kingsworthy !

“Damn, always ten steps ahead,” he said, shaking his solemnly. “See, I don’t know if Einstein would really have been on board with the whole caffeine thing. Far too advanced, perhaps. Like — He was too advanced for caffeine. Didn’t need it. He was already full of the energy required to be a fucking rockstar.”

“On the contrary, dear pal,” he took a long sip from the two straws, finger waggling in the air, “Perhaps not caffeine, but I have no doubt about it that if Einstein were presented with poppers, he’d be the king of ‘em. Probably came up with his whole m equals e-squared equation high out of his mind. That’s how I’m planning on discovering the next evolutionary thing, y’know.”

“You try these Jolly Rancher cocktails?” Eli asked, glancing down into his cup, nose wrinkled. “Tastes exactly like Jolly Ranchers, but I feel like they’re just melted down in the water. Teeth slowly rotting out of my skull as I drink my fifth one. Gotta try all the flavour! Cheers,” he said, extending his cup out to the other. “To new beginnings! MTV’s The Hills reunion vibes!” @amosbarot

“Try them? I hardly know ‘em!” his voice was awfully deadpan, back hunched as the dark-haired man fidgeting with a hat, two Red Bulls attached to either side, “I poured all the different flavors into one cup and chugged ‘em an hour ago -- now I’ve made a vodka Red Bull hat. Fancy, eh?” Amos placed the hat on his head, popping a straw into his mouth and wiggling his eyebrows in an ‘eh? eh?’ fashion. “I am smarter than Einstein himself.”

“There’s a logical not perverted explanation for this,” Romeo starts as he stared at the poor unfortunate soul who walked by him standing outside of his home, in nothing but a pair of wet boxers, holding his cat under one arm, and a two by four in the other, “Like honestly super reasonable, and not weird at all, really.”

“There’s nothing perverted about pissing yourself, mate, everybody’s done it at least once.” Amos, spoke, clearly thoroughly entertained, “Neither is seeking comfort in the form of a furry pal, unless you’re the furry pal. Then it could, arguably, be perverted. I’m more confused by the wood, than anything else -- what’d you break? Or is this a public art performance highlighting the sins of morning wood and that’s not piss?”

MARGOT was almost positive she had just seen something she was NOT supposed to have seen. she’d been around enough shady dealings as a child, her father’s office a revolving door of criminals as she had been left to fend for herself amongst them. the two men outside the pub were eyeing her so intensely her blood felt like it was boiling, her skin melting off, the pressure mounting in her head. thinking fast, thinking smart, she grabbed the arm of the boy exiting the bar and immediately fell into step with him, speaking loudly, “there you are! i’ve been waiting ages. i was about ready to ask one of those nice men over there to escort me home. seems my husband nearly murdered chivalry!” quickening their pace, trying to put distance between them and the men and praying the escape worked, she leaned over to whisper in the stranger’s ear, “i’ll explain later if you take me somewhere with alcohol and a crowd.” @amosbarot

the sudden grasp of somebody on his arm was enough to snap amos back into reality, eyes clearing from a tipsy haze as he peered down at the blonde quizzically, a slight stumble in his step. even drunk -- he was no idiot, glancing back at the men with a quick understanding, and the smallest smirk, “my dearest love, i’d never leave you in the hands of another man,” his voice, equally loud, his hand patting hers fondly. “am i being kidnapped?” amos cocked an eyebrow once they were far enough, glancing towards margot with amusement, “though i s’pose not, if we’re married now. is this a healthy marriage, or the sort where our wedding topper has my figure in a ball-and-chain and i make bad, vaguely sexist sitcom jokes at your expense? because as much as that just sounds, enthralling, i’d poison myself before doing so. no offense, if that’s what you’re into.”

“probably when i suggested a threesome involving us and jerry seinfeld.”

pushes glasses further up nose, pulls cigarette out, lights it, proceeds to shove entire cigarette into mouth. “well. you see, i think this is just a big ol’ metaphor, a message of sorts, like somebody’s been watching heathers a little too often. society’s corrupt, everybody’s hiding something, nobody’s who they seem, yadda yadda, holier than thou bullshit that’s intended to strike fear into our very hearts because, god forbid, we have vices and are human.”

“you, anon, with your sexy sunglasses and strangely appealing, grey flesh. i just want to sex you up, in all honesty. c’mere, you slutty, slutty...uh...icon.”

𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐒 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐓 𝐚𝐬 𝐀𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎 || 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐒

Amos: after some very extensive research these following days, i've come to the conclusion that dear evan hansen is merely subpar.

“You like him?” Cecily asked, turning to the person next to her at the bar. “Not the hunky bartender. But, fine if you like him too. I’m talking about that guy,” she said, pointing to a tiny Furby she had sat in front of her, the thing looking slightly demonic with a missing eye and matted fur. “Found him in a yard sale today. Thinking of naming him and taking him home. But he could also come alive in the middle of the night and nibble at my toes. It’s a trade-off,” she stated, huge grin spreading on her face as if it were the funniest thing ever. “Could give me a chance to get on Buzzfeed Unsolved. Should I risk it?”

“Hm?” glazed eyes trailed over to the woman, flickering down towards God’s abomination before the curly-haired idiot, classically, choked on his beer. “Fucking -- christ --” Amos spat, more shock than aggression, crumbled napkin pressed to his mouth, “it looks like it came straight out of my nightmares -- right on fucking board with fucking Chuck E Cheese and Barney. He looks more demonic than that Annabelle lass, doll, creature.” His darkened eyes met the furby’s singular, the beginning of a grand stare-off transcending the limits of time and space, Amos’ own narrowed and untrusting; the other’s? Soulless. Deep depths of nothingness. “I’m torn between wanting to burn it and fixing the poor lad up, create him a little Instagram -- like a pet instagram or whatnot.”

“Asparagus piss? What’re you on about?” Elias asked, brows furrowing in disbelief, as if being fed the most tragic of news. Clearing his throat, the subject change was a rather unwanted one, but he figured he could manage if he just feigned nonchalance as he often did. “Yeah, it’s a shame. Makes you think it’s all just some fucked up game,” he said, shaking head. “See that film Nerve? Kinda like that,” he suggested. “Anyway, it’s not like they can do any worse a job here at solving the case than they did back home.”

“Mate, have you never pissed after eating asparagus? It’s rightfully unholy. Though you look like the sort of man who ate chicken fingers and chips, fries, whatever, for the majority of his life so I can excuse you not knowing -- no offense, ‘course.” Amos bought the nonchalance on the account that he, himself, was also feigning nonchalance. Realistically, the whole ordeal gave him enough anxiety to fuel his nightmares -- talking as if it weren’t something terrifying was helpful, in an odd enough way. “Ah, with the Roberts lass, right? Never seen it. Reminds me an awful lot of that blue whale game, though. Gotta wonder if the Neanderthals had the same sadistic tick as this modern lot seems to have.”

“Paris smells of piss,” Elias repeated, nodding his head solemnly. “Suppose I’ll keep that for when I write my book about the Parisian prostitute with Athlete’s Foot. Could do me some good,” he said with a nod of his head. Lighting his cigarette, he made a mental note to purchase a lighter as he handed Amos’ his back. “Yeah, feel like the literal murders didn’t help much.”

“Not any piss -- asparagus, levels of piss. Make sure you involve that in the novel, lest you be shamed for inaccuracies. A prostitute with Athlete’s Foot sounds almost Shakespearean in terms of tragic-ness. Though I imagine it’d be sadder if it were a prostitute from Amsterdam, given it’s legal here.” Amos plucked the lighter back from Elias, flickering it absentmindedly, “Absolutely not, damn the watershed. Speaking of tragedies -- did’ya here about the missing lass? I figured I’d catch up on some good ol’ Amsterdam news on the flight over, and lo’ n’ behold. Not very good ol’ news after all.”

Her suitcase wheeled behind her, rattling on the rough surface below her feet. Looking around with a grin permanently etched in her features, amazed that they had actually made it. Especially with how it had been. In true Cartia fashion the girl had become infatuated with this whole place, but the clumsy girl forgot to look forward on the occasion and before she knew it she had bumped into another.“oh shit ! ” stumbling and grabbing the other, to avoid not only herself falling but the other also. “i am so sorry.”

A hand clamped down on her shoulder to steady her out and a quick chuckle escaped from his throat, the older man peering down at Cartia with a cocked eyebrow and an amused grin, “Excitement getting the best of you? It’s lucky we didn’t fall right into a canal or anything of the sort.” Amos took a step back, hands sliding into his pockets once they were both balanced, “Amsterdam really is something, isn’t it? I haven’t been in years, but, God--it hasn’t changed a bit.”

“Never been out of the country before,” Elias said as he leaned against a metal garbage can, hypnotized by the crowd as they moved passed each other with an excited energy he could get used to. A change of scenery might have been what they all needed. “I feel like the air I’m breathing is cleaner. Less… Toxic. Not trying to be poetic here, I mean that literally,” he said. “Anyway, forgot I was gonna ask if you had a light?”

“Yeah?” Amos wasn’t sure how he ended up to his rival -- in both coffee consumption and Twitter ( according to some anonymous sources, at the very least -- though Amos was originally confused with the concept. He wasn’t trying to be funny -- the man just had a lot of Mulaney and Chuck E Cheese based woes ). Either way, he had accepted the incident, eyes following the crowd as he spoke, “I’m pretty sure it’s the Amsterdam air -- always been like that. Paris smells like piss, did you know?” Amos dug around in his pockets before producing a lighter, handing it to the curly-haired man, “That, and loom and gloom and whatnot clung to the air quite nastily back in Rochester. Very despair-y, absolutely tragic.”