i want to believe

“Depends I guess. Did he live a life devoted to the Lord?” Impatiently drawing a cigarette from the pack he’d shoved in his pocket, he glanced over at the other before taking a drag, eyes moving to study stranger’s faces in the crowd. “I hope so –– don’t think we’ve have an undead article of clothing make a cameo before. Could boost our ratings.”

“I’d like to say yes, but that’d likely be a lie.  A shirt that comfortable has gotta be a sin,” He mused, shaking his head mournfully, imagining the spirit of his shirt rotting in some circle of hell.  “What if he comes back as a poltergeist or something?  Maybe he blames me for his death; that’d make for some pretty spooky shenanigans.”

Kieran nods seriously, watching as the bikers pulled the poor boy’s stuff apart. “Definitely. Stuff is just stuff, what really matters is what you got here,” he says, tapping the side of his head, “and here,” he finishes, patting his chest. “You replace all the rest of it, you know?”

“You’re right.  I mean, it’s just material stuff.” He agreed, though he was still unable to shift his attention away from the destruction.  “That being said, I definitely don’t do laundry often enough to only own one outfit.  At least, not if I want to continue smelling boyishly sweet.  Instead of, y’know, just boyish.”

Everything had been fun and games until the bikers started to tear into shit that wasn’t theirs. Malicah’s hand rested softly on the August’s back and gave him a few gentle pats. “S’not fair at all. I’d say stand up to them but…” Their words trailed off while they shifted their gaze back and forth between the differing bodies. “They’ve got at least a hundred and fifty pounds on you. Not wise.” They’d join in and help, of course, but they didn’t believe in laying hands on another person. “We can go shopping for more shit tomorrow?” They finally concluded apologetically.

“What, you don’t think I could take ‘em?” Momentarily distracted from the tragedy unfolding before him, August turned to face Malicah, grin spreading across his face.  He’d never been in a fight in his life, of course, and wasn’t about to start one now--especially not with anyone as large as the kind men rifling through his belongings.  “I dunno, I reckon I could knock those dudes on their asses.  With all my muscle mass, and all.  They probably wouldn’t even put up a fight.”

Jesse leaned against the wall, mild amusement flashing across his features as he watched August’s shirt stretch at the seams. “At this rate, it might be pieces,” he mused, eyeing the biker as he tugged the fabric over his protruding stomach, an audible tear prompting a slight wince. He pressed a glass to his lips before raising it in a mock toast. “May he live on in our hearts.”

Anticipating the tear, August averted his eyes just in time as his shirt met its untimely demise, but he could still feel the shirt’s death hovering in the air.  “Hope he at least goes to shirt heaven, or wherever the hell clothing goes to die.”  Exhaling a sigh, he lifted his own drink before gulping down a sip.  “Maybe the ghost of my shirt will be the guest star in our next episode.”

July watched the bikers tearing into her brother’s suitcase, throwing things around. Hers was probably next. Damn, she had books in there, and a scarf she was working on, and some cookies she’d brought for the crew, and – “Wait, dude, is that my copy of The Secret History?” A large book was, indeed, flying across the room, landing with a thud and a broken spine. “I’ve been looking for that for since Christmas.”

“Secret what? No, I think you’re confused. That was my….. Dictionary.” August cleared his throat gently, trying to seem nonchalant although he knew full well that his sister wouldn’t believe him. “Anyway, that’s not the point, July. You aren’t focusing on the tragedy at hand,” he gestured to the chaos around them. “A book lost its life, does it really matter whose book it was?”

“Should’a kept your shit in the bus, like I did,” Kieran says, apathetically, as if he, or anyone else, had seen this coming. Obviously, he hadn’t, he had just been too lazy in the moment to bring his stuff into the motel, wanting to just sleep after an incredibly boring day. “Maybe if you ask them politely, they’ll stop,” he says, joking, though his tone was so monotone and even, it was impossible to tell. 

“Hindsight’s 20/20,” he commented mildly. Watching his belongings diffuse throughout the room, it seemed to August that it was too late to stop it even if he wanted to.  Skipping through every stage of grief and landing immediately at acceptance, he merely sighed, then shrugged. “Maybe the universe is trying to convince me to live a minimalist lifestyle."

Flipping the cap on Ford’s stolen Zippo clutched between her fingers, Bradley sank down to lean on the wall besides him as she slowly swayed it mid air in dramatic send off. “He died so young,” she got out through lips ripe with the lingering taste of black cherry, resting them momentarily on the rim of her cider can before she took a small sip. “Crying shame, really.” Pushing up from the chipped paint wall, Bradley plucked a shirt from the masses and held it against her torso. “Think this’ll make my eyes pop?”

geek ass nerd

thinks he’s cool because he skateboards and listens to indie music

really likes conspiracy theories and will believe just about anything if u give enough “supporting evidence”

will do literally anything for the #aesthetic

has seen waaaaaaay too many episodes of the x files

grew up in connecticut w his sister (@julyrob) and her cats (who he claims partial ownership of despite the fact that he doesn’t rly help take care of them at all)

would Die for his sister but pretends he hates her bc he’s ~punk rock~

aspires to someday marry fox mulder but for now he just plays video games and hunts ghosts