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A letter to those who had ever followed me in the rpc –

Ewan watched as the girl leafed through the pages of his notebook. He studied the leather binding of the book– tattered and weathered from countless years of travel and use. The notebook was practically his life; it contained every single idea he’d ever had as far as inventions go – those that he’d later fleshed out and physically recreated and the ideas that remained just a note in the corner of his mind. There were multi-colored tabs placed intermittently throughout the pages to mark ideas that he planned to revisit, designs that he’d completed, and other such things. His thoughts were interrupted by the girl’s question, “Oh, I–uh, I’m a graduate student in Cornell’s school of engineering. My actual job is being a research assistant, I guess.” Ewan arched an eyebrow at the sudden change in the girl’s demeanor. It was like something shut off– whatever vibe had been flowing between them was immediately severed. “Are–you okay?” he stuttered, mulling over what could have happened in the few moments between them.

     It felt a little silly, didn’t it? Playing pool at some dive bar with a graduate of Cornell’s school of engineering. It was times like this the girl began to feel a bit dumb, or perhaps foolish. She was certain she must often be perceived as an unintelligent girl, due to her nature and rough housing ways. Truly, that was scratching the surface of who she really was. Although she didn’t attend an Ivy League school, she could have. Being the salutation with great SAT scores usually gave that capability, but she was more focused on changing her scenery than worrying about which higher college she could become in debt to. The girl did go to college though, and now her debt is paid and she has a stable job in the filmmaking industry. So, perhaps even though she felt foolish, at least she could go home at the end of the day and know she took the right path, even though most nights it felt otherwise. “Wow, even more impressive,” she commented with a smile. She hadn’t even realized how much time she spent in her head, how much time she spent thinking of the past. It always made her uncomfortable when people noticed. She chuckled, shrugged off that feeling and changed her demeanor. Just like the old days. “What? Yeah, of course.” She changed the subject quickly. “So, do you enjoy your job?”

@fearoverfate

     With a fresh black eye and a look of disappointment on her features, Chey sat in momentary shock as she realized a hard truth – she somehow managed to get herself wound up in jail… again. For a girl who never got embarrassed, this was mortifying. If it wasn’t for the liquor in her system, she’d probably be crawling into the corner in hopes no one would ever have to see her again for as long as she lived. Yet, there she was, head pressing back against the bars every time she purposely bashed against it. At least this time it wasn’t completely her fault, yet she always seems to be the one with the damn black eye. Chey withheld from telling JJ that this wasn’t her first rodeo, not wanting her friend to look at her as if she was consistently fucking up. Which, most days it felt like that. “I don’t know,” she exhaled, “I can call my brother… He’s going to be so pissed.”

“Now, now, keep your shoes out of my ass. I had to come up with a good excuse, she wouldn’t let me leave otherwise! That woman keeps me on a tight leash, she even texted me to remind me to go to bed last night,” He rolled his eyes. Preston knew he needed her, needed someone to keep him on the straight line, the alternative was likely to find him passed out on his couch in last night’s clothes with a raging hangover. He gave Chey a meaningful look as they entered the lobby, his hand rose in a goodbye gesture to his receptionist, purposefully avoiding what he knew would be her disapproving gaze. “Sure, and when have we ever had wholesome fun, hmm?” His thumb mashed the button to call the elevator, arm still linked with Chey’s. “Last time I saw you, you decided to set off my fireworks. So, I’m down for whatever–just so long as there isn’t another trip to the hospital. How are your wounds healing anyways?”

     There was no doubting the fact that Chey had a flair for the dramatic. Her intentions were usually harmless, mostly sincere in her upbeat nature, yet they always took a turn for the worse or extreme. It’s strange to even think that she is considered the dangerous friend, especially when she thinks back to her younger self. It was almost impossible to get the girl out of her room whenever she was a brooding teenager. And now, here she is grown, listening to a man who was weary of whatever plans she had for them. Oh how times have changed. “We’ve had tons of wholesome fun,” she hesitated, “I just can’t think of any at the moment.” Her eyes glanced down to the palm of her hands, some skin there a slightly lighter shade than the rest. Ah, despite the searing pain of that day, she still found it a bit amusing. Not to mention she appreciated how quickly Preston jumped to her aid. “I’ve learned from that mistake,” she told him and smiled, “they’re all healed up. My skin just looks a little... weird on my hands, but it could’ve been worse.” The elevator let out a ding and the doors opened before them. “I was just thinking we could have a simple beach day, yeah? We could bring some food, some drinks. I don’t know about you but I could use a good relaxing day. No explosions, this time.”

In depth RP interaction meme

     In that moment, Chey was well aware of how much of a mistake it’d be if she became a bartender. Sure, she knew her alcohol, knew how to make a mean drink, but she’d take advantage of the whole free booze thing. She was pretty sure she’d walk past that fine line between casual drinker to alcoholic. She was always dancing on that line. A smile tugged on her lips at MJ’s small compliment and joke. “Well, I’m sure that guy is worth all the hours you put in. One hell of a guy,” she teased along. “Well, I can’t say much. I work too much, just the same.” Chey looked back at her glass and took a long drink. “I work in film. Hours can be long. But these little trips to the bar help me get by. As does your company.”

      She took the glass with a respectful nod and downed a large sip before replying. Her eyes adverted o the man at the end of the bar, his face familiar considering he seemed to practically live in this place. Chey had to admit that lifted her spirits. Maybe she didn’t frequent this bar every night, but she made her usual biweekly appearance. “Touché,” she mumbled before taking another drink and smiling at the girl. “MJ. Nice to finally meet you. I’m Chey.” She leans her elbow against the table and rests her head on her hand. “But, seriously, I don’t even know you and I can tell you work too much. You’re always serving whenever I’m here.”