COLD PIZZA, TIE-DIE SHIRTS, BROKEN HEARTS.

Jamie watched as the waitress retreated, unable to take his eyes off of her golden ponytail. He could sense his pupils expanding with his growing interest as his vision seemed to zoom in on every flaxen strand teasing him frown around the corner of the kitchen. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that something was amiss with her when the only time he’d ever felt so roused in his life was in front of a double bacon cheeseburger.

By the time Charlie returned with the food, Jamie’s eyes had darkened completely. The blues of his eyes were reduced to a silver ring around his pupils, rendering him a cartoonish approximation of a lemur or some other animal with ridiculously large eyeballs. He furrowed his brows as his stomach flipped-flopped in his guts at her proximity, his eyes suspiciously scanning her hair for sesame seeds and her torso for grease stains. The target was beginning to prove itself as a problem and in spite of his broody glowering, there wasn’t much Jamie could do about the heat flushing his face.

“I could use a little less sunshine in my day but it’ll do,” he muttered as he picked up a fork and began funneling food into his mouth. If he could’ve unhinged his jaw, it looked like he would’ve as he desperately tried to flush the discomfort in his guts with copious amounts of cholesterol.

“Canada. I’m an art dealer and I had to deliver a piece there for some fancy hipster soiree. Not a fun ride but it’s good pay.”

Jamie clicked his fork noisily on the plate as he collected potatoes onto the prongs, diligently avoiding her eyes. “Why don’t you have a seat and stay a while? I don’t think your boss is watching. You into art, Charlie?”

Charlie cocked an eyebrow as he started eating as though he thought she might take the plate away between any given bite, which was... odd. She supposed it was no stranger than the contradiction between the look in his eyes and the scowl on his face. Going from small town Ohio to big city Chicago, especially with her certain brand of problem, had introduced her to a whole slew of dodgy characters, and Buck Wilde in and of itself was a cesspool of creeps. Her interaction with Jamie was limited, sure, but he didn’t seem creepy. Just odd. She couldn’t put her finger on it. 

Maybe he was just tired and hungry. So was she, in hindsight. 

She sat down opposite of him as invited. “An art dealer? That’s fancy.” Charlie gave him a once-over, pulling her knees to her chest, the heels of her shoes resting on the edge of the bench. No one else was coming in, and until Jamie was done eating, there was nothing for her to do anyway. “How much does that pay? Like, what, does the artist get the cash and you get paid the delivery fee or something?”

Charlie could pretend she was cultured all she wanted, but the truth was she never had a taste for life’s finer things. She was never really exposed to things like art as a kid. “Nah. I mean, I’ve been to museums. But my walls are mostly decorated with my students’ crayon drawings and embarrassing candid photos of my brother.” She paused, then jerked her head down to his plate. “You gonna eat all those potatoes?”

B: I know we don’t know one another but I saw your rant about Chicago. I can’t say I blame you for feeling that way. It isn’t a safe place to be. I’m always free for coffee if you’d like to continue said rant in person. I feel like we could swap stories.

Jamie didn’t have to be asked twice to sit down and dropped into a booth, taking full advantage of the hospitality and the few seconds he had to take in the interiors and deduce a narrative from it and the girl’s visage alone. It was far from a classy establishment which meant that it was unlikely that she had a taste for luxury or if she did, she certainly couldn’t afford it on the tips made there. He speculated about her other extracurricular activities for a moment as he considered her sensible shoes. Impossible. No Hudson could ever be remotely interesting. It opposed every strand of their DNA.

He feigned interest in the menu for a moment before tucking it back behind a napkin dispenser and leaned onto his elbows. With his face upturned towards the light, the sliver of his pupils shrunk into pinpricks that were nearly convincingly human. “Yeah, a soda would be great and whatever you can throw together in the kitchen is fine with me. I’m not picky.”

Jamie canted his head at the pendulum of her ponytail, his baser instincts growing invested in it in a way he could never explain. It felt worse than usual that night, his ravenous hunger expanding exponentially between the door and the seat he took and the longer he watched her, the more empty his stomach felt. Suddenly everything smelled like cheeseburgers.

Jamie cleared his throat and tore his eyes away, batting his lashes as if he could refresh his reality the more rapidly he blinked them. “It’s Jamie, by the way. I appreciate the hospitality. I had a long drive getting back into the city and I don’t think I would’ve made it ‘til morning.”

Charlotte had long since grown accustomed to being stared at. Ever since the manifestation of her enchantment, she’d attracted a lot of unwanted attention from unwanted people. Her ability to control it was minimal, only able to amplify it when she really wanted something, and it had otherwise become a simple fact in her life. Often times it was useful; her Buck Wilde co-workers didn’t get why her tips were usually higher than theirs and the other teachers lamented in how she got lucky with a group of kids who seemed to listen just a little better, but there were often moments when it was unsettling. She didn’t know how to turn it off. 

She could feel it, the way she had his attention, but it didn’t seem the same as it normally did. She appreciated that in the way that she could almost mistake it for him being tired. For all she knew, that’s what it was; sometimes Charlie wondered how much her ego influenced the way she perceived interactions. Anyway, as per usual, she brushed it off. As long as he hurried and tipped, she had minimal complaints. 

“Charlie,” she replied, offering the man--Jamie--a warm smile. “Nice to meet you. Hang tight and I’ll see what I can manage.” 

Charlotte’s cooking skills had always been disconcertingly abysmal, but she could do the basics: eggs, potatoes, bacon, toast. It was a filling yet quick classic, a crowd-pleaser, and it was almost impossible for her to fuck up, so she was thankful for his lack of parameters. Upon her return, Charlie set two plates and the requested soda in front of him.

“There we go, Jamie. Hope you don’t mind the eggs sunny side up,” she shrugged, wiping her hands on the cloth she’d used to guard herself from the hot plates. “Where’d you come back from? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

F2F - AMARA & CHARLIE ( @slcppyseconds ) 

Work was kind of the only place Amara could just relax and be herself. She was pretty damn good at hand-to-hand combat, decent with weaponry…but, for the most part she taught other people like herself. Mainly, people with abilities like love manipulation and pheromone manipulation. In short? Amara could let her guard down, and stop worrying about people staring. She was surrounded by equally beautiful and charming people. 

Not that everyone wasn’t charming in their own way, but you know…there was definitely something a little extra about the magical charm of she and her students.

Charlotte happened to be one of her favorite students. She saw big things in the girl’s future. She was powerful…like, crazy powerful. One day, she was pretty sure Charlie was going to be able to out-love her. Luckily, that day wasn’t today, so for now Amara still had a job. She smiled as Charlie walked into their private training session. They’d been doing a little bit of work at combining hand-to-hand combat with the use of their other abilities, and Amara was excited to see what Charlie had been working on.

“Hey, kid,” she grinned, stretching herself out on the mat. “How’s your practice been going? Have you been trying the new moves I showed you last week?”

As excited as Charlie was to be training at the Jones Academy, she couldn’t deny that often times she felt like she was drowning. For years her abilities had remained unchecked, and even still she wasn’t sure she knew the extent of them, which proved to be problematic when it came to figuring out what to do with her. She wanted to learn, both for the sake of helping humanity and to help become more in tune with herself, but Charlie felt overwhelmed with the task.

Training with Amara felt important. Charlie’s enchantment abilities had presented themselves to be her most prominent power, and while it came in handy when it came to calming angry parents and getting students to listen to her, the fact that she had no real idea how to turn it off had caused a lot of problems in her past. The fact that someone else not only had similar powers but knew how to use them? That knowledge was invaluable to Charlotte. 

Plus, Amara was just a bad ass to begin with. 

“Hey,” she greeted cheerfully, dropping her duffel bag near the door. Truth be told, her practice had been limited; between the start of school and shifts at Buck Wilde, Charlotte was pressed for time as it was. She anxiously hoped it didn’t show too much. “You’re still gonna whip my ass, but I think I’ve mastered them enough to take on a very intoxicated frat boy if I were ever faced with the task.” She flashed a teasing grin, joining her instructor on the mat to stretch. “I’ve gotta admit, I’m a little scared to see what you’ve got planned for today.”

1. In a world where iconic Jonathan Van Ness has 2.4 million Instagram followers, I can’t begin to fathom why there is anyone in a major metropolitan area that would bother heckling someone on the street for their choice of outfit. I’m as judgmental as they come RE: fashion, but I have the decency not to shame someone in public without being otherwise prompted. Yes, Karen, I understand that it’s off color to wear knee high boots in ninety degree weather, but Target has their Halloween decorations out and you’re drinking a Pumpkin Spice Latte so please let me dream of fall without the imposition of your Popsugar-Inspired dumb fucking opinions.

2. Why have we not overcome our obsession with loud cars revving their engines in residential areas? I’m far enough out that it doesn’t much bother me, but visiting my dad and lending a hand in the shop always makes me feel like I’m in the middle of a bad 80s movie. I understand I’m not their target demographic, but I can’t imagine anyone being impressed enough to drop their panties at the sound of it.

3. Either today’s drug dealers are a particular brand of stupid or the Chicago PD has completely given up. Neither would surprise me at this point. Anyway, I spotted four very obvious street dealers this afternoon alone. And while it wouldn’t bother me if they were dealing weed, judging by the looks of their patrons, whatever they’re handing out is a whole different monster. I suppose that explains a great deal about the increased homeless population since I last lived here, but that’s just... a dreadfully sad reality.

Alright, that’s it. It’s out of my system. I’m ready to fall back in love with a new Chicago. Tell me about your favorite bakeries and coffee shops, cool bars, local wineries, and new local shows/art exhibitions. Everything’s a lot different than I left it, so I’m eager to know what Chicago considers cool these days.

I may need to take my rubberband ball out of my office space as it’s getting a little too big for it to be considered not a safety hazard. It rolled on to the floor while I was alone and made the floor vibrate so hard I thought maybe there was another attack going on. But no, it just the result of diligent collecting for 53 years. Granted, a few of the really old rubber bands crumbled right off. It was… a sight. Hopefully none of the other Jones facility felt it and freaked out. Or should I just bring in some cookies to be safe regardless?

That must be a mighty rubber band ball. What kinda surface is it on that’s big enough to hold something that makes that sort of vibration? Listen, if you want to keep somethin’ like that for the sake of memories but you don’t want to cause some city-wide panic, between you and me, I can shrink that bad boy right down for ya. Snacks tend to be the safest route, though.

Jamie popped his neck as he approached the doors of Buck Wilde. The stench of liquor that permeated through the oak doors was as nauseating as the smell of humans and desperation wafting out of it with every wasted patron stumbling their way home. Something about pheromones never appealed to Jamie, even as he broached puberty in dreadful await of a heat that never came. It wasn’t love or primal lust that drove him to the bar. It wasn’t even vague attraction from stolen glances through a murky window but something more. Something more base and important than making a grand attempt at rousing his dead-in-the-water hormones from their twenty-six year slumber: he was hungry. 

His voracious appetite for mischief and chaos had finally been appeased by the discovery of Charlotte’s identity after he’d spotted her slinking out of the Hudson abode. She’d gone from a basic Betty who left him tuna outside to a goldmine of potential for upset which was marginally more thrilling than being fed. If one had thought that Jamie learned his lesson not to mess with Finn Hudson’s things the first time, then they were wrong. He was going to mess up that stupid meatball and his entire meaty family if only to watch his All-American veneer snap-crackle and die miserably in patriotic glory.

The chime above the door jangled as Jamie pushed his way into the dying bar. Trussed up in his own clothes for once, he might’ve made an impression with his tall, lanky frame and suspiciously luminous eyes had he not been walking into a dimly lit place with a sparse crowd. He was a Kidz Bop remake of a Carrie Underwood song waiting to happen.

“Hey,” Jamie said as he approached a familiar frame polishing a table for the night. He wrung his keys in earnest. “I know it’s kind of late but I’m starving. I just got in town and it looks like the whole city’s in repair so this is the only place left open. Mind helping a cat out?”

He cocked his head and hedged, “I promise to tip.”

@slcppyseconds

Charlotte had gravely underestimated her ability to juggle two jobs plus training once the school year began; perhaps she could have handled wrangling seventeen kids every day and getting beaten up at the academy alone, but spending all her free time at Buck Wilde--a cesspool for drunks and somewhat handsy clientele--was really testing her patience. Chicago was expensive, and while Charlie knew she only had to ask Finn for financial help and he’d almost certainly chip in, she didn’t want to. If her brothers could do it alone, why couldn’t she? 

Nights like these made her wonder if her pride was making her absolutely stupid. The bar was just a few minutes shy of closing and Charlie had about six hours before she had to be up for school, so the fact that most of the joint had already cleared out was a blessing. No more regulars who were too drunk to grasp the concept of “last call.” Just her, the bartender, and the bartender’s boyfriend. 

And then the door opened, and in stepped some guy, and Charlie entertained the idea of spritzing that bottle of cleaner right in his face. Just like that, her idea of a decent night’s sleep flitted right out the window.

He seemed nice, though, and the assurance of a tip was promising; Charlie found that Buck Wilde was hit or miss with its patrons, and a few extra bucks going toward rent didn’t exactly hurt. She shot a sidelong glance to the bartender, too engrossed in their conversation with their significant other to care about the new patron, and decided there wasn’t much harm in obliging. 

I have seen Grease 2, and it is not the same and never will be the same as Grease.  I don’t really have the need to become a feminist since I am one, and I’m pretty sure I would have thought the same.  You did not seem to answer my question at all with this reply.

I didn’t answer your question because I wanted to see how cool you were before I agreed to hang out with you, which like, thank God, because you’re being kind of a jerkface about Grease 2. Why can’t Grease 2 exist as an awesome entity separate from Grease? Why can’t they both be awesome? Listen, peace and love and happiness to you, but you can take that Grease 2 negativity to a bar with all the other haters. Real talk. 

It’s one of those nights.  I feel like I could use a drink.  Anyone up for a beer?

Oh man, you’re tellin’ me, Kid. I went to my usual open mic night and I could’ve sworn that Michelle Pfeiffer was in the audience, and I fucking love Michelle Pfeiffer. Have you ever seen Grease 2? If you haven’t, you really need to rent that shit on Amazon Prime because it’ll make a feminist out of you, my dude. Anyway, I turned that charm dial all the way up and killed my set, and afterwards I made my way to her table to shoot my shot, if you will. Anyway, as you can probably guess, it wasn’t Michelle Pfeiffer and she did not appreciate my rendition of Cool Rider. I’m pretty sure she’s never seen Grease 2, because it was pretty spot on. Anyway, it feels like a wasted opportunity, because she was in Hairspray with Christopher Walken and he’s my biggest celebrity crush, and I really got my hopes up, there. Didn’t even get my dick sucked. What a waste.

The new layout of the Bling Ring headquarters was entirely Jamie’s idea from the look of it. It was less hideout and more of a burning trashcan beneath a bridge protected by a mote of discarded hypodermic needles but it was what they had post-Fabray. Jamie had always been a fan of hiding in plain sight and frankly, whoever was brave enough to step up to a fleet of homeless gremlins deserved whatever they got their hands on.

Jamie cocked his head back at the familiar blonde bobbing into the circle. He was perched on top of what looked like a mountain of discarded love seats, the unearthly glow of something beneath it illuminating him like a villainous cartoon cat. “Cats aren’t that kind of pack animal, but sure. We can say that. I didn’t realize you’d come back to town. Don’t tell me– you’re here to resign and join Addison’s pussy brigade.”

His glanced down at her shoes. “Or are you broke?”

Shiloh’s eyebrow cocked as she observed her old friend--new ringleader--in his absolutely ridiculous yet unsurprising natural habitat. She scoffed, plucking a cigarette from the pack in her hand and placing it between her lips just long enough to get it lit. “Yeah, well, don’t reckon I wanna give you the satisfaction of sayin’ you’re the mastermind.” The animosity toward Addison was almost tangible, and although Shiloh didn’t share that same sense of hatred, she knew where her loyalty was. 

“Neither, actually.” No, she didn’t have a lot of cash left, but she had the skill set to function on her own if she wanted to. She didn’t. “Maybe I missed y’all.” The Bling Ring was her family, after all, regardless of how long she’d been gone. At the very least, she missed Scarlet. “Maybe my heist senses started tinglin’ and I assumed you’d need help with the smugglin’ part. Either way, ya didn’t get rid of me that easy.”