year of the tiger.

“Everything okay?”

She looked back at the other counselor with an exhausted look spread from her facial features, to the slouch of her posture. “What gave it away? The sweat or weird kitchen grime scent?”

Lindsey Morgan behind the scenes of 5 Stages

“Yeah because my utter disgust for you totally has to come from my lack of getting any. Don’t consider the fact that you have the maturity of a prepubescent.” she scoffed, “For future reference, stop getting your lines porn. The angry chick in it doesn’t fall to her knees right when you inquire about her sex life. Actually the “angry chick” kind of wants to punch you in the face and file for sexual harassment.”

He’s quiet for a moment —- to give her a second to settle, to catch his breath —- and he finds himself frowning. “I think you need a second,” he begins slowly, carefully, weighing his words, and it might be his INTRO TO PSYCH class talking, “to process this before we go any further than we already have. HARVARD isn’t going to out-weight HOMICIDE on your resume.” She shakes him off, and he doesn’t push it, fitting his hands into his pockets instead where they can do no harm. “Obviously, this isn’t an ideal situation for you. You’ve made that  a b u d a n t l y  clear.” ( There’s that SARCASM again, and he clears his throat to stop himself. ) “But this doesn’t have to be difficult.”

-- and so she does “take a second”. Make that a minute, listening to this saturated array of bullshit spewing out of his mouth liked a parent condescending their child. WELL , that’s a little harsh, but she’s pissed. Pissed and with an abundance of post-high school baggage. Before continuing, she goes in almost full force with a knee to his crotch, THE LAST HIT SHE SWEARS. But it was better letting it out now than setting fire to his tent. “Your proposal, elaborate.”

Ha-ha laugh jokes on her, cold showers are her specialty thanks to the Santos hating gas bills. She flashes a quick sarcastic smile before answering her next question. “I’m a masochist, apparently. Why are you here? Seems to me like nature is your thing, so I guess that answers it for me.”

“The Alps? Doing what exactly? -- I’m hoping to be buried in paperwork and constantly biting old white men head off. You know, the process of working in politics.”

“Ellie Santos, and me neither but -- here we are. One with a seemingly less sugar high than the other.” IF ANYONE should have been correcting their attitudes, it was probably Ellie. She was never really much for ‘spirit ‘, or seeming like she has a soul, and it was a wonder how she won class president without offering half the school head. But now she’s met with children, and faking it wasn’t really going to cut it. They had a sixth sense, she’s convinced. “So if this is your first time at Greco, where are you from?”

“The same way words so vapid and ignorant can come from a grown man.”

“Hey, hey —- !” Honestly, he’s not sure WHAT he was expecting. ( Not a warm welcome, certainly. ) But he couldn’t quite call it an overreaction. A bit ENTHUSIASTIC, perhaps, but not entirely unjustified. Still, he has the tenacity to act a offended, air coming out from between pursed lips in a short huff when she shoves him, and he holds up his hands as the universal sign for I SURRENDER. “Jesus,” he gives breathlessly. “If you wanted to play R O U G H, you could just ask.” Fingers fall to her shoulders gingerly, and he pushes her a step back as he moves forward and away from the wall. “I’m here with honest intentions, same as you. I swear. Lorraine thought it would be a good idea, and I just find it’s easier humor her nowawdays.”

TENACITY WAS ONE THING , audacity was definitely another. To say his crass humor and overall condescending demeanor was expected? Now that’s something they both saw coming. What bothered her the most was probably why they ( c o n s t a n t l y ) fought: she’s too easily wound up, and he knows the rigt things to say when it’s too late. BUT ! it was a game that was supposed to be left back in the west coast, and dragged itself to the east coast for a little while. Not in Canada where she finally had a chance to turn a new page. “You know what, FUCK IT, whatever. It doesn’t even matter if I believe you or not, because you’re still here. Like a fucking parasite.” she proclaimed, steaming down slightly as she persistently shook his hands off her shoulders.

“Smelling. It’s kind of a cop-out to hearing and seeing but-- whatever.”

“Oh, come on, Els.” And though it’s an old nickname, one he’d use in times of seriousness, it holds NONE of the conviction it used to —- because he’s not being serious, and presumably hasn’t been for a while. “Is that ANY way to greet the man who used to steal you wine? Luce didn’t mention you’d be here. If she had, I might’ve brought some FLANNEL, just for you.”

“Fuck, how could I forget? I totally forgot how you have no other ulterior motive than to completely fuck with me !! ”. With her voice reaching almost dangerous levels of attracting attention, Ellie instantly grabs his overworn Thrasher tee, pulling him outside the event to prevent her from any more embarassment via this slice of former teenage hell. As soon as they got outside, she took this as free reign to shove him against the wall, "You better have a good fucking reason why you're here, or que deus me ajude..."

“Jace Peterson... look, I’m not gonna like you, you’re not gonna like me. You stay in your side of the campsite until it’s mandatory for your group of kids to be at the lake, I won’t promote violence after you spew out some not-funny bullshit and call me mami again. Easy breezy. The alternative suggestion -- well. it’s not so pretty.”

“MARRIED. To Danielle Haim, hopefully, but I’ll also take Jessica Williams. I’ll’ve killed David Fincher by then and begun wearing his skin. Then they’ll ask me to do a suspense film on the creation of the Tootsie Pop, and I’ll gladly accept as Jude McFincher, and I’ll finally have enough money to buy my grandmother that house by the Vatican.” At last, he looks down at his list of inquiries. “Come here often?”

It was almost like she SWORE, as soon as she heard that voice, she had to be hallucinating. FOR HIS SAKE, this had to be a bad nightmare. No, no, this was not the part of the story where a gigantic, shit eating grin is plastered on her face as old “high school flames” come to reunite. This? -- was a worst case scenerio. A code fuckin’ red, as former regrets come to incinerate this place to the ground. “It’s about to get a lot less often, thanks for asking.”

“I get the gun, but who′s Sylvia Plath, and why her bell jar?”

She needs a moment, just to collect what the other girl is saying. Just to believe, this is happening, this is a real thing. “... are you brain dead? I mean I know they don’t do last minute drug tests but         ”

“What’s your name?”