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Futuristic gestalt ✦ rp

OOC
Here
Characters
Here










VINCENT WARD















location

the gas station entrance






interactions

Jasper // Klown Klown & Cheryl // Ambiloquous Ambiloquous






mentions

n/a






The first thing Vincent thought of was the shallowness. Superficial, like the sparing glances some of the others spared him, bystander effect in full force. The split was nothing to worry about, not when he'd had worse, far worse. Still, his blood was happy to play the overdramatic actor; it continued to gush freely down the slope of his left eye and along the ridge of his cheekbone, dripping on his knee and congregating on the floor. The sharp sting against his skin blurred at the edges. In a gradual, yet sudden sort of way, the past bled into the present, giving way to a colder air than the one outside. A thicker air, a drier air. Desert air, night-black and dry, sand choking his throat as red pooled between calloused fingers. He could almost hear the comms crackling in his ear, the weight of Kevlar pressing into his chest. The rhythmic, familiar pitter-pattering of blizzard snow lashing against the gas station windows, for a split second, sounded like something else entirely.

Vincent blinked. Once, twice, a third time as the world evened out. The sterile white floor remained just that; sterile, untouched save for the growing little blood puddle, his papers, and the squeak of sneakers. Vincent squinted as the smorgasbord of faded doodles on the shoes jumped out at him against the crinoline floor. The young, shaggy-haired, guitar case slinging kid they belonged to crouched beside him, mouth moving a mile a minute. In his caramel-colored hand was one of the rescued victims of the great briefcase flood.

A beat of silence. Vincent stared at him.

The clear blue eyes, the way his hair curled slightly over his forehead, all itched at the back of Vincent’s mind. For a fraction of a second, he saw someone else entirely. Vincent’s stomach went tight. At the same time, the young man's voice hit the brakes, words coming to a barely censored stop.

Zack.

Vincent’s breath caught at the back of his throat, and for half a second, he was twenty-three again, crouched behind cover, Zack pressing a hand against his own bleeding side, cracking dumb, nervous jokes through gritted teeth. Vincent could still hear himself then, voice tight, too fast, trying to stitch reassurance into words that barely held together. You’re fine, you’re fine, just hold on, we’re almost clear.

He could hear the same kind of desperation coloring the voice in front of him now, patting himself down in frantic, jerky movements, words spilling out like they couldn’t keep up with his hands.

“I’ve got a bandaid in here somewhere, I think. It’s Superman themed. The cut doesn’t look bad, if you’re worried about that. Well, it looks bad, but it might not actually be bad. You know how the head just bleeds a lot because—oh, pause, it might get on your papers!”

Even if Vincent barely had time to process half of that, he couldn't help but smile softly, his inner awkwardness melting into a sort of gratitude and pleasure in watching a simple, good heart in acting in good faith, even if it didn't accept or know God yet. He nodded along, and when he finally spoke, his voice came out low, a little rough around the edges.

“My congregants call me Father, but my name’s Vincent. Friends call me Vince.”

His fingers brushed absently over the split in his brow, feeling the warmth of blood where it had already started to clot, accompanied by a dry, rumbling chuckle. “It really looks worse than it feels. Head wounds are dramatic like that, you're right.”

Then, softer, with a quiet flicker of amusement in his voice, he continued. “Thank you, Superman.”

His green eyes flickered across Jasper’s frame, a slow, assessing glance, until his gaze caught on the guitar case, the scuffed surface, the bold letters of a name tag peeling at the edges: Jasper.

Vincent exhaled, blinking back into focus, and tilted his head slightly in correction.

“Jasper.”

A beat. Then, faintly, the corner of his mouth twitched, some dry humor slipping in despite himself.

“Though I have to say, I think Superman suits you.”

Just then, another presence entered the periphery. A girl, looking around the same age as Jasper, skidded down to her knees beside them, fingers deftly gathering the remaining scattered papers before he could reach for them himself. His gaze flickered up just as hers did, and for the second time in the span of a minute, someone was looking at him with that same oof, yikes expression.

“Ooh, that does look pretty bad. Just in case, I’ll go ask the staff if they have a first aid kit. There can never be too many bandages, right?”

And just like that, Vincent felt the embarrassment trickle in again. Really, there was no need, he was going to say. A trip to the bathroom maybe, and some paper towel to clean the blood off the floor... but she had already skidded off again, and Vincent sighed. He adjusted his grip on his briefcase, with what little dignity it had left after its spectacular failure, and straightened up slightly, trying to ignore the warmth still trickling down the side of his face.

Vincent huffed out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Well, good thing I had an audience for this one,” he mused, green eyes flicking to Jasper with wry amusement. “Would’ve been a real shame to bleed out alone. Terrible for the parish’s reputation.”

He crossed himself in a slow, practiced motion, more for himself than Jasper, seeing as he'd actually followed through with the swear when he banged against the door. He cast a glance heavenward before looking back at the kid and winked, mouth tugging into something that wasn’t quite a smirk.

“And nice save, by the way. Though, sad to say holy ships went out of commission sometime after the Crusades.”

Right at that moment, the young woman practically sailed back over, first-aid kit in hand, with a look Vincent knew he'd seen before. Not on her, but on plenty of fresh recruits trying to play it cool after their first real taste of something off. The kind of tension that didn’t come from exhaustion or stress, but from a gut feeling they hadn’t quite processed yet...

Cheryl moved quickly, too quickly, like staying busy would stop whatever had shaken her from settling in. The too-bright cheer, the way she practically announced the first-aid kit like a damn game show host, it all rang false. And Vincent, trained to read body language like a second language, clocked it immediately.

Vincent nodded to her question as he found a more comfortable position on the floor, readying himself for the stinging, cleaning and bandaging of his head.

“That is standard protocol, yes," he said, smoothing out his cossack, the wry smile still tugging at his lips. "Not just for cuts, either. Some of us Marines kept a bottle on hand for worse days. Or, y’know, Mondays.”

“But while you’re at it,”
He let his smirk flicker up, just enough to feign casual. She wasn’t rattled by his bleeding head; hell, she wasn’t even looking at it anymore. Whatever she’d seen, whoever she’d talked to, had left an impression.

“Is everything alright?”





























HIS THEME

jungkook






♡coded by uxie♡

 
Last edited:
LUCAS NEIL
LOCATION
Gas station
INTERACTIONS
Noe efferve efferve
Thunk—the sound echoed dully, followed by a clatter of papers fluttering to the unmarred floor. A towering figure knelt, an awkward smile pulling at the corners of his lips with an air of forced cordiality.

Lucas found the blood trailing down the man’s brow hardly stirring, but the sight of his attire—well, that was another matter entirely. His gaze lingered on the cross that hung from the man’s neck.

A missionary? No, a priest? As obvious as it was, he supposed even priests had to stop at gas stations in the middle of a blizzard.

Lucas held no ties to religion. No childhood Sunday masses, no whispered prayers before bed. The only time he’d ever looked a priest in the eye had been through steel bars, a middle-aged man with graying hair awaiting trial for a crime so distasteful Lucas hadn't cared to probe for more. He wrinkled his nose.

The last time Lucas ever saw him, the man's face had been so battered and swollen that his features had become unrecognizable, scraping away every bit of humanity he might had left. He never thought there would still be blood involved the second time around. Maybe it was a common theme among their kind.

Lucas turned away, disinclined to meddle in Father's affairs. There would always be someone better suited to step in.

Just as he moved to take a step back, a voice chillingly echoed from behind.

This time Lucas did jump slightly in shock. He spun around with the dramatics of someone who had potentially been caught stealing twice in a row—maybe he was getting sloppy, better to practice more, he briefly thought—only for his eyes to lock onto a face so pale, it looked as though not a single drop of blood had ever flowed beneath its skin.

"Jesus fucking Christ—" Muttering the most appropriate exclamation for the occasion, the goth tightened his grip, the crisp crunch calling him back to attention. The chips were ruined.

Lucas tossed the bag aside and reached for another.

He hadn’t heard the man approach, hadn’t noticed his presence at all. But Lucas chalked it up to his focus being on the bleeding Father. He willed all the standing hairs on his body to settle back down. This was no ghost, just an ordinary human being with the gaze of a sociopath. He could deal with those.

He perfunctorily opened his mouth in hopes of sending the guy away. But then the stranger's eyes shifted, catching on his pocket, and the man casually slipped a lollipop between his lips. Apparently he had seen everything. The laid-back demeanor was so unnerving that Lucas couldn’t bring himself to trust a single word he spoke. A familiar wave of discomfort surged inside him, a fragile bubble rising, pushing against the confines of his chest.

He was mocking him. There was no doubt about it in his mind. Lucas leaned against the shelf.

"For free? Him?" he asked, scoffing. "Are you telling me Mr. Pennywise with OCD over there doesn't care if we all collectively start looting the place he babied like it was the Holy Father?"

Then he felt it. A slow-moving chill that ran up his spine, like icy fingers trailing along his vertebrae. His body reacted before his mind did. He turned his head.

The clerk stood motionless behind the counter, lips curled into the same smile, but not the same smile; it stretched just a bit wider, like an elastic band pulled to its limit. There was already someone else in line, but the clerk was still watching. Watching who? Him?

Lucas snapped his head back before he stared into its eyes too long. A compulsion, absurd and irrational, clawed at his mind. An urge to listen. To put everything back where it belonged. His fingers found their way into his pocket by instinct, wrapping around the chocolate bars. The smooth plastic crinkled under his grip.

Did he—?

No. No way.


Though he wasn’t afraid of getting caught, Lucas wasn’t foolish enough to try anything within the clerk’s line of sight. He hadn't been interested in testing the man’s patience.

As if nothing had happened, the clerk had already turned his attention elsewhere. Forcing himself to let go, Lucas relaxed his arm, sinking back against the shelf. His murky gaze studied the pale-faced man in front of him. Then, realization hit. It was as though he had found the perfect scapegoat for his own peace of mind.

Sluggish, languid movements. Face resembling a blank canvas, void of any particular emotion. Dead eyes. Lucas clicked his tongue.

"Hey. Did you do something to the clerk? If smiles could kill, we'd both be dead by now."
code by @Nano
 
Winter’s chill released its grip reluctantly on her frame, its fingers losing purchase as the automatic doors shut with a subdued thud. Snow fell away from shoes into a startlingly clean floor. The cigar rolled betwixt teeth, unlit. Her fingers toyed with the lighter, the thought coming and going like a spark - a bright little thing in her mind that faded out just as quickly as it appeared.

Margaret sighed, and put it away. The time to indulge in her vice would be later, when the blizzard had died down.

Heads milled about the aisles, the dull roar of conversation staving away the emptiness and the cold outside. The clerk was conversing with two people about something, She caught a flash of white teeth and a grin that was too wide and taut at the edges, each a snapshot taken between the frames of two people. Her feet propelled her further away from the sight and into the interior.

The aisles were as straight as possible. All neat little rows without a hint of deviation. Products were neatly arranged. Staff never gave a shit about the presentation of the shelves, usually, beyond making it presentable. But she slouched over, eyes running past rows and rows of food and snacks. Perfect arrangement. Spotless. Not a single thing so much as nudged the wrong way. The fluorescent light was suddenly just a tad too harsh for her eyes.

She huffed, the distinct tang of lemon cleaner assaulting her senses. Her fingers thumbed the cover of the lighter, running over well-worn edges and grooves. Her foot tapped away at a floor far too clean to the point of seeing herself mirrored below, brows furrowed and arms jammed firmly into her pockets.

On edge, for what? I just needed to get some fresh air.

Her phone felt much heavier than before. She brushed the feeling aside, flicking it open and dismissing the message from her mother-

No bars. A sharp exhale left her, and the last message on the screen was a promise to Jenna that she was on her way. She and the others were probably already chomping at the bit for their meals. It was a nice place, a perennial favorite of theirs to celebrate just about any occasion.

There were an assortment of cars outside. What shit luck; forced to shelter in this place by the howling of the winds and the bite of the cold. And it was getting worse and worse; Margaret had to practically force her way into the lot.

She straightened from her slouch. Her thumb glided over the cover of the lighter against, and she forced her foot to still.
At least she wasn’t the only one inconvenienced by this freak blizzard. Margaret was sure her friends would cover for her while she was trapped here. Really, the station and its accompanying store was a welcome reprieve from nature’s little tantrum.

But there was an incessant whisper in her mind, a fact that gnawed at the edges of her thoughts. There were no stations like this on the way to the restaurant. Unmarked, unadorned, unnamed. It stood out now as she thought about it, like a piece of another landscape slapped haphazardly onto a more storied one, all jagged edges and malformed seams imposed against the pristine. Her stupid little station wagon had worn its wheels against the same stretches of tarmac for a year now, and she wasn’t so addled like- like her, that she’d miss such a thing.

Margaret’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding as she took in the interior again. Even the mere thought of her set her blood aflame just as much as a torrent of shame would come crashing down that would douse all her grudges and anger.

A quick getaway. That’s all it was - well, what it was supposed to be. But there was no signal, the blizzard outside only seemed to be getting worse, and there was something mounting in her chest that she dared not name.
 



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GESTALT

Cassidy
McNamara

With his clothes, he may not look it, but Cassidy had a firm build. Years of wrestling with car parts and slapping his body against floors and walls trying to keep a ball alive had made him tougher than most could be without putting in a lot of hours in the gym. So when he noticed that she hadn’t even flinched from him bumping into her, he had many, many questions. Not that he ever voiced any of them, though?

He was too busy blushing from her question. Is she flirting? Teasing? Being friendly? Why is she looking at me like that?

Unfortunately, romancing and flirting were chief amongst the many things that Cassidy was fantastically inept at. Not for lack of knowing what to say or do, but because he could never quite wrap his head around why anyone would be interested in “Cassi-dumb”. As a result, what relationships he had been in only ever happened because the girl found his cluelessness charming.

However, with each relationship, he’d grown a little bolder, slightly more confident. Enough that when he picked up on her possibly flirting with him, he determined that he was going to flirt back.


Yeah, I definitely like what I see.

Definitely not that. I sound like one of them robots Ma is always warning me about.

Who wouldn’t like what they see?

What does that even mean? I speak for everyone now?

I don’t know, I guess you’ll have to show me again.

Wait! That one! I can use that one!

He opened his mouth to respond, but before the first syllable even left, he’d received a punch on the shoulder. He took the required second to process everything that had happened in the short time since he bumped into her before matching her laugh with his own. Not as loud, but just as amused, red tinging his cheeks at being called handsome by someone like her.

The punch hadn't bothered him much. He had grown up with people that were known to be heavy handed with their love taps and was quick to put this under that category. Although there was a faint tingling in his shoulder, he was far too distracted by her vibrant personality and presence to notice it at first. He had also missed the part of the conversation where it was established that her phone had died, so he was left to wonder what slot machines had to do with her sister. Not that it was important, after all, she had already struck at his biggest weakness: she had asked him for help.

As someone who grew up being told they had nothing to offer, he jumped at any chance to help and didn’t question it in the hopes that he could prove his usefulness. It had gotten much better since he started finding his own confidence, but it was still very much a part of him.


“Not a crumb missin’ or a sip taken. Scout’s honor,” he called out to her in response, complete with the salute and everything.

As she walked away, there was little he could do to stop his gaze from trailing after her, his hand slowly rising to his shoulders as the sting began to set in. He let out a soft, breathy laugh as he watched her, rubbing his shoulder to silence the pang from her punch.
“Now that’s a woman…” he sighed, forcefully snatching his gaze from her before it lingered long enough to be uncomfortable.


He finally turned back to the person that he had been left with, offering them a kind smile. It had been rude of him not to address both of them when he first stumbled into their mix, but he had been…distracted.

“So…lovely weather today…” he attempted. Unfortunately, he is also famously uninspiring with small talk.

Mentions: Joann ( Gigglecake Gigglecake ), Elise ( AI10100 AI10100 )
 
ELISE MOORE
INFORMATION
LOCATION
Gas Station, Alabama (?)
INTERACTIONS
Joann ( Gigglecake Gigglecake ) | Cassidy ( Wyll Wyll )
MENTIONS
Cheryl ( Ambiloquous Ambiloquous )
“weird ass convenience store...”
Artist
POST
El shrugged at the gentle rejection and she turned her attention more to her phone before the thump made her look up again. One thing she never expected to happen while waiting for her hot chocolate was some blatant flirting happening right in front of her. Curious and knowing that it would be an amusing story to tell Cher later, her eyes bounced from the man to their worried Southern lady.

It was a bit unfortunate that it ended without resolution as the woman pulled away to go to a charging station. "You got it ma'am." She said with a bit of an awkward salute as her right hand had her phone so it turned more to her using the phone to salute. And finally, finally, El started to actually pay more attention to the store itself. Whatever eerie feeling she had was just filled with confusion when the slot machines came into view. Right, so, hot chocolate, collect Cher and then head back out on the road.

Speaking of, she searched for her friend and was already talking to the clerk. The clerk's permanent smile and the whole uncanny valley feeling gave her chills. A part of her wanted to leave the line, break her promise to the lady who needed to contact her sister, and head to check on her friend.

However, the man began speaking again— more a sigh to himself than anything— before actually talking to her. "Aw, come on lover boy. After that wonderful show, that's your go-to conversation?" El asked with a lopsided grin as she began spinning her phone. "And seriously? The weather? There's a snowstorm out there that's practically breaking the laws of nature itself so..." The reminder of the raging storm outside like Elsa was having repression issues again made her feel a little sour.

"Anyway, enough about the weather, why didn't you shoot your shot, dude?" She asked as she stepped forward to put aside the woman's completed hot chocolate order and placed hers into the machine and put in her order. "It looked like it was going to go well."


 
noe alvere
location
gas station
interactions
lucas Theasuke Theasuke

It would be a lie to say Noe didn’t feel a tinge of satisfaction at seeing the man jump out of his skin. The tiniest lift of his lips, a swishing cat tail if he had one. That kind of joy.

Ah, how pathetic, his mind acknowledged, though he wasn’t quite sure if that applied only to the stranger or to himself as well for enjoying such a dull sight. Noe let the thought tumble around in his brain as his mouth pulled back down into a thin line. Whatever.

At least he didn’t look like someone who would be typecast in a High School Musical movie.

Noe let his eyes rake over the other man again. Definitely not part of the popular kids. Not if that was his best way of leaning against a shelf.

As for the question, Noe shrugged indifferently. He wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. “If you do it the proper way…” He trailed off, the end of the sentence catching in his throat. Pausing as the other man looked away, watching as his body tensed before snapping back into place just as quickly.

Nervousness now oozed from the goth, pooling beneath his feet—strong enough to feel like a neon sign of guilt was pointing straight at him, white text against a glowing black background. The same contrast found in his ridiculously dyed hair. Someone should tell him.

Curious, for it's man's greatest temptation, Noe followed his gaze a second later, head turning just in time to meet the widest grin in existence. The kind that made you forget the person wearing it was working in a station. Bone-chilling eyes—or rather gaping holes—watched them before flicking back to his customers as if giving them a second chance. Apropos customer, sorry, but who the fuck dyed all these hairs like carnival season was about to start?

“Guess that puts an end to your plans,” Noe mumbled, a forced note of nonchalance in his voice. As if his arms weren’t covered in goosebumps. He would be mighty impressed if the thief now even dared to look at the goods.

Judging by his spoken words, though, it wasn’t clear if the realization had quite sunk into his moronic head. “Me?” Noe pointed at himself, his head snapping back into place. A remnant of a baffled scoff danced at the end of his breath. “Don’t pull me into your shit. I didn’t walk into this store, took one look at that clerk, and decided this was the perfect time to enrich myself.”

He rolled the lollipop stick in his mouth between two fingers while reaching with the other hand into his pocket for the receipt. Crumpled, but still whole, he fished it out. Flattening the paper as well as possible one-handedly, Noe lifted it close enough for the other man to read.

“Paying customer, as you can see. Unlike you, I would—” never steal “—definitely steal. Just not here.”

Pause.

“I—“ didn't “did steal before, but never got caught. Rusty much?“

What was he even saying?

”You make for a quite—“ bad “pretty thief.“

At once, Noe pressed his lips together. Sealed them tight before something even more incriminating could slip past. That was not what he meant to say.

His mind scrambled for an answer to justify his behaviour, jumping from questions to conclusions, from clarity to further confusion. Shifting factors, observed facts—nothing made sense. Four hours on the road, a sudden blizzard, and one creepy station were not remotely enough to fry his circuits, so it couldn’t be his fault.

But—

Blue eyes shot back to the stranger, piercing straight into his soul. A cheap remake of the clerk's stare.

"What did you do?"

code by @Nano
 
The clerk was...frowning? Newton thought the clerk smiling was creepy, but the frown looked even more wrong. It was stretched across his face even more than the smile, like his mouth was rubber, and his eyes were locked onto a woman in heels. Her shoulders, covered slightly by curly pink hair, had tensed up before they relaxed again. And then the clerk spoke, and everything felt off, so, so off. Newton had never felt off before, not like this. He was trying his best not to show his fear, but he wondered if the clerk could see right through him. Fear was not an emotion he usual had to deal with.

Not wanting to look at the clerk's face, he chose to look at the check out counter, and his heart may have lurched slightly. There were two kits, both of equal size, but of different colors. One of the kits was red and white, the typical first aid kit that was sold in stores. That one was comforting. The other one was far less familiar. There was an X, most definitely not a first aid kit. That kit seemed a lot more sinister.

And then both kits opened. The first aid kit seemed to just contain first aid supplies, which was reassuring. The second case, the one with the X, opened up and inside was a gun. The worst part of it all was that this gun was rather beautiful, a gun presented on silk, shiny and clean and silver. The woman took the first aid kit, leaving someone else to take the gun. Someone must have been injured.

Newton smelled blood now, the metallic scent mixing with the lemon cleaner smell. And he heard the sound of high heels clicking as the woman walked away from the counter, first aid kit in hand. Newton's eyes followed the path of her shoes, because he no longer wanted to look clerk or the gun. The path her feet carried her was to a man in priestly robes, bleeding from the head. There was a puddle of blood on the floor.

Partially to distract himself from the clerk and the gun, and partially because the blood on the floor was concerning, "Dudes, is he alright?"

interactions: timesink timesink Klown Klown Ambiloquous Ambiloquous
 



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GESTALT

Cassidy
McNamara

Cassidy scrunched his nose at being called “lover boy”, however he couldn’t entirely deny its validity. After all, he had been rather smitten a mere moment ago. Unable to help himself, he even threw another look at the lady he had bumped into; calling her captivating would have been an understatement. A quick smile lit his face before he turned back to the person in front of him.

He offered a cheeky shrug to her commentary, scratching the back of his head. “I mean, it’s not my best but you can’t go wrong with ol’ reliable.” There is a pause after those words leave his mouth, as if he realises the falsehood of his statement, and so he quickly amends it. “Y’know, save for this here pickle we find ourselves in,” he gestured vaguely with both hands at the window beside them which showed the snowy tempest outside as he spoke.

“And as for…” he blinked as he searched his memory banks for her name only to find nothing there. The realisation hit like watching someone taking a punch to the face in slow motion. Atta boy, Cassidy. Look at you ogling a lady and you don’t even know her name. Way to make your Ma proud. Not too bad though, at least now I actually have a reason to go bumpin' against her again.

He had spent so long looking for her name that the silence had a chance to get comfortable, followed quickly by getting awkward and he was left with no choice but to restart. “And as for her,” he tried again, fighting back the pink that dusted his cheeks as he gestured to his head towards the slot machines, “Now, as I recall it, she walked away right quick. Could barely get a word in before she was all the way over there."


He crossed his arms over his chest, and nodded affirmatively to himself, seemingly satisfied with that answer. However, the prouder he tried making himself seeming, the more emptier the victory felt. His Pa had always told him to be a real man is to take accountability and he wasn't ready to hear memories of his Pa chiding him for shirking the responsibility. Eventually, unable to keep the pretense up, his shoulders drop with a burdened sigh.


“Also,” he began, taking the words slowly as though her was attempting to buy time before the words had to come out from him. “I reckon I spent too much time thinkin’ ‘bout what to say…only to completely miss the chance to say anything.” He chuckles lightly, at his own expense, handshakes his head, “Real clever of me, that.”

“Then again…”
He spoke as though something fresh had just popped into his mind. He looked up at Elise, tilting his head as his confusion was made visible. “What do you even say when a woman like that is walking away from you?” After all, one of the main things that had stood in he way of him saying anything else to her was the fact that she was no longer there and had moved on. Now, having a way to grab her attention so much that she turned back - wouldn’t that be something.


Mentions: Elise ( AI10100 AI10100 )
 
IMG_2129.png

Interactions: Klown Klown (Clerk)
Mentions: Ambiloquous Ambiloquous (Cheryl), timesink timesink (Vincent), efferve efferve (Noe), Jasper

Once the lady went to attend to the priest, Cosmo stepped forward in the line and saw there in front of the counter, the bastard making his life a living hell. Still, he didn’t wrap his gloved arms around the man's skinny neck like his entire screaming body demanded him to, but instead set down his gummies and energy drink down on the counter gently, barely making a sound with the action; Something that satisfied Cosmo more than it should have.

“That kit there,” he pointed to the kit with the x still lying before him. “May I kindly have it instead or is that not allowed? If it's not, then I'll just buy these and be on my way,” he awaited an answer, staring right at the clerk, coming as close as he ever had that day to making eye contact with another human. If this thing was human. Honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure that the person standing before him was a ‘person’, but then again, did it matter?

Most 'people' weren't good people, not even anywhere near it, and maybe something so near yet so far would be better.

‘Probably not, if it coated this place in this agony-inducing scent,’ Hatred reminded him and, once again, the subhuman thing in front of him was an object of contempt.

‘For once, I agree with you,’ Logic chipped in as Cosmo pulled out his smartphone and denim wallet, tiny constellations painted into its fabric with fading acrylic paint, getting ready to pay if the clerk scanned his items. ‘He certainly seems very dangerous and-’

‘What are you on about now, you annoying chatter?’ Spite asked as both the smartphone and the wallet were set down on the counter but still quite close to Cosmo in case the clerk attempted anything.

‘How the cashier is..dangerous? The same thing you're on about?’

‘What? No! I'm on about how it is an annoying piece of shit! Like most likely everyone in this store is.’

‘Now that's a very large assumpt-’

‘Is it? Is it, Reason? First we got the pink bimbo over there, who either has two brain cells that rub together every century because of how far apart they are in that gigantic empty skull of hers or is a crazed serial killer waiting to happen. Then we got Mr. Fashion Disaster right next to her, who looks like he walked into a thrift store, burnt it down and walked out with whatever merged with his unwashed flesh. Then there's- actually that one's a priest. Guess I don't need to elaborate on how that's just as annoying as all hell, do I?’

A brief memory of a tall wiry man in priest's robes flashed through Cosmo's mind, his contemptful eyes staring down at the boy as if he was gum that had gotten stuck on his shoe.

‘Okay, okay,' Logic pushed the memory away, 'Can you not attack people’s sense of fashion at the very least? Calling him 'Mr. Fashion Disaster' is a bit much.’

‘Okay, then what do you want me to say about him? That he looks like he lives in the moment and thinks for a moment less? That he either has the most useless degree known to man or doesn’t even know what college is? That he's one of the many adults who are the reason that the illiteracy statistic is so damn high? Hmmm?'

‘No, I-’

‘Good, then don’t interrupt me. Now where was I? Ah yes, then there's the guy who was at the counter first! That vampire has all the amazing fashion sense of an NPC. I'm surprised he even made it into the store and wasn't blown up to heaven to meet his ancestors with those toothpick limbs of his.’

‘Come on, Hatred, please no body shaming if you're going to be insulting.’

‘No body shaming this! No body shaming that! When it's damn common sense that if someone looks like that and isn't on a deathbed, they probably did it to themselves and didn't have the sense to seek any help! And before you spout some nonsense about ‘not everyone can afford it!’ Does that twig of man look to be in poverty to you?’

‘Okay, okay, I get it. Everyone in this store is scum beneath scum. Now let’s please focus on buying this stuff, shall we?’

‘...Fine’
 

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