𝖓𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖞 𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖗

Evan had reached out to Nancy the moment he knew his trip to Hawkins was set, wanting her know he would be in town, wanting to connect with her in person. It was so easy to get wrapped up in his job, to focus so much of his time into the professional connection he shared with her. Certainly beneficial in both directions. So many interesting inquiries would have gone unanswered had she not been able to set him up with a few of her contacts ( and Evan was certain it was the same vice versa ). Now that he was in Hawkins again he wanted to expand their connection beyond just sharing intel and phone numbers. It felt like he was meeting with a colleague he had known for years and years, but also like he was meeting someone new for the first time. It really was nice to make friends. Evan needed more of those.

a closed starter for @nancyonpaper | lunch !

Evan had reached out to Nancy the moment he knew his trip to Hawkins was set, wanting her know he would be in town, wanting to connect with her in person. It was so easy to get wrapped up in his job, to focus so much of his time into the professional connection he shared with her. Certainly beneficial in both directions. So many interesting inquiries would have gone unanswered had she not been able to set him up with a few of her contacts ( and Evan was certain it was the same vice versa ). Now that he was in Hawkins again he wanted to expand their connection beyond just sharing intel and phone numbers. It felt like he was meeting with a colleague he had known for years and years, but also like he was meeting someone new for the first time. It really was nice to make friends. Evan needed more of those.

He purposely arrived early to the lunch spot in the hopes of jotting down a few ideas in his journal. Evan ordered himself an iced coffee and then spent the next few minutes looking out the window. Hawkins hadn’t changed a bit since he left, and yet it was a completely new town. He didn’t know if this was how towns changed with the sudden onslaught of modernity and technology, or if he’d just been gone so long he forgot what it was like. The Hawkins in his mind was quieter, more — well, the Hawkins in his mind had been before all of the chaos. So did it really count ?

— ✎ —

Nancy was delighted to hear that Evan was coming into town. Although, it was under unfortunate circumstances, she was glad that they’d be able to spend some time together outside of their professional relationship. Between the week leading up to the funeral and the funeral itself, Nancy had seen him in passing but there was really no time to sit down and have a chat. It seemed like they were both too preoccupied that day to do so. She walked into the restaurant, onlooking inside until she spotted Evan. She slid in the seat in front of him, setting her purse to the side of her. “Hi, it’s so good to see you,” she greeted, her hands outstretched in excitement. For once in a long while, Nancy had a genuine smile on her face.

When the waitress came back around again, Nancy ordered a coffee with cream. With years of working long nights and late night traveling, Nancy had grown used to the taste of bitter black coffee, but it was nice to treat herself every now and again. “I’m glad you came out to support Joyce as well. I know Jonathan appreciated that. Did you know Joyce very well?” She questioned, the journalist in her wanting to pry Evan for information about himself. “I’m sorry if that’s a lot to unpack,” she quickly apologized, feeling like her father was in the back of her head, chastising her. “Just merely a curious soul.”

She had not made a lot of friends at the funeral. Heck, most of the attendants seemed close to despise her. Had she behaved prissy perfect in response? No. But how could she possibly have done so when being pushed like that. It was not an excuse, though. Sarah had enough self-reflection to understand that even she had a part in all of this. But she could definitely do without the judgement. Something that had only seemed to have enlarged since the funeral. Nostrils flared as she huffed in frustration at another glance. She was fed up.

"It strikes me that there is a considerable amount of bullshit going on here and there's just a few things I'd like to clear up: It's not my fault that my dad is lousy, okay? It surely isn't my fault that he caused that scandal and the sooner you get over that piece of soap opera, the better off we're both going to be. And I don't happen to fit the role of sneaky, insensitive, rich girl --- you've all been trying to lay that crap on me ever since it happened and it's not a look I am going to wear!" she inhaled, chest heaving in the process, stepped back and swallowed as she straightened her jacket, feeling like her point had been made. She straightened her posture and said in softer tone: "I don't deserve this."

She had not made a lot of friends at the funeral. Heck, most of the attendants seemed close to despise her. Had she behaved prissy perfect in response? No. But how could she possibly have done so when being pushed like that. It was not an excuse, though. Sarah had enough self-reflection to understand that even she had a part in all of this. But she could definitely do without the judgement. Something that had only seemed to have enlarged since the funeral. Nostrils flared as she huffed in frustration at another glance. She was fed up.

“It strikes me that there is a considerable amount of bullshit going on here and there’s just a few things I’d like to clear up: It’s not my fault that my dad is lousy, okay? It surely isn’t my fault that he caused that scandal and the sooner you get over that piece of soap opera, the better off we’re both going to be. And I don’t happen to fit the role of sneaky, insensitive, rich girl — you’ve all been trying to lay that crap on me ever since it happened and it’s not a look I am going to wear!” she inhaled, chest heaving in the process, stepped back and swallowed as she straightened her jacket, feeling like her point had been made. She straightened her posture and said in softer tone: “I don’t deserve this.”

;; open ( for those looking for a bit of drama 0,0 )

— ✎ —

Tensions were high. Anyone with a brain could decipher that and it was only normal. Most of the people in attendance had known Joyce for decades and those who didn’t know her, knew of her impact on the community. With people flocking back to Hawkins for the occasion, she knew that someone was bound to get upset. That’s how funerals worked after all. Someone getting pissed they didn’t make a cut in the obituary or that someone from way back when owes them a sum of money. Yet, that wasn’t the problem here. There was just too much history to unpack and Nancy was trying to keep those tensions lessened. It was Jonathan’s day to mourn his mother and here was Max Mayfield bitch slapping Dustin Henderson for being... Dustin Henderson?

She needed a cigarette. And vodka. And maybe some weed. None of which she would consume underneath the roof of Joyce Byers home, but one of the three were calling her name come time she made it back home. Instead, she entered back inside, tousling her hair to the side. Everyone seemed to have dispersed beyond their own. Then she heard that shrill voice. Sarah Kline. Maybe it was disrespectful of Nancy to write someone off based on their family member, but Larry Kline was a despicable human. If it wasn’t for his operation with the Soviets then they wouldn’t have been in Hawkins, Hopper, Joyce, and Murray would have never ended up in Russia, and maybe in some weird domino effect way, El and Will may have still been here.

So Nancy felt totally and utterly justified. 

“Oh, do not start with that,” Nancy essentially shushed Sarah as she yanked on her arm, gently, but firmly enough to pull her into a secluded hallway so Sarah could unleash her hysterics without alerting anyone else. If Sarah wanted to make a stance on how she wasn’t like her daddy, there was surely an open ad that she could pay for in the Hawkins Post to make that statement. “You know who doesn’t deserve this?" She seethed, her voice barely above a whisper. She pointed a finger behind her, "Jonathan. That man has gone through more pain than you could ever conceive so either quit the crap or get the hell out of here. Because quite frankly, Sarah, I’m not putting up with this.”

it’s difficult to be in hawkins again – it seems only death could ever pull her back here. everyone feels the despair that permeates the town, but serena feels like some an outsider. there’s something she doesn’t know. she’s been to many funerals. her parents, her uncle. I SHOULD BE AN EXPERT BY NOW, she thinks, but this is different. she knew joyce for a moment in time, but these people have known her most of her life… and each other. serena isn’t really sure if she wants them to recognize her or not…

serena’s is broken from her reverie only to hear the barista call her name. she takes her coffee and sits by the window, with a soft sigh.

— ✎ —

The only sense of normalcy Nancy had felt in the past week was that of going to get a coffee. Sure, her espresso maker could make a better cup of coffee but then she’d have to go through the process of grinding the beans and making it herself and well, it was no secret that the entire town was grieving and Nancy was not an exception. She may have been able to pull it together better than the rest of her childhood friends and colleagues, but even simple tasks just seemed... too simple.

Cup of coffee in hand, Nancy made her way to a table to catch up on some work for The Watcher. Investigating didn’t stop for no one, not even the death of Joyce Byers, no matter how much Murray and Hopper liked to think it did. That was until her eye caught a somewhat familiar face. Blonde and petite. If she had only glanced at the girl, she would have thought it was her younger sister. Nancy approached the seat the girl was near and cleared her throat as to not startle her. “I’m so sorry to bother you, you just look so... familiar,” Nancy was usually so good with faces, a detective had to be equally as good with names and faces, yet she couldn’t place anything. “Do we know each other?” Before behaving completely rude, Nancy stuck out her free hand, “Nancy Wheeler.”

blue eyes turn upwards, and serena gives the other woman - nancy - a soft smile. she takes her hand in her own. “serena carlisle is my name. nancy… we probably met when i was much younger,” she says. nancy wheeler does sound familiar… the name rolls around in her brain a few more times… “i was only in town for a few months. i stayed with the klines family as an exchange student.” the lie comes easier to her now than it did when she had to tell it at seven. wheeler… maybe she was related to the little girl she used to play with sometimes? her name was wheeler, right? or was it something else?

“oh, i think maybe i used to play with your little sister. well… it’s lovely to see you again.”

— ✎ —

Serena. The name meant nothing to her. She tried to scrounge her brain for some semblance of where the name could have came from. Serena’s face seemed familiar, but other than that, Nancy didn’t know if they had ever even spoke to one another. Until Serena mentioned Holly. Of course. There was a glaring 13 years standing between Holly and Nancy. At times, Nancy felt like more of a mother figure or a babysitter when Holly was growing up. Plus, when she spent most of her adolescence solving murders and destroying monsters, the names of young children were bound to slip her mind. “Serena, okay,” she nodded, deciding not to pretend like that rang any bells. “It’s nice to see you again too. I have to admit, I never thought to keep tabs on any of Holly’s childhood friends,” she halfway apologized. “Are you back in town for anything important?” Always the one to put her nose in business that wasn’t hers, Nancy was curious. The obvious was Joyce’s funeral, but she couldn’t think of much of a reason why someone who was in Hawkins as a child would have a connection to Joyce.

Where: Bradley's Big Guy Supermarket (before funeral)

Why: Idk the man's grieving!!!

Jonathan looked like shit. There wasn’t a nicer way to put it. If it weren’t for the fact that he physically couldn’t tolerate another meal of eggs & toast, he’d be heading off to bed right now instead of Bradley’s Big Guy Supermarket. His stuffy suit jacket had been abandoned before exiting the car, leaving him in a wrinkled dress shirt - rolled at the sleeves – with an oversized tie looped around his collar. A scraggly beard and mop of tousled hair weren’t doing him any favours either. The last few days had been hell - sorting through boxes of family relics while periodically darting from his house, the bank, and back to his mom's place to appraise the family home. Cooking comprehensive meals obviously hadn’t been a priority.

The pasta aisle was his last stop before check-out and reading labels on the shelf felt like work. He spent a solid minute considering his choices, picking up a box to get a better look at the label. Dwelling over instant pasta brands was a pretty pointless conundrum in the grand scheme of his life right now, but the shelves were stripped of his current lifeline: Kraft White Cheddar. Fucking fantastic. With his eyes still narrowed on the box of pasta in hand, he caught a glimpse of someone in his periphery. Jonathan figured that it was a store clerk. “Hey -” it was an automatic greeting to get their attention, something lodged deep in his brain. Once he finally glanced over and realized the person didn't work here, the box immediately dropped from his hand into his basket. He turned his body away from the shelf to face them. "Oh, uh - sorry, I thought you were ..." He paused, averting his gaze down to the contents of his own basket. The frozen pizzas and 6-pack of Pepsi looked like something a college student would pick up in preparation for a hangover. "I guess I thought you worked here." Jonathan's next comment left him faster than he could register it. “They're out of white cheddar." He ran a hand upwards to scratch the back of his neck, basket now nestled in the crook of his other elbow. Fuck, that was weird.

Who: Jonnie + Anyone

Where: Bradley’s Big Guy Supermarket (before funeral)

Why: Idk the man’s grieving!!!

Jonathan looked like shit. There wasn’t a nicer way to put it. If it weren’t for the fact that he physically couldn’t tolerate another meal of eggs & toast, he’d be heading off to bed right now instead of Bradley’s Big Guy Supermarket. His stuffy suit jacket had been abandoned before exiting the car, leaving him in a wrinkled dress shirt - rolled at the sleeves – with an oversized tie looped around his collar. A scraggly beard and mop of tousled hair weren’t doing him any favours either. The last few days had been hell - sorting through boxes of family relics while periodically darting from his house, the bank, and back to his mom’s place to appraise the family home. Cooking comprehensive meals obviously hadn’t been a priority.

The pasta aisle was his last stop before check-out and reading labels on the shelf felt like work. He spent a solid minute considering his choices, picking up a box to get a better look at the label. Dwelling over instant pasta brands was a pretty pointless conundrum in the grand scheme of his life right now, but the shelves were stripped of his current lifeline: Kraft White Cheddar. Fucking fantastic. With his eyes still narrowed on the box of pasta in hand, he caught a glimpse of someone in his periphery. Jonathan figured that it was a store clerk. “Hey -” it was an automatic greeting to get their attention, something lodged deep in his brain. Once he finally glanced over and realized the person didn’t work here, the box immediately dropped from his hand into his basket. He turned his body away from the shelf to face them. “Oh, uh - sorry, I thought you were …” He paused, averting his gaze down to the contents of his own basket. The frozen pizzas and 6-pack of Pepsi looked like something a college student would pick up in preparation for a hangover. “I guess I thought you worked here.” Jonathan’s next comment left him faster than he could register it. “They’re out of white cheddar.“ He ran a hand upwards to scratch the back of his neck, basket now nestled in the crook of his other elbow. Fuck, that was weird.

— ✎ —

Hawkins didn’t feel the same. Nancy never thought she would stop saying that. It wasn’t the same when she had her childhood ripped away from her, fighting for her life on several instances and losing friends in the process. It wasn’t the same when she came back home, her brother institutionalized, nearly all of her friends were gone either because of the aforementioned or because they had enough sense to get the hell out. Then Hawkins got a McDonald’s and started expanding. At least there was still Bradley’s.

She entered the store, a pang in her chest. Ever since hearing about Joyce’s passing, the pang hadn’t gone away; a mix of heartache and nausea, feeling like she was going to cry and throw up simultaneously. That was the feeling of grief, after all. The familiar pain that would only go away with time, yet still creep back up from time to time again. And Nancy’s best way of coping was pretending that everything was normal. She had neglected her weekly grocery shopping for far too long and in recent years, Nancy had become quite the cook. With turning her hobby into a career, she had to find other outlets to wind down. It’s not like she had a partner to come home to or children to care for, which might have sounded sad to others, but it was how she liked to operate. She could come home on her own time, make herself a hot meal, settle down with a glass of wine, and pop on the TiVo. 

Nancy had gathered mostly everything she needed. Bagels, eggs, granola bars, things for her to eat before she had to walk out the door in the morning and the necessity of various vegetables, meats, and handfuls of other ingredients to get her by for the week. Her last stop was the pasta aisle. She didn’t even notice Jonathan, her mind seemingly elsewhere other than thinking that Jonathan Byers would be doing any grocery shopping considering Joyce’s death. She looked him up and down. He looked awful. Granted, Nancy wasn’t donning her Sunday best either. “It’s fine, promise,” she said, holding a hand up as if it was a peace offering. Nancy’s face contorted into confusion. "You’re worried about... white cheddar mac and cheese?” Then her eyes scanned to his cart, full of sodas and frozen pizzas. While a seventeen year old Nancy probably wouldn’t even be able to look Jonathan Byers in the eyes, a thirty-nine year old Nancy was just concerned. Of course he had no motivation to cook. 

“I could make a lasagna,” she suggested. “It’ll be better than,” she paused her sentence as she reached around to grab one of the pizzas, “whatever this is,” then she tossed it back in the cart. “It’ll reheat and last you a few days and honestly, it’s the least I could do,” she spared the details about Joyce, especially the thoughts of she wouldn’t want you eating like this. “I can drop it off too, if you need to be alone.”

it's difficult to be in hawkins again -- it seems only death could ever pull her back here. everyone feels the despair that permeates the town, but serena feels like some an outsider. there's something she doesn't know. she's been to many funerals. her parents, her uncle. I SHOULD BE AN EXPERT BY NOW, she thinks, but this is different. she knew joyce for a moment in time, but these people have known her most of her life... and each other. serena isn't really sure if she wants them to recognize her or not...

it’s difficult to be in hawkins again – it seems only death could ever pull her back here. everyone feels the despair that permeates the town, but serena feels like some an outsider. there’s something she doesn’t know. she’s been to many funerals. her parents, her uncle. I SHOULD BE AN EXPERT BY NOW, she thinks, but this is different. she knew joyce for a moment in time, but these people have known her most of her life… and each other. serena isn’t really sure if she wants them to recognize her or not…

serena’s is broken from her reverie only to hear the barista call her name. she takes her coffee and sits by the window, with a soft sigh.

— ✎ —

The only sense of normalcy Nancy had felt in the past week was that of going to get a coffee. Sure, her espresso maker could make a better cup of coffee but then she’d have to go through the process of grinding the beans and making it herself and well, it was no secret that the entire town was grieving and Nancy was not an exception. She may have been able to pull it together better than the rest of her childhood friends and colleagues, but even simple tasks just seemed... too simple.

Cup of coffee in hand, Nancy made her way to a table to catch up on some work for The Watcher. Investigating didn’t stop for no one, not even the death of Joyce Byers, no matter how much Murray and Hopper liked to think it did. That was until her eye caught a somewhat familiar face. Blonde and petite. If she had only glanced at the girl, she would have thought it was her younger sister. Nancy approached the seat the girl was near and cleared her throat as to not startle her. “I’m so sorry to bother you, you just look so... familiar,” Nancy was usually so good with faces, a detective had to be equally as good with names and faces, yet she couldn’t place anything. “Do we know each other?” Before behaving completely rude, Nancy stuck out her free hand, “Nancy Wheeler.”