* FLARED / STAR !

     starter for @untethcred based on the prompt : rayar bought a gift for sawyer, but lost it on the way home . . . flushed hands shoved in the pockets of her coat, sawyer keeps her gaze locked on the pavement below : slick ice concealed by fresh snow, a grave slippage hazard. she wasn’t about to fall on her ass and break something before soccer season had even started, there was no way. thus ; focus was given to the ground, although the attention of her other senses remained on the boy beside her. “ hey, you know what they say . . . it’s the thought that counts. ” she’s sure the saying didn’t originate from their current scenario : a present lost and a pair forced to scour the winter landscape for it. still . . . fitting. “ and if we can’t find it, at least you’ve given me the gift of FROST-BITE. ” an intentional bump of her shoulder against his, and a smile finds its way back onto cold features. “ what was it, anyway ? ” 

     starter for @scgacious based on the prompt : ed is carmen's hired body guard . . . he’d always been protective, perhaps to a fault. and after the death of his wife, even more so. there were people out there with objectives less than pleasant and grudges directed towards the older, and with a profession entered : those considered his loved ones were to be found in the crossfire. before ranks climbed, he’d done the physical labour himself. high school boys threatened, cat-calling men assaulted . . . of course, there were exceptions as the one which had landed three boys six feet under. but this was not one of them. one of his men had been given the mundane task of following carmen’s –– friend –– around town. only for a couple of weeks. under the radar. until it wasn’t. until a man was confronted with his daughter’s accusations and the frustrations that came with them. “ mija, ” surprise found both in aging features and tone. “ s’an old man not allowed to look after his little girl ? ”

     starter for @untethcred based on the prompt : mj and rayar get caught up in a storm and must stay sheltered together until it passes . . . she hated snow : with a passion fiery enough to burn every inch off the connecticut landscape, and rid her of the issue in its entirety. unfortunately, that’s not how anything worked. much to the blonde’s dismay. bundled up on the pearce’s couch, all she can do is watch as the snowfall increases, coating their front yard in a thick sheet of white hell. “ this is so stupid, ” she announces, adjusting her position : legs drawn up against her chest, then back on the carpet below. her restlessness was unlikely to ease without the outlet . . . she needed the skatepark, which was currently consumed by snow & ice, or the arcade, which she could not get to. yeah, she was going to lose her mind. “ i got places to be, y’know ? don’t got time to be stuck here with you all day. ” 

     he was older, smarter, too : to a degree she wasn’t prepared to admit, and part of the blonde had expected a LECTURING. most people frowned upon the antics come up by minoo pearce, sometimes vince was a part of that crowd. often, actually. and yet . . . “ yeah, it’ll work. ” there’s a lack of confidence in her voice, though she musters up every drop of it which she can find. not much. hormones made her jittery and the situation itself caused for some major nerves. she was a wreck, really. soon enough, though, it’d be over – like it never happened ! minoo just wasn’t sure she could hold out until then. “ he’s a guy . . . no way he’ll pick raising a kid over paying for it. ” truth be told : she didn’t know him all that well, and all that could be assumed was on the basis of gender. men were assholes, it’d work. “ thanks, but i’d rather not have you locked up while i’m this . . . well, like this. ”

     he’s not a drunk : but daily, he finds himself with a scotch in hand. the habit is growing more prominent, the frequency causing for a concern that he can’t afford to offer. ed’s getting ready to depart for the night, head back to an empty house . . . of course, not entirely empty. strays and rescues still reside within it’s four walls but since a daughter had made her exit, emptiness was the single noun he’d use as a descriptor. he orders one more, though, before he’s to get in his truck and drive down the icy roads of sheffield. a bad decision, really, but he’s made plentiful in his life and there was no point to stopping. he’s spoken to, though, despite having retired for the night : despite having said his goodbyes . . . someone talks and his attention drifts. there’s a chuckle to his assumption, and another to the denouncing of an entire gender. bad break-up, he supposed. stood up, maybe. none of his business, yet he responds. “ who; the girls ? ” pause, a drink received and brought to his lips. “ what she do to ya, huh. screw your brother, or sum’ ? ” 

     between chemo and weed, and generally : being the way that he is, a memory has gone to shit. it takes him a moment . . . and another, to achieve some form of recollection. and once he does, several seconds had passed. crap. “ keeping it weird, huh. ” several years had passed, too long ago for the boy to remember much at all. especially of the odd girl he’d chastised and berated in middle school. but there’s a vague remembrance of her oddity and it’s all needed in order to recall past words . . . and actions. yeah, he’d always been a dick, alright. “ what, you, like, stalking me now or something ? ” bold accusation to make, but the mention of a hospital brings up all the wrong kinds of emotions. and not in despite of regular visits, rather because of. CANCER-FREE . . . two years, give or take. and still, he was on constant watch for that phone-call; that face full of pity to resurface on his physician’s face; his mother crying in the kitchen while his sister desperately attempts to console her. fuck that.  

     scarlett atkins was a sheffield high graduate, and currently : a yale student, and the game presented to her was nothing but juvenile. it causes for a perk of her brow, attention shifting from glamour magazine to her less than friend. “ you’re serious ? not an 8th grade sleepover, kisch. ” it appears a shot-down of the activity requested, but it’s not. her reading material, if one could even consider it such, is set aside and she props a petite stature further up against the headboard. “ truth. ” what a complete and utter tell of her DULLNESS : one she’d taken years to work out of her system, one that her reputation was void of. she’d made sure of it. yet, the truth remains, scout – beneath designer & cruel commentary – was a bore. a snooze-fest, if you will. she was a prude and she was a stick in the mud. with high school theatrics aside, the fact began to shine through. she’d never been fun ; yet, somehow, meanness and the money to back it up had created a facade of someone capable of LETTING LOOSE. she was not.  

     it’s a little ridiculous, to imagine a scenario unlike this one : where he’d been scolded for actions made, rather than instantly forgiven. it causes for a tug of his lips, and another bite. “ thank god . . . i was expecting to get cussed the fuck out ! ” he begins. “ should count myself lucky, huh. caught you on a good day & all. ” sarcasm laced words leaves the older, and a hand is placed on top of his chest for the next act. “ shaking in my boots before that, y’know. trembling . . . just awaiting that aquirre wrath. ” one more bite, smugness showing through. 

     shoes just being kicked off, and he’s already being faced with his sister’s obligated annoyance. typical. and if he wasn’t high as a freakin’ kite, he would’ve had more of a bone to pick about it. but, instead, with a sigh, he flops down next to her. feet kicked up on the table and a bag of doritos snatched out of her grasp. “ yeah, and you got dorito dust all over your face. ” he shoots back, grabbing a handful of cheesy goodness. god, he was hungry. he was planning on calling for a family-sized pizza, but perhaps this was a step-up. free, too. attention drifts towards the television set, nose wrinkling. “ when i’m THIRTY . . . if i’m still living at home, watching fuckin’ dolphin documentaries all day – shoot me. ”

     truth be told, passionate as he was about music, he hadn’t thought about it. sure, there were dreams of filled stadiums and sold-out shows. but they weren’t realistic and julian wasn’t dumb enough to consider them such. now dreams in the realistic realm, there were few. and none that he could even think of at the moment. “ nah, ” he mumbles, a shrug. but – “ i mean, yeah . . . ” did he ? he’s sitting in a basement with half a beer, maxed out after practice, and he’s enduring the hot-chair regarding a future he’d never planned – who would know anything under the circumstances. “ fuck if i know . . . what’s with the twenty questions ? ” part of him knows he’s being unfair, and unnecessarily harsh on the younger – as always – but, really . . . REALLY. “ whatever, this is, like – it for me, alright. after this, after that – this is after ! after cancer, after graduating . . . we’re supposed to be breaking through right fuckin’ now, man. ” 

     eighteen. it was certainly old enough to attend a party such as this one, although a couple years below his personal preference of company. oh, well . . . call it the magic of unsupervised ragers. “ yeah, but not to drink. ” he points out, the clear objective of showing up at the residence, surely. “ cops show up and you’re FUCKED . . . ” the word’s dragged out, emphasis on the hypothetical trouble she could possibly wind up in. yet again, the place was pretty dead by now. whoever called the cops on a party already six feet under definitely had a rod of a stick up their ass. “ not that this place’s gonna attract any pigs. ” shrug. “ lucky gal. ” marker twirling between lanky fingers, and the first door in a lengthy hallway is approached. “ alright, let’s get dickin’. ” knob turned, and the pair is greeted with total darkness. 

     he laughs, and she falls silent : lips parted, as words that dare to form simply don’t. “ gay . . . ” she repeats. it hadn’t been predicted. and it seems he’s actively working against her expectations now. perhaps he has some of his own : an inkling that a blonde would change strategies and gather up some ammunition of the homophobic kind . . . but she doesn’t. even if she hadn’t been dumbfounded to the point of complete silence, she had vince. and the catholic upbringing she’d endured forced her into a direction of wholehearted acceptance . . . if only to piss off her father. she ought to tell him to GET LOST, SUCK A DICK, but that was below her quality of insults, thus : instead – “ don’t you have have, like, bigger fish to fry than vandalism then . . . like, i dunno, assassinate reagan or some shit. ”

      expectations were placed on the older walking away . . . it was what most adults did when confronted with the sardonic nature of minoo pearce. but he doesn’t, and it’s made me clear he’s got a bone himself to pick with the blonde. “ you give me way too much cred ! i mean . . . look at you, ” she starts, gesturing towards a significantly larger stature. “ could A KID like me really make you do something you didn’t wanna ? ” mj is aware that what she’s doing isn’t much of a genuine observation of the man, rather painting an image herself : one that he’s bound to react to, and to reject. it was all fun & games, until it wasn’t. “ starting to think you’re ENOYING this, gramps – cornering girls half your age some shifty alley . . . you’re probably a whole ass creep, aren’t you. ” provocation : it was one of the few things she had mastered, and with a personality that demanded anarchy and confrontation – it was a trait often put to use. never for the good of anything, though. not much of an anarchist when you look at it that way. “ living in your mom’s basement, wearing her clothes . . . jacking it to the girls in your old yearbook – you’re, like, one little snap away from picking a girl off the street and making a bowl for your keys outta her skull. ” it’s a statement that is bound to wind up in a more volatile altercation, and if her not-so-perceptive-self had managed to hit ANYTHING on the nail – she was bound to wind up dead in a ditch. precisely the future her father had predicted for her. if only he could see her now. “ s’that why you’re here, huh, hoping i’ll give you a bj behind a dumpster . . . bash my head in if i won’t ? ”

     it wasn’t that he lacked the patience, of that he had plentiful, but eduardo preferred cutting to the chase ; a point made within a moment’s notice. saves a lot of time, could do many conversations good. this one included. “ sounds like folks are startin’ ‘ta think we take walk-ins . . . ” it’s a bold statement to make, considering : silhouette’s had never flown under the radar, and with half of the department in his pocket ( and wallet ), it should be of a surprise more don’t take advantage of the vipers’ self-made laws. studying the grin plastered onto the others’ face, intrigue is difficult to keep at bay. hits were not a service handed out by the group on the daily, rather : reason and profit were to be cornerstones in each case presented . . . and then consideration. drug-trade’s where the money was, not in solving marital disputes. “ yeah, fuck it . . . who’s the mystery chick ? ”

     insisting on time spent apart could certainly be considered counterintuitive. in the case of her best self-interest at least. she slept better with him, and although still not good – BETTER. it was easier to drift off by his side, and once the horrors of her mind forced a girl awake, having him still be there eased, at least, forty-five percent of her anxieties. give or take. she’s not alone in the bed . . . which is where the problem lies, as well. “ you know . . . that the point of that was to give you some time away – from me, right ? a road-trip sort of defeats the whole purpose. ” closeness distracts, and momentarily : a train of thought is lost. “ not that it’s a no . . . it’s not ! it’s a – you’re sweet. ” he was, and it remained a pressing issue : saying no was a difficulty, and pushing a concept such as this one was an impossibility. she was determined, though, even behind flushed cheeks and warm smiles. “ but i am serious, jamie . . . sleep’s important. ”