Realistic or Modern - 𝘾𝙊𝙇𝘿 𝙅𝙐𝙇𝙔

[idiot]

TIFFANY MILLER

TRAILER TRASH.

mood

guilt.

location

harrison's home.

interaction

harrison & everyone from the lake.

outfit

oversized shirt, underwear and long socks.

"Breakfast!" A deep shout awoke Tiffany, her swollen eyes fluttering open. Forcing herself to sit up, she dragged her legs to dangle over the hardwood floor. A glance at her phone's illuminated screen made Tiffany groan, Jesus, it is so early...

Tiffany had made her way to Harrison's house after making the call late last night, and now she was sitting on the bed of Harrison's late daughter — Layla. Everything in the room had a layer of dust, each item purposefully kept in an exact place before her death. It was as though the room was a time capsule, suspended in a different space of time. The room was a light pink that had faded over the years, cluttered with stuffed animals and art supplies. A few pictures and photographs littered the walls, mainly sketches and painting from Layla and her friends. Yet, there was a family photo on the nightstand; three smiles beamed at Tiffany, arms wrapped around one another. Layla would be my age...she wondered if they would have been friends. She recalled the first time she had slept here, it had to of been a year or so ago now.

After a fight with her mother, she found herself knocking on Harrison's door, soaked to the bone from walking in the rain. Tiffany had only met Harrison a handful of times before, mainly situated in the back of his cruiser for stealing. Yet, there was something about him that made her feel safe. He wrapped his jacket around her, whisking her inside. After a hot bath and a change of clothes, he reluctantly opened his daughter's door which creaked from the lack of use. Tiffany refused at first, having heard about the car accident. Tiffany caved in eventually, slipping into the worn bed and drifting off to sleep.

It was her second home, one she much preferred to the trailer with her bipolar mother. Tiffany yelped as her bare feet touched the icy-cold floorboards, opting to slip some long socks on. Dressed in one of Harrison's old tees which swallowed her up, Tiffany made her way downstairs, shutting the door to Layla's room.

"About time, lazybones," Harrison answered in response to the stairs creaking below Tiffany's feet, "your breakfast is going to get cold." Tiffany could smell the sweet, familiar scent of waffles in the air, causing a smile to stretch across her face.

Harrison stood in the kitchen, dressed in his usual get-up for the police station. Sliding herself into one of the wooden chairs, the plate of waffles and golden syrup running down the sides, in front of her. However, despite the intoxicating smell, Tiffany couldn't find her appetite. Her stomach grumbled and churned, yet she couldn't even fathom the idea of taking a bite.

"You okay, Tiff?" Harrison had that look of concern etched onto his face, the wrinkles making it apparent of his age. His charcoal hair had begun to grey, light scruff on his brown skin.

"Yeah...just tired, y'know?" Tiffany forced a smile on her face, feeling her phone buzz inside the waistband of her underwear.

"You did get here pretty late, huh?" Harrison replied, cleaning the pan in the sud-filled sink. Tiffany nodded in response, remembering last night as though a waved crashed over her. She had somehow pushed all of it away into the back of her head, locked shut and throwing the key away. However, the memory refused to stay hidden. Pulling her phone from her underwear, Tiffany glanced at the messages, biting her lip. The purse.

"Well don't wait up for me today, we got a tip last night of someone reporting a possible body, and I have a feeling we will be scouring the entire lake all day." Harrison huffed, finishing his coffee and placing the mug, Tiffany had bought him from work, onto the counter.

"What?" Tiffany's eyes widened, dropping her phone onto the counter, screen face down. Already? Tiffany didn't expect them to start looking today. Guilt surged through her body at the thought of everyone else at the lake. What if they found out it was her who called? Tiffany rubbed her sweaty palms onto her thighs before Harrison spoke.

"Its okay, kiddo." Harrison smiled reassuringly, "it is most likely a prank call, but it is routine to follow up on the tip." Approaching her, he snatched one of the waffles from her plate before making his way towards the entrance.

I'm in deep, deep shit. Tiffany picked up her phone, her fingers refusing to type anything in response but she couldn't look away.

coded by weldherwings.

 

[oxytocin]

the images never stopped coming.

clementine tore the door to her trailer open with a near animalistic ferocity, and for once in her life was delighted at the sight of her mother passed out drunk on the couch. she didn’t think twice before she wrapped her arms around her, squeezed tight, breathed in the smell of cheap booze and stale pall mall’s. the woman beneath her stirred.

“thafucksa’mattawityou?” groaned brandi, inebriation and heavy southern drawl turning her sentence to a single word. clementine lifted her head to drink in every feature of her mother’s face as though she had never seen it before.

her mother, now in her late 30s, was a mere phantom of the bright-eyed, gorgeous blonde that limited snapshots on the wall showed. she was gaunt, years of addiction leaving her body bony and awkward. her face was painted heavily in smeared makeup, too-dark foundation and too-red lip, making her appear as some bastardized cross between a clown and a toddler who got into their mother’s makeup.

clem sat back on her legs, laughed, and made a face. “what? a bitch can’t worry ‘bout her momma? damn.” she hopped off the couch, stuck her tongue out, and took a half-used, lipstick stained cigarette from the ash tray on the table. momentarily, her face softened. “be careful when working, momma. i love you.”

brandi’s face formed a confused grimace. “what kinda trouble you got yourself into? if the cops show up ain’t no way i’m covering your ass.”

while it stung, it came as no surprise. motherly instinct was not something which had loaded into brandi’s mind. she was a survivalist, with no qualms about trampling others to cover her own ass. it was something that after nearly two decades one got accustomed to.

there were times when clementine fantasized of how her life could have been different. a mother who was present, who braided hair and wiped away tears.

but that was not the hand fate dealt, and fantasy did not heal a lifetime of wounds.

her lips curled up into a wry smile. “what, so now it’s a crime to tell your ma you love her? tell me that ain’t make your heart skip a beat. when’s the last time you heard i love you outside’a days of our lives?”

the way in which her mother’s face contorted was not pretty. there was a colorful hurl of insults, a barely dodged heel that flew just inches past her face, and her laughter bounced off the walls around her. she flew into her room, pulled back the shitty vinyl shower curtain she called a door.

behind that curtain, clem cracked. she scooped a lighter off the ground, lit the cigarette in her hand, took a shaky drag.

sparks. a boom. red.

she shivered.

the exhale of smoke was nice, but not enough. it never would be. god, what’d she’d do to go back about 32 hours. she’d suggest a new hangout space, and everything would be better. yesterday’s events wouldn’t have happened. those yank bastards would be by themselves in the trauma.

she tossed the cigarette to the ground, still lit, and ground a new hole into her thin little carpet.

every time she shut her eyes she saw trixie’s lifeless body. she heard screams, and her hands grew clammy.

bile burned at the back of her throat.

why was everything so loud?

the rest of the night moved in a blur. she remembered lighting a flame, her spoon, a pinch. she remembered laughter, euphoria, that her brain felt like it was drowning. she felt invincible.

there were no real thoughts, only elation. she would have done anything to feel that way forever.

clementine woke up in grass, head pounding, knees bloodied and grass-stained. her hair was matted to her forehead with sweat and vomit. her body ached. with a groan, she rose onto her elbows, fumbled for her cell phone, checked the time. 11:42am.

the messages she saw made her blood run cold.

and so, she responded in the only way she knew how:

@mouserats: were finaly guna have a orgy? :-D​

 

[allure]

SKYLAR WU

ooooEveryone was silent on the way back to the dock, if you didn't count Arlo swearing under his breath and Skylar's own ragged breathing. Dozens of words crowded his mouth, ammunition to break apart the heaviness hanging over them, but Skylar kept quiet. This wasn't a situation that could be diffused with careless quips and jokes. He put the items he'd taken back into the purse, figuring it was better to keep everything in one place, and then handed it to Ami without a word. The lot of them, four undeserving rich kids coming down from a cocaine high, pressed their sweaty foreheads together and agreed to keep it all a secret from innocent Mari passed out below deck.
oooo”See you on the flip side,” Skylar said to Arlo. They exchanged a fist bump instead of their usual elaborate handshake – a half-hearted goodbye for sure, but no one had the energy to keep up pretenses. Sky tugged his car keys out of his pocket.
ooooAfter breaking from their huddle, Ami watched the exchange between the two boys. It was an odd sight to see after such a traumatic experience, but she knew better than most that everyone copes differently. Watching Arlo drift away, she hesitantly approached Skylar, gently grabbing his sleeve, “Hey… Could you take me home?” It was a more vulnerable statement than she would’ve liked to make, but she was feeling rather vulnerable in the first place. She didn’t quite feel like taking a bus after what just happened.
ooooHe already had the driver door open when Ami tugged on his shirt. ”Sure, no problem,” he replied, though he had looked forward to a quiet drive alone to settle his nerves. If she hadn’t asked, he probably would have found himself driving in circles through the city for the rest of the night. Sky walked around to the other side of the car to open the passenger’s side door for his guest, ever the gentleman. Giving an appreciative nod, Ami settled into the seat, the waterlogged purse laying in her lap.
ooooOnce they were both situated inside, Sky turned on the ignition and let out a sigh of relief as the luxurious black leather came alive with a purr beneath him. Finally, something familiar. Something he could hold onto with his hands and know was his. He was the first to back out of the lot and onto the street, peeling onto the freeway with more speed than necessary. If Ami was in her right mind, she would’ve heard the careful words of her mother echo through her head and she would have asked him to slow down, but she couldn’t get herself to speak. In fact, she couldn’t get herself to think of anything but the dead woman. The anxiety welled up inside of her, bubbling and twisting within her gut. Whether that was his speed, or the image of her bloated hands clutched around the handle of the tacky pleather bag she was staring so intently at, who knows.
ooooThe silence throughout the car was louder than any words either of them would have spoken. Tensions were obviously high as neither of them could think of something to say, so Sky turned on the radio, and both of them jumped when Wale’s verse in “No Hands” blasted through the car at the volume of a lifting plane. He scrabbled at the dashboard until the melody was just a background hum and laughed apologetically, scratching at the back of his head. ”Oops! Sorry.”
ooooAmi gave a weak chuckle back, “No, don’t worry about it.” A frail smile playing on her lips as she glanced towards him. Up-turned corners slowly dropped into a frown as her mind drifted for a moment. Skylar jumped into the water and was pretty much face to face with the dead woman – something like that could haunt someone. Ami wasn’t nearly as close and she couldn’t stop imagining it. “Are you okay?” She wasn’t sure if she asked because she cared about his well being, or if she needed something to be said, or maybe both, but she was happy to think about something else for a moment.
ooooHis hands were tight around the wheel, his foot braced against the pedal (they were already in the fast lane, the speedometer was inching towards 110), but the music was unobtrusive and Ami’s voice even more so. Sky needed something to feed the white noise in his brain. He wasn’t going to get it. The moment he recognized that there was no point in playing the part of the unbothered, unaffected persona he’d gotten used to, he blurted out ”So are we going to talk about the dead body?”
ooooSo much for thinking about something else. Ami let out a deep sigh as the crease between her brow deepened, “What’s there to talk about?” It was said more like a statement than a question. While he had let go of his uninvolved face, she was still trying to keep up hers.
oooo”What isn’t there to talk about? She – ah, fuck, what was her name, Tina? Trixie? Trixie! – Trixie could have a family. She could have kids. Imagine someone finds your mom’s body in the harbor and just goes home and doesn’t say a word. Are we really not going to tell anyone?” Skylar’s brows furrowed, and his hands flexed as he weaved around a car that had been going the speed limit. God, he wanted to call his mom. He wanted to hear her say Baobao, it’ll be alright. But his mom would press him for details, and he had never been confident in his ability to lie to her.
ooooAmi thought about his hypothetical question for a second before shaking her head, “Look, it was a suicide. It’s unfortunate, but it happens.” The colder tone she had taken dissolved quickly as she processed his last question, “I… I don’t want to be involved. If my mom finds out–” She cut herself off quickly as she started. If her mom found out Ami told anyone about how she actually was, she’d have another fit, “I think it’d be best for everyone if we don’t say anything. Someone else will find the body if they haven’t already.”
oooo”And if they don’t? If her babies are waiting for her to come home right now?”
ooooAmi’s eyes darted away from him out of a mix of shame and worry. If Trixie did have a family, what would happen if their mom had just disappeared? It’s possible fish or other sea creatures could eat the evidence – her eyes finally adjust on the steadily rising speedometer. Since the incident, her brain went quiet as it attempted to process the triple digits she was staring at. Ami felt like she swallowed a metal beam as she practically screeched, “Can you slow down?!”
ooooSky checked that there weren’t any headlights in his rearview and braked until they were going a safe and steady 75. They were about to reach their exit anyways. Ami had one hand on her chest and the other on the handle on the roof of a car like an old lady with heart problems – maybe he shouldn’t press her anymore. Taking deep gulps of air, she slowly got her blood pressure to drop. She never realized how much her mother's worries affected her till now. Taking her hand from her chest, she wiped her eyes. God, she was tired. Both emotionally and mentally, she felt drained. It was a hassle to wrangle her thoughts back together, but once she did, her voice couldn’t keep up the strength it once had.
oooo“If we haven’t heard anything in a day or so and you feel like calling it in, be my guest. Just… Please don’t involve me.”
ooooSkylar scoffed, too exasperated to mask his irritation. “I’ll call it in whenever I damn please, Ami. It’s real people’s lives on the line here, not just ours, or yours.” He was pulling into the gated community where they both lived. Big brick houses, big Greek columns, big front lawns. “Don’t worry. You weren’t on that boat.”
ooooHe was right, but she also knew he didn’t understand what was on the line for her. Part of the reason she couldn’t let her mom find out was selfish, but was that such a bad thing? After stressing about pleasing someone for so long, didn’t she deserve a break? “Can you stop here?” She asked quietly.
ooooAmi was still a block away from her house, but for multiple reasons, she thought it’d be best if she got out now. Once he rolled to a stop, she climbed her way out of the car, purse in hand, “I appreciate you driving me.” The girl gave him a cordial nod before closing the door.
ooooSkylar sighed and dragged a hand through his hair as he pushed the car further up the street. His hair felt crunchy and tangled. His skin was sticky. Everything was raw.

ooooThe morning light was welcome. After a scalding hot shower, Skylar had forced himself to watch Netflix until he'd slumped over from exhaustion at some point in the night. Looking out at the picturesque gardens, the gorgeous red iron fence that guarded roses and gardenias, the winding path down to the driveway, it was hard to imagine such a horrifying event had taken place on that cursed twilight less than 24 hours ago. It was hard to imagine anyone like the Dicks tramping up his lawn, though he knew they had in the past, hard to imagine anyone like Trixie. Fuck. He turned away from the window and checked his phone. He had woken up sometime after eight in the morning and lain awake, trying to fall back asleep, until a new Instagram DM had made his blood run cold. Now he was wondering if he should be the one to reply. Nearly an hour had passed without any response from his friends. He didn't even have the purse anymore, though. Ami did. He probably should have taken it from her before dropping her off.
ooooAs it neared noon, Skylar typed out and deleted about twenty responses before he finally settled on something.

@sky.wu: i think it's a good idea. we can't just ignoer it
@sky.wu: ignore*
@sky.wu: @amimain has the purse​

ooooHe pointedly ignored the vulgar reply that was sent shortly before his. The fact that these people were reaching out meant that they felt similarly to him and wanted to report the body, right? Even Dicks had a sense of human decency, after all.

WITH AMI. IN HIS CAR THEN HIS HOUSE.

 

[Corgi]

Amidala

Mood: Troubled

Location: Outside Ami's Home

Outfit: Here

Interactions: Isabelle Tremaine

Tires crackled over concrete as the red tail lights of Skylar’s car shot off into the night. Stood on the side of the road, Ami concluded that she could’ve handled that better. While tensions were high, neither of them were in a stable place to face their charged thoughts. She should've shot down the conversation as soon as he mentioned the woman, but it was too late now.

Taking a sharp breath, her white heels dragged Ami down the perpetual sidewalk. What felt like hours seemed to tick by until she came to a stop in front of a large black gate. Looking up the winding stone driveway, a mansion towered above her. Cut shrubs lined the pristine walls with what seemed like hundreds of windows framing a happy home; but judging by the blinding porch light, she knew anything but happy was waiting inside. Her nerves clenched around her gut, begging her exhausted mind to avoid going inside... but Ami knew that prolonging her entrance would only make her mother more furious.

Ami typed her passcode in, watching the silent gates spur to life- but before they could part completely, the dark wooden door of the house burst open.

"Amidala Catia Tremaine, get inside now." The silent rage of Ms. Isabelle Tremaine seeped through her clenched jaw as she disappeared into the home she had exited.

"Here we go..." Any chance she had of salvaging this night dispersed as Ami trudged forward, attempting to mentally prepare herself.

Entering the home, she was immediately greeted with a tirade of hysterics, “You rode home with one of your friends in a car that was going hundreds of miles per hour. Do you know how worried I was? What if you died? You would’ve left me here alone just like your father. I’ve loved you through everything we’ve been through and you still treat me like this. It’s like you don’t even care about me.”

If it were any other day, Ami would be apologizing and try to calm her mother down but the cold numbness in her chest kept her quiet. After what she’s been through, she couldn’t bring herself to care- which made her mother even more furious.

“I bet you didn’t even think to text me when you were on your way home. You know what, Amidala? I am sick and tired of this treatment. Don’t talk to me or ask me for anything unless it comes with an apology first. I cannot believe you…” Isabelle stomped off, leaving Ami in the entryway.

Her heart ached and her eyes burned as she stared at the marble floors. If her mom knew what Ami did for her and how much her actions were tailored to making Isabelle comfortable, she wouldn’t say anything… But she didn’t. Even if she told her, she wouldn’t listen.

Dragging her feet up the stairs, she went straight to her bedroom. The girl knew she needed to take off her makeup and get into pajamas, maybe even take a shower beforehand, but the thought of staying awake for another hour didn’t settle nicely with her. She needed to not think about today.

Throwing the purse on the other side of her bedroom, she collapsed into her bed before letting darkness take her.

~​

The morning didn’t come easy. Grogginess hung to her eyes as the sun battered them with blindness. Her dry mascara stuck her top and bottom lashed together as Ami squinted them open, groaning through the beams of light. Memories of the previous night flooded back to her, dragging and clenching her gut. ”Right…”

Rubbing her eyes, she disregarded the makeup that’s crusted overnight and sat up. Guessing by the brightness of the sun, it was probably near noon. Typically by nine, her mother would’ve come in. ”Her threat must’ve been serious this time."

Guilt tugged at her mind as she thought about the previous night’s conversation. Most of Isabelle’s rants were disregarded in the morning, but this time was different. Taking in a deep breath, she shrugged off her thoughts and stood up. Despite sleeping up to eleven hours, her limbs felt like lead and her head was heavy.

Glancing around the room, she quickly spotted her phone on the ground and picked it up. The stream of Instagram messages took her by surprise. Typically, she gets one message during the school year of someone asking for answers on the homework, but it was summer break and as she opened it, it definitely wasn’t about school work.

@10mg: we should meet up n talk
@10mg: do you guys still have the purse?
@jaaackk_: are u sure that’s a good idea
@mouserats: were finally guna have a orgy? : D
@sky.wu: i think it’s a good idea. we can’t just ignore it
@sky.wu: ignore*
@sky.wu: @amimain has the purse


The purse. Her eyes immediately shot to the white dingy handbag that taunted her in the corner. She let out an aggravated sigh. Ami knew going to the police would be the right thing. Skylar made good points but if word got out…

Looking back to her phone, she typed out a quick message before throwing her phone on the bed.

@amimain: Where should we meet?

It was going to be another long day.

code by Stardust Galaxy​

 

[timshel]

11:49 AM

Jasper Owen
@10mg
dixie trash.

MOOD.

... he's been worse. (actually that may be a lie.)

LOCATION.

Diego's Derby Diner.

OUTFIT.

a thrifted Thrasher tee, baggy cuffed jeans, Chuck Taylors.

INTERACTIONS.

all Dixies and Yankees.

The messages began to roll in faster than he expected them to. Even if he was the one to start the conversation, he instantly regretted the mound of nerves that came to be from seeing those typing bubbles appear and disappear as everyone thought (and overthought) everything.

It was already close to being too much. Maybe the attack he had last night had made him a little hypersensitive to it all. And God, it really, really made him crave a Xanax—not what he usually took to get through a day without too many flare-ups, but enough of it to get him stupid. Loopy. Part of him was aware of how bad of a problem it was becoming, but if it meant he’d feel more comfortable in his body and actually be able to laugh without worrying if it sounded weird or was too loud, what did it matter?

He crouched low and peeled the corner of his mattress up from the carpet, fumbling with his free hand for the familiar, soft-worn outline of his Zipbloc bag of vices. Jasper finally found it tucked deeper than he remembered stuffing it last time. He counted out the bars and ovals, quickly turning options over in his head before deciding on a questionable four milligrams (these pills were suspiciously crumbly and speckled, but he was desperate). He swallowed them dry quickly, wincing at the bitterness.

Not soon after reading Jack’s message, Jasper put his phone back down by his bed to hopefully pick up more of a charge while he did something, anything else before the gentle wave hit him.

That five minute shower felt like heaven. Scalding hot, enough to leave him flushed for a couple minutes after he stepped out of the steam. That good kind of hurt was just what he needed to feel like a human being again, to shake off the lingering tremble in his hands and tightness in his jaw.

When he finally felt settled enough to engage with the hideous elephant in the room, Jasper reopened that Instagram conversation. He was equal parts pleasantly surprised and horrendously nervous that the rest of the group had responded so quickly—he was even more surprised that Clem was up early enough to reply, and that the standoffish, goodie two-shoes Yanks had actually given a damn about it: they all collectively struck him as above it all, unbothered.

Jasper considered Amidala’s question as he raked through his laundry for something clean to wear. It was only times like this, rare as they may be, where his more paranoid tendencies actually proved somewhat useful. Where could they all meet where it wouldn’t look suspicious? Thinking back to that purse—hadn’t Skylar pulled out a key? The fob looked like it belonged to some hotel chain. They could maybe go there and figure something out, but what clerk wouldn’t look twice at a group of teenagers whispering in their lobby? Not to mention the security cameras.

Think, think, think. Why was this so difficult all of the sudden? In that moment, his stomach growled, and the blond thought fondly of the one place he could go and get a meal any time of day: triple D’s, as they all called it. It was a fitting name—Jack and Clem liked boobs, and they talked about Tiff's all the time. If he was lucky, he could maybe even score a free meal.

@10mg: diego’s​

@10mg: y know the diner​

@10mg: i can be there in 10​

It was a plan, then. He found his wallet, keys, and earbuds, grabbed his skateboard, and made his way to the front door, feeling good about himself. Jasper had almost made it out without incident until he heard a gravelly voice from the kitchen behind him.

“No breakfast?” Richard (or Dick, as Jasper always called him behind his back) sat perched on his dining room chair with the morning newspaper in his hand. A lit cigarette sat next to an unfinished plate of fried eggs. He looked like shit with his too-long stubble and the bottom of his stomach peeking out from underneath a shirt that was too small that for some reason he hadn’t tossed yet.

Jasper turned back to face him but avoided meeting his eyes—this wasn’t the morning to be met with his stern smugness and the cruelty in his dark eyes. “I’m uh.” He had to stop himself before he stammered; he’d learned well by now it was best to give this man as little ammunition as possible. “Gonna meet some friends at the diner.”

He set the newspaper down, although he hadn’t paid enough attention to keep it away from the cigarette. “Who’s money are you spending, kid? We have food here.”

The blond started counting tiles on the floor around his stepfather’s feet. “It’s mine.”

Dick raised an eyebrow, starting to grin. “Oh, yeah?” He always hated the taunting. “Where’d you get it?”

“I told you,” Jasper snapped back, “I make money if enough people listen to my music online. I got a direct deposit the other day.”

He opened the front door to leave as his father dropped his gaze, turning his attention back to the newspaper. Here it comes. “Ain’t no money, no career in that shit, boy. You know that—“ Another one of Dick the bitter dad’s greatest fucking hits. The sound of the door closing behind him shut him up with a satisfying finality.

Jasper sighed shakily as he plugged his headphones into his phone and scrolled for a song to skate to. The whole Soundcloud and Patreon thing was stupid and he knew it. Well, maybe. He knew a handful of halfway decent rappers from high school who always talked about their music, tried to get people to listen to their shitty albums, desperately hiding the fact that none of it was successful in the slightest.

The mere fact that strangers online were actually listening to his music—not just the Arctic Monkeys and Strokes and Zeppelin covers, but his own original songs—was still hard to take in. These same strangers liked his stupid, artsy Instagram pictures and pledged him five, maybe ten dollars a month for a little bit more. Nice as it was, as lovely as it’d be to give in and enjoy it, part of Jasper was reluctant. All he saw were the impossibilities of starting a career.

He needed something to get this shit out of his system. As the opening notes of Black Dog started up in his ears at full volume, he dabbed at his eyes with the collar at his shirt. He then threw his board down and pushed off a couple of times before hurdling down the street.

—​

It didn’t take him long from where he lived to make it to Diego’s Derby Diner, which was conveniently located in the same awful part of Charleston that he called home. Despite its desperate need of better signage and fresh paint, something about it still seemed homey and welcoming to him. Maybe he was a bit biased because of all the late nights and hungover mornings he’d spent there, but part of him hoped the Yankees would like it as much as he did.

Jasper glanced over his shoulder for no good reason before taking one earbud out and walking up to the host, skateboard in hand.

“Hi. Um.” He glanced down, brow furrowed, taking a moment to do the mental math. “Table for, uh. Six. They’ll be here in a minute, I think,” Jasper quickly added, managing a smile.

coded by weldherwings.

 

[idiot]

TIFFANY MILLER

TRAILER TRASH.

mood

on EDGE.

location

diego's derby diner.

interaction

jasperrrr.

outfit

sunflower dress & rollerblades.

@10mg: diego’s
@10mg: y know the diner
@10mg: i can be there in 10

Shit, shit, shit. Tiffany's knees were up against her chest on the dining chair, pale eyes fixated on her phone's screen. Her stomach grumbled, yet the waffles oozing maple syrup made her want to throw up. What if they knew I made the call or that they were dredging the lake up? Guilt riddled her entire being, teeth chewing at the inside of her cheek until it was raw. "Okay, come on, Tiff." Reassuring herself, she forced herself to stand up.

Dumping her plate of waffles into the trash, Tiffany reluctantly headed upstairs to Layla's room. Emphasis on Layla's room. Tiffany would love nothing more than to claim this as her room, to pack up her belongings from the trailer and move in. Yet, she knew that was really weird and probably uncomfortable for Harrison. Furthermore, her mother would kick up dirt when she didn't receive her child benefit payments.

Tiffany had no desire to go home to get changed, yet peering at her appearance, she needed to change; dressed in one of Harrison's oversized shirts and her underwear. That was when she noticed the sticker-clad white dresser ahead of her, brass knobs shaped like flowers. Without much thought, she opened one of the draws, a colourful array of neatly folded clothes were packed inside. Tiffany's fingers glided across the fabric, carding through them as though she was shopping.

It reminded her of her first encounter with Harrison, which ended with Tiffany in the back of his squad car for attempting to borrow a few articles of clothing from a fashion outlet. To be fair, it was a corporation chain — Tiffany wasn't a monster.

Jealously was beginning to burn inside of Tiffany, was this what it felt like to be loved? From the posters that adorned the walls to the handful of family photographs around the room, it was clear that Layla was loved. In comparison to Tiffany's room which was more of a cramped closet in the back of the trailer; a thin mattress, distressed sheets and a few personal items shoved in the corner was all Tiffany had — that wasn't loved. Tears burned her eyes at the thought of her mother, which might be why Tiffany pulled out one of Layla's dresses, shutting the drawer.

​

A too-small white dress clung to Tiffany's frame; cinched at the waist and flowing down just above her knees, the dress was adorned with sunflowers. The dress struggled to keep Tiffany's sizeable chest inside, the lacy top of her pink bra on show. She had opted to tie her hair back in a dishevelled ponytail, small wisps framing her face. Rollerblades glided against the cracked cement towards Diego's Derby Diner.

Skidding to a stop, Tiffany didn't bother taking off her skates, rolling into the diner to the familiar smell which usually made a smile spread across her face. Yet all Tiffany wanted to do was turn around, her stomach-dropping and bile burning her throat. Diego's son waved lazily towards her, one of the girls she worked with gestured towards a booth, knowing she was friends with the lone figure there.

The blonde-headed teen sat at the booth and it took every fibre in Tiffany's body to not skate away. I can't face him — any of them. Balling her hands up, Tiffany took a deep breath, letting a fake smile spread across her face, her signature gap-teeth showing proudly. Approaching the booth, Tiffany slid into the opposing side to Jasper, "hey Jas, sorry for not replying was at Harrison's place."

coded by weldherwings.

 

[allure]

SKYLAR WU

ooooWho the fuck was Diego? The name of the guy who owned this diner Jasper was talking about? Skylar stared at his phone screen, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. When no one offered any further explanation, he sighed and opened Google Maps, typing diner in the search bar. Though he wished they could have met up at any of the nearby $$ and $$$ diners that popped up first in the results, he knew that an eatery a mere 10 minutes from Jasper's place of residence would be much further down. He scrolled till his thumb hit a Diego's Derby Diner. One dollar sign and pictures of a dingy storefront... yeah, this must have been the place. It was on the other side of town, of course. He was pretty sure his gas tank was running low. How annoying.

@sky.wu: gonna get there in 20​

ooooHe decided against offering to give Ami a ride, though they were practically neighbors. After how last night had gone, he wasn't sure what either of them would say to the other, and he wanted to put off the unexpected for as long as possible. That was why he shrugged off his robe and put on basically the same outfit he'd had on the previous day, a different luxurious button down and the staple red-tinted shades. He grabbed his bag off the floor and walked downstairs.
oooo"No breakfast, Wanqing?" asked a voice like a creaky floorboard when Skylar made a beeline for the front door. He turned around, an apologetic smile already in place.
oooo"Sorry, Bai-yi. I'm going out to eat now. You can share my breakfast with Jian-ge and the others." He put a hand on Bai's shoulder and squeezed. It always made him feel guilty to refuse food from such a grandmotherly old woman, even when he had legitimate reasons. "I'll come home for dinner. Bye!" He bowed as he shoved his feet into his loafers and slipped out the door before she could coerce him into taking breakfast with him. But the food at the diner would probably make him break out, so maybe he should have done that anyways, Skylar thought as he backed out of the driveway.

ooooWhen Skylar pulled off the freeway, he had to double check his phone to make sure he was really still in Charleston. The smell of garbage in the ditches on the side of the road was so sour that he rolled up his windows and tucked his nose under the collar of his shirt for good measure. The houses he rolled past looked like they had been rotting there for years, like sagging corpses. No way anyone lived in those, right? Yet as he idled at a stop sign, he spotted a couple of kids on a rickety porch. A dirty soccer ball at the edge of a weedy lawn. Signs of life in the decaying landscape. Though his car was quiet, every head turned and stared as he drove by. The stares made the hairs on his arm stand at attention. They were different from the envious, admiring looks he sometimes got when he drove around in the city. These eyes were scathing.
ooooHis nerves buzzed like static electricity beneath his skin by the time he pulled up to Diego's Derby Diner. He slid out of the car and gave the front a once-over. The teal metal facade was dented and was simply missing in some places, exposing filthy rusting grills. Even the signs in the windows looked tattered, and the neon Open sign was more of an incessant flicker than a distinct message. In short, the place made his eyes itch, though he could sort of tell it had once been something charming a long, long, long time ago.
ooooSkylar pressed the lock button on his car keys and glanced over his shoulder to make sure the lights flashed before it hit him how ludicrous and outlandish his black Lamborghini looked sitting parked in in the middle of this particular street. If he disappeared into this diner, there was almost no way nothing would happen to it. Thugs and criminals abounded aplenty on this side of town, and maybe it was too early to say for sure, but there was probably a murderer in this part of Charleston too. The longer he stood there glaring at his car, the more stupid he felt. There was no way to avoid it. He certainly wasn't going to ask the Dixies to take their food outside so he could keep an eye on his baby, though he honestly might have if he thought there was a chance that they would agree. Skylar laid a hand on the hood and murmured a quick prayer before he turned and finally entered the restaurant.
ooooThe interior was better than the exterior, though not by much. It was painted in shades of pink and teal that had faded dismally over the years. One of the waitresses rolled to a stop in front of him – they were all wearing rollerskates, which was kind of cute, he supposed – and gave him a look that just screamed What the hell are you doing here? He cleared his throat.
oooo"I'm looking for Jasper?" The waitress made a noise of recognition and motioned at a booth behind her, though the perturbed look remained fixed on her face. He quickly thanked her and strode over to where most of the Dicks were already chatting. The blonds had taken up one side of the booth, and the only remaining seat was next to... "Clementine," Skylar growled. It was less of a greeting and more of a challenge. He sat down on the edge of the seat with his legs facing out towards the restaurant. When one of the waiters skated by and nearly collided with his limbs, however, he begrudgingly turned in to the table, still sitting as far as possible from the girl.

WITH JASPER, TIFFANY, AND CLEM. AT POOR PEOPLE DINER.

 

[oxytocin]

as clementine sped on her bike to diego’s, her heart roared in her chest. she wanted justice for trixie—of course she did—and there was some demented, latent desire deep within some uglier part of her psyche that simply wanted to know how this happened—but the logical part of her knew this was bad.

very, very bad.

with an uncharacteristic amount of genuine malice, clem cursed those two dumbass rich bitches who decided to hold the purse.

it cost 0.00 to mind your own goddamn business, but when you’re rich, clementine supposed there wasn’t much value in the glee that was free shit.

as she reached the location,she flung her bike haphazardly against the front wall of the rundown diner. she had no fears about her bike being stolen—it had her name carved into the frame, and she had such infamy that anyone who had been to diego’s as much as once had likely heard tales of the bug-eyed, curly topped tiny teen’s debauchery.

she walked in as though nothing was wrong, with a wide, gap-toothed smile so very characteristic to her, and released a low wolf-whistle at a short-skirted waitress who simply chuckled. “gang’s in the back corner, sugar.” clementine responded by blowing a kiss and winking.

she crept up to the booth slowly, wrapping her arms around tiffany and squeezing as though her life depended on it (and in this instance, it felt quite strongly that it did). she placed a loud, wet kiss on tiffany’s cheek, ruffled jasper’s hair, and sat across from the two. she crossed her legs beneath her, picked at a scab, and looked up. she put her hands in the center of the table, grabbed at her friends’ hands, and rubbed her thumb in slow circles around the tops. her voice was softer than it had perhaps ever been before. “are y’all holding up okay?” she asked gently, voice caught in the back of her throat.

her moment of tenderness was cut short by the literal last individual she was equipped to deal with. she looked directly into skylar’s eyes, mouth curving into a smile. “hey baby!” she said, voice poisonously sweet. she giggled as he sat a distance away, and slid to bump her knee against his own. “ain’t no reason to act shy. i don’t bite ‘less you’re into that.” she cast a lazy, playful wink, and attempted to act as though her stomach was not turning flips at that very second.​

 

[honeyfrog]

Jack struggled to organize his emotions as the conversation turned further in the absolute last direction he wanted it to. Shock at the absence of any resistance from anyone sat balled in his stomach, a little marble of heat pulling him together. Then he wondered if he was a coward.

Of course they’re going to find out eventually, he thought. Few were strangers to his dislike of the police, and if it were just about anyone else in his place, he would have gone so far as to doubt their ability to pull a group of shitty teenagers who were only at the wrong place at the wrong time into the whole mess at all. Funny how things change once it’s you in the line of fire. How confident he became in their tactics once when he realized the consequences would be placed squarely on his shoulders.

But had they done anything wrong? Jack fought to reason with it as he strode stiffly out to his car. As numb as he felt, thinking about it felt like rationalizing, but it was all he had. In fact, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Couldn’t stop envisioning himself sat in front of some faceless cop, pinned beneath a glaring spotlight, explaining over and over again how it had all happened, how they were only out there to have fun, like all kids did during the summer; how if anyone were to blame, it had to be the people who had dislodged the body to begin with (“and last time I checked, it wasn’t legal to shoot fireworks at someone nonconsensually either!”), and it’s not like they were going to get into trouble for it anyway.

Why couldn’t it have just been them? Jack thought as the realization struck him, and he gripped the wheel tighter, feeling a twist of anger in his gut. If it’d just been the Yankees there, he wouldn’t ever have doubted that this whole thing would be brushed off. Everything would have been fine.

Everything would be fine. Because they didn’t do anything wrong.

Right?

His head hadn’t stopped buzzing by the time he pulled into the parking lot behind some asshole’s Lamborghini. His stomach twisted again. Jesus, who brings a car like that to this side of town? You don’t have a fucking dozen others you could take?

Jack pictured it sitting on cinder blocks by the time they left, and snorted despite himself.

His hands were shaking as he pulled out his phone to open the group chat. comin in.

He stared at it a moment before hitting send. He’d wanted to tack on something - you dumb, stupid, crazy motherfuckers, why couldn’t you have just stayed at home and pretended like it didn’t happen - but that didn’t seem very productive. They’d made up their minds anyway.

He slid the phone into his back pocket and drew in a short, quick breath before trailing perhaps far too casually to the door. It didn’t take long for his eyes to catch the table where he was expected to be, which he sort of hated. He made eye contact with Jasper for half a second and had to glance away.

“Hey y’all.” Hands in his pockets, voice a thankfully gentle, low murmur, Jack hesitated at the head of the table, gazing half enviously at Clem’s hands clasping that of his other two friends. He was glad to see her. He was glad to hear her fuck with Skylar, even though part of him knew it was essential to the scheme behind not having a breakdown in the middle of this diner. They were all doing it on some level. At least, he hoped they were.

Jack opted to avoid Skylar’s presence to the best of his ability and more or less fell into the booth next to Tiff. His eyes went immediately to the table, and his thumb went to trace the contours of a shallow set of initials that had been carved into its surface in days past. Without looking at him, he addressed Jasper in a voice quieter than what he’d approached them all with. “How’s it going buddy?”