i am not a graveyard.

       “Shit - yeah.” He had already forgotten, a light flush running across his cheeks as the thought of it. “Sorry, bad memory.” It was lack of SLEEP, coupled with the anxiety and paranoia that had settled quite nicely into his bones. “I couldn’t allow anyone to go coffee-less. That’s a travesty in itself. What did you order exactly? I’ll be sure to make a huge deal about no almond milk so they don’t fuck up again.”

     “Seems like a good way to kill time; maybe I should try it myself next time we have a slow day. You gotten any decent matches?”

                    ❝ Sooo I may or may not have been trying to carry an open box of books – hardcover – up from the basement & may or may not have dropped the whole damn thing when I was near the top. In case you were wondering how my day’s going. ❞

                     Grantaire laughs and runs a hand through his hair. “Your call. Personally, I think getting his butt kicked by a feisty southerner also helps on the scaring part, but your call. What’s he do anyway? Other than the classic creep m.o.?”

                   Anya takes another peek at the dude behind his shoulder, but it still looks as though the coast is clear. ❝ He likes calling me ‘sweetheart’ whenever he’s in the store. You want to creep a woman the fuck out, you call her ‘sweetheart’ without even knowing her. Fuckin’ weasel. ❞

“God, no. There are much worse. It could have been Backstreet Boys.” She says this as if she doesn’t have their entire discography at home, EPs included. She drums her fingers along the spine of the books in her grasp, idle in her task, more interested in catching up on gossip than actually starting her shift. “One time, I put my iPod in without thinking, and it ended up going to a song about hardcore bondage while I wasn’t paying attention.”

     She had caught him in… well, the most accurate phrasing for it would be ‘not a bad mood.’ “The first question was plenty,” he drawled, but the folding of his arms was more habitual than hostile. “Strangest, hm. One guy I almost felt sorry for. Disturbance of the peace, you don’t want to know the details— but the real kicker was the stolen bright magenta lawn flamingo.” Which he’d been using as a makeshift microphone at the time.