bad lands.

             ‘   look,   no offense but i am not a fucking shrink —  ’

------ he blinks at the other, mouth falling open slightly. had he been talking that much? he hadn’t meant to. “oh! i...well, i’m sorry. remind me to keep my work stories to myself.”

A sunny day at the Brighton Pier during the summer is as crowded as it sounds. Hadley finds himself submerged comfortably in a large group of people hanging about outside of the arcade, though he suspects that a lot are just overflow from the line into the ice cream shop. He had the early shift at the diner this morning, and while there had been a fair few people that came in (there’s always a steady flow during tourist season), it had still been too slow to satiate his need for socialization. Plus there was the whole doing his job thing that got in the way, which yeah, can be a bit of a bummer when all he wants is to talk. He’s got sticky hands from the melting of his own ice cream over his fingers, but he ignores it, napkin already crumple up into a ball in his second hand. It’s pretty much a miracle that he finds a free place on a bench to plop himself down next to somebody, so he considers this his lucky day as he turns to address them with a large smile on his face. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Tumbles somewhat awkwardly from his mouth, followed up close by, “you like plays, right? Like, musicals.”

------ he’s humming along to the sound of a far off band playing on the pier when he’s approached by hadley, and really, the other couldn’t of came at a better time. it had been a rather long day at work, and while he enjoys the emporium to no end, it’s a bit daunting to walk around for hours to take care of the flowers. normally he wouldn’t complain -- he’s never been a complainer by any means -- but there’s this shooting pain in his lower back, and it hurts to walk. deciding to shake it off, he wandered here after work, plopping down on a nearby bench to take a much needed break. his blue hues drift over to the curly haired boy, eyes flashing with delight; it’s always a pleasure to see him, and he’s suddenly wishing he brought a flower for him because he knows how much he likes the flowers. after all, it’s how the fast friends met in the first place. “’tis beautiful, mate,” he muses in wonder, tilting his head back to close his eyes for a moment and let out a loud sigh in contentment, body readily relaxing against the wood surface of the bench. at his question, his eyes snap up, and he’s giving his friend and expectant look. “are you really asking me that, had? of course i love musicals. why?”

It hurt, when he fell, it’s not that it didn’t. In fact, for a second, he even thought he saw cartoon birds rotating his head and stars shooting to the front of his eyes. It hurt, but the shame somehow hit him tenfold, his pale face turning red as he lifted his hands to his face to cover them. “I’m sorry,” He managed to groan out at the person he’d fallen against before forcing his body up, his head immediately throbbing in protest. “Are you okay?”

a groan falls from his lip once his bum hits the floor, and he’s finally looking up at the other at this point, rubbing at his face in embarrassment it hide the flush that littered his cheeks rather pathetically. “jesus christ, i’m so sorry... i --,” he takes a moment to breathe and calm down, yet he can feel his hands shaking as eyes train to the two of them. “i swear i didn’t mean to. the real question is are you okay?” his eyes are flooded with worry as he sizes him up.

Working as a receptionist at the hotel was slightly exhausting. She was the person that everyone saw when their first walked into the hotel - that besides the person who often opened the door for them. She was the person who was supposed to give the hotel a good first impressional. A lot of times when people would first walk up to her to check in, they’d be tired. It was a hotel after all. Some guests were great while some were a piece of work. Xiomara would never tell anyone the real reason she worked there; it would be a secret for now. After a long shift, she clocked out, changed out of her work clothes and made her way through Brighton. She pulled her camera out of her purse and started taking a few pictures, purposely taking shots of other people so she could try to keep tabs on them. It’s been a year since she’s been at Brighton, but she’s still wanting to know everything about everyone. It’ll get her in trouble one day, but she’s not too concerned right now.

------ eyes cast downward, he isn’t exactly looking where he’s going as he trudges through the city of brighton, his home of two years. the blonde is lost in a train of thoughts that seem to edge on his sluggish, zombie like movements, and it’s as if his brain was working a mile a minute with the way his brows were furrowed, bottom lip tugged into his mouth -- a nervous habit he developed some time after coming home from france. bowie can’t quite make out the steps he’s taking seeing as he’s not entirely focused on walking, so whenever he bumps into the other, it shocks him into a wide eyed glance, mouth forming into an ‘o’ shape. the two didn’t clash hard, but they might as well have with how he was sputtering his apologies, hands raised in surrender. “oh my goodness, i am so sorry! it’s all my fault -- i wasn’t looking where i was going,” he confessed, and really, it’s not that big of a deal, but he’s got a lot on his mind, so he might as well have murdered her family.