it's britney, bitch

“Jonas, hva i helvete?! Where are you? Pick up!” Eva hissed into her phone as partygoers passed her by, smiling at them sheepishly as she moved out of their way. He’d promised to meet her there, on the corner, but he was late. Again. Turning in her spot, Eva sighed in frustration, watching her peers head around the corner, toward the music. Noora had already confirmed she was sick, and none of them had heard from Adeline much lately. The other girls weren't responding and it left Eva fretting. She really didn’t want to go in there alone.

Eskild gasped when he looked up from his phone, equal parts surprised and pleased to see her. "— Is that Eva?! Hei, kjære. What are you doing loitering out here?" He pulled her in for a hug and kiss before moving back, holding her at arm's length for a moment. "Girl, do not tell Noora you saw me here tonight, I mean it. She will kill me. She made me promise not to come but I was far too curious to stay away."

Adrian slumped himself down onto the pavement, freshly lit joint in hand, his tired eyes struggling to remain open. He'd been alone last night, and had attempted to sleep on an argument, so naturally the nightmares that'd followed had made him feel as though he'd had no rest at all. None of them were of his own creation, most of them a compilation of horrific rebel memories distorted by a fabricated dreamscape, ones he'd also become trapped in. As much as he'd tried to soothe every person he came across, eventually his spirit battery ran dry, which had resulted in his now hangover. He'd messaged Mickey as soon as socially possible, bunking off training in the process, so he could collect the first drug he'd sought on since he'd started sleeping with Eddie. Adrian knew the relief that began to sink over him after his first drag would be temporary. It would only momentarily curve the guilt by subduing the side effects of his excessive magic use. Falling back into old coping mechanisms and missing important sessions would also not be without consequence, because if Eddie didn't scold him, Alec or Benji certainly would. It that was all interlinked with the core problem, the sole reason Adrian had returned to his dismissive defiance in the first place. The system. The rules and regulations set before his time that controlled their entire group, that purposely formed relationships designed to break. The system had given him Eddie, but would also be to blame if Adrian were to lose him. A person he loved was being trained to die for him. The argument he'd had with his guardian last night had brought upon the realisation, and now Adrian's mind was poisoned by it, imagining every horrific outcome. As he sat there, cool breeze flowing over his skin, he had to accept that weed wasn't enough to distract him from that. Once his joint neared it's end, the Moroi noticed a shadow crossing his vision, causing him to duck his head, as if it would hide his face. Adrian suspected it was one of his peers, finally arriving to escort him to the training centre. "I'm trying to relax. If you could save the lecture for another time, it'd be greatly appreciated."

“Oh, honey, it isn’t your mother, ikke bekymre deg. No worry.” Eskild frowned at the remark, moving to squat by his side. “Even in the cold light of day, I know who you are. I’d recognise those baby blues anywhere,” he grinned. Unfortunately, he had no idea what the man’s name actually was, but he’d served him plenty of times at Barcelo. He might’ve shared his own once, but doubted the stranger was sober enough to remember regardless. It was shameful they hadn’t been properly introduced. “Eskild,” he announced, curling out a hand. “Finally, we have the formal pleasure.”

The person she’d yelled at soon scuttered off after her outburst, shifting Effy’s focus to the boy on the phone. Her eyes narrowed in irritation when she noticed his eyeline, directed towards her. “Hello, can I fucking help you? Do you find this funny, or are you waiting for a bloody selfie?”

Eskild stared in awe for a moment, not having expected to be called out. But he quickly recovered, pleased with the idea. Her hostility didn’t bother him in the slightest. “Actually, a selfie would be fantastisk. You are literally stunning.” Confident now, he approached properly, reaching her property. But the closer he got, the more he recognised her, now realising he might actually be in the presence of a celebrity. “Haven't I seen you somewhere before? Plastered across our screens?”

“Herregud,” he muttered into the phone pressed against his ear, watching from the sidelines as the woman screamed at passing residents. “I have to go, Noora. There’s a lady here more entertaining than ‘The Real Housewives of Panem’.”

eskild or noora

“Of course,” he tutted, waving it off. Truthful or not, Eskild was more than willing to commit to the role. He loved helping people — and being involved. “That’s just the drink talking, darling. Things are always better than they seem.” Sure, Eskild didn’t know anything about Noah’s life or past behaviour, but he believed in that. Self-talk was incredibly powerful. “Saying things like this dig you into a hole, ja? Deeper and deeper. But you don’t have to make the hole so deep. You’re still here, you’re still talking. You’re far from the worst, okay?” He accompanied his assurance with a squeeze of Noah’s arm, hoping it would help. It was so easy to be miserable when you weren’t sober, Eskild assuming he wasn’t. “What have you had tonight, honey?” If Eskild was to look after him, he’d rather know what he was dealing with. He couldn’t help but grimace at normal jobs, unable to think of much worse. Of course, he had to get one himself soon, unable to freeload much longer, but it didn’t mean he’d enjoy it. He was hardly built for the nine-to-five life.

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe.” Noah agreed, although he already knew the truth. He just wasn’t ready to admit it, considering how long the story was. This wasn’t a bender gone wrong, this was years of suffering, and the coping mechanisms Noah had created to help him manage his trauma. But those coping mechanisms hadn’t been even remotely healthy, which meant recovery was now twice as hard. Two steps forward, one step back.

The man’s reaction made Noah cringe with self embarrassment, but only for a moment. Because in the next, he was being helped, something he’d recently discovered the rebels often did. It was in their nature to support their neighbours, even when they were a withdrawing mess on some stranger’s driveway. “I know. I know it’s not. I haven’t done anything, taken anything… it’s just --” Noah shook his head, hands wringing together in his lap. “I just feel fucked.”

Eskild raised an eyebrow at the seemingly younger male, not believing his explanation. “Okay… Maybe you just don’t remember taking something, dear. It happens to the best of us,” he shrugged. Still, the stranger’s words were concerning, and triggered deep concern within Eskild. He was known for picking up strays, and helping people in need, and Noah would be no exception.

Noah was unsure whether it was the lack of drugs, or the lack of human blood burdening him withdrawal symptoms, but he couldn’t stop twitching. He sat on a wall outside of a stranger’s home, his legs shaking uncontrollably as hit bit his nails, trying to suppress his own nausea. Vampires weren't supposed to get sick, but he quickly learned that they were just as susceptible to weakness as he threw up onto the tiles in front of him. He wiped the residue off of his chin with his sleeve, shame hitting him as he glanced up, realising that someone had been watching him. “Fuck. Fuck -- I’m sorry. Really sorry. I just –” need a fucking drink. 

Eskild audibly gasped, taking a dramatic step back at the sight, as if the stranger’s vomit could’ve reached him. After watching him for a few moments, and hearing the apology, Eskild decided he was not common street trash, but in fact, cute, and in need of serious advice. He tutted, sitting down next to the seemingly younger man.