somebody better stop me

“Listen, if you think that you’re going to get out of this without having to go down to the station, then I’m sorry to tell you, you’re going to be very disappointed,” Kyle spoke, looking at the man who sat in front of him. They had gotten to the store, where a man had come into the building with a gun and started threatening the clerk working there. “So, either we do this the hard way, or we do it the easy way. Whatever you decide, man!” Kyle looked at the guy, when suddenly he felt his partner touch his shoulder, asking him to go and talk to the witnesses. Swallowing against the lump in his throat, he nodded and walked over to where the witness was. “So, would you mind telling me what you saw happen? Start with the beginning and then until we got here.” 

“If you say so, but it’s kind of a long story.” It wasn’t, really, but Gabe had a tendency to embellish a bit -- unnecessary at a time like this, he simply wouldn’t be Gabe if he didn’t take advantage of having an audience. “So I’m in my apartment, crappy little place, but I kinda showed up to Portchester on a whim about a month ago so I was lucky to find it.” He started, taking the phrase start at the beginning more literal than he needed to. “I’ve got an electric keyboard in front of me, taking a break from my handy dandy keytar to try out a new song I’ve been working on -- I’m in a band, or was, Downtown Sasquatch, currently on hiatus -- anyway, it sounded great in my head, but I couldn’t get the sound I was looking for, you know? Once I started playing it, God, it’s like it wasn’t there. I’ve got this magical tune in my head and the second I try and make it a reality it starts sounding like Elton John playing mid lobotomy.” Gabe took it as far to act out his words, from sitting down in front of the imaginary piano to mock performing a surgery on himself -- his flair for dramatics was unmatched. “Then I realize my problem. Whenever I write, on the tour bus, my old apartment, studios wherever I’ve always got my go to snack with me. Swedish Fish. This time though, I don’t know what I was thinking, I was munching on some leftover holiday goodies, pretzels covered in white chocolate and peppermint. Delicious. But you know what they say, that just wasn’t it chief.” Was he using that phrase correctly? He wasn’t sure. It was like ‘yeet’, he barely knew what it meant. “I left myself with one choice, go down to the corner store and pick up the essentials. I just can’t write without them, man. They’re my muse. I decide to come down here, cause it’s the closest store to my apartment, and bam, this Republican walks in with a gun like a second after me. My dumbass even held the door open for him. Thank the Lord you guys showed up as fast as you did, I’m too young and pretty to die.” It was his way of saying thank you, kind of. “Wanna know the real kicker? This place was out of Swedish Fish.”

Ceilia hadn’t meant to end up at the Christmas festivities but somehow she had, perhaps the need to insert herself into the Portchester culture. She had met a few people but none that sparked any interest within her. It usually took a little while for her to settle in, make “friends” and relationships. As she was contemplating what she would do if there was nothing to be achieved in this town, no cash grab or long con — a scene grabbed her attention, pulling her away from her beverage, as a person collided with the table in front of her. It took all she had not to laugh at their pain but her face remained concerned as she spoke to them. “Ouch—” she said out loud, a small smile placing on her lips. “Jesus, that must have hurt. Are you okay?”

Gabe was nursing his third mulled wine, cradling it in his hands like a baby bird when he collided with the table in front of him. His hip could take the pain, but he wouldn’t dare let any harm come to his perfectly mixed beverage. A sharp expletive escaped from his lips, more due to the surprise than anything, thankfully the alcohol in his system was dulling the pain. “I’ll survive.” He answered quickly, before looking in the direction of the voice and eyeing the seemingly friendly blonde. “Though I think a little tender love and care would go a long way. Are you interested in playing nurse?”

“I don’t get why people love Christmas so much. I mean, it’s just one day, like any other.” Noah shook his head and frowned, before letting his gaze drop down to both of his hands. He cleared his throat and moved the cigarette in-between his lips, before he looked through his pockets for a lighter. He was sitting on top of one of the buildings, watching people as they walked by on the main street while Christmas songs were playing over the speakers. A sigh fell from his lips, as hot air formed a tiny cloud in front of his mouth and he turned his head around to look at the other. “You don’t happen to have a lighter on you, do you?”  

“Gifts, food, alcohol, what’s not to love? Don’t over complicate it.” Gabe wasn’t one of the crazies who wrapped themselves in garland and climaxed at the sight of Santa Claus, but he could appreciate the general merriment of the holidays. “You’re cute, you don’t have to do the whole, cynical just for the sake of being cynical bit. It’s not as attractive as the CW will lead you to believe.” Effortlessly reaching for the inside pocket of his jacket, Gabe pulled out his handy dandy zippo lighter, fittingly engraved with treble clef. “Go ahead, call me your hero.”

          Holiday spirit and cheer were two very unknown concepts to someone like John. It wasn’t like John had a reason to hate Christmas, but typically around this time of year it felt like everyone around him wanted him to emote and smile more. John wasn’t a smiler. If ever he did back home, his sisters would put on a show all because they caught John smiling at something. The beard contributed to keeping his expressions under wrap a little better. It was around this time of year too that John had that itch to drink again and burrow himself into the back of a bar, sit back and wallow in a few drinks. Though temptation was pulling him in the wrong direction, he still remained focused as he entered the nearest tavern and shook the cold off his shoulders. Rounding up to the bar he signalled the bartender. “Just a water.” He asked quietly before turning to the person sitting nearby. “You escaping the cold too?”

“The cold and the expectations of society. I’m hiding.” Xavier was sitting with his shoulders slouched, face buried in a gin and tonic, trying to make himself as small as possible, though being the only person sitting on this side of the bar made him stand out like a sore thumb. “You came to the bar for some water? It’s not Fiji or anything, I think it’s straight from the tap.”

“You know what, I’m so glad online shopping exists.” Layla rambled, letting out a deep sigh. “I tried to go to the mall and it took me an hour to find a parking space and then I got in there, and I took one look and walked back out cause I’m not fucking with all those people and then, at like, ‘Santa’s Grotto’ there was a reindeer built into the set and it moved its head from side to side and it was the most terrifying thing I’d ever seen.” 

“So basically, you’re afraid of Rudolph and people?”

“Can you believe there are actually people out there who don’t like cookies?” Olive shook her head at how ridiculous the idea sounded. “Or desserts, in general. Imagine living your life hating sweets. It’s like hating happiness. What do you suppose they do during the holidays? There are goodies everywhere you turn. Do they even have dessert for big meals?”

“Hate their lives.” The answer rolled off his tongue without a moment of hesitation; Xavier felt strongly about food, he couldn’t resist. “Maybe they’re Jewish and don’t like that everything is Christmas themed.” He shrugged, before an idea popped into his head and completely took over. “Wait, is this leading to you giving me a plate of cookies?”

“I don’t buy into that healthy crap,” Eva waved her hands away as she focused on the food that had been put in front of her. She was just about to dig in, when she looked up. “Was this a segue way into you trying to steal some of my food?” she questioned, jokingly.

Xavier let out a sigh of relief -- it was hard to tell who would agree and who would try and rip his head off for not wanting to live like a Brontosaurus. “Was I that obvious? Take pity on me. I’ve been on this health kick for an entire two days. I’m starving.”

“I think the problem is the smoothie part but kale used properly actually taste rather good. If you make egg cups for breakfast using them as the base with some Roma tomatoes, mozzarella cheese, and seasoned you will surprise yourself.” 

“It sounds like you’re trying to trick me into eating healthy food. I could use kale as a base and do all that other fancy stuff you just mentioned, or I could make a bacon and egg sandwich with extra bacon. You’ll outlive me, but at least I ate good while I was here.”

Billie snorted too loudly for her own good and hated herself for laughing like that. “Oh no, I’d never. I’m just saying even though I don’t have a sweet tooth, I’m not exactly a health nut either. I’d live on pasta, mashed potatoes and burritos if it were up to me.”

“Phew.” He jokingly exhaled, wiping a nonexistent bead of sweat from his brow. “Scared me there for a second. Pasta, potatoes and burritos sound like the meal of a king, a big, fat, can’t bend over without ripping the seams of his pants king. Are you sure that’s your final answer?”

        “Everyone has one, her’s is probably fifty pages long.” Not saying that she actually had to use it, he shrugged. “Doppelgängers, that’s another story. They’re set out to destroy each other, supposedly — traditionally.” Traditional folklore was an excellent source for examples, though he wasn’t always the biggest fan of it in every circumstance. “Seven billion people and there’s a chance there might be someone else that looks like you.”

“See I thought they were created to pull off some epic parent trap-esque antics, but your theory makes more sense.” It was also spookier, which he didn’t particularly enjoy -- his doppleganger could probably take him down easy..maybe. Hopefully not. “Have you met yours? Are you prepared to fight to the death if you do?”

“You know, I haven’t had that argument. Talking tastes with anyone other than someone who shares your taste is a recipe for disaster. Subjectivity, and all that. We’ll make it a…quiet revolution. Two-man revolution. No public speaking, just pent up hatred for kale.”

“You mean because people are incapable of admitting when they’re wrong. Like, sure, salad is nice but have you ever had a hamburger? No contest.” The other already agreed with him, but Xavier felt like he really had to drive the point home. “I’m sold. You had me at pent up hatred.”

“I’ve had those pre-made kale…juice abominations. We’re not horses, thank you very much. I’ll take my steak mooing…No, scratch that, that’s disgusting. Real talk, you can eat healthy without eating loads of kale. Even more real talk, longevity is more closely linked to a sense of purpose and a good daily walk than it is to shoving mass amounts of kale down your gullet. Let’s revolt, Portchester against grass smoothies.”

“It’s like you just -- did you read my mind? You must’ve. That’s the only explanation here. Either that or you and I are the only ones with actual taste buds. I’ll happily support you in the revolution as long as I can do it from the shadows, or maybe just blend with the rest of the crowd. Have you ever told a vegan their food is gross? It’s terrifying. I swear, they’re capable of murder, ironically enough.”

          “Well, that’s a gross image — as soon as you went to ‘unused’ my brain immediately questioned used, and now I hate myself.” Effie began, only to continue on a moment or so later. “But I get exactly where you’re coming from. I’m not about the yoga and kale life.”

“I’m sorry, I hope you’re not too scarred from it. But I got my point across. When I eat kale I hate myself, everyone around me, and my mother for birthing me.” He laughed, narrowing his eyes slightly at her next words. “Kale I believe, but you look like the yoga type. Like, I have my own yoga mat and do blogilates yoga type.”