resident burn out

Give this a like as a tentative plotting call?

“What constitutes as “shady” to you?” Christy inquired with a furrowed brow. “Like, hypothetically, if I got my stuff from a nineteen year old in Indianapolis, is that shady?” There was very little her sister could say that would deter her from stopping. It was truly the only thing that kept her going in such a dead-end town. A lazy grin spread over the younger Henderson daughter’s lips. “I don’t need to head out anywhere. I never do. I might be a stoner, but I’m not irresponsible.” 

@loverslanetm​ // made this on a whim don’t feel obligated i just love hendersisters

“On a scale of one to ten, how cool are you with weed? Follow up question. How cool are you with having your sister smoke weed…hypothetically, of course.” Christy was already high. Dustin was familiar with her habits, but she had yet to break the news to Alex. Part of her wondered how the Golden Henderson Girl would react. 

She wanted to bite back again. She wanted to make a snap about the flowers. She wanted to call him out for neglecting to stay in close contact with his kids. But, instead, she pursed her lips and stared at him. “What do you want?” 

Christy couldn’t stop herself from shooting Claire a deadly glare. Yeah, her brother was a dumbass, but that was for her to call him. Not some prissy chick who barely knew her or her brother. “Yeah, we actually live way out in farm country in cardboard boxes and wear clothes we find in the trash.” The sarcasm in her words was venomous. “Quit pointing that thing in my eyes, Standish. If I’m blind and something comes out of the woods to attack us, we’re both dead.” Christy knew about the creepy things that lurked in the shadows of Hawkins. She didn’t want to be like Barb Holland.

Christy liked the late-night showings at the theater because the seats were typically empty. She always got baked before and usually brought in a joint to light up when it started wearing off. One can only imagine her disappointment when Andrew Clark strolled in. Had she been less stoned, she likely would’ve left before the movie started playing. But, she was comfortable and the popcorn tasted so much better than usual. So, she stuck it out.

She was about as absorbed into the story as any stoned person could be. But truth be told, it was incredibly dull and she’d forget it the next day. Her fingers were slowly slipping into the pocket of her coat to grab the joint when Andrew rose from his seat. She almost threw some popcorn at him, but he was acting a little too spooky for her liking. Maybe he was leaving and she’d finally be able to smoke. But her hopes were quickly extinguished as she heard him call her name. Initially, she thought it was the film, but soon realized the voice was from behind her. If she was sober, she likely would’ve rolled her eyes and ignored him. But, she was high and intrigued. So, she rose from her seat, clutching the popcorn bag to her chest. “Listen, if this is some prank you and your buddies have planned, it’s kinda fucked up and super sketchy to do it this late at night.” But then she heard the same commotion, her brow furrowing as she stared at the door. “What the fuck is that?”

While Tommy wasn’t the joker type, unless one was referring to the murderous clown, Christy was. She would constantly tease her brother and embarrass him among his friends. But always in a way that he could laugh about it later. With Tommy, she had a bit more ill-intent.

“Eh. Crush. Burning hatred. Tomato, tomahto.” She waved her hand dismissively.

The burn on the joint hit her fingertips after a particularly long drag, prompting her to snuff it out and toss the remainder in her pocket. She’d add it to a bowl later. She pushed herself to stand, her hands burying into her coat as she exhaled the smoke.

“Am I not allowed to inquire about the triumphs of Tommy Milner? C’mon. You push any grandmas down some stairs recently? You’ve got a face like apple pie and an ass like it was cut from marble and a heart that’s as ugly as the bubonic plague. You’re an anomaly, sweetheart.”

“  If  you  hate  me,  you  sure  got  a  bad  way  of  showing  it.  “

A  shrug,  then  the  bottle  is  tossed  into  the  abyss  of  a  backyard.  He  was  just  about  ready  to  leave  now.  Tosses  cigarette  onto  the  deck,  snuffing  it  out  under  his  boot,  before  kicking  the  remnants  away.

“It’s a unique approach. I don’t hate most people the way I hate you.”

There was something to childish about his comment. While she was never sure how to press his buttons, he had to known how to press hers. She tossed him a smirk.

Christy found it funny. Most every day, she was ignored by her peers. No one wanted to talk to the Loner Stoner of Hawkins High School. Sure, she was on half decent terms with a small handful of her peers, but no one paid her more mind than Tommy. And even if it was him retaliating against something she did, it was attention nonetheless. Maybe that was why she liked to push his buttons so much. Because then at least someone noticed her on some level.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Christy retorted with a raised brow. “I mean, you don’t give me a whole lot to work with Thomas. I’d rather hear some words come out of that handsome face of yours, but you won’t give me the time of day. It really breaks my heart.” She pouted playfully.

She batted away the cloud of smoke before replacing it with her own. “C’mon, sit down and chat. Tell me what’s going on with the Hawkins Heartthrob? It’s football season, isn’t it? You winning lots of games or whatever? I’d go to those, but I’d probably spend the entire time looking at your ass.” She laughed shortly as she kicked out the plastic chair adjacent from her.

Tommy  wasn’t  the  humorous  type.  He  especially  didn’t  care  for  the  attempt  to  shower  him  with  backhanded  compliments.  He  downs  the  rest  of  the  bottle,  tossing  at  her.  Ashes  off  his  cigarette  wherever. 

“  Sounds  like  you  got  a  crush.  “

He  stares  off  into  nothing.  The  backyard  was  pitch  black.  Just  like  the  corn  field.  He  knew  his  way  around  the  corn  field  no  matter  the  condition. 

“Eh. Crush. Burning hatred. Tomato, tomahto.” She waved her hand dismissively.

The burn on the joint hit her fingertips after a particularly long drag, prompting her to snuff it out and toss the remainder in her pocket. She’d add it to a bowl later. She pushed herself to stand, her hands burying into her coat as she exhaled the smoke.