whole demeanor can give away. See, despite his reservation towards sharing his personal thoughts in specific form, showing emotion was different for him. How contradictory, right? Anyways, He didn't find it to be something to be ashamed over. While he could be quite the convincing actor, he rarely used a facade to hide most things. No mind to how sappy as it made him seem, Max valued emotion as something to appreciate and held to be interactive. What was the point of feeling it at all when you hid and shoved it away? And wasn't it one of the very few things that made people special, or was he just looking into this too much and being too sentimental as always? Ah, it didn't matter. It wasn't like he'd say much of this aloud in the first place. You think about irrelevant things too much, Max.


"I don't think that'd be very entertaining for you." He said, losing the expression of confusion he'd previously held to a hint of a smirk. Max wasn't one for smiling with teeth and all, no. It wasn't a very common thing for him, but there was no particular reason behind it. The same goes for him laughing; he just wasn't one of those people who laughed very often. Amusement typically prompted only a smirk from him, and that was the end of that. It wasn't really something that bothered him, so this slight image of a closed-lip smile that he currently held was all that Jenna would witness for now.


"I'm sure there are other people around doing better things." He continued, shrugging in a careless manner as he walked towards one of the windows in the room. More specifically, he went towards the one that was opened just a bit to where someone in the right position outside could open it fully and enter. "Hold on, give me a second." He said as he moved the thin drapes to the side, pushing up to open the window a bit more before moving under it. Sitting on the sill as he stayed halfway inside the room and half out of it, he held himself steady as he looked towards the roof. As expected, he found the person he was looking for.


"Hey, Richie!" He called, nearly losing his balance for a moment. Catching himself, he used a second hand to keep from falling two stories and nearly killing himself. "Why don't you come join the rest of the world?" The sun was harsh on his eyes as he nearly had to look towards the sky to see her. He could just see the outline of the girl he was speaking to; it was simply just too bright out for him to be able to make out much of anything. The photosensitivity that could come with blue eyes can be a real bitch at times, yeah? It had him opting to make a futile attempt to block the burning light by making a shade with his hand, but that only resulted in him feeling even more unsafe.


"Fuck off, Kaiden!" Richie's reply took a moment to sound. Her voice was a higher pitch than most girls yet had a harshness to it that could intimidate quite well in the right situation. Being she had been previously laying on the roof, she propped herself up on her elbows to look towards Max... Or rather, Kaiden as she had addressed him. Her sights were met with the familiar form looking as if he were about to fall out of the window. He looked pretty ridiculous to her with his position on top of the squinted eyes and skin that looked nearly paper-white due to the lighting. Well, aside for the abundance of freckles, of course. "And stop looking at my tits!" She added just for the sake of messing with him. It was a given to her that he could barely see her with where he was, but it was still always fun to tease him.


"As if there were anything to see!" He called back, clearly feeling much more comfortable joking around with Richie than he was with Jenna. It was kind of sad, but there was some truth to his response. Even so, they both knew not to take these conversations seriously whatsoever. They just had that type of relationship where they could be total jerks to each other yet found it hilarious. This was how most relationships that Max considered to be close were like. Take James for example; this type of banter was only worse between them. Yet it could be a bit odd for others witnessing at times being Max had such a somber demeanor; though, that was just the way he was. Incredibly contradicting.


"Oh, like your di-"


"Shut up!" He interrupted her before she could finish the sentence, knowing exactly where the sentence had been going. He could only hope that Jenna wasn't listening and hadn't caught on as well. As far as he was concerned, it was a misleading insult that he'd rather not leave some girl with the impression of just to go and talk about it. Of course he wouldn't know if she was the type to spread rumors like that and hoped that she wasn't, but he preferred to avoid as much drama as he could. Some people thrived on it, and well, he didn't.


"You're the one that started talking to me, dipshit." She retorted lightheartedly as she sat up, pulling on the button up denim shirt she'd taken off for the sake of tanning. It was light-wash and was worn with black shorts and knock-off Toms. She took her sweet time pulling on the shirt at an intentionally slow pace and making a big deal of stretching, just waiting to see how he'd reply. Unfortunately for her, Max seemed to be done with the short bout of playful bickering that was their norm.


"C'mon, I want you to meet someone." He replied, ignoring the opportunity to say another smart ass comment as he went back into the room. That position hadn't been the most comfortable; he'd started feeling anxious over moving to somewhere that was less accident prone per say. Waiting for Richie to get off of the roof, he stepped away from the window as he rubbed at his eyes. Everything inside was now dark, and he couldn't quite see the details of things with the change in lighting. "This is Richie." He said to Jenna, knowing that a day with her would be far more interesting than one with him at some clinic. As he spoke Richie's thin boyish figure eased through the window with much more grace than Max. She went about closing the window behind her before buttoning up the rest of her shirt and turning towards the two.


"Hi." She said politely to the stranger she saw in the room. Unlike Max, Richie didn't fall into a bout of conflicting emotions felt all at once. Rather, she noticed the girl was pretty and presumably a new roommate. It was left at that. Simple, right? Only if the trait would pass onto her friend here. Speaking of. She looked towards him with a slight look of curiosity washing over her features once she took notice towards the blood on his pants. "Lemme guess... You got into it with a badass toddler with a shank?" She asked him, a smirk playing upon her full lips as she made a stabbing gesture.


Max seemed aloof at best as he shook his head shortly, licking his lips before speaking. "You know Jeff down the road?" He asked, pausing as Richie's smile widened with a nod. "Apparently he shoots first, and so I ended up in Mcelhanon's yard as I ran." He explained, giving Richie a more or less detailed version of the story being she'd understand with minimal information with the fact that she knew the people in the neighborhood along with Max's behavior taken into account. Such as Jeff was one of the local drunks. Mcelhanon was a guy who liked to be addressed by his last name with a dog that bites. Max was a kid that got himself into trouble. Anyways, she seemed to be pretty amused by this new bit of information, biting her lip to keep herself from outright laughing at him. Of course he noticed the humor she found in the situation, but he wasn't offended nor did he comment.


"Chirst, Kaiden. The stupid shit you do." An arm went around her waist as the other was propped on it; a hand went to hide her mouth in an attempt to keep the smile Max knew was there out of sight as her shoulders shook in a silent laughter. It got one of his middle fingers to show, bringing her to respond lightheartedly with "Get out of here!" to which he easily obliged without a word for her. He hesitated for a moment as he reached the doorway, seeming to think better of it as he spoke towards Jenna with words of "I'll be back here for you later, yeah?" referring to the earlier mention of going to a friend of his' house.

 

[GreyZone]

Jenna tossed her bags down on one of the beds, letting out a huge sigh of relief once everything she had was safely deposited. As if that automatically guaranteed that it would never leave her and it would never be at risk again in this foster home. One of her hands reached to unzip around the edge of it, already beginning to unpack as he bantered with some chick on the roof. It was boring to her, to hear them tease each other mercilessly. She wasn't good with mean jokes at all, and often took them too seriously. Then again, that wasn't exactly her fault after everything that had happened.


In her last group home, they hadn't had their own dressers or closet space, so all clothing was under the bed. She knelt down and sat back on her heels to place her eclectic collection of clothing on the carpet that may or may not have reeked. Her nose wrinkled a little, but she hid her distaste. The last thing she wanted was to be pinned as some prissy bitch who was too good for them on her first day there.


As she began to remove her t-shirts, skirts, and other pretty basic components of a wardrobe that fit her sexy and hazardous appearance, something odd was noticeable. All of her clothing was well-worn--she took good care of it, but it obviously came from thrift stores. The day that she couldn't even afford to get a new shirt at Walmart had made her cry herself to sleep. Not because she cared so damn much about clothing, more because it felt like rock bottom. She was one of those kids, with free lunch that scrounged around the library after school trying to get enough pencils to last the rest of the school year.


But beneath her worn and miserable clothing was a rather impressive collection of ridiculously expensive lingerie. Jenna stared at it with a fair mix of pride and distaste, sitting up on her knees so she could count all of her pieces--there was everything to lacy demi cup bras and matching thongs to full corsets and costumes. She glanced back at the bantering foster kids, hoping that they hadn't noticed so they wouldn't question her. She never stole anything, let alone expensive underwear like she had. When panties and bras had gotten too expensive (yes, she couldn't afford to buy Walmart package panties, such a joke), she had had to get resourceful. She obviously could never go without a bra, but she just resorted to using the large chest that had set her back in the first place to her own advantage.


She darted mentally back to reality when Max introduced her and the girl. She rose to her feet, shutting the lid of her suitcase before reaching to shake the girl's hand. "Hi, I'm Jenna Lawson," she told her with a heavy sigh. She had been in one group home before and had stayed with one family, so she never knew how tightly the circles ran. Maybe they had a mutual friend somewhere.


When Max promised that he would be back for her later, she arched one eyebrow. "Where are you going? I might need to find it on my own if you're going to take a while." Her eyes drifted down to the carpet again, sudden exhaustion racking her body against her will. Here she was, with even more people yet who were not her family. Not like she wanted to be with her family. She decided to just use that exhaustion as fuel, hopefully to do something she would maybe--but probably not--regret tomorrow.

 

[gabrielle]

Max could nearly feel the questioning look Richie was bound to be giving him, but he didn't bother to look her way. The girl had a habit of asking too many questions, and while he certainly valued her friendship, it could be a bit overbearing at times. It wasn't anything personal, no. He just had an issue about answering things, and as much as the two knew each other, Richie never seemed to really let up. She was just persistent, and Max was simply too concerned about keeping things to himself. It was a weird thing to explain, but in truth it all came down to privacy and control. In a way those two things were what he seemed to value the most whether that be a good thing or not.


"Where are you going?" Take now for example. The question in itself set a discomfort in him, leaving him with a heaviness in his chest. It was a dreadful feeling; one that he could never truly distinguish as what it was or what its cause was. The best bets seemed to be anxiety, stubbornness, or just an inclination towards feelings of invasion of privacy, but taking one by itself never seemed quite right. Maybe it was a mix of all three? Ah, he didn't know. It was better for him to just keep it simple with an address of the feeling being just plain "discomfort." There was sure to be more behind it, but to hell with finding out. Did there really need to be a label and explanation behind everything? Or was his lack of concern with such things only prove even more just how much he wished to continue to lie to himself and say that he didn't need help in addressing these issues? It was probably the latter, but oh, a boy can ignore these things. He can promise and lie to himself with comforting thoughts such as either way, it's not important even if it was. As mentioned before the kid's gotta have his coping methods, yeah?


"I might need to find it on my own if you're going to take a while." Her explanation made plenty enough sense, but he still hesitated. You could be holding a gun to his temple and ask what did he eat last, and he'd still probably feel like this. Sure, he'd answer, but there'd still be that repulsion making him grit his teeth with the discomfort in his chest as he forced a tangible response out of himself. Okay, that was a bit dramatic, but it gets the point across. Aside for that at least her words made him sure that she'd want to join him. You see, she hadn't exactly said "Yes, I would like to go with you." With his lack of wanting to assume things, it should be understandable as to why he preferred clear answers. Even if agreement seemed to be obvious, it just made him more comfortable with a definite answer because there's always that little possible chance that the apparent obvious wasn't correct. It might seem like a rather... Stupid thing for a lack of better words, but you have to keep in mind that Max was a rather unsure boy with doubt, what ifs, and thoughts of worry that kept him wanting to just avoid everyone and everything. It was a sad truth, but it was a reality regardless. It made sense, didn't it? Or was he just really that fucked up?


Max had looked away from Jenna as she'd been speaking, but a visible falter still crossed his expression. It showed in a mix of emotion; although, the dread of a sick realization was most prominent of all. It was there for only seconds, but with the last thought of yes, he really was just fucked up, those feelings were shoved away before they turned into something more. Something less manageable. Unlike what had seemed to be assumed of him, Max was capable of hiding his feelings. It was a rather unused skill save for times such as now. Yet even so, if Jenna wasn't a stranger he still probably wouldn't put in the effort, but as things are, she is and the effort was brought. It was half-assed at best, though. The slightest downturn of the corners of his lips existed along with his tense shoulders, but hey, at least he was trying even if it was only somewhat.


"I'll only be gone for an hour or so." He said, waving off her question as he would with anyone else. His demeanor was clearly a forced one of nonchalance. It was easy to see with his previous openness seemingly being thought better of and hid away for no apparent reason to those witnessing. It wasn't for the sake of the people he was around though, no. That assumption would be very misled. See, it was for the sake of himself. For Max it was easier to forget undesirable things whenever he focused on making it a point to feel something else, and to even begin with that, he had to at least look the part, yeah? It should be easy enough to understand.


"Don't worry, I won't forget." He said with a short nod before going and making his way to leave without giving much of a goodbye save for a small gesture of a wave; although, it was more or less just a raise of his hand rather than an actual wave itself. It was a thing that could probably be considered rude, but that wasn't a concern that had crossed his mind. This was just another quirk of his. He was terrible with verbally expressing hellos and goodbyes. There wasn't really a reason he could think of behind it. It was just something that he'd never particularly been concerned over. With his childhood certain social skills just weren't ever learned, unfortunately. Isn't that the norm with kids like him, though? Aren't at least some of them a bit socially awkward and messed up in the head because of what landed them in social services in the first place?


Anyways, while Max had been going about that, Richie busied herself with putting on cheap lipstick and earrings she owned. As she was putting on the back to the second earring, she turned to Jenna and Max, watching as he left seemingly abruptly. It wasn't anything unusual to her, but she could figure that Jenna wouldn't feel the same with not knowing him. "He sucks at saying bye, I know." She said, turning back towards a mirror that hung on the wall above a dresser she stood in front of. She was at least trying to make her hair look a bit less comparable to a poodle, but as always it wasn't quite cooperating. Sometimes having a mirror in the room was a blessing and other times not; though, of course she'd never deny that she was privileged to be in one of the better homes. Aside for the rough neighborhood and shitty town, but she enjoyed this place. Where would the fun be if the town was like any other average place? Maybe she just saw the best in things, but to her Monticello was unique. It was the people, thunderstorms, forests, cute old shops, everything. She couldn't be bothered with paying mind to the downsides of the place. Sometimes it was a good thing, but for any other time, she couldn't be concerned with that either. Did that make her stubborn?


"I don't know about you, but I'm starving." It was a bit past lunchtime, but the girl had slept through it, okay? Tanning does wonders whenever you need a nap, and who says you can't sleep on the roof? "McDonald's dollar menu sounds great. You coming?" She asked lightly, giving up on the lion's mane that consisted of her hair and opting to just ignore it with a flip over her shoulders. "I don't think anyone is here right now, so you won't have to worry about people messing with your things. But I'd like to say most of us are decent enough not to do that in the first place." Even if she didn't know this girl, Richie still understood how much it could help whenever people at least tried to give reassurances and make an effort to befriend you whenever you just got dropped off at a place full of strangers. The good karma was worth it to her even if it wouldn't be appreciated by her company. No matter what Jenna's response would be whether it would turn out to be just plain rude or overly enthusiastic, nothing would be lost for Richie. She was a pretty indifferent girl on how others treated her; the main concern she had was to be kind towards others. It was a resilience that she held to refuse to fall into those disruptive behaviors and moods that could very well be provided for with most circumstances that resulted in foster kids. It was an admirable thing at times, but unfortunately, her kindness had led to her being taken advantage of many times. Even so, she couldn't exactly begin to care as long as she held her own good intentions.


"And hey," She stopped, seemingly changing her process of thought as something else crossed her mind. "Your last name sounds familiar. You mind letting me know where you're from while we walk?" She asked, going ahead and assuming that Jenna would join her unlike Max as she started walking towards the doorway.

 

[GreyZone]

Jenna watched all of the conflicting emotions that flashed across Max's face as he made those two simple statements. She couldn't tell yet if she pitted him for all of the internal turmoil he obviously felt, or if she lost a little respect because of how much he showed it. If he had been in homes for that long, shouldn't he know by now that that's practically a death wish, letting every tiny thought be pasted right onto your face like a preschooler with construction paper and paste. Sloppily cut circles, emotion drawn in thick and warbling black lines. As plain as day. Being too sensitive made you a moron, and she didn't want to take the boy for one just yet. It seemed like a harsh judgement, but one she would have to make if he kept standing there like a toddler was taping emotions onto his face. It really wasn't that hard! She rolled her eyes and pushed herself to a standing position, nodding as he finished speaking like it was some great effort.


Those two sentences seemed like it costed him millions to say, and she was almost struck dumb by it. But then again, who in the world knew what he had gone through before he was where he was then. With foster kids, a world of hurt and damage could have been done since day one, especially if they were still teens in the system instead of getting adopted as kids. That either meant that you had longer to fester in a twisted home or on the streets, or that you were such an undesirable kid that no one adopted you and you were left to rot. Teens in foster homes were wholesome parents' worse nightmares.


She had remembered too many times where she had thought she had made new friends, was even invited over to their houses for dinner. What an unimaginable thing, right? It's almost as if those Middle-Aged-Suburban-White-Christian-Moms all subscribed to a newsletter that announced weekly which foster kids to look out for, because all must be dirty and unable to hang out with their precious kids with common names and jackass spellings. She had those Suburban-White-Christian-Familes down to a science. The mom--dark brown hair shot through with frosted blonde highlights, straight chin-length bangs, back all shaved off, goopy mascara, bad bra, blouse from an online catalog, worn khakis that unflattering the ass, lumps of fat from children they were too lazy to get rid of, always always always) gasping when they saw their daughter bring home a kid like Jenna Lawson, with the (you have to whisper it, in case it'll offend the girl and send her into a rampage) crazy mother and the abusive brother and who the hell knew what else. Who even knew what people said about her any more, what presumptions they made just to ruin her life.


Her head jolted up as she watched the girl work with her hair, one of Jenna's hands slowly moving up to tug on her own curls. "I, uh, have a gel that I really like that's not too expensive. There's also a way of tying it up with a shirt that makes them dry better--long-sleeved works better, but I could pretty much make anything work if I needed to. Your hair is so gorgeous, by the way."





She hadn't been to a McDonald's since she took one boy from her foster family that had never tried a suicide. She had bought him a large, and made him hold it underneath each pop dispenser. It had been torture, but she couldn't remember ever laughing harder. They had had an excellent time, those two. She pulled out her battered old flip phone and checked to see if he had texted her. He hadn't.


"Oh, I'm Jenna Lawson," she replied, forcing herself back into reality as she fell in step next to Richie. "I was born in Manchester, Connecticut. I was in a group home there, and with a foster family in Boston, Massachusetts for a while. I don't know if you've heard anything about me, though." Her voice dropped a little as she looked back toward her suitcase. She had definitely earned herself a reputation at her old school, but was sort of hoping that this girl hadn't heard anything. It would be nice to meet a potential friend who didn't automatically think of her as a slut.

 

[gabrielle]

Richie listened to what Jenna had to say about her hair, smiling politely and saying her thanks in response to the compliment given. In all honestly she didn't particularly care for her hair much. Hence the many comparisons she'll draw to it from things that weren't all that flattering. Even so, she did know how annoying it could be whenever someone argued with a compliment instead of just accepting it, so she wasn't going to talk down on herself. She knew that she'd probably look towards it with a better impression should she actually tend to it, but she just so happened to be one of those girls that refused to fight with the struggles that can come with curly hair at times. She didn't usually bother with it. A straightener or curling iron might get to her hair maybe what, three times a year at most? Probably not even that often if we're being realistic.


Anyways, she listened to the short list of locations Jenna was able to give. While she's never been to Manchester, things were a bit different for Boston. Having lived here for a while, Richie had managed to find herself some friends that were decent enough to not really care about living situations. Over Christmas break one of her best friends invited her on a trip to Massachusetts to listen to their older sister's seminar that they'd be giving, but they did other things while they had visited there as well. It was a nice experience to say the least. It just goes to show that there are people out there that don't falter at the foster kid stereotype.


"I don't know if you've heard anything about me, though." Richie couldn't recall anything specific about her, but with the correlation of having been to Boston, she was now sure that she had heard the name before. The context of which it was mentioned in front of her was certainly beyond her by now, but she didn't care to try and remember. If she forgot it in the first place, it couldn't possibly be too important to know.


"I might've whenever I was in Boston a few months ago, but I dunno know for sure. That might explain the familiarity though." She replied, shrugging her shoulders just a bit. "I didn't live there, but it seems like a really nice place to stay. A friend of mine and I have plans to move there once we're old enough. But that's like, forever away though, so I'm not really holding her to it." She added, a smile crossing her features at their unrealistic dreams. Of course she knew that they probably wouldn't be able to afford it once the time comes or even still be friends, but it was still fun to dream about those things. In her opinion you always have to have something to look forward to, especially whenever your life wasn't so great. Not to say that her life wasn't good of course, but like anyone, it's always had its downsides. It's not like she's in foster care for no reason, yeah?


As they made their way down the stairs, Richie could see Olivia speaking to Max in the kitchen. Okay, speaking probably wasn't the best word to use. Olivia was obviously upset with him, and Max had one of those weird mixed looks on his face that Richie couldn't be sure what it meant. Yet the way she saw a hand run through his hair and go straight back to his pockets said enough for her. His habits really were his dead giveaways once you learned them. No mind to that though, whatever was going on between them clearly wasn't a pleasant conversation. It was probably something more along the lines of a repeated lecture or scolding. Still, Richie couldn't find herself pitying him; this was a mess that he'd gotten himself into and couldn't be helped. What made it worse was that this wasn't the first time this had happened either. If you asked her, Richie would almost say that the kid had issues with authority.


Ah, okay. She takes back not being able to help him. It was the nice thing to do, so she did have to give him a break and distract Olivia for at least a few seconds. She called to Olivia from across the room, explaining to her that she'd be back soon once she and Jenna were close to the door. The second that Olivia turned around, Max was gone. The look on his face was still unreadable, but it really took her all she had in her not to laugh at how fast he'd moved to just abscond the hell out of there. Of course Olivia had looked back to see Max leaving out of the back door right before she could say anything, just shaking her head in a bout of exasperation as if she were on the verge of just giving up on the boy. Really, probably no one would be surprised if she did. In Richie's experience at least, there was always that one hopeless case in the home. Over the while she's lived here, Max was one of the runner ups to hold that role at times as unfortunate as that was, but she'd always kept that opinion to herself. No matter how useless it might be, she'd hold onto some hope for him even if it were almost guaranteed that they'd lose touch one day. Of course the future was indefinite, but c'mon now, it was Max. The guy had a terrible memory. Richie was sure she'd be forgotten three years at best after the last time she speaks to him, whenever that may be. It was a depressing thought, but it wasn't one that she'd dwell on for too long or show on her expression as if she were a billboard for thoughts like Max would.


Anyways, as soon as the girls had closed the front door behind them, Richie finally dropped the feigned look of surprise and innocence she'd put on. It had been to fool their foster mother despite the fact that they both knew exactly what she'd just done, but it'd be an insult to not try and be convincing. It was just the most polite thing you could do aside for apologizing to hold the laughter until you walk away in her opinion; although, laughter for Richie was a silent thing as odd as some people found that to be. As they continued walking she could see Max get himself over the fence and go to approach another boy, Connor, that lived with them and currently stood beside an old beaten up looking truck he owned. Past that, she didn't pay much mind to them and instead turned her attention to Jenna.


"Just so you know, Olivia is pretty easy-going." She explained just in case her previous action left the wrong impression. "You'll probably notice this soon, but she lets us get away with a lot. I can't ever decide if that's a good thing or not." She said sheepishly, smiling slightly and giving a small wave whenever she noticed Connor looking in their direction. The light blush appearing on her freckled cheeks was probably enough to hint to anyone that the girl had a hopeless crush on the guy, but hey, a girl can dream. There was a little self-conscious thought that he had been looking towards Jenna with all her blatant beauty to take into account, but that was pushed away as soon as it had been acknowledged. She refused to let herself be jealous of this girl; it was always a toxic thing to allow yourself to experience. If it wouldn't ruin you, it'd ruin your relationship, and Richie refused to be the girl that started to dislike someone just because they were more attractive. Anyways.


"Oh, don't take that as an invitation to go do something crazy if you're going to be hanging out around Kaid--Max, though. His friends don't just drink alcohol." She said, correcting herself from calling him Kaiden in front of her. She was able to guess that he'd introduced himself as Max to her, and referring to him as Kaiden was just a force of habit. Aside for that she ended up making a face at the mention of his friends doing other things as if what she was implying bothered her to have to speak of, but it was for Jenna's own benefit. Even if drugs repulsed her, she'd bring it up for her. It was just the better thing to do in her mind. To at least warn the girl of what she was going to get herself into with him because she sure as hell knew that Jenna would only find out whenever she actually got to where he was supposedly bringing her.

 

[GreyZone]

Jenna breathed out a huge sigh of relief when Richie hadn't heard of her. "That's excellent, actually," she responded as she shouldered her small purse that contained a few wrinkled and wet bills she'd scrounged from the cupholders in Jairus's car, her battered old phone, and a tube of cheap and sticky lip gloss that her last group mother had given her as a parting present. She kept it in bulk--Strawberry Cupcake with glitter and everything--and all the girls knew that it wasn't a personalized gift at all. But Jenna kept it, because she had sort of liked the woman. At least she had thought to give her something before she left, instead of just not noticing. She had been convinced she didn't even know her name. The card that accompanied the lip gloss said 'Emma' on it in cheap ballpoint pen, but beggars can't be choosers. It was pretty close to her own name anyway.


It was good to have a fresh start, to have someone who didn't tell her, oh, yeah! Jenna Lawson. My brother has your panties from his bachelor party. It wouldn't be a first that someone had told her that when they first met, and it disgusted her. She tried not to think about it, but then again, whenever she looked at those huge fucking tits that her mental fucking mother had given her, she was reminded. And if she really didn't care, no way would she do squats and leg lifts long after all of the other girls had gone to sleep. Then again, she was the only one who could buy anything instead of falling on their knees in front of the foster mother when they wanted something, anything, that the state didn't provide.


She tried to create a mental map of the house as she trailed after Richie, observing the exchange that went on between Olivia and Max, how him and Richie seemed to be some sort of team. At least it seemed like the kids stuck up for each other, and that was always good. Jenna's eyes rose to meet Olivia's, and she honestly felt bad for the woman. Just for a moment. She was just trying to do her job--keeping this damned kids from getting themselves killed--and it wasn't an easy one. Then again, she knew better than to be a brownnoser in front of the other kids. Quick way to make enemies. So she tucked her head down, followed Richie, and go tout of sight before Olivia could say anything more as she debated actually introducing herself tomorrow.


Jenna listened to Richie's quick description of their new foster mother, nodding, even though she was distracted as soon as the night air hit her face. She loved nothing more than to be outside as the darkness fell, the quiet noises as the world seemed to come alive when there were less humans to bother it. She took in a long inhale as if the air was a cigarette and she was a hopeless nicotine addict.


When she opened her eyes, she fell on the other boy leaning back against the truck. Hmm. She didn't look back at Richie and missed the wistful look on her face, so a flirtatious smirk spread over her full lips as she walked forward to shake his hand. "Hey. I'm Jenna Lawson." She turned back around when Richie mentioned the drugs, Max's friends. She smiled faintly and offered back in return, "Oh, I am more than certain that I can handle them. But thanks for the warning."

 

[gabrielle]

It was a relief to Richie that Jenna didn't question the topic much further. It was just a touchy thing for her to put it candidly. As close as she was to Max, it was one of the very reason as for why she didn't accompany him to the time he spent out late at night. He had his group of friends, and well, she had hers. Just because they were close didn't mean that they had to be stuck to each other. In truth, she was glad that Max wasn't a clingy personality. She wouldn't know if she'd be able to handle him wanting her to go and join in on all the craziness he manages to get himself into.


It was beyond her how James was able to deal with being his best friend, but it was clear that the guy had a lot more patience and tolerance with Max. Hell, scratch that. James was probably one of the most patient and tolerant people she's ever known towards anyone in general. She knew the guy did get angered at times, even more so whenever Max was involved, but he was still great at remaining calm unlike his best friend. It's like Max held enough temper for the both of them while in turn James held all the calmness for the two. It was weird to Richie. They were near exact opposites, yet they were obviously close friends. It was almost amusing how many times she's witnessed them being confused for being boyfriends rather than friends by others. Especially whenever James' sexuality was probably one of the most unquestionable things whenever he stood alone. She wasn't so sure about Max, though. No, not whenever you could catch him standing with canted hips, saw how long his hair could get, and how well he could impersonate a stereotypical woman. Ah, okay. While all of that was true, it was still thought of in a joking manner to Richie. You really couldn't question Max very much either with how he kept a constant five o'clock shadow on his face and the way he spoke. Yet it'd be a lie to say that she's never seen him with make-up on... Oh, how Max could be a quite a conflicting boy at times.


Anyways, Richie hesitated whenever Jenna turned to approach Connor with an offer of her hand to him. She couldn't help but notice the way Jenna seemed to have a habit of using her full name whenever introducing herself, and this was something Max was able to acknowledge as well with him being close enough to listen to her. But regardless of how intent Jenna seemed to be on socializing, Richie turned from talkative to bashful as soon as she realized that they'd be near the boy she had such a huge crush on. Her blush only became a bit more prominent along with her embarrassment showing even more with the way she bit her lip nervously as she avoided looking towards him. What she saw instead was a vague look of amusement on Max's features despite the way he stood away from the small group the three had created, visibly excluding himself from the conversation. While she could still see a hint of that upset on his expression should she look for it (which she was), a good bit of it was covered up with intention of hiding it along with his smile no matter how small it was. In her eyes if his dimples were showing, then it was a smile whether it be a wide grin or not. She's never really understood why he rarely smiled with his teeth; it's not like he had a bad smile. Then again, she's never asked him. Maybe she should sometime. Huh. Mental notes here.


A look of disbelief hinted at her features as she saw him silently mouth the words of talk to him while he and Jenna were both seemingly preoccupied. She gave him the slightest shake of her head, hoping that only Max would notice. It really was out of character for her to suddenly be so shy in comparison to how she was around other people, but her nerves seemed only to be interested in her during times like these. And unfortunately, they almost always got the best of her. Even if she did have it in her to speak up to him, she didn't have much hope for something between them anyways. Connor was this seventeen year old hottie who could probably get any girl he wanted, and here she was, this tall lanky fourteen year old with no curves or boobs and poofy auburn hair.


Meanwhile, Connor stood oblivious to Richie's turmoil as he kept his attention towards the girl standing in front of him, naming herself as Jenna Lawson. Just as she'd prompted the same impression from the two she met before him, it should be a given that one of his first thoughts on her was noticing that she was pretty. Initially he'd found her to be cute just looking towards her face from afar, but of course her body was a bit difficult not to notice as she'd approached him. It's safe to say that description of "cute," went to "hot," in a matter of seconds.


"Jenna Lawson... That's specific. I like it." He said confidently, reciprocating her flirty demeanor with a closed smile. Unlike Max this wasn't unintentional. He naturally had a serious expression to himself that gave off a feeling of intimidation according to some, and so he knew that the look kept even when he was smiling. To him a smile on his face just looked awkward, so it's become a forced habit of his to almost exclusively give smirks and nothing more. "Connor Durem." He said with ease, accepting the gesture of a handshake she offered. With having grown up in Alabama, a slip of an accent could be heard as he spoke his introduction. His last name wasn't mentioned just because of the attention it could draw being it was somewhat known, no. It was spoken more out of playfulness to mirror Jenna's demeanor.


See, with his looks and height of around six foot one, he worked occasionally as a model. A few people were bound to know his name that worked in the fashion and modelling industry. As for the average citizen who weren't in the business, the only reason his name would be known would be if they looked through fashion magazines and cared enough to find the model's name. With that established, he sincerely doubted that Jenna would be one that would to that, but who knows. Maybe she was, but either way it didn't matter. Glancing towards the two girls in front of him, he could easily see Richie being a fashion model with her naturally thin weight and height that he could guess to be around five foot eight. For Jenna, the runway probably wasn't for her with her height. The girl was short; he couldn't deny that. She could definitely go for a model for makeup, though. Ah, but this was all pretty irrelevant. Moving on.


As Connor and Jenna spoke to each other, Richie couldn't help but notice the way Max's attention seemed to drift quicker than usual, but this time it wasn't quite right. He looked more confused than anything rather than contemplative like he typically did. Taking a closer look, she could see the quick rise and fall of his chest due to the way his breathing was apparently more rapid than what was normal. A quick flash of concern found itself to her as she wondered if he was having a panic attack or something and was about to hyperventilate, but that wasn't it. He looked a bit anxious, yes, but not panicked. Aloof was probably the best description of him right now as he seemed to be particularly exhausted. It was then that something else registered to her: the dog bite. It wasn't still bleeding, was it?


Worry for him over won her little moment of one-sided infatuation for Connor as she made her way around the two and went towards Max where he stood near the passenger seat of the truck. He glanced at her with a perplexed look to his features. It showed ever more whenever she brought her hand to his face to which he pushed away, clearly aggravated; although, his movement had been noticeably delayed as he'd hesitated in confusion. That had given her enough time to feel the coolness of his skin which was too lacking in warmth to be blamed on the lowered temperatures of the evening. That along with the paleness she now saw told her all she needed to know: he was indeed still bleeding. It was at a pretty slow rate, yes, but it had been over quite a long stretch of time which couldn't possibly be good for him. She also knew that he ate very little, so that was bound to be worsening things for him as well. Huh. Well. This had turned from light concern to something a bit more serious in a matter of seconds. Sure, just a bit of blood loss wasn't going to kill him, but it couldn't be fun for him.


Max stayed silent, looking towards her with just a hint of annoyance lingering but didn't say anything towards her. She could assume the anxiousness, irritability, and confusion he was sure to be feeling because of this even if it didn't show too evidently on his features. Those were just things that came with mild blood loss; she didn't need to see it on his face to know that it was there.


"Are you even trying to get that to stop?" She asked a bit more quietly in reference do his injury, not quite wanting to draw the attention of Jenna and Connor. Despite of the fading light, she could see the way red was soaking into a good bit of the fabric on his jeans. It was sure to be a sickening sight to the fainthearted, but for Richie it was alarming more than anything. As expected, a snappy reply sounded from Max as he replied to her with words of "Do I look like I am?" as he rubbed at his face. Richie almost wanted to laugh. Aside for their dilemma, he still replied as he usually would: answering a question with another question. Really, it was either that or he avoided answering it all together. She was certainly glad that he responded to her; it was comforting to say the least no matter how rude it could've been interpreted as. It had the smallest of smiles appearing on her lips as she turned away of words saying she'd be back in a moment, and no time at all passed until she returned with a towel in hand, shoving it towards Max and getting him to sit in the passenger seat of the vehicle. He was smart enough to cross his leg over his knee to be able to apply pressure to the bite that was on the back of his right calf, but it still wasn't the most promising sight for Richie.