ooooo

“Ah.” Archer looks her over once, just once, with this arch in his brow that’s used to abase her. He can’t exactly claim he holds her... – how would he say it – ...abrasive? ...unsophisticated? ...callow? Callow. He does not hold her callowness in high regard. He whips out his phone, pretends to shuffle through applicable information, and feigns a look of discovery. “Well, you see, your mama texted me to check in on you.” Eyes flicker up from the screen to her face. “Guess I am your babysitter, Girlie.” ... Unripe. This is the word he’d use to describe her. Immature and like an unripe fruit, she causes him pain, discomfort, and most of all: digestive issues.

Archer offers a bit of a chuckle, “Well yeah. What’s not to love about it? The whole goal is to enhance a plant’s life, an animal’s life, your own life, and probably another individual’s. It’s a wholesome and well-rounded goal, if I do say so myself.” Wholesome? Well-rounded? Honestly, Archer thinks he’s just made these words up! He’s never heard of them! The inner corners of his brows tip upward, as if to challenge her remark. “Yeah? You’d pay? I can get behind supplying a wellie boot kink.”  Money talks, that’s the motto! ”I’m thinking making it would be the term?” Maybe failing would be better. Who works themselves up so much to not get recognized. Waste of time.  “Maybe you should do something controversial to get recognized.” Now we’re talking.

“How do you know?” If there were to be a passerby, this inquiry comes disembodied, or maybe it’s just the bush that’s talking. Yes, the two are hiding in a bush. “Because...like...what if you die tomorrow?” Eyebrow quirk. “Or what about within the next ten minutes? Then, dying is taking too – fast!” Okay, let’s backtrack. Why are they in a bush? Call it a game, or even it a sport if you will; they’re hiding while they wait for cars to zip down the road. Then, the object is to run in front of the car within moments of getting hit. So far, neither has, They’re not too shabby at timing it, actually. Makes you wonder if someone’s bound to get hurt though. It’s just for fun though folks! Nothing happens to the main characters, you all know that.

Caspian is no pro at these supposed sensitive topics, take homelessness or misfortune for example. However, he still believes he’s got a fairly level head on the matters. “Lots of people are plenty uglier and poorer than me without seeming to mind...”  ... without the self-hate and self-pity – the sentimentality, in a word – that makes Caspian such a quivering condom of neurosis and ineptitude. ”I guess I’m just a pansy since I got a roof over my head and three meals a day.” Because here stands, at a roughly estimated 175 centimeters, a hobo in the blonde’s presence. He’s pretty certain hobos prefer the term “no fixed address.”  There’s a light bulb above Caspian’s head at all times. It’s off though, that’s why you can never see it. But when it does flick to life, you can almost see the light – but only in his eyes. In this instance, this is the case, His eyes widen from their typical dull state, and there’s an “a-ha!” expression scribbled onto his features. ‘Hey, I can be of some help to you.”  “I live in this motel, right? They’ve got this thing where you can crash in one of their rooms for free so as long as you work for them. Does that sound like a gig you can get behind?”

Maybe Archer needs to lay off a lil’, He can tell she’s clamming up; kind’a lame if you ask him. “Dressmaking and tailoring?” Same fucking thing. “My bad, I didn’t realize there were so many fashion-related fields.” Archer chuckles sheepishly, palming the crinkles in his tee in an attempt to flatten them.  “Oh! I at first was studying architecture, but realized it wasn’t precisely my passion. After a couple Earth science programs, I realized I wanted to work with agriculture.” He pauses, then tapping his lips with his index finger he mumbles, “Haven’t quite landed a dope agricultural career yet... ...How about you though, where do you work? Have you made it yet?” This information discerns his next course of action. Oh? And some food for thought? His education doesn’t excel high school.

“Bundy was right. All you have to do is comb your hair and wear a suit and you can be one crazy motherfucker. And get away with it.” Ironic, actually. Archer’s snide remark is a jab at Jude’s typically composed outer demeanor. The irony is here: the suit in mention is their bathing suit.  I’ll tell you what though, Archer and Caspian ain’t looking so hot themselves. They’ve got those neon orange towels draped around their necks, both boys have got those sweaty mops they call hair pushed back and out of their faces. Cheeks, noses, shoulders all flushed with red. Oh, but it doesn’t stop there folks! Caspian has a glittery beach ball tucked beneath his arm, Archer cups a magenta-hued margarita in his left palm. There’s even su---uch a cute lemon wedge hanging onto the sugary rim of the glass for dear life. Archer momentarily considers the bliss of some lemon to Jude-eye contact. Caspian’s gaze flickers from the pool to Jude, to the pool, to a random girl’s ass, to Jude, to the pool. To his brother. Caspian side steps away from the edge of the pool. Smart thinking, Caspian! ”So what the fuck are you doing here?” This comes from none other than Archer.

What chick doesn’t!

prostitute!

(Reblog pls I can make it worth your while wink wink)