the bloody chamber

she’s grown accustomed to barbie goodwin’s ways from the very first day on the job — she doesn’t mind her (her presence at hoopers isn’t usually half as harmful as that of die-hard sports fans during cup season), but she does care. one might perhaps investigate and find a peculiar kind of solidarity tying her to the fate of the elder barb — as if she could see herself in parts of her, or imagine a future in which she’d share the same need for chaos, the same uncontrollable thirst for some cinematic version of life. she’s been keeping her eyes on the woman all through the night, making sure she wouldn’t cross the line between a fun night out and a horrible turn of events — she hoped (against hope, perhaps) that barb would stick around ‘til the end of her shift, so she could drive her home herself before other, less pleasant prospects, volunteered. instead last call arrived and, as most patrons left the building, barb was entertaining herself with late customers freddie really didn’t like. she called the younger barb hoping for a quick intervention, but had to make a last-minute decision anyway.

her sincere regret is clear on her face when barb shows up: freddie lets go of the towel she’s been wiping the counter with and instead makes her way around to the front of the room, her lips an apologetic smile. “i didn’t know what to do. there were people i didn’t like chatting her up, so i had a friend drive her home. actually, you just missed them”. she could see exhaustion on the girl’s features — not just of the physical kind, but the dreaded sort that burrowed into one’s head and wouldn’t ever let them catch a breath. though she’d hardly ever had any relationship with her mother, freddie could understand feeling trapped, no escape route in sight: smiling, she nodded at the counter. “wanna grab a drink?”. 

barbie has so spent so many years running after her mother, long before she was legally allowed to drive a car or old enough to be in a bar. perhaps it was a bit unfair for barbie to think so, but her mother treated her like a hurdle to get past and not a child to take care of; when big barb first had her daughter, she promised herself she’d shape up and be a good mother, even at the tender age of twenty three, but quickly all she saw was her youth draining away when she looked at her infant daughter. she loved her daughter, barbie knew her mother loved her, but she knew that her mother resented her, too. it wasn’t always so strained, or so dire, there were many months long stretches were big barb woke up and wanted to take her daughter to school, make a packed lunch for barbie, clean up the house and do all the duties that regularly fell to the child. it wasn’t as if she was a horrible mother, she just wasn’t a good one, and it pains barbie to think such ungrateful things. even though her mother was chaotic and embarrassing, she was actually alive, and present in her life (a little too present, sometimes, and sometimes too absent), unlike her father. her mother may have loved partying too much, but her father loved the devils too much, and it cost him his life.

she’s not surprised to find her mother gone when she finally arrives, it’s part of big barb’s modus operandi: cause a scene and then bail before the consequences can catch up, or rather her daughter. barbie releases a loud sigh and also subtly rolls her eyes, relief and irritation one in the same. “it’s alright, i’d rather not deal with her anyways.” normally she wouldn’t allow herself to be heard speaking bitterly, but it’s in the middle of the night and freddie seems like a sentinel of secrets. she sees everything that happens in the bar and rarely ever talks about it, at least as far as barbie knows. “i... would love to, actually.” again, normally barbie would refuse, too afraid to drink and be compared to her mom, but the sky is so dark outside and it’s the hour of the night when bars close and barbie feels particularly helpless. “your boss won’t be mad i’m still in here?”

Location: Outside Corner Cafe

With: Barbara Goodwin

@forlorned​

“Fuck,” Samantha said as she checked out the message on her burner phone, from one of her men who had made sure the person who lost a big amount of money wouldn’t blab about the underground fight club. It was amazing the things petty people were willing to do when they lost something special to them but discretion was of the utmost importance when it came to the fight club, especially because it wasn’t exactly considered legal. She hid this little bit of information from Lena because she didn’t want the burden of their father’s ‘legacy’ on her shoulders as well, but it definitely was a lot to handle. 

Sam was so involved in texting back that she hadn’t noticed a couple of skateboarders gesturing for her to get out of the way, only hopping back in time to not be pummeled to the ground. She hadn’t come out unscathed, though, because her blouse now held a rather large coffee stain. “Fucking assholes! Know what a fucking sidewalk is for, dumbass!” Samantha called out as she pulled the front of her shirt away from her body, thanking the heavens that she had decided to go for the iced option today. She turned around to see that she wasn’t the only person there on the sidewalk and she let out a sigh upon realizing who it was. “Don’t happen to have any napkins on you, would you?”

barbie sometimes felt like she spent more time at the cafe than she did her actual workplace, but that’s only because barbie’s typical day-to-day was quite monotonous. her daily coffee break was quotidian, to the point that she couldn’t often parse out any specific memories of her trips to the corner cafe, she just knew that she did. once in the morning for coffee, once in the afternoon for lunch. if she ever needed an alibi, the cops would ask where she was at eight am or noon, and she’d be able to recall the location, but nothing else. it sounds so drab and boring, but it’s what barbie likes. she likes a simple routine, she likes everything to be in its assigned place and to never have to think deeply about anything, move through the motions like an automaton. so much so, that when a group of skateboarding teenagers rolled along the sidewalk, barbie was barely paying attention. the only thing to stop herself from getting caught in the fracas was the outburst of samantha martinez.

if there’s one person that barbie can think of that isn’t a automaton, it’s samantha. she was also so lively when they were teenagers, and while they certainly aren’t teens or even friends anymore, barbie knew that was still true. she was always jealous of the way sam operated, she was always just so jealous of her, that barbie didn’t realize it was more than just girlhood envy of another that was prettier, smarter, more confident than herself. she didn’t realize it until they had kissed way back when, and that had scared barbie deeply, so she dropped sam the moment it all got to be too much. seeing her now, samantha’s so much more beautiful than barbie remembered, and she has the thought of ignoring the request and just keep walking, just to avoid her feelings. instead, barbie smiles softly and sympathetically, digging into her purse. “what a bunch of fuckin’ little punks, huh? just let me check,” she says, glancing over at sam as she moves the various items of her bag around, “sorry, it’s just so hard to find anything in here.”

the corner cafe has seen a lot of barbie since it first opened. there’s only so many places to eat in town, but she enjoys a croissant and a cup of coffee every morning before work, and the baristas at the cafe know how to make it exactly the way she likes it. for barbie, it might even be her closest thing to an actual friendship, since they know her by name and that’s pretty much it. no, barbie’s lacking a lot of things in her life, and genuine connections are at the top of the list. in fact, the one person she thought maybe could be her person (as all those romantic comedies and pinterest boards like to put it) ended up being one of her greatest enemies. enemies? that’s too strong a word, and barbie doesn’t hold much hate for anyone, but the intense dislike she has for daniel choi definitely measures up to it. if she has a black book, it only contains his name. over and over again, with devil horns poking out of the a.

truthfully, barbie doesn’t really remember why she’s so mad at him. she rarely gets drunk, so the bit of alcohol that coursed through her veins during the foundation days disco was enough to knock her on her ass. all she remembers is that dannie said the worst thing anyone’s ever said to her and that he is now the worst person in all of charming, club and gang members included! of course, whenever she’s really mad at someone, they tend to haunt her like a poltergeist. her morning routine is disrupted by daniel and his stupid mustache, waiting for his coffee just like she is. she can see him out of the corner of her eye, though she’s definitely not looking, and feels a bit of sick satisfaction at his obvious irritation with the garrulous fellow next to him. you could even say that she’s smirking. maybe even laughing a little, too.

NAME:

up until about... a week ago, daniel’s contact name was a simple ‘Dannie Choi’, but as of the foundation days festival... ‘DO NOT answer!!!’

RINGTONE:

when they were dating, it was probably something super cutesy like a janet jackson song, but once they broke up, it was changed to Kill Bill Siren, which isn’t a movie that barbie liked (or probably watched until she dated daniel) but it perfectly encapsulates her feelings on the matter.

PICTURE:

his contact photo is probably the only thing that hasn’t changed post-breakup or post-foundation days, she can’t stand to delete it or change it to a gremlin or something because he looks so nice. and that’s the only nice thing she’ll say abt him at the moment!!

LAST TEXT RECEIVED:

[ received at 11:03pm ] I don’t understand why you’re acting like this ?? I’m just trying to be your fucking friend, like I am with most of my exes [ received at 11:07pm ] Uh you’re the one that called me a taxi driver fanboy, and then brought up my dad. Not like you’re innocent in all of this [ received at 11:17pm ] I’m sorry for that or whatever but like it was both a low blow from both of us and I just wish you could move past it so we can be friends again  [ received at 12:37pm ] Why did you have to bring Rick and Morty into this?  

LAST TEXT SENT:

[ sent at 11:05pm ] Jfc, you??? brought up my mother?????? after you caught me drunk? [ sent at 11:05 ] Barb Jr out to play ring a fucking bell, you fuckwad??????? [ sent at 11:10 ] UM?! That was after you brought up my mom. Eye for an eye or whatever  [ sent at 11:24 ] Oh as fucking if we were ever friends in the first place! I dated you for a short time like a hundred years ago and you were such a fucking asshole that I honestly have no idea what I saw in you in the first place. Dating you is lik e dating a brick wall that only spouts out Rick and Morty quotes as if that show is actually brilliant as you seem to think it is. Like I’m so sorry that your life is going nowhere and you’re so fucking unhappy but do you have to take it out on everyone? And like whatever, you want to be friends but did you ever consider that maybe I don’t want to be friends with YOU? like what kind of friend are you??? Sorry that I’m not a 15 year old boy that just wants to smoke pot and play Skyrim all day, maybe I want a boyfriend that like... actually talks to me? And likes me? And doesn’t treat me like furniture or something while you scroll through reddit on DATES???? Like honestly Dan if you ever get married I’ll say a prayer for her. Whatever. i’m done talking to you, GOODBYE [ sent at 12:41pm ] external image

barbie doesn’t like to be her mother’s keeper, but if she doesn’t do it, no one will. or at least that’s the justification that barbie needs to keep on doing it; simply loving her mother isn’t enough. she does love her mom, she does, but it’s a weathered, strained sort of love. one that’s only there because it has to, familial relation and all. if barbie had to know her mother, not as one but just a person that lives in the same town, she wouldn’t like big barb. if barbie was just a bystander like everyone else, she’d judge her mother harshly, too. little barb may not like big barb, but she does love her. nearing two in the morning, she was awoken by the sound of her phone on the coffee table. she fell asleep on the couch instead of in her bed, papers strewn around her and a marathon of the hills still playing on hulu. she was groggy when she picked up her phone, but she knew from the contact name that it was probably in regards to her mother: freddie dawson. 

the bartender is a friend, but mostly she’s a herald. when freddie calls in the middle of the night, it’s not to chat. if freddie calls, it’s because it’s last call and her mom refuses to leave the building. the moment the call ended, barbie tugged some sweatpants over her bare legs and threw on some shoes, getting in the car while still a bit under the fog of sleep. it didn’t take more than a few minutes until she got to hoopers, haphazardly parking in between two parking spots. immediately she got out of the car, barely taking a moment to turn it off and grab her purse, running up to the front doors. once inside, she spots freddie’s burning red hair and nearly bursts out into tears for no particular reason. sometimes barbie cries because she can. “is my mom still here?” big barb is known to run off when she knows she’s been caught by the fun police, as she calls her daughter. better the fun police than the real police, barbie always thinks but never says. 

Now here was a situation that intrigued Diana. A drunken woman, living a little too much, while someone who she assumes is her daughter watches with evident distaste. In a way, Diana resonates with the situation more than she’ll ever lead on. She’s been a mother to her own mom for longer than she could remember. But perhaps that wasn’t her fault, her mother’s existence was littered with misfortune despite Diana’s well-guarded resentment. Even so, she can’t help but wonder what this woman’s story was. When Diana thinks she’s observed just the right amount, she takes it upon herself to approach the dark-haired woman, sitting just across from her. She doesn’t need to speak first, which Diana would have done easily, but a part of her is relieved that the other woman spoke first.

“God doesn’t give a shit what you do,” Diana says, perhaps a little too harshly. Sometimes Diana struggled with finding a healthy balance between bluntness and honesty. While the two might have been the same in hindsight, they both obtained inner details that begged to differ. A subtle smile graces her expression then, head canting to the side a tad, “I say eat as much as your heart desires,” A little patronizing now, another thing Diana couldn’t quite navigate. At least she tries and maybe that’s what matters at the end of the day. “Something troubling you?” The brunette asks now, “I can’t help but notice, sweetheart.” Once again, Diana’s intentions are misplaced, though you couldn’t tell. She asks because she’s curious but because she cares. Deep down, she might actually be worried, especially since the situation hits a little too close to home. But Diana Knowles was someone so stubborn when it came to her truest emotions that even she was unaware of her most sincere feelings. 

barbie is used to this. that does not mean that she’s comfortable with it, or that she approves of it, but she knows not to expect anything different from her mother. long before barbie was consciously aware, her mother was this way, drinking long into the night (and morning) and treating her daughter more like a best friend, even when she was just a little girl. barbie was privy to relationship drama, problems at work, family secrets that children aren’t supposed to find out until they’re well into adulthood. little barb was big barb’s only confidant and only burden. now she’s less of a best friend, less of a burden, more of a custodian, more of a parent. now all her mother tells her is that she’s no fun, always trying to get her mom to go home instead of hanging around hoopers way past last call, always apologizing for big barb when she spills beer into someone’s purse and all over some guy’s cowboy boots. this is the only daughter’s job, barbie rationalized it to herself long ago, but most other only daughters’ probably don’t have mothers that are trying so hard to hold onto their youth that left them long, long ago. in a way, it insults her, another reminder that barbara goodwin lost out on her youth by having little barbara goodwin.

she wasn’t actually expecting a response with her question, but the answer does have her brows quickly lifting in surprise. “i guess not,” she replies, but barbie doesn’t know if she believes that. really, barbie doesn’t know what she believes; her mother raised her vaguely christian, a glinting gold cross necklace still on big barb’s neck currently, but they weren’t godly people. she glances up from her paper plate to the woman, recognizing her as someone that works at mayhem maidens, but barbie has no intimate knowledge of the establishment. she wasn’t going to respond to that suggestion, opting for eating another piece of funnel cake, but she’s half-surprised, half-irritated at the woman’s own question. there’s no mistaking it, she’s noticed barbie’s mom and her oh-so-entertaining antics. that’s the most embarrassing part, big barb does this in public. swallowing thickly, barbie grabs for the cup of pink lemonade to wash it, and her shame, down. “that obvious?” barbie grimaces, looking off towards her mom again, “it’s like this every year. i get to watch her make a fool of herself and then she gets to call me a wet blanket for not wanting to do body shots off of a sixty year old man.”

@forlorned​, daniel & barbie. foundation days, day two. location: main street, disco fever.

the fact that daniel hadn’t seen his father yet and it was day two seemed like an act of god, but since he didn’t believe in god or luck–he figured whatever his father was up to, it would catch up to the son eventually. still, two days of festivities without a single cameo offered him a little more freedom than usual and it had him in a pretty good mood, though he had spent the morning pouting over not having thought of the disco sucks shirt until the day of. at least he wasn’t decked out to the nines like half of charming. 

most of the guys from work had been heckling one another about the maidens’ performance and who would or wouldn’t catch hell from their girlfriends or wives for attending it. as one of the few single members of the veterinary clinic, he received a few hisses and boos when he said he wasn’t interested. if anything, he was sure that any one of those harpies would make him for his father’s son in a heartbeat and he’d be forced to shell out four-hundred bucks for a lap dance he didn’t even get to enjoy. not that he would’ve gone for one anyway. maybe it was his father’s fault, but strip clubs always seemed too shady for the younger choi and he wasn’t really interested in finding out if he was right.

when he spotted barbie, he wasn’t really sure what to say to her. there was a nice, largely unspoken bond between two kids with a laundry list of karmic debt thanks to their parents, but he never really knew how to initiate conversation with her even though he usually wanted to. spying a couple disappear behind the small beer garden, he donned a false expression of concern and approached her with a stage whisper of mock conspiracy. “i’m pretty sure i just saw donna summers making out with one of the village people, but could’ve sworn she came here with some frankie valli lookin’ motherfucker.” daniel scoffed in disbelief. “can you believe this night? i’m always surprised by how all out everybody goes like it’s halloween or some shit.”

barbie doesn’t drink, and if she does, not that often, not that much. the occasional glass of wine at dinner, the rare shot of tequila at the office christmas party just to show she’s not a total bore, barbie doesn’t drink often because she’s spent so much of her life following after her own drunken mother. the idea of being like that, of losing control of herself in such a way, it’s horrifying. barbie has done so much to make sure she never reminds others that she’s big barb’s (and ty, late devil’s disciple’s) daughter, trying so hard to distance herself from her mother’s messiness while also constantly cleaning up those messes. she can never really get away from it, though. people will always look at little barb and see big barb, a woman that laughs loudly at slot machines and cries loudly on bar stools. often, barbie can ignore it, compartmentalize, but it’s harder at town-wide functions like this. foundation days are three days where big barb has the whole town’s eyes on her and she loves to put on a show.

barbie doesn’t drink, but tonight she’s got a splash of vodka in her pink lemonade, because she feels that she deserves it on tonight of all nights. after spending most of the day trailing after her mother, and then fighting with her, then trailing again, until she finally lost her as the disco began, barbie decides this will be one of the few nights alone that she’ll indulge and have a bit of alcohol, the exact vice that has big barb in a chokehold and tormented their lives since before barbie can actually remember. it’s a disco, after all, though she’ll never lose control enough to actually dance. in fact, she’s walking away from main street, no longer entertaining the idea of drinking in public. she’ll go back to her apartment, down the rest of her pink lemonade, and probably cry on the couch until her roommate gets home. noisily sipping her drink, she’s slowly walking with her chin pointed downwards, almost touching her chest, when a voice suddenly jumps out at her. a dreaded voice. daniel choi, of all people, to see her look like such a sadsack!

if there was anyone in the world that could understand barbie, particularly her complicated relationship with her mother, it was daniel choi. if there was anyone in this world that barbie couldn’t stand, it was daniel choi. they dated once, and a relationship that should’ve had deep understanding just left barbie frustrated. they were both so closed off, but he didn’t hide his bitterness with sweetness. there was no chirpy tone and bright smiles, daniel wears his misanthropy on his sleeve, and it left barbie with a bad taste in her mouth. even now, with his casual approach and supposedly amusing words, barbie is finding it hard to place that friendly, warm mask onto her face that she’s become so used to wearing, so much so that it might as well be the real her. her voice very slightly slurred, she squints as she speaks, “they’d be fuckin’ lucky to even be in the same room as donna summer.” she knows he doesn’t mean the literal donna summer or frankie valli, but she’s looking for any reason to be rude to him. besides, she loves donna summer. “what are you dressed as then? a taxi driver fanboy?”

“Yummy! Yummy!” cooed Mariel as she fed Reyna some baby food. She was taking a break from the sight seeing and enjoying some festival food at a picnic table with her daughter. It was evident that the infant was curious as to what her mother had purchased, but since she is a baby, there was no way she was going to let her have an upset stomach. Looking over at Barbie, Mariel chuckled and shook her head head as she gave the mayor’s secretary an encouraging smile. “Of course not! Live your life with no regrets at this point. Everyone’s doing their bidding from sinning to winning these next three days right?” She then tilted her head and had a look of curiosity to her, “You look down and out though. You good Barb?” 

barbie really doesn’t want to be such a sourpuss during some of the best days in charming, it’s just hard to act all sweet and bubbly when she’s front row to big barb goodwin’s greatest performance yet. ripping off another piece of the funnel cake, the tense feeling in her shoulders eases a bit when she looks over at mariel and her baby. it’s difficult to be so annoyed when in the presence of a cute little baby, but barbie will have to power through it, gaze returning to her mother nearly falling over. she stuffs another piece of cake into her mouth, completely unladylike in front of the one woman in the world barbie wasn’t sure ever had a bad hair day or had a desire to consume endless amounts of fried dough in her life. “i’ll keep that in mind.” barbara mumbles, eyes glancing down at her plate. suddenly it has lost its appeal, but she’ll keep eating. her head pops up at mariel’s question, debating on giving a sugary sweet response or telling the truth. she goes with the truth: “just enjoying the show. big barb doesn’t get many chances to publicly embarrass me, but she’ll take every one she gets.” the second it leaves her, it makes her wince. she hates to sound so bitter and angry. “but enough about me. this is your first foundation days festival, right?”

barbie loves foundation days. she’s supposed to, at least. in theory, she loves them. the town getting together to celebrate, the rides, the games, and most of all, the food. in practice, she spends most of it being embarrassed by or looking after her mother, big barb. it’s early in the afternoon but her mom has already had two cups of spiked strawberry lemonade, drunkenly laughing as she sloppily plays skee-ball, and barbie’s off to the sidelines to watch it all happening with no way of stopping it. the only thing she can do is leave her mother to her partying, but more often than not, she’ll be the one to have to collect her at the end of the night and drag her back home. sitting down at a picnic table, a funnel cake in front of her, she’s observing her mother just a few yards away, trying to act like she’s not doing that. ripping off a little piece of funnel cake, she glances at the person across from her at the picnic table and sighs bitterly, “this is, like, the only time of year i can have funnel cake. do you think god will judge me if i have two?” call it drowning her sorrows in fried dough and powdered sugar.

    elias always loved any celebration that the town held. of course founders day held a special place in his heart. it was the second day and of course he was in attendance. his wife was right by his side. he had made some of the rounds before going to get them both some steaks. all the while keeping the smile plastered on his face. his wife had already found a table and he had joined her. it was a nice sight for him, seeing everyone there to support their town. everyone digging into their food. he had just cut into his t-bone when he noticed someone seeming to look for a place to sit. he cleared his throat and sat up a bit straighter,“ you can join us if you like,” he called out,“ unless you are meeting someone.” @charmingstarter

it took a beat for it to dawn on her, the realization as clear as day on jordan’s tired features. “jesus, yeah, of course. barbie goodwin. how could anyone forget, huh?” her face reddened beneath what was left of her makeup, but only slightly. usually she was good at remembering names and faces. key word being usually. jordan’s expression turned sheepish then. she really needed to get it together. “i’m jordan,” she motioned at herself, head canting, “i work at the police station.” as if that much wasn’t obvious already.

it’s a force of habit: the staring. she never meant to do it, but then again there was a lot of things she never meant to do, and did anyway. her eyes flitted over barbie’s highlighted passages, unable to decipher any of the writing from her position. it was more of a signal than anything else. “all work and no play, i see.” jordan smirked, but it wasn’t smug. whether she wanted to or not, she took her work everywhere with her, too. there were times when she hated it, but that was who she was. jordan leaned her forearms against the bar and motioned in barbie’s general direction. “you get paid for that kind of overtime?” 

barbie was used to people not recognizing her—of course she was one of the handful of black women in town, but barbie knows she doesn’t make that big of an impression. a forceful personality is something that she doesn’t have, content to be a wallflower since she was a girl. it was easier that way. with her (late) biker father and her chaotic mother, barbie didn’t like to bring a lot of attention on herself. even now, if barbie can avoid the spotlight, she’ll do anything in her power to do just that. when someone comes right up to her, however, she knows exactly how to fake it. sometimes her mother remarks that barbie’s faux-friendly personality is a symptom of working in politics but barbie learned how to play the game a long time ago, mostly thanks to her mother. “i think the question is who can remember.” she says sardonically, but her tone is so sweet that it could be classified as confection.

“yeah, i remember seeing you around the station before! you’re a detective?” barbie asks, though the answer is pretty obvious as she’s only see jordan at the station sans blues. she doesn’t know much about how all that police stuff works, but she knows the difference between uniform and plainclothes from watching law and order: svu for damn near twenty years. barbie looks down at her own papers when jordan comments on it, laughing shyly. “more of an idle hands thing, you know.” it’s really a lie, barbie can sit still for hours, but it makes her feel better, dining alone with something to do. if she reads a book while waiting for her food, people will think she’s weird; if she scrolls through instagram, she’s lonely. with paperwork in front of her, it’s like she has an actual purpose. (that’s all she wants, really, a purpose.) “unfortunately not,” she laughs again, nose scrunching a little. “i do this on my own time, sadly. but y’know, get a jump on it now and have more time tomorrow to browse twitter and online shop... don’t tell mayor castillo i said that last bit.”

Marcus’ laughter echoed through the bar as he stood up straightening his vest when he did. It wasn’t exactly a party but when the disciples got together after church they deserved to blow off steam, the prospects and some of the locals enjoyed the fun too. Throwing more money on the bar he winked at the bartender, “Break something while I’m outside and I’ll take it out of your asses.” he called out before stepping outside. 

Pulling a cigarette out of the pack he lit it and watched the smoke float into the air. Looking over at the approaching footsteps he flicked his ashes, “Yeah?” He’d come out here for a break and wasn’t really expecting anyone to bother him right now. @charmingstarter​

barbie’s seen what partying has done to her mother. barbie has spent too many nights cleaning up her mother’s puke, putting her to bed, having her mom come home right when barbie’s waking up in the morning. the reasons why her childhood was so chaotic, it can mostly be blamed on her mother’s love of getting hammered, so that’s why barbie tends to stay away from drinking. that, however, does not mean that barbie never goes to bars. she doesn’t drink, usually ordering a soda that she can just tell people is a rum and coke if they ask (they usually never do) or a solitary glass of white wine, but she likes to be in bars for the social aspect. being in a crowd of people and still feeling so alienated, it’s the only way barbie can feel close to strangers. there’s nothing in her life that gives her camaraderie like the devil’s disciples have. she can see their president now as she’s walking up to the building.

like anyone that isn’t a part of either gang or mc, she has complicated feelings on the disciples. her father was one, way back in the day, before he died when she was in middle school. he was a disciple and they’re the reason he’s dead, that stupid shootout that claimed his life. ty is dead because of them, but they’re also the reason barbie is alive. if it wasn’t for her mother falling in love with a biker, she wouldn’t be standing here today. well, walking, until the president speaks to her. “what?” she stops short and looks around confused, “what do you mean, yeah? i was just walking.” really, she knows she should speak with more respect to him, but she works in the mayor’s office now, and with her dead father, she can’t help the bit of bitterness that seeps through her normally cheery tone. “are you guys celebrating or something?” she asks, not because she’s interested, she just wants to know if maybe she should go to the other bar.

location: hoopers or la luna; player’s choice. @charmingstarter​

Jordan hated being alone. She grew unbearably restless in silence–she always had. She couldn’t think if hers was the only voice she heard. It was why she always found herself drawn to places like these: bars full of people and an endless chorus of disorderly background noise. The chitter-chatter, the guffaws, the buzz of the machinery above. She relished it, overhearing everything and nothing at all. Her eyes had glazed over in a way that suggested she was elsewhere, until the bartender set her plate before her. It was her usual: a half-plate of their outrageously greasy, loaded fries with a side of honey mustard. Nothing–absolutely nothing–soothed the soul like some good, old-fashioned heart disease. 

She immediately sat up then, unaware of the fact that she’d hunched over, and thanked the bar-back. It was obvious to anyone that Jordan had just clocked out. If not because of the mascara smudged beneath her lower lash line, then perhaps it was the makeup she’d already rubbed from her nose. With such little sleep in her system, and even less sustenance, it was a miracle Jordan was still standing. Er, sitting. She picked at one of the jalapeños and let her gaze wander until it eventually settled. “Do you want some?” It spilled from her lips before she could think. Nevertheless, she didn’t take it back. Jordan instead motioned at her plate, a friendly smile on her face. “I promise I didn’t touch ‘em too much.”

barbie goodwin alone in a bar? it’s a sight that’s all too common, and anyone that has rude thoughts about people that dine alone have simply gotten used to it when it comes to barbie. chronically alone, despite her very bubbly façade, she can count the amount of personal friends she’s got on one hand, and normally she’s somewhat fine with that. her mother makes disparaging comments about her being a spinster at thirty-one, as if her mother was so happy to be a parent of an eight year old when she was barbie’s age. it’s only in places like this, bustling with people and the sounds of indistinct conversations loud as buzzing bees, that she really regrets how much she’s pushed others away. work papers in front of her, they’re fine to be left at the office but it gives her something to do, something that keeps her from wistfully looking around the room and wishing she could be part of it all. the mayor doesn’t mind if she takes her home with her, but it’s not as if it’s work that needs to be done at home; their schedule can be planned during work hours, not at a sports bar or in front of her tv at home, but it makes her feel less lonely, to have a task at hand.

her nails tap on the pint glass, filled with cherry coke instead of the standard bud light, waiting for a plate of wings to arrive. underlining a few choices passages on the mayor’s most recent proposal, she takes a moment to ponder how the mayor of a town could be so bad at grammar, the pen gets away from her and marks off an unintended part of empty space towards the top of the page when there’s a voice suddenly cutting through her forced concentration. her hair whips behind her as she looks over her shoulder to find a familiar face, she doesn’t remember her name but knows she’s a cop. “oh!” barbie looks down at the offending plate, moving her body subtly so her shoulder isn’t obtrusive. “i got some wings coming, but thank you.” besides, she may be a cop and a fellow woman, but there’s just a one-percent chance that maybe they’re poisoned... or something. can’t trust anyone these days—at the very least, anyone in charming. “hi, uh, do you remember me? i’m barbie goodwin, i work at the mayor’s office.”