always near the flame.

where: neptune (night of the blind dates, but if not attending could be set at another restaurant another night! go wild!)

Delilah still couldn't decide whether or not it'd been a mistake to show up for dinner early.

It at least beat the alternative of anxiously counting down the minutes at home, where she'd have been sure to change her mind about her outfit, or her hair, or her shoes (again), picking herself and her choices apart until whatever small desire she'd had to go in the first place was snuffed out like a flame.

(And there was the fact that she'd run out of vodka, and was going to need more than a welcome glass of champagne to get her through this night.)

"Absolute worst-case scenario," she prompts the person at the bar next to her, seemingly not the only one with the forethought to pregame the jitters away, as she plucks the olive out of her martini, "who's waiting for you at that table, and what's your excuse to get out of it?"

Every first date, blind or not, needed a good escape route, she'd come to learn over the years.

Speaking of Joey, she was the first person who came to mind when asked about worst-case scenarios. "Probably my ex," Scott says half-heartedly. It wasn't that they were necessarily in a bad place, but being paired with someone who cheated on you seems like the universe pointing and laughing at you. "I wouldn't have an exit strategy though, we'd probably just bicker at each other."

Taking a sip of his beer, he was curious about her so he turned the question back on her. "What about you?"

"I got insurance," he said. "It's a work car so its good, it'll be all paid for but shit.. I can't believe I hit your car. I fucking hate parking in this town."

eric: i feel like we haven't talked in ages. eric: i know you're a hermit but i'm getting concerned that you've spontaneously combusted or something.

Another strike against his name for being oblivious, as Scott didn't even know there was a spa in town. Although it wasn't as if he was the target demographic. "I own a handyman business," Scott reveals in a way that sounds a lot better than simply saying he was a handyman. And for some reason, he wanted to impress. Whether it be because he felt a little guilty over seemingly ignoring her, or because this had been the longest he'd talked to a woman without saying something completely seriously dumb. "So you ever need anything fixed, you know where I live."

Parked on the side, Mia kept her eyes on the screen; texting back and forth with LA, when a bump shook her and the car. "Urgh!" she exclaimed frustrated as a string of curses -in Spanish, mind you- left her lips. Unfastening her seatbelt quickly, she stepped out of the car and went to see the extend of the damage. "Are you kidding me!?" she exclaimed.

"Oh fuck me," he says as his truck backs into an expensive looking one, the jostle forward causing him to instantly panic. Times were good, but not good enough that he could go around smashing into peoples cars. Getting out, Scott tries to not seem annoyed and fails entirely. "You okay? Fuck, that's totally my bad."

He grabbed the beer and brought it to the man. "On the house. Enjoy"

Scott takes the bottle and knocks it against the owner's half drunk one in cheers. "I already liked this place but now? Best bar in town." A glowing recommendation from someone who frequented most of them. Only one bar in town was off-limits. At least the owner of this place seemed like an alright guy. "What's the occasion?" Scott asks, always one to question a good thing.

who: open @aurorabaystarter

Being the new owner of the Shack was easier than he expected, the place basically ran itself, he didn't know why people complained about work so much, it was all going great, it was like living in the hotel again, ordering what he wanted for the kitchen, and not even having to pay for it now.

After getting a beer he returned to his table and smiled when he noticed someone walking in. "Wanna join me for a drink?"

Walking into the bar, Scott was greeted immediately with an invitation to drink which would only turn his day around on one condition. "Sure," he agrees, taking a few steps towards the man. "But only if you're buying."

Laughing she shook her head, nodding back up the stairs to where her apartment door was located. “Neither, well the second if anything because I know for sure I didn’t move in recently. Not that recently anyway, but I’ve just seen you around. It’s never a bad thing to know who your neighbours are, right?” @scottyxkulkari

Okay, so maybe not never...and thinking back to what she'd said, maybe not completely baseless. But it wasn't so much about what you said rather than how you said it...right?

His steak tartare and caviar comment had her feeling a little less than confident about that, and less than confident was generally not how Cricket liked to flirt with her building crushes.

"I'm actually more of a lobster and wagyu kind of girl." She flipped her braided ponytail back from where it'd fallen over her shoulder in what she hoped came across as a joke.

A smile was a good start...and as she was met with it, she had a hard time recalling if she'd ever actually seen it on him before. There was a reason he'd been dubbed mysterious and--how had she put it? Low key sad?--in her head. But it was a good look on him, and that she could work with.

"No, it's okay--admittedly...I have been known to be judgy from time to time." She nodded solemnly. "Your...dinner choices," meals seemed like bit of a stretch, "are...certainly choices. And they are valid." A gentle hand was placed on his arm. "Just...you said ready-to-eat, and these are clearly, like, frozen, so please, please tell me that you do at least heat them up first."

"So.. just steak and fish for fancy people," Scott scoffed before adding a sarcastic "nice" to top it all off with a laugh. He found it particularly hard to believe that anyone who lived here was financially stable enough to afford such a refined palette but what did he know?

While she said that his choices were valid, her tone implied they were anything but.

"Oh, is that what I'm meant to do?" He replies as if this is brand new information. "I just thought that the frost added a bit of flavor." Admittedly, sometimes he didn't fully defrost them before consuming, which never made him feel particularly good about himself but he'd sooner die than admit that to her. "The directions are more like guidelines, right?" Since she seemed to have genuine concern that these meals were going to result in gastrointestinal issues or premature death, he dropped the bit. "I do heat them up, rest easy. Considering this place is apparently a fire hazard, it seems like tempting fate to let me near a stove," he holds a box up as if that explained it all. "I consider these meals a public service, so you're welcome."

“I’ve seen you around a bit, you live on…the third floor?” Her tone questioning because she wasn’t entirely sure but it was an educated guess based on the areas where she’d seen him most often. “Maisie.” Holding out her hand towards the stranger. 

Upon her deduction about which floor he was living on, Scott couldn't help but wonder how insular he'd gotten. He barely noticed anyone these days unless they were directly speaking to him, like now. "Scott," he introduced himself, taking her hand in his own for a firm shake. "You new to the building or am I just really unobservant?"

"Damn," he says, "nothing? I mean, yeah, anyone who isn't like a monster was deeply satisfied by that turn of events but that's such old news now, I literally forgot about him. Wishing misfortune on Andrew Tate isn't really a hot take, I won't lie, but I guess you did answer the question, so." He offers the dollar out again. "I want you to have it. I can tell you dug deep."

"What about you then?" He turned the tables. "Do you just ask people random questions or people get your answers too?" Since Scott's attempt was considered weak, he was curious what was considered a hot take.

Cricket's eyebrows furrowed as she took in the crime scene before her, though it only took a look to her right to find the apparent hungry man in question returning for his spoils. She would've helped no matter who they had belonged to, but she couldn't pretend that a chance encounter with her latest building crush wasn't an added incentive.

Though, he wasn't the only one to protest her help. Having just returned from the gym, her thighs practically screamed at her as she knelt near the pile to begin collecting the frozen "man-sized" portions of fried chicken, salisbury steak, roasted turkey...

"Do you?" She found herself asking, tearing her gaze away from what must've been a total wipeout of the local grocer's frozen TV dinner aisle. "'Cause this is, like, really sad. Painful, even. I'm, like, in actual pain thinking about you eating these. Like, ow. Please, make it stop."

Despite her plea, the collected boxes were extended back towards him with (what she hoped he recognized to be) a flirty smile.

"Are you.. judging my ready-to-eat meals?" he asks incredulously, holding up a box of perfectly portioned almost-meat-like substances and vegetables that always tasted a little watered down from being defrosted in the microwave. Scott had been judged on a lot of shit in his life, but somehow.. this feels like the lowest point. The bond between a man and his sad microwave dinners was a sacred thing after all. "What do you eat? Steak tartare and caviar?" he tries to joke but somehow it comes out harsher than intended. Considering the woman does look like she just wandered out of a Lululemon, maybe she was more of a green juice and kale salad kind of girl.

As his hand takes the box she offers, Scott returns the smile as best he can. "Sorry, thank you—" he uses the manners that several foster parents and one angry orphanage nun tried to teach him growing up. "For some reason, I am feeling defensive over my dinner choices now."