dissonance

Not even a torturous shift at the community pool could bring Nettie down today. It was Galentine's! She simply didn't have time to dwell on chlorine damage; she had too many women in her life to be grateful for -- Shambles being a notably important standout. Though Nettie was in a significantly better place than she had been when they first met, she never forgot the ways Shambles was there for her at her lowest. It was a testament to all they'd been through, that Nettie still knew the exact time Shambles got off at Sharkey's — but sometimes it came in handy.

"Hiiiii," Nettie greeted, immediately going in for a hug, which sent her sparkly heart-topped antennae into a fit of wobbles. She kept the greeting brief but tight, knowing that, most days, come the end of her shift, it was her number one priority to get out of her place of employment as quickly as possible. "Happy Galentine's Day! I love you! I have desserts, and a couple of little presents, and a ride home, if you're down, because we are definitely gonna get stuck in rush hour and I'm sure you have new horrors to update me on."

She hugged her, holding on tight, knowing Nettie wouldn't mind that she smelled of beer and cigarette smoke. After pulling back, she straightened the wobbly antennae on Nettie's head and laughed. "I love you so much, you're ridiculous. You didn't have to get me anything, you know your cute face is all I need. But I got you something too," she smiled.

"Ugh, are you sure you're even ready to hear about the horrors? Why don't you tell me about your sexy glamorous job, instead?"

His voice shifted then - less of the man in charge, more of the one who'd let his guard down for a moment's peace. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, as if it were the most natural thing to say. “With the utmost respect... stop talkin’.” His dark eyes softened, not cold or calculating, but genuine, the sincerity clear in the gentle curve of his brow. “You take care of me when I’m hungry, so it’s only right I do the same for you. Besides, Bellisimo’s in an igloo; who wouldn’t wanna try that?”

He called her sweetheart and she smiled. She'd scolded more than one old man for calling her that on the job, but Santiago never said it the way they did. He was, however, telling her to stop talkin', and she narrowed her eyes a bit at that, but the smile never left her lips. "Okay then, sugar," she said, giving him a pet name in return, "lead the way."

He does great at minding his own business for about five seconds, before — almost against his will — he blurts out, “You probably shouldn’t feed your cat those crackers, though.” He meets the woman’s gaze again. “Too many of them and you’ll give ‘em diabetes. And cats actually don’t have any sweet receptors,” he adds, because he’s already digging himself a hole — he may as well make it comfortable for himself. “So they’re probably not even enjoying the crackers, honestly. It’s a lose-lose all around, I reckon.”

She continued to lie.

After all, this guy might know about cats, but what did he know about her specific fictional cat? Nothing. Maybe all cats were different. Maybe some cats had quirks. He should know that if he were such an expert.

"I don't feed him only graham crackers," she said, defensive of her hypothetical cat parenting. "And I'm sure he likes them, or else why would he eat them? He's not going to die from them or anything... right?"

goldie couldn't remember the last time she had an actual day off. her shifts at lapinou, while no longer than any normal job, were inconsistent and changed week to week depending on the availability of her coworkers. and when she wasn't at work, she was a home trying to wrangle her daughter into a bath or to dinner or trying not to pull her hair out as she listened to the baby shark song for the twentieth time that day.

but today, she was free.

her grandmother had noticed the bags under goldie's eyes and had suggested that she treat herself to a nail appointment or something along those lines if only try to relax. that's not exactly what she was doing. instead she was just trying to run some much needed errands (which honestly was similar to treating herself).

currently she was at a local thrift store, trying to find some clothes, and smiled brightly as she found something cute and affordable. "thank god," she sighed. "this is the third store i've come into and the first one that isn't ridiculously expensive. when did shopping at thrift stores become just as expensive as shopping at abercrombie and fitch?" she wasn't even talking to anyone specifically, mostly to herself, but noticing someone nearby she turned her attention to them fully. "i'm not crazy, right? i found a pair of jeans at the last shop that were $70." an eye roll and huff left the other person know just how irritated she was by the increase in secondhand clothes.

She looked over then, to smile at the woman she was bonding with, and froze when she saw who it was. Her eyes darted instantly back to the rack, although it was probably obvious that she was no longer looking at the clothes, but very purposefully diverting her eyes.

Suddenly she was flooded with memories of all the names she'd called Goldie and all the times she'd told her she was going to hell and had outlined specifically why. She cringed from the inside out at the thought of her old pious self, and hoped without hope that Goldie maybe possibly didn't remember her.

He rolls the thought around in his head for a second longer than necessary, then nods his head. “You wanna get an igloo? Gotta admit, haven’t experienced that yet. Could be cool... If that’s somethin’ you’d be comfortable with, that is.” His fingers drum against his forearm, idle and absentminded, before stilling. “Bellisimo’s in an igloo doesn't sound half bad, anyway. Not too expensive, good food, and no risk of me getting shin-kicked. Sounds like a win-win.”

"...I don't want to put you out; I know you probably had more exciting plans for the evening than taking a diner waitress to an igloo. We could just go to the diner if that's easier, or like, McDonald's if that's faster, or I could absolutely fuck off and just eat my graham crackers at home. You know, I'm comfortable with whatever you're comfortable with."

Amara let out a soft laugh, shaking her head in amusement. “Vanillesque? That’s a new one. But honestly, you’re not wrong—they taste way better than they have any right to.” That served as a reminder to control herself, as much as possible. “Alright, let’s see if your self-proclaimed expertise holds up. I expect a perfect golden brown, no pressure.”

Glancing at Shambles, she smiled. “And yeah, it’s a miracle we’re both here at the same time and not buried under work. Either the universe is feeling generous, or we should both be worried that something is about to go terribly wrong.” She tilted her head playfully. “So, tell me.. how did you manage to take a break? Should I be impressed or concerned?”

Why she'd claimed to be an expert at anything around someone as accomplished and put-together as Amara, she'd never know. She was great at s'mores, but expert was pushing it, and although the other woman's smile and no pressure were teasing and reassuring, Shambles still felt a familiar tug in her gut. The desperate need to be good enough (whatever that meant) was hard to shake, even this many years removed from the pressures of her family.

She shook it off as best she could and set the marshmallows over the flame. "It's all about how much heat they can take without getting too burnt. Like people, kind of... a little makes them better, but too much... melts them," she said, losing the metaphor, and laughing at herself.

"Don't even joke about something going terribly wrong," she smiled, as she took two perfectly golden marshmallows and added them to the graham crackers and chocolate she'd set up. "You know why I have this nickname, I don't need any more of that."

She put the tops on the smores and pressed slightly. The marshmallows were pretty close to perfect, and their heat was melting the chocolate beautifully. She handed Amara's over - with a napkin. This would probably get messy. "I don't think there's any reason to be impressed or concerned, it was mostly luck," she admitted. "I worked the breakfast shift at the diner, and my shift at the bar isn't until 10pm, so I have a lovely little smores break here with you. Let me guess, you're working while relaxing?"

WHERE: hot chocolate bar; willow peak snow frolic

WHEN: sunday 2nd february 2025

It probably was against the rules of the frolic, but Estelle wasn’t a snitch, and if the cute bartender serving hot chocolate offered her a little Irish cream to make the drink that much more enjoyable — at no extra cost, mind you — who was she to refuse? She offered them a wink in return as her takeaway cup was handed to her. They were much too young for her to even consider it a serious flirtation, but there was no harm in getting caught up in the festivities. 

Now, finding somewhere to perch would be the challenge, and there was probably only so much finesse and ego-fluffing Estie had left in her to ensure she’d be somewhere somewhat sheltered and warm. She scanned the crowd, her options being a young woman who might have been waiting for a friend and thus the available seat wouldn’t be free at all, or an older gentleman who had shrugged off his coat as he sat by the fire,wearing a cross around his neck with what she assumed was pride, and she wondered if she’d be subjected to a sermon.

Of course, people were entitled to their own beliefs, but it left a bad taste in Estelle’s mouth, as it made her think about her mother. Joanne had found Jesus when she had become sober, befriending the congregation of the church she had decided her and Estelle were now attending. Young Estie didn’t mind because there was a routine to it. Mass and barbecues and fetes over weekends. She remembered a family Joanne was close to — the Jackson’s or Johson’s, or something like that — who had a toddler, and thirteen year old Estie was half drawn towards playing with her like she did with some of the younger ones in the system, or trying to be cooler and more adult like the older kids were. But she remembered being with them a lot, when things were good.

As Joanne struggled with her faith and remaining on the wagon, however, Sunday school and fundraisers became less of a routine for them. Then they stopped going, and Joanne declared church a waste of time. Then she relapsed, then she died. And Estelle was jaded enough by that point to ensure the funeral was as non-religious as it could be. And she never saw that family they were once close with again. The memory made the man with the cross lose points, and she headed in the direction of the young woman instead. “Is this seat taken?” She asked, her polite, but ever-winning, smile plastered on her face.

Her serenity was short-lived, but it was at least interrupted by a friendly face. This woman's smile lit up the gloomy winter afternoon, and Shambles could almost swear she'd seen it somewhere before...

She looked around and noticed that the place was extremely crowded, so she shook her head, and smiled back, and gestured to the space next to her. "No, absolutely not, it's all yours. The only other seat is next to Cranky McSide-eye over there. He's been glaring at me for like ten minutes. I think he can smell the sin on me," she smirked. "Either that, or he thought the chile powder at the toppings bar was sprinkles and used way too much."

He shifted his weight, deliberate and unhurried, before casting her a look - eager with sharp contours and the glint of a grin unfurling at the corners of his mouth. "Think about it," he drawled, the syllables smooth as polished mahogany. "I let you go hungry, you get ornery. You get ornery, my eggs show up cold, my coffee sours, and suddenly, my mornings are a goddamn greek tragedy." A slow, insouciant shrug falls off his shoulders. "See? It ain't nothing but some good ol' self-preservation."

Or maybe Santiago really did have a soft spot for her. Maybe.

Either way, she smiled as he chuckled and shifted and tried to deny it.

"Oh, nothing worse in the world than an ornery waitress," she smirked. "If it'll prevent the absolute tragedy of cold eggs and sour coffee for you, then it's the least I can do to accept. Gotta keep my favorite customer happy, or else the tips stop coming, and then I'm back here swiping graham crackers. This is a symbiotic relationship we've got here, huh?"

"So where are you taking me? One of those fancy little private igloos? If you say the diner, I'm kicking you in the shin."

He digresses.

The point is, he’s only hanging around the fire pits for the warmth, not the s’mores — so he’s not really paying attention to where the ingredients are going. Mostly paying attention to the warmth the fire provides to his gloveless hands (he’d lost one about a week ago and is more preoccupied with finding it than using a new pair, like the perfectly normal, well-adjusted adult he is) — so the fact that he manages to catch sight of someone pocketing an entire bag of graham crackers at just the right moment is mostly terrible luck for the culprit. 

He blinks, gaze rising to meet that of a young woman’s, who’s looking at him like she’s just been caught at a murder scene instead of pocketing some crackers. Liam glances down at his hands again, like they might hold the answer on what to do here, but finds nothing but his fingers and the same tan line of his wedding ring, haunting him even in the freezing cold. Looks back at the young woman, and smiles sheepishly. “I don’t know how to pretend I didn’t see that,” he confesses. “But, uh — I won’t tell?”

For all her five years of wild antics, diving headfirst into a world she knew nothing about and deciding to live there despite great personal consequences... part of Shambles was still Harmony. Still a nervous little church girl who was scandalized at the thought of a sin. She had to physically fight off the shame and guilt every day of her life, even when her 'sins' were things she was doing to survive.

She sat at a seat somewhat near him, suddenly needing to explain herself.

Her first instinct, though, was to lie.

"I was just... I needed them for, um. For my cat."

She was not yet great at lying. She did not have a cat.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, cockily rocking back onto his heels, nodding down to draw her attention to the little box of crackers he'd swiped earlier in the night sitting nice and snug in his pocket. "Get good," he taunted. "What are you? an amateur?" His teasing was softened by the smile that curled up one side of his face. "I was gonna do another lap before I came back for the chocolate, wanna walk with me?"

He didn't wait for her as he started, knowing she'd either follow or refuse out of unnecessary stubbornness, but then he remembered he actually had a question for her and turned back over his shoulder. "Oh! Hey, by the way, do you know where my other shoe is?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes, but followed him. Half to keep him out of trouble (like it didn't follow her, too), half because interesting things seemed to happen to him everywhere he went. And maybe like one percent because she genuinely loved spending time with the dork.

"Which shoe?" she asked innocently, as though she hadn't just been thinking about his shoe in the fridge. She wasn't about to tell him where it was after he'd been so cruel about her lackluster criminal skills. Also, she hoped to be around when he finally found it.

"Oh, I saw the Harold couple from across the way, and I think you're right, they're both sleeping with the nanny. How did you know?"

He let out a soft laugh, bringing a hand up, pretending to lock his lips and throw away the key. A wide grin on his face as he turned back to his phone for a moment. Don't worry, I won't say a thing to anyone. A little bit of deaf humor because really, Elliot could never pass up the chance for it.

His eyes quickly scanning over what she had typed, another grin tugging at the corner of his lips as he looked back up. I can't say no to a s'more, part of the reason I come here every year if I'm being honest. Laughing softly as he turned the phone back towards Shambles, grinning as he caught Sawyer's little gloved hand wrapped around hers. Forever thankful for the people that had no only came into his life but his daughter's as well.

She read that part of the reason he came here every year was the s'mores, and her eyes lit up. "Me too," she signed, proud of herself for knowing that one. It was simple, and she could do it with the one hand she had free - Sawyer was holding onto her finger for dear life now. She smiled at the kid, and kissed the tiny mitten as she pulled her finger away, signing "sorry" to Sawyer as she did.

Now with two free hands, she was free to get the things together to make some s'mores. She contemplated how difficult it must be to have to put things down in order to speak. But then again, with ASL, you could talk with your mouth full... so maybe it evened out.

She handed Elliot a stick with a marshallow on it and gestured for them to sit down by the fire to roast them. Wondering what the sign for marshmallow was, she pointed to hers and then held the stick between her knees as she made the sign for "what", which was how he'd taught her to ask what the sign for a word was. She almost dropped her stick, and caught it, smiling with a bit of embarrassment. This would take some practise.

After a moment he stepped closer, voice low with humour. “Should I be tipping you more every time I’m at the diner?” Santiago didn’t pry, didn’t push. He wasn’t the kind of man to hold things over people’s heads - not unless they were board members or rivals, and Shambles was neither. Just one of his favourite servers. He let the question hang for a second longer, then shrugged, as if whatever he had, or hadn’t, seen was of no consequence. “You wanna get a real meal? My shout.”

"You already tip way too much, and you know that. Just kinda... saving that for heating bills at the moment." She knew he wasn't asking for an explanation, but she felt compelled to give one anyway, lest he start thinking she was some sort of thief. She wasn't like this, she was just... a bit hungry.

Which was why she let her stubbornness and shame sit this one out, and didn't immediately refuse his offer. She did sit with it for a second, though, wondering what he might want out of it. But maybe it just wasn't a big deal for him... it wouldn't make a dent in his wallet, by any means... in any case, she was willing to take the risk.

"Hmm. All this time I thought maybe you were just nice to me so I didn't mess with your food," she teased. "What'll happen to your business reputation if I tell people you're a big softie?"

Amara was standing near the fire pit, scrolling through her phone as she half-heartedly listened to the light chatter around her. She was here for the atmosphere more than anything — the smell of the fire, the soft crackle of burning logs, the sweet scent of melted marshmallows. But her mind was elsewhere, mentally making a list of all the things she had to juggle over the next few weeks.

Trying to be cool, she gave a much more casual wave than before, and made her way over. "You're so right, why are the marshmallows so good? They're so soft, and like, extra vanilla-y. Vanilla-ish. Vanillesque," she smiled. "Let me make you one; not to brag, but I'm kind of an expert."

She grabbed some supplies for them - notably not the stolen crackers in her pocket - and got them each a marshmallow to roast.

"It's good to see you, by the way. Usually, we're both working 24 hours a day, it's cool that we both had a second for s'mores at the same time."

So he had bundled her up, plopped a little hat onto her head and stuffed her into the baby carrier on his chest. Making sure that he faced her outwards like always, wanting her to see the world around her since she couldn't hear it either. He spent a bit of time just walking around, pointing things out to Sawyer, showing her the signs for it. Knowing how important it was for her to exposed to sign from birth just like he had been. Needing to take a slight break from it all though, Elliot made his way over to where the s'mores were. His eyes landing on a familiar face who had just slipped graham crackers into her pockets.

Elliot raised his eyebrows over at Shambles before he looked away, winking before he turned back to face her, making his way over to where his friend was. Already taking his gloves off so he could grab his phone, sliding over to his notes app. In case you were wondering, I didn't see a damn thing. He typed in greeting, turning his phone towards her so that she could read what he had written.

He walked over, baby Sawyer bouncing in the carrier on his chest, and Shambles bounced too, making the sign for happy with both hands. She had so little free time, but was doing her best to learn ASL - at least the ones that would help her look after Sawyer better.

She read the words on Elliot's phone and laughed, putting her finger to her lips. She wasn't sure if that was official ASL, but it was a pretty universal sign for 'tell no one'.

She grabbed her own phone and wrote back: If you want some s'mores, I do kind of owe you one.

She held out her hand for Sawyer to grab her gloved finger with her tiny mittened hand while Elliot read.