FROM THE FIRE.

It’s nice to have a friend – or, in Roo’s case, it’s nice to have someone who can actually put up with him. Paris is a long-suffering light in his life, the patron saint of bratty socialites. He openly adores her – and is ready to go to war with anyone who doesn’t – and lives for the times when he can hang out with his best friend. Their sleepovers, in particular, have become sacred to him – a safe space to drink wine and giggle helplessly over the most ridiculous things. He may have taken the drinking wine part a little too seriously tonight; he’s sprawled out ungracefully beside her on his living room floor, chin tipped towards the ceiling as he attempts to express his love. Needless to say, it doesn’t go well. “You’re an angel. Did you know that? You should know that. The world doesn’t deserve you. You should – you should be with the other angels, up in the…” he trails off, the word sky evading his tipsy brain. “But then you’d have to leave me and you’re not allowed to do that, okay? Not now. Not ever.”

          To say it had been a long day was an overstatement, but she definitely wasn’t one to complain about her job. After the endless arguments of her not taking over the family business as planned, there was no room for complaints. Tonight, though, she needed a drink to calm her nerves, make her mind stop reeling so she could enjoy her next few days off. The conversation she endured at the bar didn’t entirely help, the elderly man wasn’t anywhere near creepy, nor was he making her feel uncomfortable but how exactly could she explain to him that she definitely didn’t know him without breaking his heart ? The moment he moved, she got from her seat, scanning the place quickly to find another.

          She slid in without a moment of hesitation, looking at the person across from her. “ Hey, ” she said quietly, pressing her lips together for a brief moment before finally presenting her case. “ Look, I can move if you’re meeting someone, but that elderly man continues to believe I’m his wife and I don’t have the heart to tell him that he’d clearly over-drank or he isn’t of sound mind. Just allow me to rest here until he leaves, please ? ” Eyes pleaded to the other, hoping she’d be given an invitation.

          She made a habit steering clear of bars; she didn’t get along with the casual bar-goers of Devinstone.  It was more likely she’d have the occasional glass of wine after class or work, with friends or alone at home.  It didn’t matter as long as she kept it to a minimum.  That and the fact that she always had some kind of carbonated wine gave her the perfect excuse to have a drink with dinner.  That being said, Paris couldn’t remember the last time she was drunk — it made her feel icky; she hated waking up the next morning.  Headaches were not her friend, no siree.  Her drink sat somewhat unattended as Paris scrolled through her Instagram feed, attempting to find what was now probably a deleted post by Bella Hadid.

“He– Hello? Hello? No, can-cel it.” Enunciating each syllable with force, Alex had one hand on his ear as he pressed his phone close to the other, trying to work through the bad connection. It was 2020, wasn’t there supposed to be cell service all over the world? “Yes, everything. The whole trip is cancelled.” As if bad reception wasn’t enough, he was fairly certain the woman on the other side of the line did not speak English well enough to be the recipient of the phone call. “Yes, I know it was. But it’s cancelled. The - hello? The wedding is off. We’re not coming. No, hello - no, there’s no honeymoon.” He couldn’t believe that of all things, the one thing he’d forgotten to cancel was his own honeymoon. Typical. “Yes. Cancelled. What? No - I know, no refund. That’s okay. I said - that’s okay. Yes. Just - can you just email me the invoice? E-mail. Invoice. The costs,” he said, trying to speak as clearly as he could, nodding along as if that would somehow help. “Yes. Thank you. I said – Thank you. Okay. Bye.” Then, exhausted as he put his phone away, he sighed audibly as he raised his eyebrows.

“Well, that’s fourteen thousand dollars down the drain.”

“oh my, thank you about that! you can tell your friends this is very appreciated!” her face beamed with a large smile as she took a sip of her drink. “and thank you for being the spokesperson of such good news!” sandrine tried to hold back her excitement about the suggestion. “who doesn’t love a good abba moment, eh?” a soft giggle slipped through her lips. she was not the biggest fan, but she always experienced this unstoppable desire to sing along dancing queen when it came on the radio at work, which was often. not big enough of a fan to watch the mamma mia movies, but enough to embarrass herself during a relaxing facial on a client who paid her to be silent. “i don’t know if it’s just me, but i think it would sound pretty good as a duet. if you get what i mean.” she looked up as she spoke and finished her sentence with a playful wink. “i’m not forcing you to do anything, i’m just asking very nicely.”

“You want me to just set it in the back of the truck?” He called out to an older gentleman, Eugene. The man nodded to him and Brandon brought the tool set out to his truck. “This a good set you have here, I appreciate you letting me use them.” Eugene had let Brandon borrow a few select tools that the man had yet to get his hands on. Well, rather, Eugene’s were in far better shape and Brandon would use any excuse to get his hands on them when could. “You know when you’re ready to fix this baby up, you just call. She’s got to be as old as you.” He lightly slapped the man on the shoulder as Eugene approached, both men laughing with smiles on their face. He had known Eugene for as long as he lived, though Eugene was nearing his seventies. “Alright, you’re all set.” He gave the man a hug before waving him off in the truck. Brandon turned around, smiling before speaking aloud, “Such a good man.” He said to no one in particular. If anything, Brandon hoped he was that way when he got to be that age. “Eugene, one hell of a man.” He chuckled, turning on his heel to head down the street.

Tess slipped her phone into her black, belted paper-bag pants, while grabbing her matching cross-body bag from the seat beside her with her available hand. Rising from her seat, her heels clicked against the wooden floor, which made her heels sounded louder than they really were, especially when the coffee shop was eerily quiet, thanks to her outburst. “No,” she said timidly, approaching the counter where her iced coffee was. “I am so sorry, I was -,” embarrassed, Tess debated on whether or not she should be honest and say what she was really doing on her phone. She already felt judged and ridiculed for her spacing out and getting overly excited. But she came this far with her public humiliation, so why the hell not, right? “I was looking at puppies.”

alessandra became a regular client of the karaoke bar. they had great rosé, she would never deny it, but there was nothing better to cheer her up than a heartfelt song in front of a small crowd who did not ask for something this extra. and since she did not want noise complaints from her neighbors, this place was the designated spot. she sat by the counter for an hour, maybe even longer, sipping on her drink as other people took turns on the stage and had their own fun. the moment her cheeks turned a light shade of pink and her stress vanished away faster than the liquid in the rosé bottle was when she knew she was ready to sing. she walked around the tables, smiling shyly at someone with whom she made eye contact with before the first notes of go your own way by fleetwood mac started. she grabbed the mic and did her performance, mimicking the intense drama that filled the lyrics. a glance at the crowd who seemed to get into the groove was all she needed to finish the song.

almost as soon as she was done, sandrine hopped off stage like it was lava and went back to her initial location to meet with her beloved glass of wine, but also with the person she noticed earlier.  “i don’t think stevie nicks is quaking right now.” she chuckled and asked for a refill. “not even slightly trembling!”

          Something about karaoke bars didn’t really resonate with who Paris was as a person, a being who was still a child at heart.  Well, she had the same stubbornness, open heart, and imagination.  She’d find just as much — maybe even more pleasure staying home and having a sleep over with her best girlfriends.  But she no longer lived with parents who instilled such a strong will in her, she kept her morals and values, made them clear and loud.  Paris got along perfectly fine as a functioning adult in Devinstone’s society.  She was sure she’d fare well in a big city too, but was in no hurry to make the big move.  Still, there she sat in the karaoke bar with a few friends.  She hadn’t sung; she was having too much fun watching everybody else strut their stuff and belt notes they couldn’t hit at the top of their lungs.  A round of laughs left her table each time a new contestant climbed on stage.  She couldn’t understand the words, not really.  The microphone’s volume was up so loud that it distorted everything the woman was saying, but all Paris knew was that she loved the song she chose.

Coffee was her new addiction. Did those AA meetings even help, she thought as she moved up with the line to order. No, they did, she answered herself, a frequent quirk she engages in every once in awhile. When she doesn’t have other human contact in a while, she goes a little stir crazy and argues with herself internally. The down side of not having her own coffee maker, was she had to buy it with all the other Devinstonians who were also on their way to work. She glanced down at her Apple watch (a gift from her brother), and realized she was about to be late and mumbled, shit. She didn’t think anyone would really care, but she hated being late…hated not having that bit of control over herself.  She was finally able to order her usually, iced something or whatever, then sat at an empty table, and took out her phone immediately. She didn’t really have anything to look at or do on it, she just hated sitting there, staring mindlessly at people or nothing - made her feel too exposed to also be looked at. She often got recognized because of Hannah. Everyone knew Tess as, ‘the girl whose twin got murdered’ or ‘the girl who wrote about about her sisters murder’, and nothing more. She began Googling pictures of puppies before she got too lost in her thoughts. Tess wanted a dog, she hated feeling bored or lonely when she was home by herself - it was the worst for her. She fell down a Googling hole when she realized they called out her drink.

“Did they say iced latte?!” She shouted, not realizing she had done so until someone turned to look at her.

There were about five people in Devinstone Marco considered actual friends, and three of them were people he moved to town with. The other two were…well, not Paris Doppler. Paris got an Amazon package every day. Every single day. Paris was cute, which was annoying when he was trying to get his friends to focus on whatever scene they were trying to film and she just stood on her doorstep, being nosy. Annoyances, but nothing too major. He could deal. Then she stole the last few avocados from the Farmer’s Market. Marco’s homemade green drink, the way he started each of his days, needed avocados. They were the main ingredient. And Paris took them for face masks. Face masks. F a c e  m a s k s. He was enraged. Then Paris, being Paris, made the solution sound so easy. Like oh my God, Marco, who makes their own green juice? Just come to the juice bar with me, you’re fine.

He was at the juice bar. With her. He was not fine. “This green juice sucks.” He choked down one gulp, staring her down, eyes like daggers. “It tastes like – there is no manuka honey in this, is there?”

          Marco always looked like he slept past his alarm and had five minutes to leave the house.  Paris couldn’t shake the judgement out of her pretty little head as she tapped her perfectly square cut nails on the robust two person table’s surface.  It delighted Paris to think their entire relationship was based on the concept of green juice.  Spring had just sprung in Devinstone; anyone could expect their selection of produce wouldn’t be supreme, yet her new friend just about threw a hissy fit in the grocery store after she cleaned out the avocado display.  She hadn’t ever thought to put avocado in her green juice.  They were green, obviously, but that didn’t mean they made any sense in a drink.  Kale, cucumber, celery — those all made sense.  But avocado felt like a wild card.  The idea of a fresh, avocado face mask made much more sense in her humble opinion.  The two she nabbed even left her with enough to make a nice breakfast the next morning.  Damage control.  That’s what their little date was, damage control at the nearest juice bar, so Marco could get a taste of some professionally made green juice.

                      He figured she was young, but wasn’t able to detect she was that young. Most of the time when he codeswitched it was with the purpose of insulting someone, but other times expressing how he felt in his native tongue simply sounded much more richer, something he couldn’t control. Joaquín also expressed himself in Spanish most times because in the English language, he had no way to properly express how he feels, becoming a completely unintentional act. Transferring languages is slightly hard on his end; he can’t help it. At this moment, he fought back cursing her out offensively. Joaquín conduct might not be the greatest, however Joaquín knew better than to be a complete ass to women.. sort of, which isn’t his greatest strength. His verbiage was never deemed appropriate towards both sexes; the older adult simply knew how to be a little more nicer towards women depending on the situation and the severity of it being deserved. “Hey, do me a favor — cállate. I don’t know who your fuckin’ mother is, and quite frankly, I don’t care to know who she is. Your pronunciation sucks.” It’s the most he could say given how shocked he is that someone  —- an actual citizen of Devinstone —- spoke back to him, especially in Spanish. In a sense, he liked her flavourful behavior. “I bet if you have one dance with me, you’ll know who Héctor Lavoe is by the time this event is over?”

As the brunette began to list of things for her to do, her brows raised. She hadn’t expected there to be that much for her to do in a town like this. However, she kept comparing everything to Europe and she had to remember that with the flick of her wrist and the swipe of her card, she could run off to the next place. This was just one place and she was itching to run away thus far. A month here? Seemingly too long. Yet, she knew she had to give it a better chance than this. As the woman finished, Joey let out a nervous laugh. She pushed air over her lips as she brushed some of her bangs from her forehead. “That’s a lot to take in,” her tongue flicked over her lips, “that’s a lot more than I thought someone would answer with too,” though she wasn’t unappreciative of the brunette’s offerings in what to do. She had asked after all. “A red velvet funnel cake? I think I could be swayed by that and then a parrot that does math? I’ll be damned if I’ve ever seen that and are you really at some town festival if you don’t catch the animal act?” Her brows raised teasingly and curiously as a smile touched her lips. 

“I almost believed that you were lost.” The man countered but nodded at her question. He remembered the face, since it wasn’t too long ago. “I remember. I’m assuming you’re not here to file a complaint right? Or I might just tell you to find another table.” Gibson replied, half kidding. “It’s away from all the screaming kids, one can only take so much of popping balloons and screaming from the haunted house.” Those things weren’t even that scary in his opinion. “What’s your excuse?”

“Not gross, just reality,” the short haired girl smirked at her friend. “Good for him, perhaps that will teach him how to make better life decisions from now on.” Georgie knew the whole scene was probably too much to bear, but she was actually quite enjoying to see the kid suffer after his own stupidity. She saw many kids his age do the exact same things, looked like people just never learned. 

“Again? How many times you want to go there?” She snorted, frowning as she looked at Paris. “You are just wanting to figure out how they did that, aren’t you? But fine let’s go back there. Maybe we can bump into something interesting on the way.”

          “That’s cold.”  She had to nudge her friends shoulder.  Georgie was spitting hard facts.  She was older than Paris, had more life experience, and offered such a unique perspective on issues that the younger had yet to realize.  Paris never wanted to sell herself short, but Georgie was just the person she needed to connect with.  Still, kids were kids.  Maybe a little tough love would do them good.  After all, her own parents were strict when it came to most things, but she never felt unwanted.

                     “You hear that?” His foot tapped lightly against the pavement, humming to the tune that blasted throughout the atmosphere. “Héctor Lavoe, El Cantante. Classic. The instruments —- what’s that young shit people like to say nowadays?” He paused for several seconds, taking several steps to do a slight dance to the rhythm of salsa that played. “It’s a vibe. ¡Oye Héctor! (huh) Tú estás hecho.”  Maybe the carnival isn’t too bad. For now, at least. “Don’t just fuckin’ stand there, amor de bebe. You don’t stand to Héctor Lavoe. You move to him. You hear this shit? I said.. it’s a vibe. It’s a fuckin’ vibe.” He couldn’t help himself. The grin that now plastered across his features, the rarity of it, because of the music. It put him in a good mood.

One of the best things about carnivals was definitely all the attractions that it came with it, from the safe and child friendly , to the more risky and wild ones, Georgie felt like doing it all, even if in reality she never did half of them. Standing next to The Wipeout, Georgie was way more amused just watching people in and out of it than having a try at it herself.

“I just saw that kid practically shove down four corn dogs and wash it all with coke that I am actually starting to worry for the safety of the kid next to him.” Georgie snorted, watching as the ride started and she braced for the worst. “Wanna bet how long it will take for him to get sick?” She asked the person standing next to her, a grin on her face as she knew it was just a matter of seconds before it became a huge disaster.

          Channeling carnival spirit came naturally.  There was always something in her hands, whether it be a funnel cake, french fries, or a strawberry lemonade the size of her head.  Spring Fest was one of the few times a year Paris let any idea of cleansing fade to dust.  She could survive on three bland tasting mineral waters another day.  For the trend or for her supposed health?  No one was completely sure.