Merritt Stone

Her argument is that where she lacks skill in artistic and creative expression, she makes up for it elsewhere, and she'd get too far into her head to even be a semblance of mediocre at it. It might not be as if people do it to be good at it, but that's all Devon has ever known herself to do.

Another off-key note comes from the stage, and Dev only grimaces, turning in her seat to angle away from it. She glances down at her empty glass, then back up to Merritt with a smile.

"I tease. But there's not enough alcohol in this building to get me up there." She nods back up to the current performer who is really fulfilling this starlet invention of themselves. "I'm really wondering how a guy willingly lets himself be called 'Honey' as like, a real name. Not some cutesy pet name."

Now that's an image. Merritt doesn't bother trying to hide her clear amusement at the imaginary situation she'd dreamed up. "I feel like it might be my, like, spiritual duty to get you ridiculously obliterated."

Merritt hums, considering the impression that Honey had made on her last time she was here. "I think it's his real name. Even if it isn't he's just, like, that smooth, you know? He was so sweet. Literal honey. Also a total flamer which probably makes his name fit a little better given his whole like, scarf-and-cardigan situation? I don't know, I love him. You should come back sometime on a less busy night and like, listen to some of the regulars sing."

It's becoming clear that Devon's not getting the hint that Merritt wants her to buy her a drink so she decides to stand, taking Devon's hand in hers and leading her towards the bar. Like, whatever. She can be butch too!

"C'mon. More drinks. This one's on me but the next one?" Merritt leans in, her eyes bright with alcohol-fueled merriment. "Better come right out of your pocket."

"I hope you don't care I'm not in theme."

Marlowe leans back, their shoulders pressing into the wall as they lazily support themself against a solid structure. It's hard to not want to with a mild fatigue setting in. A satisfying one, of course, at the conclusion of the tour, they completed the home stretch, and now it's time to land back on their feet in Colossal.

Not without celebration, of course.

Marlowe isn't Noa and Merritt's vagina is begging her to go and find him instead, but she likes hanging with them and would love to bum a cigarette. Plus, tour did something to Marlowe - or maybe to Merritt - or maybe it's the three drinks that she's taken down in the last hour and a half - but the grungy haircut and dry smile are making her feel like okay, yea, Noa can wait. She fishes a lighter out of her cleavage and grins. "Lead the way."

"hm." vee hums in consideration, struggling to find the perfume he had liked the most off of just feel alone "i mean, it's not like you actually fucked the coke guy." he comments under his breath with a shrug, but he knows what she means "i get it. like i said, i didn't say anything. and i won't if it's a big deal to you. " he finally lifts the correct scent to his nose, smiling in satisfaction "but alsooo, you could tell everyone the truth. that i'm really hot and irresistable and it just kinda happened. and i'll upcharge the hell out of you so you're not fucking the coke guy for coke." given the suburban home they were in, and her taste in drugs, he figures she can afford it anyway.

he lets her sit with her request for a compliment for a second. maybe it's that vee is really fucking high, but it's sort of a good feeling. the kind that he'll surely feel guilty about a second later, but no one had ever gone to him for validation before. or asked his opinion at all. he cranes his neck to each side, spritzing patchouli and lavender on his pulse points, before dimly remembering the whole self esteem thing people have.

there's the guilt.

"you look really good. i like the hair." a pause "am i still hot without the whole stockholm syndrome factor?"

And it definitely, for sure, absolutely had nothing to do with the fact that she'd done something with Vee, of all people.

"Um, well, no, I don't want that either," Merritt says, a frown on her pouted lips. "I'd like the normal price please; I don't know how much money you think I make at Spaghetti Warehouse but it's like, not enough for all of that." She might get monetary support from Monty in some ways - like not paying for rent or groceries or doctors appointments - but she's a 90's feminist! She buys her own cocaine!

Merritt's eyes narrow as she watches Vee fuss with her perfumes before eventually crossing to snatch the bottle from his hands. "Okay, enough of that - you know some of these are like, expensive, right?" And now he smells like her signature patchouli scent and anyone who can put two and two together ( maybe not as many people as she's imagining ) are going to think they were up here hooking up. Merritt sets the bottle back in its place and turns to Vee, who is a lot closer now. She rolls her eyes.

"not good at skating?" they ask, keeping their eyes on merritt with a raise of an eyebrow. "i haven't skated in years, so we can figure this out together."

a pause. then a giggle. "suing the city sounds like a fun time. you always have the best ideas." eyes twinkle with amusement and a grin is wide across their face.

So figure it out together, they will.

"Honestly, it feels like it would be a lot of work that I don't want to do, but I'm pretty sure my dad knows a lawyer. I don't know if he knows a good lawyer, but I guess that doesn't really matter." Merritt hums, leading them toward the makeshift skate rental. "Honestly, best case scenario? We just get some gnarly bruises but the paramedics that check us out are like, super hot." She looks at Pippa, mischievous. "Unless you already found a cutie while you guys were on tour."

He's spurred into a carefree smile- it always somehow creeps on around Merritt. It seems that she had popped into his life from nowhere and somehow turned it around for the better, curing that 'only child for nearly 12 years' syndrome in her wake. Layer by layer, he peeled off his mask and the thought of revealing himself fully wasn't so daunting when he thought of Merritt standing front and center among the crowd.

Not only was he unable to voice this inane question to anyone else, but CJ doubted he would be convinced by the answers given from others, notorious by his suspicions. Liars breed skepticism, it seemed.

He leaned against the table, arms rigid and hands folded as a rest for his chin. He noticed that mischievous glint in Merritt's eyes, famous for unwarranted fortune readings and patiently waiting for the sun to rise while he, Merritt, and Frankie uncorked bottle after another bottle to elongate their wine-drunk fits of laughter. But what Merritt suggested would not be contained to their trio but something larger, contagious and uncontrolled, where CJ had to mind his laugh, his comments, his mannerism, his clothes, his decoration, -oh god, what if someone saw his cologne collection...

But she looked so excited, and it was CJ that brought it up, and so he smiled back, feigning excitement with raised brows and a natural grin. He had perfected his technique at that point.

Plus, a dual-apartment party sounds so wild. She will not be missing out on that.

But he does appreciate that Merritt thinks he’d be able to pull off Leo’s hair. He smiles a little more at the thought, then looks back down at the picture of Leo for a second too long. “I’ve been thinking of switching it up. I’m not sure what, though, but I feel like…I don’t know. Something needs changing. I can’t remember the last time I changed any part of my routine.” He was rambling, reaching for a pair of scissors as he did so, and slowly cutting out words now. “Maybe you could give me a makeover one day. Heck. Might even snag me a date or two.”

As she lazily flips through her old magazines, Merritt listens to Dario's desire for change, and her eyebrow slowly inches up her forehead. Her eyes drag to him.

"Right, right, yeah, no, totally. Would love to give you a little makeover." Honestly, she might have to call in Frankie for backup on this one - her own style has always been messy and she doesn't have a great eye for what might look good on men - but the concept of taking him out for a montage-style revamp is interesting. It's just the dating part that snares her. "But um... In order to find you some dates you'd have to be up front with me about what kind of, like, person you're into. You know?"

balling up and tossing the rag into a nearby hamper, he yoinks the bowl of popcorn out of merritt's lap and onto his own. ❝ if by 'that thing' you mean the greatest, most beautiful bike in the world, then, yeah, a bit. ❞ despite the initial, exaggerated defensiveness, his response comes out half-hearted, eyes glued to the commercials rather than meeting hers.

the truth is that, at best, he's made no progress, and more realistically things have only gotten worse since he started. he buries that reality deep down though. hides it under internal reassurances that the bike does at least kind of turn on when he turns the ignition. ignoring that it also sounds like the grinding, scraping gates of hell are opening when he does so, that has to count for something.

Amongst other reasons. Merritt knows that Shane has bigger fish to fry than his housemate and doesn't take any offense to it; her born-again-virgin status isn't exactly a beacon for men, and beyond that, they've already slipped into a comfortable roommate situation that Merritt's not keen on disrupting. At least before they finish this season, anyway.

Like yeah, she'd make out with Shane if given the opportunity, but it's also like, who wouldn't?

"making it all educational and stuff. putting things there that help with vaginal health and don't just look like it. i'm sure everyone else is going to be so jealous."

he's not lying when he says so either, following her over tot he new section. this is a genius idea even if people normally don't want to give merritt that kind of credit. he smiles softly as he puts a bag of cranberries in the cart, shrugging his shoulders.

Merritt picks up two pineapples, identical in almost every way, and inspects them thoroughly before choosing the one on the right. She hums, adding it to the cart as she listens to the book pitch. "Okay, so true, so like, a self-help sort of thing? With like relationships? That sounds verrry deep and fulfilling. I have to go back and finish bell hooks' Wounds of Passion before I get into anything new, but def adding that to the list."

Plums are added to the cart next, and a papaya for good measure. They aren't the best looking - Ohio isn't exactly the best place to get fresh tropical fruits - but they'd work well enough for the message being sent.

"Ugh, I've been so focused on getting the book club spread I completely forgot to ask how you fared at the snow-in. I heard it was, like, totally insane. Spill the deets, immediately." Then, as an afterthought: "Please."

And that's the truest statement of all. Merritt might not force her own involvement into the drama that goes on in this town, but she sure as hell enjoys watching it. The same is true for strangers - maybe more so, since she doesn't have any real emotional ties to the situation. Like, if she was watching this whole Milola situation unfold on tv? She'd be all over it. Reality TV forums would hate to see her coming.

"Right, right." Merritt nods, wholehearted and too enthusiastic, as per usual. Despite Mila's agreement with both the weirdness of the situation and the fact they could just be friends now rather than in-laws, Merritt finds herself second-guessing the sentiment. It's hard to read through the awkward tension that laces through the delicate situation, but something about Mila's response doesn't feel as forward as expected.

Sure, Mila could trust Merritt, but can Merritt trust Mila?

It comes as no surprise that the bar erupts when someone plays another 2nd Heaven track for the umpteenth time that night. Dev is sat back far from the stage, but not far enough that she can't help but wince at the off key notes being belted into the microphone.

"They can't think that that's actually singing, can they?" The small crowd collecting at the stage still claps and cheers. "Or maybe they're too drunk to think otherwise..."

She tosses back the rest of her drink and raises her brows to Merritt.

( It is a lot easier on her ears when the singer is at least in tune. )

Tonight she sits with Devon, wiggling in her seat and head bopping along in a more toned down version of support.

"Me? Oh my god, no. I'm more of a groupie. Like, I can hit the notes, and I can for sure perform, but like, there's this guy named Honey who comes in every Thursday and just belts Whitney like he was born to do it, and like, that's never going to be me." Merritt watches Dev finish her drink and takes a sip from her own near-empty vodka cran. She isn't necessarily hoping Devon will offer to buy her another drink, but if it was on the table, she certainly wouldn't say no. "What about you? Feel like showing up these chumps with some, like, super acrobatic performance of Crazy Train?"

"No. No no no. Absolutely not. The last thing I'm going to let Milo do is ruin my lady friendships. Like, this is close and personal and no man could ruin what we have. Promise." There's been a couple of close calls. Not with Ana, but with the girls Milo had sought out before Mila - the ones who always happened to be friends with Merritt first. Which, like, get some creativity at least. She's beyond letting her brother's choices effect her life "That man is my ride or die, of course, but, like, we're separate fucking people."

Merritt nods sympathetically, her big eyes looking even glossier from the alcohol and long, beautiful night out. "No, like, I totally get it, and like, it was so sudden and that sort of abandonment, like, leaves a scar, you know? On your heart, or soul, or whatever." She's not even thinking about the way she's started rubbing her thumb across the skin of Ana's hand, though it stops the minute Shane is brought up and Merritt needs both hands to gesticulate.

"Okay, well, first of all, he's not smelly or annoying, he's hot and big and I want him bad. He watches my shows with me, Ana. My shows." As though that's the height of sex appeal. To her, it is. "Honestly, it's super weird now that Milo's there too? Like, we have a routine and stuff, dinner rotation, blah blah blah, but it kind of feels like having Milo around is making things... tense? I might be reading into it or whatever, but every time I pull cards about the situation they tell me, like, girl there's something afoot here."

it's cold. she shivers slightly and buries her face deeper into her scarf. should they be preparing for tonight? probably yes. but is she? no. they wanted to be outdoors, having some fun before tonight. besides, they had more than enough time to prepare. it's still early, so she can get any last jitters out with the free ice skating. they borrowed a pair of skates from their older sister, and they're hanging by their laces by their side.

spotting someone familiar in the crowd near the hot chocolate booth, they grin. she's bounding up to them ( still too much energy that needs to be released ), smile spread across their face. "hey!" she's exclaiming, moving to take their arm in one of hers. "you're here to help me skate, yeah?" they ask the person, grinning at them.

Merritt's already a little annoyed by the morning. The last place she wants to be is in the middle of this crowded, wintery prison; she could be home, taking a deep-cleanse two-hour shower and eating prosciutto from the package as she watches Steve Burns host the VH1 music video countdown. An ideal day. Instead she's here, bundled up like a fucking marshmallow and left to her own devices because Milo and Shane both have plans, or whatever.

Pippa's arrival is a godsend, even if the idea of ice skating already has Merritt's ankles throbbing. She leans in closer to them, happy enough to return the affection despite her doubts about getting on the ice.

"If we skip and fall and break our legs, we can like, totally sue the city for endangerment of our lives."

he cracks a smile at the excuse, but doesn't look her way quite yet, picking up small items and observing them closely before moving onto the next, picking up perfumes and spraying them into the air "mmm, yeah you were." he didn't blame her if that was the case. it was a... weird night. and he was used to being something people were embarrassed of. regret came with the territory "and i have never in my life been workworkwork." not true, necessarily. but he wouldn't consider what he did ambition by any means. so it didn't count. not really.

dragging his eyes away from a lauryn hill poster, he turns to look at her, eyeing the scarce supply she was finishing off "ugh." harvey slips off the straps of his backpack (it was practically glued to him most nights. today, there are large paper wings stapled to each side), retrieving a similarly sized baggie and crossing the distance to the vanity "i was gonna give this to you if you solved my riddles three, but..." he drops it near the mirror and flits away, eyes drawn to a collection of ticket stubs on the wall.

And she deserves it.

"You're like, the biggest drug hustler in town. That's work," Merritt argues, then leans down to make her little white treat disappear. It might be a placebo, but something inside her feels calm with the line - and then a deep sense of euphoria she knows is from the drug follows. Vee appears beside her and she barely has the time to register his presence before he's gone again, leaving nothing more than a fresh supply in his wake.

Merritt swipes a finger under her nose and turns, leans against her wardrobe to watch Vee explore her room like it was his for the taking. That warm flush is back, as is the feeling that she needs to deny deny deny. And yet... Here he is, assuring her that he didn't tell anyone like he could see right into her head.

"I'm not embarrassed," she says, quickly, and then immediatey backtracks. "Well, like, I mean, it's not like, about you. Like, I mean, whatever, we made out. I just, like..." Merritt's eyes drag away, down to the floor, and she shrugs. The hand-delivered bag of coke stares at her from the dresser; it feels wrong to reach for it, so she lets it sit there. "You know. I don't need people saying I'm fucking the coke guy for coke, you know? Because I'm not. We made out because we're hot and young and all of our friends were at a party without us."

Perhaps not the complete truth, but it's true enough. There's a manufactured energy building inside of her, spreading into her muscles and making her antsier than usual. She tucks a lock of her straightened hair behind her ear, knowing by the end of the night it would be kinky again.

"Which, you know, speaking of hot. You haven't even told me how good I look tonight."

“It sounds easy enough…” he says, voice low, almost testing the words. “But what if the words and images I pick out aren’t…good? Am I overthinking it again?” He meets her eyes for a second, then drops them back to the magazine, holding it up so the picture of Leonardo DiCaprio sits right next to his own face. A small, shy half-smile tugs at his mouth. “Also, do you think I could pull off Leo’s hair?” He tilts his head a little, letting the messy waves in the photo line up with his own as much as possible, like he’s trying the idea on for size.

"You're definitely overthinking it. Collage is supposed to be messy and fucked up. It's like, gluing your emotions directly on the page without thinking about it too much so you can sort of like, digest the underlying meaning of those feelings. Right? Like this is a way to work through all that repressed stuff inside you."