GhostBoy!

A judgmental look, along with pointed digits picking,prodding, and pulling at the overtly frilly garment’s protruding edges is all that’s met with upon questioning Archie’s opinion. He could have grimaced, but the lack of caffeine  surging through his system is enough to dull Archie’s irritability into a slow burning distaste for the task at hand: fucking shopping. 

“It’s futile, y’know.” Archie’s flippant tone had nearly been stifled by a poorly timed crunch of teeth to stale ice cream cone; the white treat seeping out messily to decorate the man’s lips, with it’s corn-based vessel momentarily depositing loose crumbs in either corner of Archie’s mouth. Any attempt in mumbling some semblance of a coherent message, and the string of meaningless taunts are thwarted by the mouthful of ice and cream currently working of numb the man’s tongue. It’s ridiculous, embarrassing even, and yet Archie ducks in proudly for his second bite. “Not a soul on the fucking planet who can eat more ice cream than I can.”

Teeth biting roughly into the chocolate he leans back in his seat. Eyes glancing  at the floor and then briefly at the people walking past him. It was waiting time for him, they had plans to meet up Oscar had curiously asked Archie to take him to a tattoo shop. Oscar didn’t want a tattoo he had just wanted to see and also didn’t believe Archie who had told him earlier that they barely hurt. People’s pain level were obviously different and Oscar was pretty sure his was the lowest it could get. It might feel like someone was hacking off a body part slowly; he could only imagine and hope that no accidents happened at the place he was visiting. 

The echoing tap of heavy boots to concrete had marked Archie’s late arrival, with each step drawing the man closer towards his lazed and waiting friend. Normal circumstances and the request to meet up would have been quickly followed, if not immediately, by a refusal on Archie’s part; his stubborn distate for anything other than afternoons on the couch in his underwear no doubt carving a hefty pit in the man’s social life. Yet despite his penchant for apathy, its the simple, subtle suggestion that maybe-- just maybe he’d have an excuse to ink himself once more, that would be more than enough to pull Archie from his self-imposed confines and onto the streets of the city they live in, all without a second moment or thought spared.

“This world is a fucking mess.”

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A squint, a sneer, or a scoff– all three genuinely capable of detailing Archie’s vehement response to his friend’s words. His droopy set of shoulders rose to proper form in a way that almost challenged the sentiment, giving Archie the look of learned self-importance (a trait he carried with him at all times, no doubt). A single bony hand plunged deep within the bowl of shared popcorn between the two men, carving out a generously sized clump of the snack to messily pelt his friend with.

+ saintguts

Dreary weather and damp, oil-slicked asphalt streets crafted an unusually somber mood for an August morning. Frail shoulders slumped beneath the thinner black coat Archie had draped over his frame that morning, the light fabric only adding fuel to a supposed silhouette of a thin boy standing in shoes twice his size. Archie’s uniform never once fit him properly; tucked, trimmed, and tailored all to no avail. So he stands there, with thighs propped against the hood of his rain speckled car and an unlit cigarette in his hand, looking more like a kid playing dress-up than the detective who fought tooth and nail in order to earn his shiny badge. 

Week old contact lenses burned over the man’s tired eyes, crying out for a much needed replacement as Archie scanned the crowd for the one he had been waiting for. A fucking rookie. He’d have snot in his nose and tissues bundled within the useless confines of a shirt’s breast pocket, no doubt. Regulation police boots to top off the rest of his ironed and pressed costume, tucked in and handled with a mother’s loving touch. He’d probably be a fucking pre-teen with cleaned ears and tongue that’s never curled around words so unholy they’d knock your mother on her ass. But the worst part of it all--?

Eyes seemed to turn upwards with surprise glistening, before she turned her head towards the rest of the desolate bar. There hadn’t been enough thought in her head to process the fact that time had passed between the time she had arrived and the time it was now, but logic being, she was preoccupied with somber thoughts. “I appreciate it.” A mutter across coral lips, as she turned her eyes back down towards the drink as if it would give her all the answers but the question being was did she want the answers. “Sorry, sorry.” A dismissive wave of one hand, as finally she let the liquid emotion slip past her lips and down her throat. The self mendicant wasn’t going to fix her problems, but it’d let her somber thoughts take a dip into the depths of black that knows no bounds within her. It was quite the time to be suffering so sullenly, as her comeback was fast approaching and she had light in her life with her friends wedding, but Hyuna was someone who was incredibly volatile. From one extreme to the other, and god forbid you can warped into one of her more negative moods.

“I wish it did, it’d make life easier if it could give me the answers I need to know.” Maybe the blissfulness of others had her in constant state of reminder for her own miserable emotions. Wedding announcements by the numbers, people smiling. All of it making her want to vomit the contents of her stomach, and that was something she had found was so frequent it had become of her every day being. “What do you do when there’s so much happiness around you that you feel like you should be happy too, but nothing can make you happy and you just in turn end up loathing everyone silently. It’s not like you can tell them that. I can’t tell my best friends that I hate them for being happy, just because I’m a jealous piece of shit.” Artificial eyes looked dull as she looked towards him, as she rested her chin on her bawled fist, which was connected to the propped elbow on the bar.

“Also I’ll take another, and I’ll give you a really good tip if you stay just a little bit longer.” It was almost like she was pleading with him not to leave her alone.

“One, and done. I have shit to do when I get home, you know.” Even the simplest promise of a pocketful full of cash, along with an excuse to wet his whistle had been reason enough for Archie. He tugged his own drifting attention from an outward display of aggravation, instead directing the weary focus Archie boasted into pouring either of them a drink; two squared glasses nursing an amber whiskey within the confines of it’s clear walls. Though languid and aching with the lull of sleep deprivation, each motion, each curl of his digits and curving of his palms, each lift of either arm had all read with his own brand of muted anticipation. His parched state had etched itself into every facet of Archie’s expression, settling darkening circles beneath two dulled brown eyes. It was moments like these, were nothing but stale, lingering breaths from drunken customers tangled with an overhead, overplayed soundtrack and it’s collected dust, the hanging in air growing so thick with a day’s worth of tales riddled with remorse and unsolved domestic quarrels, when the silence in Archie’s bar had grown to be so deafening that he had the time to take a fucking drink.

The entire 41-50 is missing on the meme, so I guess I’m staring with 51.