nate anderson

It was approaching midnight, and Pixel Palace was currently a ghost town of blinking neon lights and half-opened boxes of prize counter toys. Val was sitting cross-legged on top of the prize counter, eyeliner smudged from a rub of her wrist. She had managed to get through most of the required inventory by guesstimating and was now actively avoiding unpacking the rest of the junk counter prizes. Val picked up the walkie talkie and pressed down on the talk button. "To whoever is currently hanging string lights near the main walkway: that ladder looks structurally unsound, and if you fall, I'm taking a picture before thinking about calling for any help. Carry on." She tossed the radio onto the counter, waiting to see who would brave the dim arcade aisles to complain about her attitude.

Ironically, he had been balancing just fine on the unsteady ladder until the radio crackled & emitted a high frequency beep. He heard the warning too late - he had already swore & jumped, causing the ladder to collapse and him to fall with it. "Fuuuck," Perhaps being an adrenaline junkie had been a blessing, as his body seemed to naturally know how to land to cause as little damage as possible. Still, he had had the wind knocked out of him and knew his back might be screaming tomorrow. He grabbed the radio attached to his jeans. "Whoever criticized my light hanging...fuck you...and get your picture while you have the chance."

he   had   heard   it   all   before,   that   oliver   didn't   look   as   though   he   would   want   to   be   a   lawyer,   that   those   around   him   couldn't   imagine   a   funny   wig   on   his   head,   gavel   in   hand.   but   as   was   the   way   of   life.   if   he   had   chosen   his   own   major   perhaps   he   would   be   studying   literature,   or   art,   or   something   a   little   more   creative.   instead   he   was   knee - deep   in   books   that   would   cause   a   concussion   if   thrown   at   him,   wading   through   eye - watering   bills   after   visiting   the   campus   shop.   “keep   your   love   away   from   my   slice,   man,”   a   chuckle   matched   nathan's,   and   he   swallowed   down   another   cheesy   mouthful.   “sounds   like   a   health   code   violation   waiting   to   happen.”   there   were   plenty   of   tips   and   tricks   he   had   picked   up   over   the   years.   ollie   thought   for   a   moment,   chewing   on   the   inside   of   his   lip.   “you   need   to   use   it   more   like   a   rake   rather   than   a   grabber.   to   try   and   drag   the   toys   into   the   bin.”

"Anyway," He said, his tone shifting to one a little more serious. "I didn't get a chance to tell you. I got promoted! I'm assistant manager now...desperation makes people do funny things, huh? How was your semester?"

"you're kidding, right?" aisha asked with a brow raised and hand on her hip, standing back to take in their decorating skills. while she technically admonished her pseudo-coworker, it came out in her signature teasing tone. "i've never seen something so crooked. you need serious help." she stepped forward, gesturing for them to pass the poster in their hands.

"Have you considered that the crooked-ness was the point?" Nathan asked, a raised eyebrow. "It really speaks to the 'whatever'-ness and the cynicism of this era. Or perhaps how brands and stores are growing lazy in their marketing because they know we're all just going to buy anyway?" A smirk graced the corner of his face, a chuckle escaping his mouth. The crooked-ness was absolutely not the point, or his intention. He actually thought it looked alright when he was up on the step-ladded. "But I mean...if you wanna straighten it, be my guest. I definitely won't give into the capitalistic nature of it all."

his   and   nathan's   friendship   was   punctuated   by   the   smell   of   pizza   grease   and   melting   cheese,   but   that   didn't   make   it   any   less   real.   he   relaxed,   then,   at   the   realization   he   was   in   good   company,   his   eyes   crinkling   in   the   corners   as   he   continued   to   indulge.   “i   can   imagine   you're   sick   of   it,”   oliver   chuckled,   “knowing   how   the   sausage   gets   made,   and   all   that.   it's   like   how,   once   i   learned   how   rigged   the   claw   machines   are,   i   never   touch   the   things.”   unless   he   was   trying   to   impress   someone,   of   course,   but   he   couldn't   remember   the   last   time   he   had   anybody   to   woo.   “it's   a   pretty   damn   good   slice   though,   man.   i'd   be   proud   if   it   were   me   behind   it.   what's   the   secret,   hm ? ”   ollie   leaned,   conspiratorially,   closer,   “promise   i   won't   tell.”

A grin appeared on his face when Ollie leaned in. He was going to miss working night shifts with him. When they first met, Nathan thought he'd be some stuffy lawyer man that was too good for the mall - but, he was pretty down to Earth and always willing to vent about work & expectations. "The secret is...love," he said. "but I'll tell you the ingredients if you tell me how to win a claw machine."

free   pizza   was   an   automatic   way   to   get   oliver   thorne   to   attend   ...   well   ...   anywhere.   he   reminded   himself   to   eat   as   much   as   he   could   reasonably   get   away   with,   to   stow   a   couple   of   slices   away   if   there   were   any   leftover   at   the   end.   a   couple   of   dollars   saved   here   and   there   could   be   the   difference   between   an   empty   belly   and   his   latest   required   reading.   three   mouthfuls   deep   in   pepperoni   he   turned,   wide - eyed,   mumbling   his   apologies,   side - stepping   out   the   way   of   the   array.   “no,   no   —   you   go   ahead.   they   totally   upped   the   budget   from   last   year.”

The free pizza wasn't much of a perk for Nathan. Every shift included more free pizza than he should ever eat in a day between the complimentary meals & mistakes, but still, it would be a long night, and he needed to eat. He also needed to reserve his resources - the numbers for his next semester & new (used) car swirled in his head. Five thousand dollars. "Thanks Oliver," He said, grabbing a slice haphazardly; cheese dripping & grease coating his hand. "Though you would think with the extra budget, they could have sprung for a couple burgers from Grill Stop for the poor staff who work at Slice House." He took a bite, but while chewing added "Somehow eating the pizza I slaved & sweated over doesn't seem like too much of a perk...but damn, I did good, huh?"

Dead Poets Society (1989) dir. Peter Weir