*/ chaos incarnate

Taking up a ‘job’ at the diner wasn’t something that Joel would have done back home. He enjoyed cooking, mostly learned as a way to stop asking his mother for attention and later on in life to impress a girl or two, but being in the town they were in. In this… whatever the hell this place was, it seemed like the only useful thing he could contribute. The only thing worthwhile as they all attempted to get through the next day or two. 

Joel shifted position, following the man with his gaze and raised a brow. There was more than enough room for the pair to spread out, but he didn’t question it. He wondered what Chase had taken. If he was still somehow under the influence of whatever drug had turned his night so bright and if Joel would be able to get his hands on some of it. Not for immediate use, but he was curious. “  Joel.  ” he offered in response, finding no need for last names in a place like this, “  You know, I had heard of these drugged out sex parties you guys be having here, but I didn’t think I’d walk into one if I’m being honest. Y’all just swap spit with anyone, or… ? Seems like a perfect excuse to find new bed mates is all, seeing how easily one could get bored of the same bodies back to back.   ”

“I would imagine so, how else would you eat?” he said, dully, before he couldn’t control himself and a laugh bubbled out of him. God, he was funny - that wasn’t even a joke. He took another sip from his cup, clearly the biggest factor in his lighter emotional state. It’s why he came to the Settlement as often as he did - it was a nice reprieve to let go of inhibitions. He hadn’t gotten too out of sorts here, maybe on accident once or twice, his sober thoughts being too scared of deciding to go for some midnight jog outside and running into those things just outside of the door. Usually, he was occupied enough with a person - or people - to quell those drunken thoughts of fleeing.

Like now.

“‘You guys’, he says - I don’t actually live here, I’ve just cashed in a lot of frequent flyer mileage out here,” Chase said, taking another sip and then tipping it on Joel’s direction, offering him a taste if he wanted. “I’m at the Common House, but I guess there’s a good chunk of people that go in and out of there a lot, depending on how long they actually make it. I live up in the attic, like some sequestered imaginary friend. But here’s not too bad.” He looked around, then his eyes lit up in Joel’s direction. “That sounds like some healthy curiosity to me.”

He played along, raising his hands and shrinking his head down in a play surrender, unable to help the laughter that escaped. Chase always felt it was important to not spiral into total upset while in Arcadia, making it a point to stay positive. Sometimes it was an uphill battle, but it was nice to know that there were others who agreed with his sentiments. Chase nodded, and shuffled up the stairs to leave her be for a bit, and he’d even wait patiently for her too. 

Chase didn’t even like tea, but if it was always going to be like this, he was sure he’d acquire a taste for it.

"Ya reckon yerself mighty important to meh or somethin'?" he said as he gently (read: withholding much of his strength) rubbed at Chase's wound. The cut wasn't very deep, and he doubted that it would require stitches. A bit of a glue would do the boy just fine. "It's bleedin' so..." He shrugged, "yer gonna have to get real comfortable with it real quick." He slapped a gauze back on the boy's head over the wound. Mav might have been concerned about a potential head injury but he was of the opinion that any injury would better the intelligence of the nuisance sitting in front of him. "Hold that," he muttered as he got up to go look for some skin glue in one of the supply drawers.

Glue acquired, he sat back down and applied pressure to the wound again. First they would need to wait for it to stop bleeding, then he would glue it shut and could go back to getting some sleep. There was a pause, a silence that Maverick usually found comfortable, still, he filled it. "There are reason ya think ahh don't like ya?"

He did as he was told and held the gauze up, arms feeling tired and lazy but making the effort anyway. Chase didn’t know much about first aid and felt lucky that the biggest medical problems in his life were easy fixes. He broke his arm when he first learned how to skateboard and loved the attention he got from a cast so much that he pouted about it coming off for a week after. And one time his sister accidentally slammed two of his fingers in a car door, and as spiteful and annoyed as he wanted to be, he knew it was an accident, so that one was hard to milk. He was more upset that he couldn't play the piano as much as he wanted to.

“Oh, you know, just that thing called your face,” he stated, casually. “I’m not like, offended or anything by it. It’s just a familiar face that people get when they talk to me.” He leaned in slightly, for dramatic effect. “But I can’t decide if I want to try and make it better, or up the ante on my lovely personality in your presence.” He was only being as quiet as he was because Shaw was so nice, and suddenly felt really annoyed he didn’t have a harmonica on hand when he vanished into Arcadia. That would’ve been a hoot.

Even then, there was an intrigue now, an interest that no matter how much she tried to dissuade him from being in her vicinity, would not go away. And though she had tried to brush it away at first, he could tell that her interest was piqued as well. It was this shared psychosis they all seemed to share here, each only given a small piece of the puzzle. Well, at least Hell Town wanted them all to work together before killing them all slowly; how sweet. 

Chase could nearly see the cogs turning in her head and he waited there. As fidgety as he was before, he was perfectly still - even his breathing stilled, the smallest bits of air to keep him alive as he waited to hear what she had to say. And as she spoke, nothing clicked in Chase’s head past fear at the words. For some reason, this was so important that they all had to know about it. It had to have had something to do with why he was so hurt, because he couldn’t figure out what his mother was trying to say.

He scoffed and threw his hands up in frustration, before they came back down in a frustrated slap against his thighs. “Well, what am I, fucking Tolkein, I don’t know riddles!” he said, not to her or anyone, really - just an exclamation of irritation at this place - one more thing to add to the list of grievances. “Oh, something like that– please, you’re a natural. But I don’t know what that means, I hear barking and biting and I think of dogs and that can’t be right, it’s too ridiculous.”

“Why do you hate it so much?” he asked, unable to help the chuckle. “Is it because it was playing everywhere for awhile?” Chase never had to work retail, but he knew of some friends he met at college who waited tables or worked in coffee shops or thrift stores, hearing the same hearty pop everywhere they went, at all times. He always figured it would’ve been easy to tune something like that out, but maybe if it caught you on a bad day or something, it was more likely the equivalent of taking a cheese grater to the brain. 

Still, he started strumming something else, something he could barely trace back from years ago, maybe something his parents would put on the refurbished record player they had in the sitting room. Something that was familiar enough to trace, but never thoroughly flesh out in all its colors. “You should definitely take your heels off, because that’s just ridiculous,” he said. “Just wash some shoes or something, if you get, like, bunions or something from high heels around here there’s nothing anyone can do about that. Like, really nothing.” That would be bad; cursed to Hell wasn’t ideal, but cursed to Hell with feet problems would have really sent him over the edge. “What parts are exciting?” Chase perked up at that, a never totally dormant part of him extremely nosy, too much for his own good sometimes. “Or even embarrassing - I miss gossiping.”

"What–" was all Chase managed to say when there was a blooming pain in the back of his skull, enough to make him keel over at the waist and raise his hand to the wound. But he was too off guard, and soon blows were raining over his head and he didn't have the wherewithal to stay standing. He hit the floor, as spots danced in his vision, the blurred image of a person with dark hair over him as he lost consciousness.

He sat up quick when he was brought back to life, so much so that his head immediately swam and he curled back down, clutching the back of his head. That voice... it was the same one as before. "Are you insane?" Chase groaned, taking his time sitting up. He'd had a concussion before, and he wasn't sure if it was that, or if they hit the right spot on his head to make him go. Was that actually a thing, or was that just something people did in movies? "What was that for?" Chase could admit he could be a glutton for punishment under the right circumstances, but this was a bit extreme.

“   There’s about thirty to forty minutes of daylight left, in case you still think there’s time for chatter.  ” Juno said, though they continued clearing up the last few items on their desk. They had no plans of leaving anytime soon, but their work day was done. Now they would focus on their pottery and wedging the next batch of clay.

END

 “  I’m not sure chugging on this devil tar is the right decision, but have at it. There’s more over in the kitchen. I tried to stay in there but after one too many encounters with hungry eyes I had to make a speedy get away. Didn’t want to be the next meal, or whatever.   ” Joel paused, taking a better look at the male, who he was sure he’d seen around the town or at the diner, but who’s name easily evaded his mind. He wasn’t sure just how many people he had met in the past month or two, but he stopped counting after learning just how quick they disappeared after. Coaxed outside by the creatures in the night like a moth attracted to the flame. “  You’re looking kind of rough there, dude. Escaped from a dungeon, did ya?  ”

The cup Chase had been nursing was on the floor by the couch they sat on, and to his luck it had remained unspilled and still half full of its contents, a murky dark red. He didn’t know what it was made of, and he didn’t want to ask - he figured it was some kind of wine-mixed-with-liquor type of thing, because that’s what he always tasted… but maybe the man beside him had a point. It could have very well been blood of the enemies. As soon as that thought entered his mind, he brushed it off with the slightest breath of a chuckle, thinking that would have been a little too crazy. The settlement crew could get a little crazy, sure, but he didn’t buy into a lot of the rumors. He’d walked in and out of these halls many times with everything still intact, and he was fine.

“Dungeon?” he repeated, a grin blooming on his face. He turned more towards Joel, knee coming up on the couch and leaning an elbow on the back of the couch with a hand propping up his cheek. “You say that like it’s a bad thing, I had a blast.” He cleared his throat a little, and drank the liquor. Chase was well aware of his own limits, and the little bits of that “substance” was wearing off, ready to be replaced by liquor. “Chase Flannery. At your service.”

"Hello," Frankie whispered to the flittering butterfly caressing their index finger. A haze had settled over the sky threatening looming nightfall - but there was no rush in their movements. Cross-legged and strewn leisurely amongst the flora of the common house garden, Frankie hadn't remembered wandering in its direction, but they regularly never questioned how they got from Point A to Point B. They used to joke it was a party trick, but it wasn't exactly fun anymore. Hearing the creak of someone approaching the back porch, Frankie turned their gaze upon - a resident, they could only assume. It mustn't have been too odd of a sight, seeing a stranger making themselves at home in their backyard, considering their reality. Still, Frankie could recognise they were in someone else's home, mustering up enough manners to give him a wave. "I've gotten myself into, uh. A bit of a pickle." Wiping dirt from their hands onto their pants, Frankie eventually clambered to a stand - they looked about as comfortable in their body as a puppet waiting to be controlled. "I'm a bit - turned around? Where... are we, exactly?"

If anyone was familiar with the irritation that came with shitty weed, it was him.

He didn’t think there was really such a thing as property around Arcadia, or if there was, he couldn’t understand why that would be the case. They all kind of had to share everything in one big community bubble. Sometimes it was townies against settlementers, or it felt like it, but this wasn’t really something he was totally ready to share. There was a space akin to a backyard behind the common house, some attempts at reviving flowers in a garden, but it ended up amounting to rusted lawn furniture in a patch of dead grass with a fence that had long since had its foundational structures torn down. 

And he wasn’t ready to share this new product, but was still startled by the voice stumbling onto the house’s property line. Chase was almost down to the bottom, a roach all that was left from the carefully rolled joint. And for whatever reason, his first instinct was to hide it, like one would to strict parents, popping it in his mouth and attempting to swallow - except it burned, he had never done it before, and he immediately coughed it back up. “Oh my god, what are you Michael Myers?” he chastised, coughing some more and looking wildly around until he caught sight of the other.

The wind was knocked out of him when he landed on the ground below and he was fortunate that he prepared a bit so that his head didn’t smack so hard against the pavement, but he did let out an - admittedly - somewhat pathetic noise at the heel of the boot digging into that space between bones in his shoulder. Turning over wouldn’t work, and he wasn’t strong enough to hit hard enough for him to let go. “Waitwaitwait— c’mon, you said you’d let me choose and I did,” he said, the words getting quieter when he realized he was essentially begging the man to break his arm. “You know what, papa, your life would be so boring without me, admit it.”

Chase grinned, his directionless playing suddenly very fully and confidently the opening notes of Shallow, just to see her reaction. “I like that one, it’s in my vocal range,” he says. “Both of them are, actually, even if I have to strain a bit on Gaga’s part.” His feet stretched out as he listened and played, stopping abruptly then. “It’s not mine either!” Finally, someone to complain to. “I don’t know what pocket of universe we’re tucked into, and does it feel like a place that would have snow? Yeah, probably. But does it also feel like some boonies type place where it’s sticky and normal? Yes. And that’s what bothers me the most - I came in the summer, I was not prepared to be freezing my ass off. Almost every shirt I have has the sleeves cut off.” He shook his head, as if that was the most disappointing thing about being in Arcadia. “So then what do you do in the meantime, cause I kinda just do this all day.”