ᵍᶦʳᶫˢ ᶫᶦᵏᵉ ᵘ

He’s just getting off from his shift at the bar, and he’s far more than a little tipsy. By some miracle, he’s made it almost the whole way home with only a few stumbles, a scraped knee and a scuffed boot. The worst part, perhaps, is the fact he was working the afternoon shift today, so the sun is barely even setting as he graces the entrance of Marlborough apartments with his presence. He lowers himself down onto the steps out front, feet propped against the concrete and numb limbs fumbling to open his baccy tin in the vain hopes of rolling a cigarette. He should probably go straight up to his apartment and sleep it off, but his head won’t shut up – it just won’t, even with the amount of alcohol currently flooding his system. He’s been doing the math, he’s been figuring things out for himself, and now he’s left scared and drunk and not thinking straight at all. He barely recognises the sound of approaching footsteps, and if they’re talking to him, then he misses what they say. Maybe they didn’t say anything at all, and that’s just his head again. It takes a lot of effort to open his eyes (he didn’t know he’d closed them), and he just can’t find the will to look up at them yet. Maybe they’ll go away if he pretends they’re not there. 

Arden is just getting in. There’s something frighteningly sombre about her demeanour, the way she carries herself depicting her sobriety not only in the form of her lack of alcohol consumption today, but in her overall emotional state. It’s not often that one finds her in moods such as this, and the only reason she is in one is because of where she’s come from. Eli had cried and cried when she’d left, to the point that her mother had practically shoved her out the door just so she would be gone quicker, and he would calm down. Arden hates it. She hates it so much, and she hates even more that she doesn’t know how to fix it now -- that it’s so beyond the point of repair, and that there’s not a single fucking person to blame but herself. Her mind is on house parties and liquor when she reaches the front steps of Marlborough, and she almost misses the crumpled heap of a person entirely when she comes up past him. She probably would have, if it weren’t for the fact that she’s in tune with him on a deeper level than she is with most anyone else in this building. Maybe she gives a shit. Maybe she’s just craving a reason to not drown herself in booze tonight. Either way, she’s stopping at Kian’s side, and his pitiful attempts at rolling a cigarette whilst absolutely fucked really speak to her cold heart. Hello, distraction.

“Oh, thank you.” She replies, taking in their movements. “Arden. That’s really pretty.” An oddly familiar sensation is pulsing through her body, one where goose bumps are grazing the skin and a shiver is sent travelling up her spine. The strange part about it is that she has had this feeling before and it’s confusing. “Uh, yeah. I work at H&M, nothing all that exciting but it pays the bills. Got to do what you got to do.” Payton feels as though she’s digging herself a hole for disaster, her rambling just adding to her shame. But what does she have to be ashamed about? Not knowing what to say is what, apparently. “Have you managed to land yourself a job? I’m sure you would have been able to get any job with a smile that like.” It’s a playful compliment, one that Payton means nonetheless but whether it’s come out the right way is another story.

Explained as it was, Rory can understand where it might have been a lot more obvious that this was her beloved table than she had initially thought. Either that or this stranger just happens to be observant – a trait Rory instinctively admires given her lack thereof. A smile instantly warms her whole being at the invitation to stay. Her coffee shop visits are usually solitary adventures but Rory is not, at heart, a solitary being. “Of course I don’t mind. This means you’re automatically signed up for whipped cream watch though. If I walk out of here with some on my nose or my upper lip, it’s your fault.” She’s being playful, obviously, mood lightened at the prospect of company and the graciousness with which her presence has been received. “I’m Aurora, by the way. Most everyone calls me Rory.” She’d hold out her hand but figures against it. A table between them meant drinks to spill and Rory’s been particularly clumsy of late.

“girls only wear makeup and dress nice for guys!”

false. 

“You’re not being an inconvenience, definitely not.” This girl really knows how to talk, use her words in a way that gets Payton giddy. However, flirting has not come to mind as of yet. She’s standing there searching blindly for something to say, but nothing wants to escape. It’s as though all forming of coherent sentences has been ripped from her and replaced with babbling, rambling mess. “My name? Uh, no, I didn’t mention that. It’s Payton though, my name’s Payton.” It’s as if her cheeks are going to be permanently painted pink, and the back of her fingers against one confirm that they are heated with a form of embarrassment. “I don’t believe you mentioned your’s either. Do I get the privilege of knowing your name would be a proper question.”

Rory startles – which probably isn’t all that surprising considering how many noises spook her. She’s grateful the speaker interrupting her next sip of her drink has a voice far more gentle than a car horn or a door slamming back at Marlborough. “I’m so sorry,” she answers instantly, rewarding the stranger with a soft smile and a tip of her head. She feels around the floor for her cane, in case she should be forced to move tables – the last thing she wishes is to intrude on someone’s day. “I should have really asked before just making myself at home here; how silly of me. If you could direct me to an open table, I’d be much appreciative and I could be out of your way.” If not too chipper, she’s certainly being too accommodating, especially for being so clearly disabled. A question bubbles to the surface of her mind shortly after, bringing her brow into a polite furrow. “How did you know this was my usual?”

Rory’s learned to roll with situations as they happened upon her – something about being unable to properly gauge her surroundings forcing her to be flexible when encountering unexpected obstacles. Every day is an obstacle if she reflects on it the wrong way so, instead, she chooses to perceive them as an adventure – even something as simple as her daily trips to her favorite little coffee shops. It’s early; she’s up and readying herself for her piano lessons that afternoon which puts her in relatively high spirits. Ordering her coffee at the front counter, she makes her way to her usual table once it’s been handed to her, cane tapping against chair legs and the occasional shoe. She doesn’t think to check if there’s somewhere there already or not – it’s in such an obscure corner of the shop that it’s nearly always been free – so, naturally, she slides into the comforting familiarity of the booth, dropping her cane to her side so she can curl both hands around the whipped cream topped drink with a pleased little sigh. Her tongue swipes across her lips after the first sip, unwilling to walk around the entire day with cream below her nose or something equally ridiculous. Just because she couldn’t see didn’t mean she didn’t care about her appearance, after all.

Perhaps it’s fair to say that Payton is too naive to pick up on subtle flirting, even when it’s not that subtle. The way her hair falls naturally captures her attention instantly, admiration piquing as her head tilts ever so slightly as if to examine her just a little closely. It’s funny how the smallest of things can attract so much attention. “Sugar.” she repeats with a giggle; yes, a giggle. Sure, it’s probably a pet name she uses for most people but it makes Payton’s cheeks heat up nonetheless. “Well, in that case, you’ve run into the right girl.” She’s unfortunately become quite pally with loneliness, a little too well in fact and she dreads the thought of anyone falling victim to such a curse. “I’m not headed anywhere in a rush so I can keep you company, of course. I’m surprised I hadn’t seen you earlier. I tend to meet new residents shortly after they move in.” 

Lucian was hanging outside the building, the last bit of a cigarette dangling from his lips. The wisps of smoke curled up as he took it from his mouth, and dropped it to the ground, snuffing it out with the toe of his shoe. It was decompressing, but it was also a new place– one with new, well, customers. Definitely a few of his neighbors. His eyes scanned the area, before resting his eyes on someone just approaching the building. Lucian put on his best smile, and immediately strode over to the other tenant, an air of confident around him. “Hello! Hi, I think you might live in the same building as me, but you see, when I came out to have a cigarette, I think I have might have left my keys in the apartment.” That was a lie, but no one could tell with him any longer. The language that explained that long since repressed. “Do you think maybe you could let me in? Sorry to be a bother. The name’s Lucian Baz.”

She didn’t react when the stranger smiled, as the situation was not one she was used to, and this girl was not somebody she could trust. But, Pippa supposed that could be that way with almost anyone. She couldn’t remember the last time she placed her trust in someone, and it wasn’t like she was going to flip the switch and place it in this blonde. “How?” was her response, and she cautiously gripped the handle on Stella’s carriage. 

But, clearly, she didn’t need a verbal answer, as the girl reached into her hair, and it clicked with a sudden realization. A trick she never learned but often watched. “Oh,” she followed the question. “Um. Well. I don’t know.”

“I’ve never been to prison, personally, but I’d bet it’s a lot better than that,” He takes her words literally, probably needing to stop and think before he speaks, but when does he ever? “Oh, no offense taken.. I can’t say you’re exactly wrong,” and that was the truth– Caspar had encountered some interesting people, along with some interesting situations, all thanks to the worn down place he calls home. 

Jacob does a bit of a hair toss looks like it’s right out of Toddlers and Tiaras. He takes his natural given appearance for granted, knowing very well its all he has to depend on once the world has carved out the rest of his personality. “Mm, guess I haven’t. I don’t mingle around the building very often, to be fair,” he’s intrigued by the possibility of someone attractive in the apartments-— not that it really means all that much to him, he doesn’t need a significant other dragging him down. “They’ve got a name?”

Ricklyn was tried, a bit to tired to be out and about at the moment but he needed to get things for his mother and brother. No, this time it wasn’t work that had him tired. It was actually his sister, who he just got off the phone arguing with. He would never understand how she could be so selfish knowing what he has to do to help, but at the end if the day he knew that if he could do what she was doing he would. Hell, he even tried to, but sometimes dreams come true and then are crushed. At the moment he just gave up. His leg didn’t want to move anymore or maybe it was just his mind telling him to just lay down. So he did. Right where he was he just laid down, arms and legs spread out wide. It could have looked like he fell out, the dramatic way he just fell down, but he was okay. His eyes closed and he let out a sigh.

“You’re welcome.” It may be rather odd but Payton watches her release the smoke into the air, not that she has an sort of fascination with watching people smoke by any means but she more just doesn’t know where to look. Silence is not something she’s all too fond of to say the least. They’re gorgeous though, from what she can see of her anyway. When she looks Payton’s way, however, she can confirm that yes, she’s a sight for sore eyes. Reaching out once more to take back the lighter, she simply cannot help the little chuckle that’s escaping in response. “Hi,” she returns, her warm, trademark smile softening her features. “Is there anything else you need? I may have it in here.” She teases, gesturing to her medium sized back.

Willa lifts a brow at Arden’s words. Though her face shows a calm and steady expression of interest in the small talk being made, Willa’s mind is far from any of those things. After all, how do you remain focused on someone before you when you’re too busy recalling times before? She thinks it all is too familiar, too weird, more than anything Willa wants to take the girl out for coffee, considering she’s a teetotal now, and talk about them. Talk about things bigger than work and living arrangements. 

“Is that so?” Willa asks, a cheery smile joining her words. “What a small world.” She doesn’t let that be the end of her words out of fear that Arden might think she’s beating around the actual things she’s thinking about this news. “You should come over soon, I can cook us dinner as a welcome to the apartments gift to you,” Willa said with a chuckle despite that upon exiting of her words, she regrets them immediately. She can’t help but to cater to Arden, that’s how it has always been, but she wishes it were easier to not. She wishes that she could have just given the girl her phone back and been on her way, but of course, she would have done anything for the girl including letting her guard down. “I’m glad to hear. Anything else you’re doing with your free time?” Willa asks without a concern as to how nosey that may have been.

To say she’s pleased with the way Willa is receiving her would be the understatement of the century, and perhaps the infrequent flashes of better times long passed are starting to get to her, but there’s a curl of warmth in her chest that trickles down sweet into her tummy to permeate her from the inside out in the best way. She’s offered her dinner, and she couldn’t of asked for this to go more smoothly even if she’d had time to plan it. The other had always been weak for her, right from the start, and she’s never had trouble manipulating that, but this has to be the most success she’s ever had simply winging it. Perhaps she’s not as off her game as she’d thought, or maybe this is just a special case. An exception.