BREATHE IN,

❀ *ﾟ song mingi. twenty-nine. cis man. he/him. bisexual sagittarius. ⇝ looks like dante limon-driscoll blew in about six months ago and never left. they’ve proven themselves to be sincere & outspoken, but being questionable & scattered is their downfall. it’s only fitting that what’s new scooby-doo by simple plan is playing when they leave the motel, where they live on the RV lot. rumor has it that he believes he was possessed by a demon as a teenager, wonder if that’s why the true crime journalist & part-time mall character moved out of their place in coolville, ohio.

“Protesting shoes? Eh, she was rejecting her greens the other day,” she commented nonchalantly on Eugenia’s picky phase, which was dealt with with thin patience for the raven and more chipper attitude when it came to her roommates. Scratching her scalp absently, she stepped inside and softly thanked him — a loose habit from growing up, she supposed, that would remain stitched into her being whether it was of her free volition or not, and she had the urge to look around the RV and inspect Dante’s current living space. The home she lived in now was nice, unusually cleanly — Ivy’s idea of living was inclined to raggedy apartments in need of maintenance, wilting toward steady decline the very way that she was throughout various steeples in her young adulthood. Turning to face Dante respectfully, her eyes connecting with the jacket and grimacing, holding her hand out to take it. “I’ll get her to wear it ‘fore we leave — The errands were pretty bloody boring, but it’s nice to hear my brain think without her singing the latest Barbie soundtrack that Val bought her.” She plastered on a strained smile at that, no doubt Dante could see right through it. Safe to say, she hadn’t yet learned to smoothly navigate parenting and as secluded as she was, she found difficulty in the total wreckage of privacy and peace of mind when Eugenia was awake and extremely active. “Little bugger still getting ready? Should I sit for a minute?”

the voice is one he knows, etched into memory. but his eyes are on the young girl first, then the wings, then his face and there’s a grin spreading across his own features. instead of letting his mind wander now that he’s finally come across him, his grin turns to soft smile. darlin’. his grin widens, but he doesn’t comment on that.  “oh because i’m cute, i’m not the one wearing fairy wings, you look adorable.” he coos, a small pucker of his lips into a playful pout and he laughs and his attention goes to the young girl and he cocks his head to the side, tries to be as gentle as he can. “and who’s this little cutie?” he asks, he KNOWS, but he doesn’t just assume, waits to be introduced first before he says anything else. 

@danteslament·

[ rv lot. ]

On the list of errands for the day was picking up her daughter from Dante’s, who’d insisted on taking Eugenia shopping for her Halloween costume after Ivy had nonchalantly mentioned not being able to afford one. She could scrape together tips from the club for it and Valerie would have undoubtedly pitched in, but she didn’t particularly care to mooch off her roommates — so if Dante wished to step up to the plate and take their daughter shopping, all the better. She had to admit, in spite of her initial apprehension, Dante’s parenting comprehension was leaps and bounds ahead of hers, and a part of her ( the deep, dark, embittered part of herself ) wondered whether that had anything to do with his serene, happy-go-lucky upbringing and supportive parents. Hands stuffed into her coat and dying cigarette in her lips, she trotted up the steps to the RV’s door at a leisurely pace, taking her sweet time to get there and knock on the door. Waiting for the sound of rustling inside expectant, she crossed her arms over her chest, removing the flickering bud from her lips and pressing it out on the nearby railing, tossing it into the grass carelessly. Sue her for not giving a fuck about the environment, one little cigarette butt wasn’t going to implode the universe. “Open the door, lazybones,” she pressed, her shrill voice no doubt projecting to half the parking lot, a sigh of relief wafting from her lips with haste when it finally opened up and straightening her slouched posture. “Took you long enough, mate. You stay up too late letting her watch movies again?”

[ carnival, early evening ]    

he’s not really all that focused on the other people around him, and for someone who LIKES to be around others while he gets up to exciting stuff, he’s far too excited to be paying attention, a lot like a five year old waking up on christmas to a whole bunch of presents. he’s enjoying himself just a little too much, and he knows he needs to start paying attention to others around him, but he’s pushed that thought to the back of his mind and is quite happy to be just wandering around himself. he bumps into someone and he stands back, FINALLY has to actually pay attention. “sorry about that i wasn’t paying attention!” 

You see, there were a few normal tasks that he expected he should be able to complete without running into any number of his exes or past conquests — APPARENTLY, taking out the trash in the middle of the fucking night was not one of them and the whiplash he got from hearing the low voice nearly earned the garbage bag being flung across the lot. Picture this, a parent of three and typically decked out in leather jacket, leather pants, or otherwise questionably eccentric attire accosted in the midst of the RV lot in his Playboy hoodie, sweats, and completely bare-faced with his au natural curls out for God and her constituents to fucking see — well, that was him right now, whipping around to find the source of the voice offering him a pack of cigarettes a little less than a foot away. Owl-eyed in the dark and willing the climbing urge to change lenses, so to speak, and navigate the din better, he instead opted to restlessly shift from one foot to the other and eye the pack of cigarettes. “You almost made me shit myself, mate. Were you always this fuckin’ quiet?”

Were it anyone else, he wouldn’t bicker. Well, actually, he would, especially if it was Evren — being offered a cigarette couldn’t, certainly, spiral out of control into something fucking weird, or at least, not any weirder than the cryptid guy that Cyrek caught hanging around the other’s RV on few occasions. Taking a moment to hurl the trashbag over his shoulder and into the dumpster around the edge of the lot, he walked over, footsteps featherlight in his moccasins and thin fingers outstretched to swipe a cigarette in his digits. “You got a light? If you don’t mind, that is,” he questioned, raking his eyes up and down Dante’s figure to try to gauge what, exactly, had the on-edge man up this early, without a streak of dawn in the skies. For Cyrek, it was a regular morning, and getting a full night’s rest was considerably difficult with a five month old and slammed schedules thanks to his various occupations. Between that and caring for the children, the firebrand found it difficult to indulge in activities that wouldn’t involve sleeping afterward, lest he asked for extra help. Twirling the cancer stick in his fingers, his hand gesticulated the mug clasped in the other’s. “You gettin’ ready for work already?”

          you  want  him  to  be  honest  ?  like,  completely  and  totally  fuckin’  honest  ?  he  kinda  hopes  he  had  run  into  something  a  little  more  murderous,  the  fuckin’  bogeyman  or  some  shit  —  not  that  he  had  anything  against  cyrek  because,  christ,  what  was  there  to  have  against  him  ?  flings  or  flings  and  dante’ll  be  the  first  to  admit  he  hadn’t  wanted  anything  more  from  it  (  there’s  a  reason  for  that,  a  reason  he’s  not  ready  to  admit,  so  don’t  fuckin’  bother.  )  the  side  -  eye  glance  he  gives  the  other  is  not  out  of  disrespect  —  skepticism  maybe,  a  certain  kind  of  weariness  terribly  on  brand  for  the  conspiracy  theorist  journalist.  a  deep  breath  steadies  him,  calms  nerves  that  were  impossible  to  shake  so  he  stopped  trying,  and  one  shoulder  raises  in  this  kinda  half  -  assed,  barely  -  thought  -  out  shrug.  “  shit,  my  bad.  and,  ah  —  fuck,  i  dunno.  probably  ?  no  one’s  ever  made’a  comment  on  it  before,  i  guess.  ”  except  they  probably  have,  and  he  probably  had  the  exact  same  response,  so  he  never  bothered  to  commit  that  shit  to  memory.  

         dante  would  like  to  get  one  thing,  and  one  thing  only,  straightened  out  and  outta  the  way  —  not  a  damn  thing  in  his  life  could  be  considered,  classified,  or  what  have  you  ...  as  conventional.  there  always  was  (  and  always  will  be  )  a  couple’a  ounces  of  strangeness,  with  a  side  of  skepticism  and  the  desire  to  fuckin’  believe  mixing  into  one  very  confusing,  and  mildly  fucked  up,  cocktail  of  emotions.  yeah,  he  can  brush  off  most  of  the  shit  he  sees  (  or  thinks  he  sees  )  and  he  can  ignore  what  people  tell  him  is  true  and  what  isn’t,  because  everyone’s  got  a  different  view,  that’s  just  how  life  works.  there’s  some  shit,  though  —  some  shit  that’s  beyond  his  realm  of  understanding  and  that  should  turn  him  off,  drive  him  away.  shouldn’t  it  ?  like,  wouldn’t  most  people  leave  well -  enough  alone  and  carry  on  peacefully  with  their  lives  ?  AND  THAT’S  THE  THING  : he’s  never  been  like  most  people.  

         the  days  in  which  dante  doesn’t  find  himself  on  high  -  alert  are  few  and  far  between.  his  skepticism  is  not  rooted  in  disbelief  of  the  “  otherworldly  ”   things  people  claim  to  experience,  but  the  disbelief  that  there  are  others  who  claim  these  things  are  highly  unlikely.  their  insistence  that  those  things  couldn’t  possibly  happen  has  always  rubbed  him  the  wrong  way  and,  yeah,  he’s  kinda  made  it  a  point  to  try  and  prove  those  people  wrong.  these  habits  have  turned  him  into  someone  rather  perceptive  and,  much  to  anyone  and  everyone’s  chagrin,  fuckin’  nosy.  YEAH.  he  will  find  his  way  into  your  business  and  you’ll  struggle  to  get  ridda  him  like  a  goddamn  rash  and,  even  when  you  think  he’s  finally  gone,  he’ll  come  popping  back  up  a  couple  months  later  with  no  warning,  no  hello  or  howdy  -  do,  just  his  overwhelming  (  and  rather  strange,  though  mildly  entertaining  )  presence.  

         late  -  night  hours  cause  thoughts  to  blossom  and  bloom  in  the  most  heinous  of  ways,  he’s  come  to  discover.  okay,  well,  he  kinda  already  knew  that  but  it’s  grown  far  more  obvious  over  the  last  few  months.  it’s  not  unlike  dante  to  think  a  li’l  too  hard about  a minor  detail  that  sends  him  falling  down  a  rabbit  hole  he’s  got  no  business  traversing.  might  as  well  change  his  name  to  alice  at  this  rate,  ‘cause  he’s  more  than  willing  to  follow  the  white  rabbit  if  it  means  he’ll  get  some  answers.  

         IT’S  NOT  WEIRD  —  look  at  him.  look  him  in  the  eye.  no,  not  that  one,  his  metaphorical  third  eye  he  claims  to  have  —  it  is  NOT  weird  to  be  roaming  around  in  the  middle  of  the  night.  see,  the  thing  is,  he  can’t  fucking  sleep.  tossed  and  turned  for  a  solid  three  or  four  hours  before  he  got  pissed  off  and  finally  decided  to  get  outta  bed.  hoodie  pulled  over  his  head  and  boots  slipped  on  his  feet,  he  decided,  you  know  what  ?  fuck  it.  might  as  well  get  up  and  move  around.  and,  after  staring  mindlessly  at  the  coffee  pot  for  what  felt  like  an  eternity,  dante  finally  made  it  out  his  door.  both  hands  wrapped  around  his  coffee  mug,  eyes  half  -  open  and  barely  adjusting  to  the  dark.

         and  listen,  listen,  THAT’S  probably  why  the  sight  of  a  figure  in  the  distance  scares  the  absolute  fuck  out  of  him.  ‘cause,  see,  he  kinda  thought  he  was  just  seeing  shit  (  which  isn’t  anything  new,  honestly,  and  he’s  starting  to  wonder  if  it’s  a  problem  and  if  he  should  be  concerned  or  something  )  and  he’s  desperately  trying  to  get  his  eyes  to  adjust  without  actually  having  to  fucking  move  any  closer.