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Realistic or Modern The Kids Aren't Alright | Main
Elf_Ruler
Senior Member
She couldn’t have been sure how many minutes passed before she saw the blonde locks of her favorite boy, and her heart fluttered as he approached her. A drunken smile spread across her face, “Golden Boy!” The one nickname she had given him when they were friends and she still used it now. The one boy who made her smile most of the time, and the boy who gave her so many butterflies. How could one person make her giddy? In her drunken mind he looked more like one of those stupid Greek gods everyone talked about, but drunken minds can make anyone prettier than they actually are. Not, that she ever thought Zach was ugly, he was just better looking with drunk goggles on.
As he pulled her up from the sand, Tatum didn’t even take a second glance back at Ivy, the girl was far too drunk even for her own good. Once they got far enough away Tatum laced her hand with Zach’s before walking in front of pulling him towards the car, “Come onnnn Gollllden Boyyy.” A laugh escaping from her lips, seeing as he didn’t like sad her. She could turn her sadness into happiness, even if it was fake. That was how life was, faking it until you make it. The only way to at least survive the hell hole that was Parish Bay. Once they had arrived at his car, she placed her lips to his before quickly pulling away “I haven’t seen you this entire night. Pretty lame. But I have the rest of the night with you” her attempt at a wink had really been a blink. Zach had guided her into his car, and she knew it was because she was drunk, and he had dealt with her or more than one drunk occasion.
The car ride was short lived to Zach’s place, but she knew her way around. Knew the halls, the stairs, the location of almost every room, but she knew exactly how to get to Zach’s room and that was where she made a beeline to. Once in his room she had pulled out one of his shirts and his sweatpants, switching out of her party outfit, though her motions made it a little more difficult. As Zach arrived in the room Tatum waited for him to be closer before she reached up to kiss him. It was the first time all day they had been alone and as things had heated up Tatum knew this was her moment, or so she hoped. While at his bed she pulled away from him her hand tracing little circles along his face. And that was when she let the liquid courage take over and say those three words for the first time since being with him for over a year, “Zach.” She paused, “I love you.”
Mention(s):
Chimney Swift
Interaction(s):
lion.
"Soup of the Day: Revolution"
Dede
McNugget
Martin
Martin wouldn’t be a boomer if he didn’t spend five hours writing emails to community members about the soup kitchen, only to find them still sitting in his outbox in the next morning, because he turned the WIFI off “to save power” and forgot to turn it back on.
Well, that was what he did, and now nobody was coming to help with the soup kitchen, except for the kids he managed to recruit with his sideways Twitter account. But if there was one thing Martin knew about the kids of Parish Point, it was that they were completely reliable and capable of rising to any occasion, and would absolutely, 100%, not let him and the church down, or be irresponsible enough to show up hungover after a night of many emotions and excitements.
His own son showed early promise when he came home smelling of sewage, without his backpack, wallet lost, his phone broken, and with a bruise on his head because he had apparently been “slapped by a whale”. “I told you kids not to go near the whale,” said Martin, shaking his head. Kids these days.
The next morning he was growing anxious, wondering if anyone would show to help with the soup kitchen. There was some crazy talk on Twitter of the kids holding a protest at the town hall or some place, because they were upset over some whale. As if the town wasn’t going through enough already!! The storm had just delivered a hefty battering and people’s homes are in disrepair, and the next day the kids are out there protesting about a whale?!?!?!?!
“He’s not just any whale, Dad,” said Stu over cereal and orange juice.
“Huh?”
“He’s Willy. That’s his name.”
“Who named him?”
“I did.”
Of course he did. There’s Willy Wonka, Charlie, and the Chocolate Factory. A holy trinity of sorts.
Speaking of holy trinities, they arrived at church at 10 AM and found it empty, Stu crawling under a pew to retrieve a hat dropped by a previous congregant. Martin was still confident that the kids would show up to help. Surely most of them were raised well enough to know that helping the community in times of despair was more important than throwing hissy fits in public about some beached whale.
Stu went and started unloading food from the car. Those boxes weighed on a thin pair of legs and the slightest misstep would have resulted in death by canned beans. “Here, stack them along this wall,” said Martin. He glanced at his watch again. Lunch was still two hours away, so the kids still had a bit of time to come to their senses, but will they?
Chimney Swift
i am confusion
Max
code by g o l d i e l o x x
Upon waking up from the most unfulfilling sleep of his life, Max found himself on the floor of Noémie's bedroom. Someone had been kind enough to place a pillow under his head, and pull the blanket over him. How and when he wound up down here, though, he had no idea. The last thing he clearly remembered was vomiting on the side of the road. Damn motion sickness...
Anyway, somehow the group had all gotten to Noémie's house in one piece. At least, they all seemed to have. Actually, now that he was looking around, a handful of people were missing. Isa, Maxine. Hadn't they been here too? Isa was the one who drove all the drunk kids from the beach. She must have just ducked into the bathroom or something, or she had already gone home to get ready for... what was she doing today? Not school. There was some kind of event or something happening, but he couldnt bring himself to recall.
He felt like absolute shit. He felt like he'd been run over by a cement truck. Every muscle in his awkward narrow body ached and cramped with a vengeance. His mouth had dried out so much that his tongue felt completely withered. The morning sun peeking through the blinds on Noémie's window was so unbearably bright that for a moment it felt too painful to open his eyes.
The night before was a jumbled mess in his brain. There had to be some way to retrace his steps, something around here that would illuminate the scattered memories a little.
Twitter?
Ah, yes. His old friend. His social lifeline in a town where only a small dozen people could use his language. Also an incredibly handy tool for retrieving forgotten conversations. The internet never forgets, after all.
Congratulating himself for this great idea, he dug through his pocket for his phone. But his phone wasn't in his pocket.
Neither were his car keys. Or house keys. Or wallet.
Fuck! Had he been robbed!?
There was, however, something crumpled in his other hand. A piece of paper? Huh... that looked like his handwriting.
- Parish Point -
KNOW YOUR RIGHTS!
PROTEST MAYOR FLINT'S VIOLATION OF STUDENT SAFETY
#StudentProtest
Also included on the flyer were the time and place of the event he'd drunkenly organized, along with his contact information. Yep... this was definitely his doing.
The hastily constructed poster brought back another shockwave of memories. He'd made like 100 of these around 2:30 in the morning and plastered them around town, then snuck back home to the garage for his bike lock, which now lay next to him with the crumpled poster. How did he even get back to Nomi's place? Someone must have gone with him. Who? That escaped him, much like almost everything else.
What didn't escape him, though, was his promise to chain himself to the doors of the town hall.
His head now ached all the more with worry. It was far, far too late to change his mind now, but sober Max was much more afraid of getting arrested or hurt than drunk Max had been.
Feeling as though he'd die if he didn't get a glass of water in his system immediately, Max dragged himself off the floor and felt along the wall towards the kitchen. Along the way he passed the bathroom, and he spotted his bright green phone case perched on the counter.
Oh. So that was where his valuables went.
Walking in to tuck his keys and wallet back into their respective pockets, he checked the charge on his phone, relieved to see it was still at 70%, and scrolled through his social media, eager to decipher the events of last night.
The one comforting thing he garnered from doing this was that he wasn't protesting the mayor alone. Along with Nomi and Liz, his friends, he'd gained the alliance of Ivy and Wendy... two younger girls he didn't really know at all. He vaguely remembered Wendy as one of the Hartfield kids, someone he'd seen around maybe a handful of times, but Ivy was a total stranger who seemed more than a little volatile based on her spitfire tweets.
...this really was going to be a rough day.
Wait! He totally forgot he was getting water, and the dry clawing in his throat rudely reminded him of this. Reluctantly putting his phone away, he continued on his little quest, wondering how long it would take for this miserable state to wear off. He wasn't going to be much good at tormenting the mayor and her entourage if he could barely function.
Finally in the kitchen (Noémie's house was so much bigger than he remembered, for some reason), he hastily poured himself a glass of water from the tap, draining it in a matter of seconds and immediately pouring a second, then a third. Oy... that small amount of alcohol he'd mistakenly consumed had totally wrecked him. What he deserved, perhaps, for neglecting to eat or anything for an entire day.
When he finally no longer felt on the brink of dying of dehydration, he sank into a chair at the kitchen table to continue scouring through his Twitter.
As the minutes rolled by, though, the messages that popped onto his screen took an ominous turn. Isa had logged back on, confirming that she'd left Noémie's house at some point in the early morning before Max woke up, because she was angry at Maxine for something that happened back and the party... And that she wasn't coming back. What did she mean, "I'm going to disappear for a few days"!? Max went cold, trying to keep talking to her just to get her to stay, but a minute later she simply logged back out and vanished just like that.
Max didn't know, couldn't know, when he'd see her again. Or if she was safe. And most nerve-wracking of all, the rest of his friends seemed completely unbothered by this.
This was Parish Point's problem, Max thought: everyone was just so damn passive about the things happening around them.
The mayor forced the high-schoolers to save an injured whale without assistance.
Some guy beat one of the younger kids into a coma.
Liz's mom was dying.
Isa was disappearing.
One crisis after another.
And, though it wasn't true, Max often felt like the only one who cared.
Anyway, somehow the group had all gotten to Noémie's house in one piece. At least, they all seemed to have. Actually, now that he was looking around, a handful of people were missing. Isa, Maxine. Hadn't they been here too? Isa was the one who drove all the drunk kids from the beach. She must have just ducked into the bathroom or something, or she had already gone home to get ready for... what was she doing today? Not school. There was some kind of event or something happening, but he couldnt bring himself to recall.
He felt like absolute shit. He felt like he'd been run over by a cement truck. Every muscle in his awkward narrow body ached and cramped with a vengeance. His mouth had dried out so much that his tongue felt completely withered. The morning sun peeking through the blinds on Noémie's window was so unbearably bright that for a moment it felt too painful to open his eyes.
The night before was a jumbled mess in his brain. There had to be some way to retrace his steps, something around here that would illuminate the scattered memories a little.
Twitter?
Ah, yes. His old friend. His social lifeline in a town where only a small dozen people could use his language. Also an incredibly handy tool for retrieving forgotten conversations. The internet never forgets, after all.
Congratulating himself for this great idea, he dug through his pocket for his phone. But his phone wasn't in his pocket.
Neither were his car keys. Or house keys. Or wallet.
Fuck! Had he been robbed!?
There was, however, something crumpled in his other hand. A piece of paper? Huh... that looked like his handwriting.
- Parish Point -
KNOW YOUR RIGHTS!
PROTEST MAYOR FLINT'S VIOLATION OF STUDENT SAFETY
#StudentProtest
Also included on the flyer were the time and place of the event he'd drunkenly organized, along with his contact information. Yep... this was definitely his doing.
The hastily constructed poster brought back another shockwave of memories. He'd made like 100 of these around 2:30 in the morning and plastered them around town, then snuck back home to the garage for his bike lock, which now lay next to him with the crumpled poster. How did he even get back to Nomi's place? Someone must have gone with him. Who? That escaped him, much like almost everything else.
What didn't escape him, though, was his promise to chain himself to the doors of the town hall.
His head now ached all the more with worry. It was far, far too late to change his mind now, but sober Max was much more afraid of getting arrested or hurt than drunk Max had been.
Feeling as though he'd die if he didn't get a glass of water in his system immediately, Max dragged himself off the floor and felt along the wall towards the kitchen. Along the way he passed the bathroom, and he spotted his bright green phone case perched on the counter.
Oh. So that was where his valuables went.
Walking in to tuck his keys and wallet back into their respective pockets, he checked the charge on his phone, relieved to see it was still at 70%, and scrolled through his social media, eager to decipher the events of last night.
The one comforting thing he garnered from doing this was that he wasn't protesting the mayor alone. Along with Nomi and Liz, his friends, he'd gained the alliance of Ivy and Wendy... two younger girls he didn't really know at all. He vaguely remembered Wendy as one of the Hartfield kids, someone he'd seen around maybe a handful of times, but Ivy was a total stranger who seemed more than a little volatile based on her spitfire tweets.
...this really was going to be a rough day.
Wait! He totally forgot he was getting water, and the dry clawing in his throat rudely reminded him of this. Reluctantly putting his phone away, he continued on his little quest, wondering how long it would take for this miserable state to wear off. He wasn't going to be much good at tormenting the mayor and her entourage if he could barely function.
Finally in the kitchen (Noémie's house was so much bigger than he remembered, for some reason), he hastily poured himself a glass of water from the tap, draining it in a matter of seconds and immediately pouring a second, then a third. Oy... that small amount of alcohol he'd mistakenly consumed had totally wrecked him. What he deserved, perhaps, for neglecting to eat or anything for an entire day.
When he finally no longer felt on the brink of dying of dehydration, he sank into a chair at the kitchen table to continue scouring through his Twitter.
As the minutes rolled by, though, the messages that popped onto his screen took an ominous turn. Isa had logged back on, confirming that she'd left Noémie's house at some point in the early morning before Max woke up, because she was angry at Maxine for something that happened back and the party... And that she wasn't coming back. What did she mean, "I'm going to disappear for a few days"!? Max went cold, trying to keep talking to her just to get her to stay, but a minute later she simply logged back out and vanished just like that.
Max didn't know, couldn't know, when he'd see her again. Or if she was safe. And most nerve-wracking of all, the rest of his friends seemed completely unbothered by this.
This was Parish Point's problem, Max thought: everyone was just so damn passive about the things happening around them.
The mayor forced the high-schoolers to save an injured whale without assistance.
Some guy beat one of the younger kids into a coma.
Liz's mom was dying.
Isa was disappearing.
One crisis after another.
And, though it wasn't true, Max often felt like the only one who cared.
Chimney Swift
i am confusion
Oliver
code by g o l d i e l o x x
That same stupid dream again: the one where he was stuck in the sand on the ocean floor, paralyzed, watching the last few bubbles of air escape his mouth and float to the surface. The weight of the water was crushing him; he couldn't try to swim up even if he knew how. Something scuttled over his chest, then another up his neck onto his face, into his eye...
For two minutes after he woke up, Oliver couldn't move, lying frozen on his back staring into the pitch darkness of the closet he called his room. Something tightened around his chest, twisting his mangled ribs and sucking the air from him, seeming to pull his very soul out through his mouth. In the pitch black, he felt eyes on him, hot breath in his face. He couldn't move, scream, blink, breathe...
And then it subsided. Whatever phantom creature crawled on top of him slinked back into the shadows, and he could move again. As soon as it had begun, he'd nearly forgotten the whole episode.
Still, the five hours of sleep he'd gotten seemed pointless now.
Weakly untangling himself from his sheets, he pulled himself upright, bracing himself for the jolt of pain that immediately cut through his torso, and the wave of nausea that followed it. It wasn't like this was the first time he'd woken up to broken ribs and a blinding headache, and it most certainly would not be the last, but dear god, it would always be just as excruciating as the time before.
What he did know, though, was that the pain would go away. Hissing through his clenched teeth to avoid crying out, he slowly, silently counted to thirty. By fifteen, he no longer felt like he was about to collapse. By thirty he could almost see straight again, though the bitter ache remained.
Cautiously sliding the closet door open so as not to let it creak, he crept into the bathroom for a very stealthy shower in the dark and then got dressed as quietly as he could. Without the light, he was spared a look at his face in the mirror: at his bandaged cheek, and the dark bruises marring the right side of his face from his eye socket down to his jawline. He tried to convince himself he didn't look that bad, and the best way to do that was simply not to look at all. Shyly running a hand through his hair, he slipped back out and ran for the door, stopping only to grab his shoes (which still had sand in them, much to his dismay.)
He stiffly walked through the streets towards the quieter part of town where the church was, guided by his beloved Google Maps. Well... sort of. Oliver was having a concerning amount of difficulty reading the map. As he looked at it, the street names seemed to melt together into unreadable text, the roads and pathways stretching and switching places every time he blinked.
This greatly distressed Oliver, who was absolutely enchanted by maps; always had been, really. Something about being able to see everything laid out and to scale, perfectly aligned to real life... He found it comforting. If only everything could be drawn out so succinctly. But now, even maps seemed to be failing him.
It took longer for him to get to the church than it otherwise might have, given that he'd been stumbling in circles around town in an effort to navigate through the brain fog. By the time he could see the building over the neighborhood rooftops, he was once again exhausted and terribly out of breath, his barely-healed lung unwilling to keep up his pace. After giving himself a moment at the fence to let the burning feeling of suffocation subside, he entered the church for the very first time.
The instant the doors closed, Oliver felt very out of place. Though a sizeable group had gathered, it was relatively quiet and peaceful inside, which he normally would have appreciated very much-- but this was a new place for him, and he had no idea how to feel about it.
He kept tightly wringing his hands, the only thing keeping him from biting at them. His eyes, cloudy and unfocused, stared off into an uncertain point on the farthest wall as his brain spun in circles trying to take inventory of everything happening in the wide open room: The smell of polished wood, some sort of electric humming (likely from the lights), the scattered movement of the gang of volunteers... Oliver looked very much like a deer caught in headlights, but he was in fact incredibly alert. He just needed time to process. Even more time than usual.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, snapping him out of his trance. Oliver flinched, startled, but opened his messages anyway.
Colby was mad at him.
Wait, why!? Who the hell was Colby? What did he want with Stu? After being knocked into a brief coma for most of the night, Oliver didn't recall enough of the afternoon to know. He kept asking until Colby finally explained what had happened.
Oh. The café...
Oliver suddenly felt nauseous. He couldn't owe money. Not now. Not today. But then Colby threatened to get parents involved. Colby, of course, didn't have any way of knowing that for Oliver, this was very nearly a death threat. And, being himself, he didn't have the capacity to understand that Stu and Vered weren't also in grave danger if their parents were alerted to their accidental larceny incident. Most kids would simply get grounded or something, or have their allowances cut until their paid the money back... Not Oliver.
Come hell or high water, now Oliver had no choice but to pay back his debt to Colby by any means necessary. And, inevitably, those means would involve more theft.
Oliver had a natural talent for getting himself into situations that forced him into crime. He was by no means a kleptomaniac, but half the time if he wanted to eat he had to shoplift. Occasionally his family would also bleed him for money they didn't have, and he'd always end up stealing it. Then there was the unlawful switchblade he carried with him at all times, though he had never been called upon to strike with it until last night. Speaking of which, he had to ask some girl who already knew too much to go find it on the beach for him, lest someone else find it first, and now he owed her a service as well.
Oliver shut his phone off again, finding himself hitting the side of his head with his free hand. He didn't know when he'd started doing that, and it took a moment for him to be able to stop. He clenched fists and shoved them in his jacket pockets, the only thing he could think of to quell his embarrassing repetitive behavior.
He should go find Stu and Vered; make sure they were alright after last night, help them out with whatever soup kitchen task they volunteered for. Try to pretend like there was some semblance of normalcy left after yesterday.
For two minutes after he woke up, Oliver couldn't move, lying frozen on his back staring into the pitch darkness of the closet he called his room. Something tightened around his chest, twisting his mangled ribs and sucking the air from him, seeming to pull his very soul out through his mouth. In the pitch black, he felt eyes on him, hot breath in his face. He couldn't move, scream, blink, breathe...
And then it subsided. Whatever phantom creature crawled on top of him slinked back into the shadows, and he could move again. As soon as it had begun, he'd nearly forgotten the whole episode.
Still, the five hours of sleep he'd gotten seemed pointless now.
Weakly untangling himself from his sheets, he pulled himself upright, bracing himself for the jolt of pain that immediately cut through his torso, and the wave of nausea that followed it. It wasn't like this was the first time he'd woken up to broken ribs and a blinding headache, and it most certainly would not be the last, but dear god, it would always be just as excruciating as the time before.
What he did know, though, was that the pain would go away. Hissing through his clenched teeth to avoid crying out, he slowly, silently counted to thirty. By fifteen, he no longer felt like he was about to collapse. By thirty he could almost see straight again, though the bitter ache remained.
Cautiously sliding the closet door open so as not to let it creak, he crept into the bathroom for a very stealthy shower in the dark and then got dressed as quietly as he could. Without the light, he was spared a look at his face in the mirror: at his bandaged cheek, and the dark bruises marring the right side of his face from his eye socket down to his jawline. He tried to convince himself he didn't look that bad, and the best way to do that was simply not to look at all. Shyly running a hand through his hair, he slipped back out and ran for the door, stopping only to grab his shoes (which still had sand in them, much to his dismay.)
He stiffly walked through the streets towards the quieter part of town where the church was, guided by his beloved Google Maps. Well... sort of. Oliver was having a concerning amount of difficulty reading the map. As he looked at it, the street names seemed to melt together into unreadable text, the roads and pathways stretching and switching places every time he blinked.
This greatly distressed Oliver, who was absolutely enchanted by maps; always had been, really. Something about being able to see everything laid out and to scale, perfectly aligned to real life... He found it comforting. If only everything could be drawn out so succinctly. But now, even maps seemed to be failing him.
It took longer for him to get to the church than it otherwise might have, given that he'd been stumbling in circles around town in an effort to navigate through the brain fog. By the time he could see the building over the neighborhood rooftops, he was once again exhausted and terribly out of breath, his barely-healed lung unwilling to keep up his pace. After giving himself a moment at the fence to let the burning feeling of suffocation subside, he entered the church for the very first time.
The instant the doors closed, Oliver felt very out of place. Though a sizeable group had gathered, it was relatively quiet and peaceful inside, which he normally would have appreciated very much-- but this was a new place for him, and he had no idea how to feel about it.
He kept tightly wringing his hands, the only thing keeping him from biting at them. His eyes, cloudy and unfocused, stared off into an uncertain point on the farthest wall as his brain spun in circles trying to take inventory of everything happening in the wide open room: The smell of polished wood, some sort of electric humming (likely from the lights), the scattered movement of the gang of volunteers... Oliver looked very much like a deer caught in headlights, but he was in fact incredibly alert. He just needed time to process. Even more time than usual.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, snapping him out of his trance. Oliver flinched, startled, but opened his messages anyway.
Colby was mad at him.
Wait, why!? Who the hell was Colby? What did he want with Stu? After being knocked into a brief coma for most of the night, Oliver didn't recall enough of the afternoon to know. He kept asking until Colby finally explained what had happened.
Oh. The café...
Oliver suddenly felt nauseous. He couldn't owe money. Not now. Not today. But then Colby threatened to get parents involved. Colby, of course, didn't have any way of knowing that for Oliver, this was very nearly a death threat. And, being himself, he didn't have the capacity to understand that Stu and Vered weren't also in grave danger if their parents were alerted to their accidental larceny incident. Most kids would simply get grounded or something, or have their allowances cut until their paid the money back... Not Oliver.
Come hell or high water, now Oliver had no choice but to pay back his debt to Colby by any means necessary. And, inevitably, those means would involve more theft.
Oliver had a natural talent for getting himself into situations that forced him into crime. He was by no means a kleptomaniac, but half the time if he wanted to eat he had to shoplift. Occasionally his family would also bleed him for money they didn't have, and he'd always end up stealing it. Then there was the unlawful switchblade he carried with him at all times, though he had never been called upon to strike with it until last night. Speaking of which, he had to ask some girl who already knew too much to go find it on the beach for him, lest someone else find it first, and now he owed her a service as well.
Oliver shut his phone off again, finding himself hitting the side of his head with his free hand. He didn't know when he'd started doing that, and it took a moment for him to be able to stop. He clenched fists and shoved them in his jacket pockets, the only thing he could think of to quell his embarrassing repetitive behavior.
He should go find Stu and Vered; make sure they were alright after last night, help them out with whatever soup kitchen task they volunteered for. Try to pretend like there was some semblance of normalcy left after yesterday.
erzulie
cheers for spring; for life; for a growing soul
hyacinth
she’s made of sweet tea & poetry
nine lives
erzulie
cheers for spring; for life; for a growing soul
aisha
too glam to give a damn
nine lives
tamarapasek
Senior Member
Ashley tossed and turned in bed, not wishing to get up. For her excessive drinking last night had led to a pretty crappy rite of passage. The dreaded hangover.
Her head banged as if someone had taken a sword and stabbed her through the back, and the blade escaped through her forehead. The main difference was that this had a bright side. Her father didn’t have to know she was drinking last night, whereas being stabbed through the head would be significantly harder to explain. Not impossible, just harder.
She groaned, her hands reaching to cup her face as if that would help. And to the surprise of nobody,
And somehow miraculously things got worse. She unplugged her phone, to check the time and her eyes widened in horror. She had overslept. But much like the hangover there was a bright spot. She was a master at oversleeping and still making it through the door.
As soon as she had realized that she had all of 30 minutes to prepare, she lept to autopilot. What happened next was a curious dance between herself, her closet, her headache, and the furniture she banged her body into. She dashed around her bedroom, preparing the stuff she needed in advance so all she had to do was shower. Clothing, phone, power bank, notebook, bag, wallet. She checked the alarm to get a read on time. Crud.
10 minutes? She had 10 minutes to take a bath, dress up, and go to church? Oh hell no. It would take at least 5 minutes to walk to church, and she had a reputation for taking a long time to was her hair. It was time for a judgement call. She stepped into the bathroom for a very fast shower. Though a reasonable person might have considered that enough, Ashley was not a reasonable person. She took her shampoo, and conditioner and threw them into her backpack.
The church had a bathroom right? She could simply wash her hair inside the sink.
Satisfied that she wouldn’t have to sacrifice her routine, she quickly changed into a simple floral dress, and cardigan. Definitely church appropriate, without being ugly.For some reason the thought of not looking as pretty as she could possibly be, at the French’s Soup Kitchen was unacceptable.
She exited her house, wishing her father goodbye with as perky of a tone as she could muster. If he had any hint that his daughter had a hangover he......... he would be very disappointed and let it go. And somehow that was worse than getting into trouble.
She walked the streets, with her hand shielding her eyes from the scorching sun. She’d always been sensitive to UV rays, but the searing pain in her head made it all the more unbearable.
The town and it’s twists and turns in the road were all successfully navigated by Ashley. She’d gone to church many a time, though she rarely disclosed her belief in God to anybody. Truthfully she felt a puff of pride in her chest that she would at last be doing something to help them. She spotted the building, and started to head towards it. Only for her to stop and notice something in the corner of her eye. A convenience store.
It was the perfect place to wash her hair, since she knew for a fact that there was a bathroom in there. And she also knew for a fact that Stu the kid who ran away from her loved the Kit-Kat’s that happened to be sold there. And if she got him one, then maybe he would actually like her and not want to avoid her! So really even if she arrived late it was killing two birds with one stone.
Her mind made up, she entered the store, and asked for the bathroom. “I’m so sorry but you can only go in if you buy something.” The owner smiled, with a hint of annoyance in his eyes. “Four Kit-Kat’s please!” She dig into her wallet picking out her hard earned babysitting money to pay for them. One for her, one for Stu, one for Oliver, and one for the other kid who hung out with them. Satisfied, the owner handed her the keys to the bathroom. With a triumphant grin(as if she’d done anything other than buy free candy for a bunch of socially awkward nerds who didn’t give her the time of day), she stepped into the room to wash her hair.
After she’d throughly taken care of the hair that had been her pride and joy for years, she left the store to enter the church. There was already a decently sized group, though that was to be expected since her little escape in the convenience store had actually lost her time.
Ordinarily she would’ve stuck with the group, but today she felt differently. She had a mission to make Stu want to be her friend, and the best way to do that was by hanging out with their mutual friend Oliver who just so happened to be right there. “Hey Oliver!” She grinned, walking up to him. Sure her body told her to shriek like a demon, from her pain, but she’d spent her whole life pretending to be happier than she actually was, and this was nothing more than another challenge.
Chimney Swift
Her head banged as if someone had taken a sword and stabbed her through the back, and the blade escaped through her forehead. The main difference was that this had a bright side. Her father didn’t have to know she was drinking last night, whereas being stabbed through the head would be significantly harder to explain. Not impossible, just harder.
She groaned, her hands reaching to cup her face as if that would help. And to the surprise of nobody,
And somehow miraculously things got worse. She unplugged her phone, to check the time and her eyes widened in horror. She had overslept. But much like the hangover there was a bright spot. She was a master at oversleeping and still making it through the door.
As soon as she had realized that she had all of 30 minutes to prepare, she lept to autopilot. What happened next was a curious dance between herself, her closet, her headache, and the furniture she banged her body into. She dashed around her bedroom, preparing the stuff she needed in advance so all she had to do was shower. Clothing, phone, power bank, notebook, bag, wallet. She checked the alarm to get a read on time. Crud.
10 minutes? She had 10 minutes to take a bath, dress up, and go to church? Oh hell no. It would take at least 5 minutes to walk to church, and she had a reputation for taking a long time to was her hair. It was time for a judgement call. She stepped into the bathroom for a very fast shower. Though a reasonable person might have considered that enough, Ashley was not a reasonable person. She took her shampoo, and conditioner and threw them into her backpack.
The church had a bathroom right? She could simply wash her hair inside the sink.
Satisfied that she wouldn’t have to sacrifice her routine, she quickly changed into a simple floral dress, and cardigan. Definitely church appropriate, without being ugly.For some reason the thought of not looking as pretty as she could possibly be, at the French’s Soup Kitchen was unacceptable.
She exited her house, wishing her father goodbye with as perky of a tone as she could muster. If he had any hint that his daughter had a hangover he......... he would be very disappointed and let it go. And somehow that was worse than getting into trouble.
She walked the streets, with her hand shielding her eyes from the scorching sun. She’d always been sensitive to UV rays, but the searing pain in her head made it all the more unbearable.
The town and it’s twists and turns in the road were all successfully navigated by Ashley. She’d gone to church many a time, though she rarely disclosed her belief in God to anybody. Truthfully she felt a puff of pride in her chest that she would at last be doing something to help them. She spotted the building, and started to head towards it. Only for her to stop and notice something in the corner of her eye. A convenience store.
It was the perfect place to wash her hair, since she knew for a fact that there was a bathroom in there. And she also knew for a fact that Stu the kid who ran away from her loved the Kit-Kat’s that happened to be sold there. And if she got him one, then maybe he would actually like her and not want to avoid her! So really even if she arrived late it was killing two birds with one stone.
Her mind made up, she entered the store, and asked for the bathroom. “I’m so sorry but you can only go in if you buy something.” The owner smiled, with a hint of annoyance in his eyes. “Four Kit-Kat’s please!” She dig into her wallet picking out her hard earned babysitting money to pay for them. One for her, one for Stu, one for Oliver, and one for the other kid who hung out with them. Satisfied, the owner handed her the keys to the bathroom. With a triumphant grin(as if she’d done anything other than buy free candy for a bunch of socially awkward nerds who didn’t give her the time of day), she stepped into the room to wash her hair.
After she’d throughly taken care of the hair that had been her pride and joy for years, she left the store to enter the church. There was already a decently sized group, though that was to be expected since her little escape in the convenience store had actually lost her time.
Ordinarily she would’ve stuck with the group, but today she felt differently. She had a mission to make Stu want to be her friend, and the best way to do that was by hanging out with their mutual friend Oliver who just so happened to be right there. “Hey Oliver!” She grinned, walking up to him. Sure her body told her to shriek like a demon, from her pain, but she’d spent her whole life pretending to be happier than she actually was, and this was nothing more than another challenge.
Chimney Swift
Chimney Swift
i am confusion
Oliver
code by g o l d i e l o x x
"Hey, Oliver!"
Through the hazy distorted sounds in the room, Oliver heard his voice called by someone close-by on his left side. He didn't turn his head, mulling the voice over in his head until he identified it: Ashley. Someone friendly and relatively harmless, at least to the best of his knowledge. Oliver actually liked Ashley quite a bit, though he rarely said a word to her (one could blame the fact that she always seemed to find him at his worst moments). Still, he didn't look at her or smile or even outwardly acknowledge her aside from stiffening up a bit as she spoke to him. Rude, perhaps, but he absolutely didn't intend to be.
He seemed to struggle a bit, stammering softly under his breath before he spoke up properly. "...Hey, Ashley." He risked a glance in her direction, noting with some relief that she looked unhurt. Tatum was right, perhaps, that Ryan had been after Oliver alone last night. Evidently, Ashley wasn't too fazed by the fact that Oliver looked like someone had taken a sledgehammer to the side of his face, or that his posture was even more curled up and defensive than it always was.
He was shocked that she even wanted to talk to him... you know, after what he did. Did she know? She might not have seen. It seemed, though, that people knew. Ryan wasted no time in making the incident public on Twitter.
He kept his hands tightly clenched in his pockets, rocking back and forth slightly on his feet. "Ashley..." he started again after an awkward silence, digging his teeth into his lower lip. "You-- you were at the party, right?" He honestly wasn’t sure. He had only fragmented and disorganized recollection of the last few days, as though someone had hastily chopped up his recent memories with a pair of scissors. "Are people mad at me?" His voice cracked a little as he got to the point, still shying away from Ashley by keeping his gaze averted to the wall. He wanted to ask after Stu and Vered, but he didn't even know if he wanted to see his friends right now, after what Colby had threatened. He didn't know... perhaps they were mad at him too. He didn't know why they would be, but so much had gone wrong and he didn't even remember all of it, and it all felt like his fault. He'd had friends for one day. One damn day. And already he was doing a horrible job of it.
Through the hazy distorted sounds in the room, Oliver heard his voice called by someone close-by on his left side. He didn't turn his head, mulling the voice over in his head until he identified it: Ashley. Someone friendly and relatively harmless, at least to the best of his knowledge. Oliver actually liked Ashley quite a bit, though he rarely said a word to her (one could blame the fact that she always seemed to find him at his worst moments). Still, he didn't look at her or smile or even outwardly acknowledge her aside from stiffening up a bit as she spoke to him. Rude, perhaps, but he absolutely didn't intend to be.
He seemed to struggle a bit, stammering softly under his breath before he spoke up properly. "...Hey, Ashley." He risked a glance in her direction, noting with some relief that she looked unhurt. Tatum was right, perhaps, that Ryan had been after Oliver alone last night. Evidently, Ashley wasn't too fazed by the fact that Oliver looked like someone had taken a sledgehammer to the side of his face, or that his posture was even more curled up and defensive than it always was.
He was shocked that she even wanted to talk to him... you know, after what he did. Did she know? She might not have seen. It seemed, though, that people knew. Ryan wasted no time in making the incident public on Twitter.
He kept his hands tightly clenched in his pockets, rocking back and forth slightly on his feet. "Ashley..." he started again after an awkward silence, digging his teeth into his lower lip. "You-- you were at the party, right?" He honestly wasn’t sure. He had only fragmented and disorganized recollection of the last few days, as though someone had hastily chopped up his recent memories with a pair of scissors. "Are people mad at me?" His voice cracked a little as he got to the point, still shying away from Ashley by keeping his gaze averted to the wall. He wanted to ask after Stu and Vered, but he didn't even know if he wanted to see his friends right now, after what Colby had threatened. He didn't know... perhaps they were mad at him too. He didn't know why they would be, but so much had gone wrong and he didn't even remember all of it, and it all felt like his fault. He'd had friends for one day. One damn day. And already he was doing a horrible job of it.
Last edited:
tamarapasek
Senior Member
Ashley paused for a moment, just staring at the back of his head. She didn’t let his lack of response bother her too much. From what she had seen of him, she wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t registered her presence yet. That was what had happened at the party as she liked to believe. His eventual reaction was still pretty cold, which bothered her a little, but it wasn’t worth the fight. Anything was better than ignoring her.
A warm smile spread to her face once more as he greeted her. So he didn’t absolutely hate her after all. One out of three of his friends wasn’t too bad. At the very least she’d have one friend in this town.
She sighed noticing his somewhat stressed demeanor. It was most likely because of those awful rumors Ryan was spreading about him on Twitter. She wasn’t too fond of thinking rudely of people but the little wiener deserved it. But even she had to admit that Ryan was far too awful to warrant the benefit of the doubt. How could that sicko get off on accusing Oliver of stabbing him?
“Hmmm?” She glanced at Oliver, curious as to why he was acknowledging her. “I was.” She answered honestly, choosing to omit that she had been with him that night. It was probably for the best he didn’t remember. In fact it was probably best that nobody remembered that night.
"Mad at you?" She repeated, her voice incredulous. “Oliver nobody’s mad at you but Ryan.” She answered, thinking that was a satisfying answer. “Nobody believes that you actually stabbed him” she chuckled to herself. The mere thought of the tiny figure in front of her getting the courage to stab somebody was laughable. Sure he had a knife, but.........holy crap Oliver might’ve stabbed somebody. She stared at the floor, then at him her face changing expressions from horror to a slow nonchalance. “I’m sure you had a good reason if you did.”
Chimney Swift
A warm smile spread to her face once more as he greeted her. So he didn’t absolutely hate her after all. One out of three of his friends wasn’t too bad. At the very least she’d have one friend in this town.
She sighed noticing his somewhat stressed demeanor. It was most likely because of those awful rumors Ryan was spreading about him on Twitter. She wasn’t too fond of thinking rudely of people but the little wiener deserved it. But even she had to admit that Ryan was far too awful to warrant the benefit of the doubt. How could that sicko get off on accusing Oliver of stabbing him?
“Hmmm?” She glanced at Oliver, curious as to why he was acknowledging her. “I was.” She answered honestly, choosing to omit that she had been with him that night. It was probably for the best he didn’t remember. In fact it was probably best that nobody remembered that night.
"Mad at you?" She repeated, her voice incredulous. “Oliver nobody’s mad at you but Ryan.” She answered, thinking that was a satisfying answer. “Nobody believes that you actually stabbed him” she chuckled to herself. The mere thought of the tiny figure in front of her getting the courage to stab somebody was laughable. Sure he had a knife, but.........holy crap Oliver might’ve stabbed somebody. She stared at the floor, then at him her face changing expressions from horror to a slow nonchalance. “I’m sure you had a good reason if you did.”
Chimney Swift
Dak
Dakiest Dak their is
Jack Hamilton
Jack slowly lifted his head up as the light was shining in through his window. He was plenty tired from the night prior. He laid in his bed for a few moments. Not wanting to get up from his comfy bed. His mind was going through the night prior.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After the party was done, Jack needed to get Juliet home. But she was nowhere to be found. He searched for a little while. He had found her sitting with both Tatum and Ivy. “I’m sorry ladies, but I have to get Juliet home.” He said apologizing to both Tatum and Ivy.
She was obviously too drunk to drive. It was a good thing that Jack had stopped drinking after the fight. After pulling Juliet away from the dancing, he managed to get her into her own car and drive her home. He remembered the route and got her home safely. He hopped out and helped her into her home. That was when Poncho had rushed up to him. “Hey buddy. You wanna come with me?” He asked as he was carrying Juliet through her house. He brought her up to her room and laid her on her bed. He took off her coat and boots. He didn’t want to take anything else because he felt like it wasn’t the right thing to do. He patted the bed and watched as Poncho tried to jump on the bed. Jack chuckled lightly as he picked up the little dog and placed them on the bed. He sat down on the bed for a second. He looked at Juliet. She seemed happy. Jack smiled as he ran his hand through her hair. “Good night, sweet princess.” He said lightly as he slowly made his way out of the room. He went down to the kitchen and got a glass with some water in it. He walked back up and set it on Juliet’s nightstand. She was going to need that in the morning. With that Jack had walked out of her house. He could take Juliet’s car home, but it didn’t seem right.
Jack had opted into walking home. He had pulled out his phone and loaded google maps. He sighed a sigh of relief. It seemed like his phone was finally working. He carefully made his way home. He didn’t go through the woods. He took the main roads. After about 45 minutes of walking he had made it home. He took a shower and plopped down in his bed. Normally his bed felt like it was hard as hell to fall asleep, it was surprisingly easy to fall asleep. He softly fell into a deep sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jack pulled out his phone and sent Juliet a text. “Morning… Hope your feeling alright…I had fun last night.” He sent her. She had a little too much so he would understand if she was still passed out. Jack had slowly pulled himself out of bed. He swung his legs over the side of his bed and made his way to the bathroom. He took another shower and got dressed. He opened his twitter and started to just scroll. Apparently people were going to be helping out at the soup kitchen today.
sunnieside
Elf_Ruler
Senior Member
When the sun finally began to peek over the horizon Tatum decided to get up, she still needed to get back to her dads’ car and get back home. She couldn’t go to the soup kitchen in Zach’s clothes no matter how comfy they were. Before she exited his room, she glanced back at the sleeping boy. It wasn’t a new thing for Tatum to leave it was rarer of her, but she grabbed a pencil and a scrap piece of paper, ‘Went to my car to go home and get dressed. See you at the soup kitchen’ and set it by his alarm clock. Better than just disappearing on her boyfriend. The walk to her car was quiet, she needed the air to clear her mind, clear her soul maybe. As soon as she got to her car she slid into the driver’s seat and it finally hit her that all the strength in the world couldn’t prepare her for the pain she was feeling. She let a few tears slide before drove home.
The time for her to get home, change, and make her way to the soup kitchen didn’t take much time. Though she half expected Zach to text her back and he hadn’t responded to any of texts all of them saying read. He was mad. She was going to have to act like nothing had happened. In her last-ditch attempt, all she needed to know is if he was mad and behold! He responded. Before she had walked in, her phone had been going off from Twitter and the conversation was about Zach and Aisha, and that was enough for her to log out. She couldn’t handle that, not while she had to act like she didn’t say those three words to Zach. Act like her day was going well. Though, the second she had gotten back on Zach had messaged her and she had no heart to fight with him, or. Hear his explanation. She was fine, she would be fine. Right now, she wanted to know if she was a bad girlfriend, if that’s why things failed with Hayden, and she felt like she was failing with Zach.
Getting orders from Josie wasn’t bad, but Tatum’s head was pounding, in all of her thoughts she never thought to take any painkillers for her hangover. How had she survived this long without anything?
Mention(s):
lion.
Interaction(s): open
Chimney Swift
i am confusion
Oliver
code by g o l d i e l o x x
Oliver nodded weakly as Ashley reassured that nobody but Ryan was out to get him. Why would she say that? His cheeks turned red underneath the bruises and bandaging, his shoulders rounding as he dug his fists further into his pockets. She didn't really think that, did she? What about the kid he nearly blinded with a crab? Oliver didn't remember anything about that kid: his name (Oliver was assuming they were a he), what he looked like, what he did after that... for all he knew it was Stu or Vered who got knocked with a rogue crustacean. That thought chilled him to the very core.
Ashley continued, alluding to the attack, first laughing off the idea that Oliver would pull a knife on Ryan, but then... “I’m sure you had a good reason if you did.” Oliver seemed to jerk back as if given a static electric shock. He gasped, a little too sharply for his five rib fractures and weakened lung, and devolved into wheezy half-breaths as he ducked his head to try and keep some composure. When he felt like he could breathe again without screaming, he straightened up and gave Ashley an apologetic lopsided smile. He offered in response only a barely audible "...Mhm..." Not the most convincing way to suggest he didn't stick Ryan in the gut.
Oliver was not good at lying. Or keeping secrets. Never had been, though he was called upon often to do it. He didn't even realize that his face and mannerisms gave it all away in an instant. That sort of knowledge was unattainable to him, but he made up for it with other areas of expertise. Like math, and navigation, and crime.
He had little else to say to Ashley, feeling somewhat as though his throat were closing up, but he continued anyway; mostly just to prove a point that he could speak after all. "Ashley, uh... so. I meant to ask, but..." he cleared his throat, eyes tightly closed as if he thought that would help him find words. "Last night, after... ah-- um... Vered and Stu, they're okay? Right? Tell me what happened. I don't know. I just... I don't know."
Ashley continued, alluding to the attack, first laughing off the idea that Oliver would pull a knife on Ryan, but then... “I’m sure you had a good reason if you did.” Oliver seemed to jerk back as if given a static electric shock. He gasped, a little too sharply for his five rib fractures and weakened lung, and devolved into wheezy half-breaths as he ducked his head to try and keep some composure. When he felt like he could breathe again without screaming, he straightened up and gave Ashley an apologetic lopsided smile. He offered in response only a barely audible "...Mhm..." Not the most convincing way to suggest he didn't stick Ryan in the gut.
Oliver was not good at lying. Or keeping secrets. Never had been, though he was called upon often to do it. He didn't even realize that his face and mannerisms gave it all away in an instant. That sort of knowledge was unattainable to him, but he made up for it with other areas of expertise. Like math, and navigation, and crime.
He had little else to say to Ashley, feeling somewhat as though his throat were closing up, but he continued anyway; mostly just to prove a point that he could speak after all. "Ashley, uh... so. I meant to ask, but..." he cleared his throat, eyes tightly closed as if he thought that would help him find words. "Last night, after... ah-- um... Vered and Stu, they're okay? Right? Tell me what happened. I don't know. I just... I don't know."
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tamarapasek
Senior Member
Ashley wasn’t even remotely flustered by Oliver’s reaction. They hadn’t interacted too much in real life, but this was pretty much how she’d expected him to behave. Though a bit selfish of her, she would’ve taken any amount of bizarre behavior over her own private humiliation the other night. She had specifically chosen the pale nerds because she thought they wouldn’t make her nervous. Now she was jumping through hoops in an effort to get them to like her. More specifically Stu, who utterly baffled her more than Oliver or Vered .
The mere thought of their behavior the other night infuriated her to no end. Oliver she could excuse. He was having a bizarre panic attack similar to the one he was having now. Again she might have been more flustered by this had she not previously interacted with him on titter. Vered? Well maybe he was just shy. She wasn’t mad as him too much. But he was on thin ass ice.
It was Stu that occupied her thoughts. She would’ve liked to befriend him, but that was not the main thing on her brain. It was the sheer audacity to look at her face and run away. She’d even heard that he’d rather piss in the sand than stay one more second with her. After all that’s what happened to Oliver before right? Stu hated him and avoided him. But rather than scowl in silence she decided to try and win him over with friendship. The mere thought of another person deciding she wasn’t worth being around was too much to handle. But unlike her mother’s refusal to let her visit since the divorce, she could control Stu not hating her.
Her eyes wandered the kitchen looking for him or maybe even Carol so she could ask about coffee recipes when Oliver suddenly sold. "Yeah?" her voice softened, similar to the way a mother would talk to a scared child. "Vered and Stu......” she trailed off trying to recall their fates. “I saw Vered on Twitter after the fight. Stu........” She paused again. “I don’t know about Stu.”
Chimney Swift
The mere thought of their behavior the other night infuriated her to no end. Oliver she could excuse. He was having a bizarre panic attack similar to the one he was having now. Again she might have been more flustered by this had she not previously interacted with him on titter. Vered? Well maybe he was just shy. She wasn’t mad as him too much. But he was on thin ass ice.
It was Stu that occupied her thoughts. She would’ve liked to befriend him, but that was not the main thing on her brain. It was the sheer audacity to look at her face and run away. She’d even heard that he’d rather piss in the sand than stay one more second with her. After all that’s what happened to Oliver before right? Stu hated him and avoided him. But rather than scowl in silence she decided to try and win him over with friendship. The mere thought of another person deciding she wasn’t worth being around was too much to handle. But unlike her mother’s refusal to let her visit since the divorce, she could control Stu not hating her.
Her eyes wandered the kitchen looking for him or maybe even Carol so she could ask about coffee recipes when Oliver suddenly sold. "Yeah?" her voice softened, similar to the way a mother would talk to a scared child. "Vered and Stu......” she trailed off trying to recall their fates. “I saw Vered on Twitter after the fight. Stu........” She paused again. “I don’t know about Stu.”
Chimney Swift
Chimney Swift
i am confusion
Ivy
code by g o l d i e l o x x
The Pinkerton Home, a decrepit sort of building surrounded by fence on the outskirts of Parish Point, housed some couple dozen hollow and disillusioned teenagers. They'd drift in and out, usually sent back to their homes or adopted out (or taken to prison) within a year. Most had been taken away due to abuse or neglect, a handful were orphans. A smaller handful, which included one Ivy Dawkins, had been cast off by their family's own volition.
It wasn't as though Ivy particularly cared. The wealthy Washington DC family that adopted her out of Russia wanted a sweet and charming little girl they could pat themselves on the back for saving.
Instead, they got an Ivy.
Ivy was actually sort of glad to have landed in Parish Point after that whole disaster. This town was fraught with chaos and she loved it. Just yesterday, she'd been drunk out of her mind watching strangers' friendships explode from a safe distance.
She'd also apparently eaten a fistful of sand. She'd woken up with sand on every inch of her body: in her mouth, her ears, her hair...
It took a good long while to wash it all off. Afterwards, she stepped onto the old bathroom scale, making a face at the number that flickered onto the digital screen, before getting dressed to riot. Most of the clothes she owned weren't that appropriate for the amount of running around and cop-punching she planned on doing, so she improvised with a purple gradient t-shirt, black jeans, lilac high-top sneakers, and an odd dark grey regency blazer (it was still pretty cold out, and Ivy was skinny enough that she needed to dress for it.)
The hangover wasn't that bad. Just the usual feeling of being halfway over a mild flu. Actually, she didn't quite feel over last night's bender at all. Perfect.
She didn't know who all else would be there to harass the mayor. She didn't particularly care about the whale incident, or about whatever it was the mayor was doing that Mark Berkinstock or whatever his name was thought was so horrible.
All Ivy cared about was how damn angry adults got when kids exercised their civilian rights. It was absolutely tantalizing.
Tucking her secret can of pepper spray into her blazer, she walked out of her dismal group home without telling anyone. They wouldn't miss her. If anyone asked, she was at the church soup kitchen being a Goody Girl Scout.
The walk to town hall was long without her roller skates, but Ivy trudged along anyway, caring not a button for the cold or the damp debris that still lay over the streets from yesterday's storm. At least the roads weren't flooded anymore. Finally she reached the center of town, where the narrow neighborhood streets widened into a more open square dotted with shops and offices, and towering neatly over the cobblestones was the pillared town hall. A cold, uninviting building with just enough historic charm to not seem brutalist. Ivy always hated the town hall, which stood aside the probate and family court buildings. She'd been stuck waiting for more hours on benches there than she'd like to reminisce on. Luckily, Ivy was not easily wounded by memory. She had a knack for brushing things off that was so impressive that it prevented her from learning a lot of important life lessons.
She hopped up the steps of the town hall, climbing up onto one of the window ledges and peering inside. Dark... looked like they'd beat the suits there. Should be fun when they showed up. She also beat the rest of the protest team. She took her position sitting astride the railing on the front steps, idly swinging her legs and surveying her surroundings for things that could be weaponized when they were inevitably demanded to leave the premises. Some of the cobblestones on the walkway looked loose, and there were still a few fallen tree branches strewn about from the storm. She climbed of the railing and jumped the side of the steps to pick up one about the length and width of her forearm, scaling her way back up to her spot and smacking it into her hand like a baseball bat. She probably couldn't do much damage with a half-rotten stick, but it felt cooler and more like a proper riot this way.
This should be fun, she thought. The party, while mildly amusing, had ended on sort of a sour note when Tatum shoved her aside to waltz off with her stale blond boyfriend. That was just insulting, and the whimsy of being drunk on a beach quickly wore off when nobody wanted to swim with her or blow up the kegs, and eventually everyone stumbled home guided by their sober friends.
That was how most teenage parties ended. Everyone just sort of gave up before anything really terrible happened. Well-- there was the part where that faint-hearted dork kid from Ivy's Computer Science class gored Ryan fucking Gustavo with a butter knife, but sadly Ivy hadn't been there to catch that one and no one had caught it on video. Lame.
Today, though, she wouldn't miss the chaos. She would orchestrate it.
It wasn't as though Ivy particularly cared. The wealthy Washington DC family that adopted her out of Russia wanted a sweet and charming little girl they could pat themselves on the back for saving.
Instead, they got an Ivy.
Ivy was actually sort of glad to have landed in Parish Point after that whole disaster. This town was fraught with chaos and she loved it. Just yesterday, she'd been drunk out of her mind watching strangers' friendships explode from a safe distance.
She'd also apparently eaten a fistful of sand. She'd woken up with sand on every inch of her body: in her mouth, her ears, her hair...
It took a good long while to wash it all off. Afterwards, she stepped onto the old bathroom scale, making a face at the number that flickered onto the digital screen, before getting dressed to riot. Most of the clothes she owned weren't that appropriate for the amount of running around and cop-punching she planned on doing, so she improvised with a purple gradient t-shirt, black jeans, lilac high-top sneakers, and an odd dark grey regency blazer (it was still pretty cold out, and Ivy was skinny enough that she needed to dress for it.)
The hangover wasn't that bad. Just the usual feeling of being halfway over a mild flu. Actually, she didn't quite feel over last night's bender at all. Perfect.
She didn't know who all else would be there to harass the mayor. She didn't particularly care about the whale incident, or about whatever it was the mayor was doing that Mark Berkinstock or whatever his name was thought was so horrible.
All Ivy cared about was how damn angry adults got when kids exercised their civilian rights. It was absolutely tantalizing.
Tucking her secret can of pepper spray into her blazer, she walked out of her dismal group home without telling anyone. They wouldn't miss her. If anyone asked, she was at the church soup kitchen being a Goody Girl Scout.
The walk to town hall was long without her roller skates, but Ivy trudged along anyway, caring not a button for the cold or the damp debris that still lay over the streets from yesterday's storm. At least the roads weren't flooded anymore. Finally she reached the center of town, where the narrow neighborhood streets widened into a more open square dotted with shops and offices, and towering neatly over the cobblestones was the pillared town hall. A cold, uninviting building with just enough historic charm to not seem brutalist. Ivy always hated the town hall, which stood aside the probate and family court buildings. She'd been stuck waiting for more hours on benches there than she'd like to reminisce on. Luckily, Ivy was not easily wounded by memory. She had a knack for brushing things off that was so impressive that it prevented her from learning a lot of important life lessons.
She hopped up the steps of the town hall, climbing up onto one of the window ledges and peering inside. Dark... looked like they'd beat the suits there. Should be fun when they showed up. She also beat the rest of the protest team. She took her position sitting astride the railing on the front steps, idly swinging her legs and surveying her surroundings for things that could be weaponized when they were inevitably demanded to leave the premises. Some of the cobblestones on the walkway looked loose, and there were still a few fallen tree branches strewn about from the storm. She climbed of the railing and jumped the side of the steps to pick up one about the length and width of her forearm, scaling her way back up to her spot and smacking it into her hand like a baseball bat. She probably couldn't do much damage with a half-rotten stick, but it felt cooler and more like a proper riot this way.
This should be fun, she thought. The party, while mildly amusing, had ended on sort of a sour note when Tatum shoved her aside to waltz off with her stale blond boyfriend. That was just insulting, and the whimsy of being drunk on a beach quickly wore off when nobody wanted to swim with her or blow up the kegs, and eventually everyone stumbled home guided by their sober friends.
That was how most teenage parties ended. Everyone just sort of gave up before anything really terrible happened. Well-- there was the part where that faint-hearted dork kid from Ivy's Computer Science class gored Ryan fucking Gustavo with a butter knife, but sadly Ivy hadn't been there to catch that one and no one had caught it on video. Lame.
Today, though, she wouldn't miss the chaos. She would orchestrate it.
Dede
McNugget
Stu
Stu was grunting from a back so sore he walked like the hunchback of Notre Dame. He had done all the unloading from the car by himself and THEN all the other kids decided to show up. If only they had arrived a few minutes sooner! If only he had waited a couple minutes!
As things stood (or barely stood) he dragged his broken bones back inside and began scanning for some familiar faces. He wasn’t sure if Oliver and Vered were coming, or if they even remembered about the Soup Kitchen. They were going to leave the party early last night, to go home and make popcorn and watch Star Wars. But thanks to Evie, he spent the night smelling of sewage and trying to wash himself clean, fighting his fear of the ocean.
By the time he returned to the party dripping like a wet puppy, both Oliver and Vered were nowhere to be found. They had inexplicably disappeared, beamed up by some UFO or something, and everyone he tried to ask were either too drunk out of their minds to answer or had already passed out.
Maybe Oliver was mad at him. This was a possibility -- a real possibility. He remembered vaguely having said something about Oliver’s dad being Tom Hanks that didn’t go down so well. You’d think it was a compliment!! But maybe Vered was mad at him, too, since he couldn’t find either of them. Maybe they left together because they didn't want to come to his place anymore. He wanted to message them to ask, but his phone which fell in the lagoon with him was out of commission, lying in a bowl of rice. His father had gotten the wisdom from a video he saw on Facebook.
In the hall the tables and chairs were being dragged out, and Stu quickly fled the scene so that he would not be recruited into any more hard labour. Last he checked child labour was illegal. If Max caught a whiff of this, maybe he’d burn down the town hall instead of protesting in front of it.
Still kneading the muscles of his back, Stu went into the corridor and bumped into what’s her name, Tatum. With her being an older girl and all maybe she’d know where Josie was.
‘Hey, um, hi,’ Stu said with a little waive. ’Have you seen Josie?’
Stu immediately regretted approaching the older girl. She looked miserable to say the least, as if she hadn’t slept in a couple nights. Girls were cranky and unpredictable enough, even when they were well-rested or sober. Some of them might even shove you into a bunch of petunias without the slightest warning. No gentle caution, no three strikes out, nothing! That's why he was afraid of girls, and rightly so!
Elf_Ruler
sunnieside
¯\_(ツ)_/¯
juliet everett
coded by reveriee
Last edited:
Elf_Ruler
Senior Member
Sure, it wasn’t new, but she had to make sure she didn’t mention Hayden or Ian because then there would be more questions and a lecture about how dating was forbidden for her as long as she was under his roof. Lemon knew the rules she breathed the rules and she knew the consequences if they were broken. It wasn’t like her father made it a secret about his distaste for AJ. He only tolerated her because Lemon was so close to her. That meant Lemon would do anything in order to be able to keep AJ as a friend and have her be allowed to come around without lying. Of course, she had dealt with Max disagreeing with her almost all night which hadn’t made her feel great and then she had to deal with her father interrogating her every action as if she was trying to break the rules.
When the next morning arrived, it was all disagreements on Twitter which made Lemon feel down about how people were. All she wanted was for everyone to get along and to not fight, but that seemed almost impossible. Her mother had made breakfast and it was probably Lemon’s favorite part of the morning a full breakfast. She had never gone anywhere hungry in the morning and her mother made sure of it. This morning was quiet as her father read through the newspaper grumbling about the news and whatever else he didn’t necessarily agree with. People being people and politics dividing person against person as always. It wasn’t quite a typical morning with the lively chatter like normal, but Lemon was ok with how it was going. Everyone was happy and she was still the beloved child of her parents. Her life was as good as it could get even if she couldn’t quite tell her parents who she was, that was okay. One day when viewpoints changed then maybe she could.
Of course, it was Mr. Pierce who had driven Lemon to the soup kitchen, “Have a fun time at the soup kitchen, sweet pea. I’ll pick you up in a few hours. Your mama and I have some errands to run in an hour. Be good” He placed a kiss on his daughters’ cheek and Lemon was out of the care waving goodbye to her father.
Now all she had to do was find Josie and get her assignment.
Mention(s):
a z u l a
Chimney Swift
Interaction(s): open
Elf_Ruler
Senior Member
She only came out of her thoughts when she felt someone bump into her. Did no one in this town know how to walk? She turned and her eyes saw the boy in front of her. She believed he was one of the kids that went to Parish and he looked like he was a nerd. She had seen him around town, but his name escaped her. Her head was still pounding as he spoke, but she wasn’t going to be a bitch to him. She almost giggled at his wave to her, apparently, he wasn’t comfortable around girls. She thought for a second, “Yeah, I saw her when I came in. She’s giving directions to everyone. One might have been directed at me, but I’m not sure. Did you want to go figure out the tasks that need to be done?” Sure, not a great discussion piece but Tatum needed the headache to leave. She also needed her boyfriend to act like he used to. Really Tatum needed a lot.
As if on cue another person arrived. This time it was Juliet and she came bearing water and muffins. An angel. Even though Tatum wasn’t hungry, and her stomach was in knots she knew she should probably eat. She looked at the boy whose name she still couldn’t remember, “You can have half of my muffin.” Her eyes went back to Juliet, “Thanks for the food, and don’t worry about last night. It’s whatever.” Tatum could only give a half-hearted smile. Really, her night and morning weren’t going great, but she had her image to uphold. She could at least blame being hungover on almost anything. Or at least that was her plan. She had more than her own fair share of problems to deal with and she didn’t need someone feeling sorry for saying drunk words. In the grand scheme of everything it was nothing. She hoped this would make Juliet feel better and then all she had to do was suffer through the soup kitchen. She could do that right? She really wanted a smoke, but she could wait. She had to wait, too many people paying attention to her. Eventually she would sneak off and get a smoke break. All her stress was becoming too much and one cigarette could help.
Dede
sunnieside
sunnieside
¯\_(ツ)_/¯
proud housewife
code by valen t.
carol
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