wasted potential

Sam had never been good at keeping his temper at bay when he got worked up and this, was no exception. He was fuming for all the wrong reasons and yet, he’d like to think that anyone would’ve reacted that way. It wasn’t the dude’s town - hell, he didn’t even break anything so deep down, it felt like an attack for the sake of singling him out. Not that he could hold it against anyone, Sam was notorious around town for starting trouble but he wouldn’t stand for this. With another angry huff, Sam rolled his eyes at Andrew, reaching for the cigarette between his lips to speak again. “Apparently it’s fucking over it so we start early,” he complained with a snort, retrieving his lighter and flicking it, holding the flame out to light the other’s. “That fucking douchebag needs to get off my dick, he’s been waiting for any excuse to get me in trouble for years but I never figured out his name. Imagine being that goddamn miserable,” he kept cursing before he lit up his own cigarette, huffing out his first drag almost immediately. “I just wanna skate and vibe in peace, man. Wanna go somewhere else? The park or whatever?”

Andrew grinned as Sam snorted, giving a silent nod of thanks as he lit the end of his cigarette. “He thinks you’re hot,” Andrew teased as the other complained, letting smoke escape from his nose. “I’m willing to bet $10 his name is John,” he continue, pulling the cigarette from his lips to knock off the ash. Sam’s comment about the guy being so miserable that he openly picked fights in public with people half his age made Andre’s nose scrunch up in distaste. He was pretty miserable, but he wasn’t that bad. Then again, another twenty years and he might be whatever the male version of a Karen was. Andrew nodded as more smoke left his nose. “There’s an abandoned house with an empty pool if you’d wanna try that out? Might run the risk of pissing off more old rich people, though.”

open starter for: everyone pls @crescentstarters​ location: The Vinyl Frontier

It almost felt like deja vu walking into the record store, a hidden gem and haven that entranced the budding historian. A question that Rose got a lot was how she was able to fixate on texts upon texts for hours at a time and the truth was she usually chose a decent soundtrack to go along with her antics. Her muse and inspiration hadn’t dwindled, but she was in a world of pain thinking about the syllabus she would have to create for the summer history class she had agreed to take on. It wasn’t advanced history by any means, but there was only so many times she could talk about needless wars and begrudgingly compare them to the modern era. History was always doomed to repeat itself, but when she was asked why, that was still the common question she still couldn’t get a handle on. Shit just happened, she supposed. 

What had she been in the mood for today? Indie? Rap? Metal? Something called Math Rock? “What the fuck is Math Rock?” Rose questioned quietly to herself, before she grabbed an obscure album, never hearing of the artist nor the title of the project as a whole. Maybe she could have treated this album like a wonderball, never knowing what’s inside but hopefully being pleasantly surprised. She continued her trot down the aisle until she, without much grace, bumped into the nearest person. “Sorry, sorry, that was my bad.” She squinted at the figure’s album selection. “Any good?” She queried. 

Andrew stood on the other side of the aisle of bins holding records by genre and then organized by artist. He snorted out a laugh hearing the woman across from him ask what math rock was to no one in particular. It was the same reaction he’d had when he first stumbled upon the lesser known genre of rock. He continued to flip through records, making his way around the bins, waiting for something to catch his eye. He’d moved on to a second set of organized records when someone bumped into him. “Oh, no, I was clearly in the way here minding my own business,” he said with a soft grin on his lips, hoping she‘d understand that was just his lame sense of humor. “Absolutely not,” he answered with a laugh. “But, what’s the vibe you’re going for? If you’re hoping to like disassociate for a few hour, it might be a good pick.”

Location: Somewhere Downtown 🏙️

@crescentstarters​ (0/4)

“I swear, I’m going to fucking lose it on that guy if we don’t keep walking! What the fuck does he mean I can’t skate here? It’s a public fucking place. There’s no reason for me not to! I didn’t even break anything – fucking dumbass!” Sam’s eyes were gleaming and narrowed in annoyance and his rage radiated from him in the way he held himself. Body tense and his right hand gripping his board so hard his scraped knuckles turned white. Looking back at the middle-aged man who’d been calling him out for doing a 5-0 Grind on one of the stairs nearby once more. Ignoring whatever he was shouting at him still, he slowly turned his head to face the person with him. “I was gonna give him another piece of my mind but sadly the dude looks like he could take me down for good with a body slam so I don’t really wanna risk it. Wanna walk with me for a bit? The week only just started and I’m not ready to get into trouble on a Monday. It’s not even the fucking weekend yet,” he groaned, his free hand dragging through long strands of hair before reaching into his pocket to retrieve a pack of cigarettes. He flipped it open with ease and brought it up to his lips to pull one from it, holding it out to the person with him in a silent offer.

Andrew listened as Sam shouted, exhausted from simply witnessing how annoyed he was. He wondered if he cared about anything that much. He gave a nod when he was asked to walk, flipping his own board up to hold it behind his neck with both hands. “Since when does trouble wait for weekends?” he asked with a smirk. He took the offered cigarette and held it between his lips, waiting for a light. 

who: @crescentstarters​

what: lost idiot new girl

where: goldfinch valley

Fei had been in town exactly one week, which was long enough to have learned a few things. For example, she apparently now lived in a town with ‘Founding Families’ in it, whose names (although she could never remember them) held actual power in the town. Like they were all Voldemort or something. She looked down at the map - an actual physical map, for goodness’ sake - and sighed dramatically. Of all the days to leave her phone at home. Of course that’s when she’d get lost.

Since she’d learned to talk, Fei had never had any difficulty talking to strangers. It terrified her poor father, who tried his best to teach her about Stranger Danger, but she’s always been fascinated by people. So she picked one out now, almost at random, and flashed a bright smile. “Hi, are you in a terrible hurry, or would you be able to help a damsel in distress?”

His sunglasses sat low on his nose, hair pushed up on one side from just waking up. He was busying himself, kicking a rock down the sidewalk when a voice had him picking his head up. He glanced around to make sure he was the one being asked the question. “Just waiting to die,” he answered with a shrug. “What does the damsel need?”

full bio

Name: Andrew Zirman Gender/Pronouns: Male/He/Him Date of Birth: June 30 Age: 27 Hometown: Greenwich, CT Length of time in Crescent Harbor: 6 years Neighborhood: Goldfinch Valley Occupation: Filmmaker/Sub maker Faceclaim: Jamie Blackley

ABOUT

(trigger warnings: suicide, PTSD, anxiety)

There were only two Zirman boys. The eldest, Anthony, was everything parents wanted their child to be. He was an easy pregnancy according to Mrs. Zirman, a perfect baby according to the nurses that delivered him, and the golden child according to- everyone. Andrew came nearly five years later and he wasn’t nearly as perfect. He was difficult in the womb, it took 17 hours of labor to get him out, and he was a fussy kid on top of it all. While Anthony was an angel, Andrew was a tyrant. He liked getting into trouble and testing his parent’s limits. 

Things began to change when Andrew was three years old and took to playing the piano. It gave his parents a glimmer of hope that he’d be some child prodigy that would play with symphonies and orchestras around the globe. They got him the best piano teacher in the town and set his schedule around practicing his new found talent. Andrew liked the new attention he was receiving from his parents. He could suffer through hours of practice if it meant they’d fawn over him like they did Anthony. The piano was going to be his saving grace. 

That was until he had to perform in front of a live audience. A live audience of parents and family members of students that went to his preschool that had gathered for their annual talent show. The crowd was very forgiving. The boy who left M and N out of the alphabet when he was reciting it even got a standing ovation, so he really had nothing to worry about, but worry he did. He was a small bundle of nerves behind the makeshift stage, crying and shaking as he pleaded with his mother not to make him go on stage. It didn’t work, but a compromise was reached and she came to sit by him while he played. 

His parents' dream of Andrew becoming the next Motzart or Beethoven quickly crashed and burned. By the time he was eight, Andrew refused to go on stage. There weren’t enough good feelings in the world to make him forget the paralyzing fear of performing in front of a crowd of people, no matter how small the crowd may have been. It got to a point that his mother wasn’t willing to fight his unrelenting stubbornness. Andrew soon learned being steadfast with his wants usually got him his way since his parents didn’t bother to put up much of a fight. 

This only fueled the fire of defiance in Andrew. He started to gain a reputation for being a problem child. The teachers who had Anthony were unpleasantly surprised when Andrew entered their classes years later, being the disruption his older brother never was. It wasn’t until Andrew was enrolled in a film class his freshman year of high school that he found something to throw himself into like he had piano. He fell in love with the art of documentary film work and how beautifully people’s lives could be captured, no matter how mundane they thought themselves to be.

Things were going well in the Zirman household. Anthony was in the military, protecting and serving his country like he’d always wanted to do. Andrew wasn’t flourishing, but he was doing better than before and was causing a lot less headaches for his parents. He’d fallen more in love with filmmaking and wanted to really sink his teeth into it. While he didn’t have the best grades on the planet, the admissions committee of a film school in California was impressed with his application.

He was a semester into college when his brother returned from his tour in the Middle East. Anthony came back all in one piece, much to their mother’s relief, but he wasn’t the same. It was expected, sure, but he was a kind of off that made their parents worry. After a few months of being home Anthony was diagnosed with PTSD from the experiences he’d had overseas. Some days were better than others, but most days were terrible. 

Then on August 5th Anthony Edward Zirman shot himself through the chest in the driver’s seat of his ford pick up truck. His suicide note lay beside him on the passenger seat, detailing what it was like to live inside his mind. There was even a mention of why he shot himself through the heart; he wanted his brain to be intact so it could be studied. Even in his final moments, Anthony was looking out for others suffering like he had been. 

His parents threw themselves into time consuming projects to avoid acknowledging the big hole in their family. His mother joined a historic preservation society and his father quit his job to open a restaurant, despite being a terrible cook and knowing nothing about running his own business.  He named it the Big Belly Deli and decided to make it a bonding experience between him and his remaining son. Andrew fully planned on returning to school as soon as socially acceptable.