blocked his own shot

-shakes her head- Not a clue. -frowns- Do you think he’s lost? Maybe we should help him.

-gives her a look- A guy’s following you and you want to give him directions?

Guy…? -turns around slyly to take a glance then returns her gaze back to Dyaln- Well, that is kinda odd. Does someone include you? Please? I’m kind of sort of freaking out now. 

-nods his head and continues to walk next to her- Do you have any idea who he is?

“So this dude decided it would be fun to tip in coins at work today. He actually thought throwing coins up on stage - at me - would be a good idea. Look! I’ve even got bruises from it.”

“Jesus. What kind of also throws coins at someone?”

Her smile only grew at his reaction. Happily, handing him the cape, she nodded at his question. “All me, yup! I used to sew a lot back when I was younger. I haven’t done it in a while, so it’s not my best work, but…” she trailed off. She met his gaze once more. “Do you like it?”

Another chuckle escaped her as she nodded in agreement. “He was basically the coolest president of all time. Not sure how anyone else is gonna measure up to his legacy.” She tilted her head slightly, unaware that she was staring like a total dork before it was too late. Once she noticed, she quickly shook her head and laughed awkwardly. “Uh, anyway, I came to drop this off,” she began as she dug into her bag. After a few seconds of rummaging, she pulled out the cape she had promised to make him. “Tada!” she exclaimed, showing it off to him. 

"The coolest, quite possibly the smartest and I don't know, Bernie might've given him a run for his money. But y'know, politics are politics." He laughed awkwardly as he noticed her staring, suddenly self-conscious of his current wardrobe which consisted of a ratty band shirt and bike shorts. "You what?" he asked, glancing down at her hands as she pulled the cape out of her bag, a huge grin spreading across his face. "Warhol, you did not." Laughing softly he took a step toward her, taking the cape into his hands. "You actually made this? Didn't buy it?"

Isabella’s gaze slowly lifted from the page, to glance over at the male, “I know the difference between scams and legitimacy. Plus, I don’t think the library would have a good rep if they hosted a scam.”

“I dunno the ladies over there are pretty crafty. Haven’t you noticed how they always seem to throw events that take donations, yet the library hasn’t gotten any new books since the mid-nineties? Where’s the money going?”

Because then I wouldn’t be able to annoy you with my whining, obviously.

Well, aren’t you an absolute joy. Don’t you have someone else to bother? Someone who finds this whole charade endearing?

Yeah? So, why don’t you stop talking to me and go get one?

She kept her gaze on him as he began to shuffle his mess around, giggling slightly at his explanation. Picking up a random paper ball from the floor, she handed it over to him as she took a seat next to him. “Okay then. What were you writing about here?” she asked, handing him the ball.

Dylan opened the paper ball and read a few words off of it before laughing to himself. “This one was a paid article, actually. I was writing about how awful our country is going to be when Obama leaves office.”

A small sigh of relief escaped her lips as she walked past him and into the house. Looking around at all the papers thrown at the floor, she couldn’t help but smile slightly. “I didn’t know you write.” she said, glancing back at him. “What’re you writing about?”

Smirking as he followed her inside, Dylan grabbed his notebook and through it behind his desk. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Warhol.” He shrugged, pushing a few papers off of his couch so she could sit down. “Everything? Nothing? It depends on which piece of paper you’re referring to, honestly.” 

“Well, maybe a little bit of both,” she teased with a scrunch of her nose. As she stood out there, she began to sway back and fourth, feeling a couple of butterflies flying around in her stomach. She wasn’t quite sure why she was so anxious. Maybe it was because she felt a hinge of guilt showing to his house out of nowhere. Either way, she began to explain herself. “I know it’s late, but I have something for you. Is it cool if I come in for a bit? I promise I won’t bug ya for long.”

Dylan nervously glanced back into his house, unsure if he shoulder agree or not. It wasn’t like his house was disgusting or filled with garbage. But he got into these moods where he wrote, and he wrote a lot, leaving papers with poems and songs and stories strew around the house. “Uh--” he began, once again glancing into his house. “Just for a bit.” he finally agreed and stepped aside, “Excuse the mess, please. I haven’t moved into the world of using my laptop for writing yet.” 

thank you present || andie & dylan

Dylan was editing some of his writing when he heard a knock the door. It was unusual because he had very few friends and the friends he did have had no idea where he lived. Being a very private person, he rarely if at all invited people over. If he were going to hang out with someone he always met them somewhere. Cautiously he made his way to the front window and peaked out, surprised to see Andie looking back at him. What was she doing here? Pulling the front door opened, he could't fight the small smile threatening to emerge. "Was that was that ringing was? I thought I was going insane."

I’m not creepy but I have been sketching you for the past fifteen minutes.

That’s the definition of creepy. Can you stop?

“Oh god, cry me a fucking river. You’re alive, aren’t you? Alive enough to bitch my ear off so I’m pretty sure you’re okay. Why don’t you get back on your little bike and leave me the hell alone? I don’t have time to deal with you or your painfully obvious case of PMS.”

“Fair enough, excuse me.” Bella retorted, side stepping away from the male and approached the poster to write the information down in her notebook. 

Dylan motioned for her to pass, lowkey side glancing at her. “That’s probably a scam, you know.”