welcome the king --

NATALIE.

—

her gaze, once blue and now, somehow, devoid of its color, was sharp in her stare. a thousand thoughts racing through her mind, enough to press against the corner of her eyes, stinging around her nose, tiny childish tears poking, begging to be left out in the sudden anger boiling over her. she still didn’t believe this wasn’t a hallucination. “yeah. right”. a half scoff, then natalie got up, headed for the door. halfway through she turned, half-stunned, enraged. arms quickly folded against her chest, for fear she might do something — anything, anything just to push him away, shove him back into the nightmare he’d crawled out of . “what the fuck are you doing here, anyway? no, it fucking sucks to see you, el. i’d started to think you were dead, and honestly — i was fine with that”. 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Soliciting at this point, honestly. When he was in the good graces of the music world, he didn’t put a second thought into her. But now with all this time to think, he knew just how horribly he treated her. Not that he’d apologize, it was the thought that counts, right? He then scoffed at her statement. “Ouch, babe. Don’t you know by now that you can’t get rid of me that easily?” 

MILA.

✤₥♔

                                         The high heels clicking on the pavement came into a halt as feline hues caught sight of the unfamiliar figure. The man’s offer came a little sudden and was quite simple, but it hooked Mila; if only for a moment. Not long ago, she was sitting in a similar spot on the street, hoping that someone would be enchanted enough by her voice and her violin to give her a shot. The corners of her mouth curved, forming a grin that held the warmth and kindness. “I’ll give you ten if I like it,” she retorted lightly, her shoulders shrugging as her hands were shoved in the pockets of her jeans.

Normally, he wouldn’t entertain the idea but he found the woman hot, honestly and that was enough to make him continue to talk to her, whatever it took to do that. “If?” He was offended that she didn’t just assume she’d fall in love with his cover. “Do you know who I am?”

MORGAN.

She stopped when the voice spoke to her and she turned her head, concidering the offer he was making her“Wonderwall?” Morgan said with a smile, noticing the guitar in the man’s hands and the open case in front of him. “How about “Come as You Are” and I’ll make it ten,” she answered with a smile. Her brother tried to teach her how to play the guitar but she never had enough time for it nor the patience. 

Anthony sighed, not wanting to play anything really. “I don’t usually do requests,” But that was because he didn’t have to before. “Make it thirty and toss in some breakfast,” Now that was a deal he’d take in a heartbeat. He didn’t miss being a struggling artist. 

NATALIE.

—

the voice came first. something out of a memory — perhaps a nightmare, that same mellow note that was in such stark contrast with the voice of someone who had the power to cut her up, throw her out in scraps. she turned, a knee-jerk reaction as her attention suddenly snapped against him, his features, his demeanor crashing against the vacant room in her memories where he used to be. but he couldn’t be here. it wasn’t possible, it wasn’t acceptable: natalie returned her gaze to the asphalt, much more alert now, heartbeats spiking. is this a panic attack?, she thought, while her breathing became labored. it had to be an hallucination of sorts: perhaps the heat and exhaustion had joined their forces in depriving her of her sanity. perhaps he was a spirit straight out of her subconscious. but she looked again, and he was still there — sure looked like a demon, not the way she remembered him (gold-bright, divine). a shocked, half-laugh cut through her throat as she stared, wide eyed, in disbelief. “you’re not really here”. a statement, or maybe a request: you can’t be here. not now. not again.

"I’m not a figment of your imagination, darlin’,” He ensured as he looked at her, “I’m right here.” Part of him couldn’t help but smirk at her, knowing that this was probably a bit of a shock for her. His eyes looked her up and down, taking in the sight in front of him. She looked different for some reason to him, maybe it was because they were older. Honestly, he wasn’t sure. “I’m sure it’s good to see me, isn’t it?”

MORGAN.

Morgan peered at the male and snorted when she immediately recognized them. “Anything less sappy in your repertoire?” The brunette asked as she stepped forward and unfolded a bill she’d tucked in her pocket, dropping the ten dollar in the male’s case. “The sight is depressing enough that I couldn’t bare listening to the song as well.” A taunt, but mainly because she knew him and was more than certain he wouldn’t take her comment to heart too much. @anthonypolat​

“Depends on how much you give me,” He said as he put the bill in his case, “Have you never seen artists playing on streets before?” It was pretty normal for someone in his line of work. However, he hadn’t done this in a long time. “What do you want me to play then? I could do Brown Eyed Girl or Stairway to Heaven,” He offered, “I have a very full repertoire.” 

NATALIE.

where: blue hill diner, 13 pm. to: open @redridgestart​

lunch hour was, as usual, a close rendition to hell on earth. customers had rushed in and out, and it felt like lately everyone had been just a little more on edge than usual — the usual grind of this job had been rendered lifelessly cruel, even, when every single customer appeared to be carelessly neurotic, harsh and simply looking for reasons to get angry. and she felt all of it — like their anger was some sort of virus, and inside of her it felt heavy, something like a sour aftertaste sticking to the back of her tongue. she was tired, running around delivering orders with a thin film of sweat gathering on her back, her shirt sticking to her skin. by the time she’d managed to catch a break, the sun was scalding hot outside. 

she’d smoked in silence, though her nervousness couldn’t be wiped away by nicotine. something had been ticking her for days; not just the regular incursions of valencia people showing up on her doorstep (how she hated those visits), nor the low influx of customers asking for tattoos. it was something in the air, rather; she’d been trying so hard to avoid newspapers and headlines, and yet it felt they’d changed the atmosphere in its core. heading back inside, then, exhaustion fell upon her bones — she had to get back inside, instead took her place on the curb and let her cigarette burn down to cinders. the second she could hear steps, her reflex was spontaneous — “i’ll be there in a sec. just — gimme a minute”.

Lingering outside of a Diner was something he never would’ve done a few months ago. Now, times were different and he was looking for some extra tips. After returning from his so-called lunch break, Anthony stopped in his tracks, guitar in hand. He knew her, even from the back of her head. He knew that voice. “I think you’re gonna need a little longer than a minute,” He exasperated, “Smoking’s bad for you,” He warned, “I thought you knew that?” As a singer, he tried to stay away from it but sometimes he couldn’t help himself. “Or next time, you should share.” He knew what he was doing, talking to her after all these years. All he could do was smirk. 

Outside of Blue Hill Diner

@redridgestart​

Most might call it soliciting, but he called it business. The more he sat on the street, the more people would know that he could be hired for all of their needs, that is within the musical spectrum. His guitar case was open in front of him as he played around with the strings of his guitar. At the sight of a figure passing, Anthony tried to grab their attention, “I’ll play you Wonderwall for five bucks.” 

Raf: Yo, street rat, I need you to make a drop tonight.

Raf: Impulse, between 3am & 5am. You still got the key or did you give it back to Kingsley?

Ant: Can we call me something like Anthony instead of street rat? I'm not Aladdin.

Ant: I still have a key.

DAMIEN.

status: open for everyone @redridgestart​ location: subtext bookstore / 5 p.m.

“Not too far, Lyla,” he watched his daughter – a self-proclaimed bookworm – run her way into Subtext, straight upstairs towards the kids section. “Stop running!” he called out, watching her turn momentarily, throwing him a quick scowl and then a grin as she continued. She was rebellious, stubborn, fucking hard-headed, just like her father. It was funny, she looked a lot like her mother, had her nose, her hair, even some of the same expressions reminded him of her – but every bit of her personality was Damien’s.

He made his way towards the cafe area, not really one for books (it involved too much concentration, something he barely even had just to take care of his kid alone), seeing the line grow in front of him, his boot hitting against something small as he made his way forward. A pager. An actual fucking pager. He lowered himself to pick it up, his hands fidgeting with it for a minute, “damn, I haven’t seen one of these in forever.” His eyes caught sight of the person standing in front of him, “is this yours? Just found it on the floor there.”

He shouldn’t have been in a bookstore in the first place. Everything was pretty overwhelming in here, but he was looking for a few music for sightseeing books. Before heading out, he wanted to at least grab a coffee before leaving. 

Waiting in line, he looked behind him, "Nope, I’m not a drug dealer,” He smirked, looking at the pager, “Or a doctor for that matter. Are you sure it’s not yours?”

@redridgeimp​

Stats;

Full Name: Anthony “Elvis” Polat. Birthday:  January 2nd.  Zodiac sign: Capricorn.  Age: 28.  Gender: Male Pronouns: He/him. Sexuality: Bisexual, biromantic. Occupation: Freelance Musician & Street rat.