degenerate.

Luke had never stepped foot into the Landing Strip, and he'd be embarrassed to admit that he'd never wanted to. Not when guys from the team wanted to brave crossing town lines - not when his friends from High School had provided a fake ID, and promises of shots, and shots, and shots. He supposed something had to be wrong with him. It was something men were supposed to do, wasn't it? Watch women strip their clothes off?

"Oh it's you," now he was the ass who didn't realize who he was talking to before he opened his mouth. Whatever. "No promises, you should hear how annoying their voices get when they want something." Dooooom play this song, no that was my song don't let her use it, why can't I have the kidz bop version that isn't weird. His ears were ringing just thinking about it. Dom was an expert at playing off like he didn't know anything or have information, meaning if he had Luke's number he wouldn't give it to anyone. They can go ask him for it.

There was no way this son of a bitch was calling him uncultured. He's lived more lives than most people his age. With the exception of Dom that is. They were both forced to grow up fast and been in and out of foster care until they were old enough to sleep on a park bench in peace. "DJing for strippers? Wait, you work at the Landing Strip?" That was the only strip club Tyler knew on the Westside. He's only been there once though. It was a meetup spot with a client who wanted to offer him $25, 000 dollars to erase his name from a police report. Tyler rejected the offer when he found out what the crime was. According to the record, he was convicted of killing his family but was released due to terminal brain cancer. The charge still followed him around and he wanted to get rid of it so he could enjoy the rest of his remaining life but Tyler didn't think that was fair. He was a sick fuck and should spend the rest of his life with his family's ghosts following him around.

"Glamorous, I know. You don't have to say it," his tone was already dripping with sarcasm. "It's okay to be jealous." There was nothing for him to brag about, besides the obvious that yes he got to see beautiful people take their clothes off. Dom was desensitized to the thrill of all that a long time ago. Unless he was an active participant and was just another beautiful body. "You want a job? They only have 2 guys working for them, you'd probably make bank honestly." It started as a joke but the last part was likely true but he doubted Tyler would do it. If he did, Dom would not let him hear the end of it. Whether it was good money or not. If he was subjected to watching anyone he knew before he could grow a mustache take off their clothes, he was going to give them a load of shit whenever possible to even it out.

Even if she could speak, Brooke's not so sure she would've. A lot happened with Tyler. Brooke was the last person who saw him, and talked to him, before he was brutally murdered. Or so, that's what she thought. It's what EVERYBODY thought.

"Well, surprise, I guess." He droned out in a flat tone adding a slight shrug for effect. That followed by the need to finish off the remainder of his cup of cheap keg beer. Fucking hell, he was turning into a boomer with the way his train of thought kept going. An old bitter man trapped in some twenty-two year old's body. "Don't tell anyone from back home though, you'll ruin my reputation as an idiot outcast who doesn't know how to tie their shoes." This time there was a slight inflection in his dry attempt at humor. He hadn't expected she would recognize him at all. Her social class was in their own bubble and they normally only recognized him for one of two reasons. They were looking to score some illegal party favor or they wanted to try out their bad boy phase. Then their jock boyfriends or crazy girlfriends acknowledge him because they were jealous and got territorial like people are property. Maybe college did a number to change her perspective. Then again, maybe she was just drunk.

“Everything is depressing that’s the point of the scene.” Fenix pointed out. That wasn’t the whole truth behind the scene, but it was the stereotype that got placed upon them. It was odd that the guy hadn’t heard about the band. Anyone who was near a phone in the last few years had seen what the fans were like. Fenix remembered getting Tik Toks about one singer, that came from the app, who was bullied by the crowd. It wasn’t a space people wanted to linger around. “Its never about that,” He figured, “Its about the attention and social gathering.” He motioned to the group as if they were monkey’s in the wild. “I haven’t seen any of these guys at a house party in the last 6 months.” That’s a lie. He couldn’t remember any party let alone who was there. “Actually they just might. I mean do you think that the popular kids from your high school would be doing this in college? I’m thinking its the nerds or nobodies doing this weird shit.” His smile grew at the horrible thought. 

"It's more depressing when you read headlines analyzing your public downward spiral." He deadpanned back. "Or video of your near death experience still played in rotation anytime some other fuck does something stupid." Sometimes it was a waking, fucking nightmare which is why he stopped going on social media or the internet unless he had to. He studied the crowd in question with a slightly pained look on his face while the sardonic stranger continued one. This man was like some mischievous little demon, popping up to be the apathetic angel and instigating devil on his shoulders. He could tell already that he was going to actually like this fuck or want to kick his ass. There wasn't enough information to make that decision, however he did have a very punchable looking face. Cute, but he could hit it without guilt. "I was all punk, metal, and anarchy - never cared much for attention or social gathering." That wasn't true. Dom loved attention like any performer did. "Those fuckers," he motioned a decorated hand at the lot of them. "They were nerds that were too scared to dress like this in school. My cousin's a geek but as far as I know that little weirdo has stayed true to that forever. Nerds stay in the closet until they finally get away from their parents, too scared mumsy and popsicle won't love them if they're different." He took a sip from his iced tea. "Bet they'll all be in proper suits and dresses or little cardigans and letter jackets for the debate team once the next holiday comes around."

"Really? I thought they were called cigarettes." Tyler retorted after the initial shock of seeing his old friend and former roommate at the juvenile detention center for the troubled youth. The last time they saw each other was back in Lakewood before Tyler went on a downward spiral which ended with him being stabbed in the back by a masked murderer who made the small town and all its survivors infamous. Lucky for him, most people from Lakewood still believe he's dead. But he was resuscitated at the hospital and then disappeared for awhile before attending Westham. The funny thing is he didn't even apply for college. But when he received the acceptance letter, he just thought, what the hell. Maybe now he can finally get that degree in computer engineering. "As for recognizing you, yeah I do. You skinny little fuck." Tyler went in for a half-hug as a smile grew across his face. It was rare to smile these days but seeing Dom fucking Thatcher was a cause for celebration. "Don't tell me you're a fucking pimp now?"

"Holy shit," the words drawled out of Dom in disbelief because the last person he thought he'd run into on the other side of the country was Tyler. Especially with the rumor going around that he was dead. He didn't make a habit of believing rumors until he got some proof. Good thing, too, because there was one of his only friends in the flesh. "It's called heroin chic, all the rage in the nineties you uncultured fuck," he let out a genuine laugh and easily returned the hug with a tight and earnest squeeze, followed by a couple strong pats on the back. "Pft, I wish. My choice was DJ for strippers or line cook," he jutted a hand back toward the diner. "I picked the one where the worst thing is occasional body glitter instead of the burns." Dom took his pack back out and offered it to Tyler. He looked him over a moment, silently checking if there was any indication of how he was doing. "Hmm, you don't look dead to me," he concluded as if it wasn't already obvious. "The hell you doing in Riverwood? Did big brother recruit you to hack for the FBI or what?" He wasn't about to admit it out loud, at least not yet, but he was damn happy to see him. Seeing someone he knew and actually got him lifted a weight from his shoulders.

Cassandra didn't usually spend much of her time on the Westside but she had to admit, the diner had killer fries and she was an absolute sucker for them..And their burgers..And their milkshakes. The East side had nice food but today she wanted something classic, and you could never go wrong with a burger, fries, and a shake. Glancing down at her watch, she fiddled with one of the widgets in attempt to put in the correct time. She stopped in her tracks completely when she saw Dom.  Uggh, why did he have to be here? Cassie felt awful about the way things went down with their families and seeing him only deepened her guilt. She wondered how he was doing but hadn't worked up the nerve to ask. “Uh, not really the reason I’m here but nice to know I can come to you if I ever have any inquiries. Do they do office parties?” She cringed at her attempt to lighten to mood. Her brain was currently whizzing through a bunch of conversation starters she could throw out but a timid "Um..How's your day going so far?" Was the best she could do. Her lips drew out into a weak smile.

The sound of the familiar voice made his head snap to the person it belonged to. He didn't hate Cassandra, it wasn't her fault her mom and his dad decided to hook up. It was more the fact that his father's recent marriage had done wonders for their relationship, as rocky as it was. When Dom and Cassandra had agreed it was a good idea to tell the unsuspecting parent of the others misdeeds he had hoped his dad would try to work it out with Ruth. Instead he took the same douchebag route he always did and now they were almost divorced. Leaving him to get blamed by his dad which Dom turned back toward Cass for convincing him it was a good idea to begin with, unfairly. "Don't know. Not my area, I just play the music," he answered dryly and standing up straight. Dom looked her over then scoffed, shaking his head at her polite question and sweet demeanor. "I'm a DJ at a strip club, how do you think it went?" There was an underlying malice in his tone but the frown that went with it dropped from his features. "You don't have to be nice or talk to me just because our parents are fucking, Cass." He pointed out and took another drag from his cigarette. "Feel free to ignore me like the rest of your crowd does."

"I'll have you know, I'm the opposite of boring, okay." The slur of her words made her statement significantly less convincing. But, she put it out there anyway. And in the meantime, her eyes darted after his around the room, perusing the sea of faces for anyone who looked halfway decent or at least moderately interesting. "He doesn't look too bad." She pointed to a stranger by the drinks table, refilling his cup with a mixture of poisons he'll likely regret mixing in the morning. Then, when she finally turned toward her company she nearly gasped. She didn't recognize him in her inebriated state however, the leather jacket, dark hair, and plethora of tattoos reminded her of someone else. Tyler. It couldn't be though. He was dead. The similarities however, were enough to haunt her and make her feel a little woozy. "Fuck." The curse was directed at herself. Therefore, she hadn't realized, she'd said it out loud.

"I can tell," he actually let out a quick breath of a laugh at her slurred statement. He didn't doubt she was some level of fun considering she'd caught Tyler's eye at one point but she seemed like the preppy rich girl that lived in her own bubble. Dom was well familiar with the type, even slept with a few but called it off when he got sick of being kept their dirty little secret. "He looks like he's going to throw up on you the minute you make any kind of move." This judgement based purely on the amount of different alcohols he just mixed together. So far everyone he glanced at during his scan looked like a douchebag or potentially might be carrying something. Her gasp took him off guard and made him look behind him thinking someone with hot status came in. "I know I'm not prettiest boy on campus, but I didn't know I look that bad." A sardonic smile spread across his lips and dropped immediately after. "What's the deal? Finally recognize me from the Lakewood losers club, or what?"

@dom-thatcher​

All he wanted was some food and instead he ended up assaulted by some student social activity event. Greeted by an all too positive student leader the minute he walked through the door. The only valid response was to stare blankly at them while they thrusted a name tag into his hand along with a list of ongoing activities. He continued this silent stare until they finally caught the hint and bounced off to some other poor victim. The only reason he was at the dining hall and not a gas station, or home for another sad cup of noodles was because he'd taken a late afternoon class that semester. Also, he actually liked the six dollar breakfast burritos that they sold all day.

open to: everyone

The only reason he was at that party was to avoid the silence and solitude of his apartment. "Just make out? How boring and safe of you." Dom deadpanned back, slightly tipping the solo cup of beer he'd been nursing for a solid hour. Not too long ago he would've been close to wasted already and working on getting worse. Now he was attempting being conservative lest he fall down a new slippery slope. He didn't know if Brooke would remember him or even knew who he was to begin with. Probably best if she didn't. "You think there's anyone here worth swappin' spit with?" He looked around, doubting it.

“He smells like cigarettes and mistakes.”