#apurgstarter

Niyah exited the stage to the sounds of whistles, hoots, and praises instead of the usual light applause or silence. Even though it didn’t quench her thirst for fame or attention, it still felt validating to know she had a bangin’ bod. A shot was necessary if she wanted to finish with at least $400 this evening. She could only smile for so long before her cheeks hurt and she wasn’t about to have wrinkles in her 40′s. 

Niyah bent over with a teasing smile to grab one last dead president from a regular in the back room. Someone familiar entered the club at that moment, a face she had seen many times but had never bothered to learn the name of. Ni wasn’t about to out herself to this non-stranger stranger. How could they not know who she is? It would simply be impossible to forget a face like hers. The dancer had half a mind to walk right up and get the unpleasantness out of the way but at this point, there was only a reason to go up if they requested. It was time to hit the bar.

The flatterer walked up to the bar and leaned over sensually, maintaining prolonged eye contact with the stranger.

It was the first week of November, someone had just been murdered. Thanksgiving apparently didn’t exist anymore and the young woman didn’t want it to after last year. Lord knows she had prayed over it a thousand times at least and begged for forgiveness. Nothing was the same anymore and she couldn’t hide from her sins. The only thing making it even worse was Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas Is You.

“I just don’t know.” The brunette gave a hefty sigh, looking down at the traditionally anal wrap job her mother had done. Not a single piece of scotch tape in site. She hoped her mother wouldn’t notice the crinkles her fingertips had created in the paper. “Do you think it looks okay?”

Charlotte Delyle had made her rounds through the party, but as of now considering how tiring everything had been that evening she made her way through the crowds, pushing past the ever sweatier bodies of dancing gods and goddesses, her own paint beginning to tear around the edges. 

Have to fix this up was the thought on her mind as she found herself moving toward the haven, the sweet spot that was the nearest bathroom. What luck she had in finding the bathroom to be completely unoccupied. Pushing the door open she stepped inside, closing it behind her. 

Pity she hadn’t fixed up the latch, as just when she was finished fixing herself up in the mirror, she heard the door handle opening. “Don’t you know a shut door me-” 

“Oh.” she said, surprised by whom had chosen to enter the bathroom. “Bit rude to burst in when someone is in the bathroom, isn't it?” she added, almost surprised at the intrusion. 

Jamie used to be enthused about Halloween and in some ways, he still was. Nothing invoked the spirit of Satan better than a neighbourhood full of repressed young people looking for an excuse to let loose behind a mask.

In recent years, however, Halloween became a time where things got extra busy in the Dyer household. Besides coming up with costumes and hatching up new excuses for the cops when Jack inevitably started a fire somewhere, cold nights meant higher heating bills and heartier dinners. It also meant a higher chance of Jonathan rearing his head at home and he’d yet to figure out how to Dad-proof the house when trick-or-treaters meant opening the doors more often. Halloween was more responsibility than ghost stories and spooks now, which explained his early appearance at the market stalls.

He looked run-down and ragged, his torn jeans dirty with a week’s worth of grease from the diner and radiating alcoholic fumes. Soccer moms gave him a wide berth as he sorted through different kinds of squash with the ferocity of a raccoon in a dumpster.

“Honeynut squashes and butternut squashes are near identical in shape and genetic make-up, but the honeynut squash is far superior. Its compact size gives it double the amount of beta-carotene per serving, not to mention this .15 cent difference per pound makes it slightly more cost effective at a ratio of 2 honeynuts to 1 butternut....”

Jamie pulled out a big, oblong squash and turned to the person next to him, looking disgruntled as if they’d been the one responsible. “These are not honeynut squashes,” he pointed out. “Are you running a scam or do you just think we’re all stupid?”

because benji had held his silly little gig at the resort so long, his schedule was now, more or less, public knowledge. he wouldn't be present for opening shifts, he would inevitably have some sort of vital matters to attend to that led to an abandoning of post by eleven - and he liked it that way. it opened the door for the serendipitous moments he could find a reprieve from work in the person standing across from the concierge desk. 

 such as now. as soon as benji’s eyes land on the hidden newcomer behind a departing lodge guest, his customer service persona drops, a surprised, genuine grin replacing pain-staking customer service smile (if his work-face could even be considered that). "and what can i do you for, beautiful?” 

Meaning that he answered to the queen... which was his mother.

She had been the one who assigned everyone their Renaissance Festival beats, and she was therefore the person that Jasper was directing his annoyance at present at. Because while he had been looking forward to watching two dudes essentially try and kill each other while riding horses at full speed, wielding giant sticks as weapons, that hadn’t been the path his mother had chosen for him.

Instead he’d been assigned an article on poetry.

It was miserable. Somewhere after the last ‘wherefore’ he’d tuned out, the lame-ass costumes already killing the vibe for him before the bad poetry finished the job.

Why were there so many fairies? Wasn’t the renaissance a real time period?

“Is there a Google Translate for this?” he asked the person nearest him once he’d felt like he’d had enough. He ignored the dirty look the person on his other side gave him as he reached for his obviously modern cellular device, breaking the illusion worse than he already had by showing up in normal clothes.

For the most part living at home wasn’t bad, they didn’t bother her and she didn’t bother them except in emergency situations like this one. What the hell was she supposed to do with a nine year old? After a few hours of him playing some farming game, she had told him enough and stated she needed human interaction. Tossing Sam inside her car she drove off to the Farmer’s market for real human interaction.

As she watch from far away at the kid being excited about several different pumpkins to carve, she had hoped the future carving plans didn’t include her. She had a late night coming up at work and she was interested in Ribeiro-Wilder time. The apples caught her attention and fingers danced over a few of them before accidentally causing one to roll off, someone nearby quickly caught it in a very twilight fashion. “Thanks Cullen,” she smirked. “You here to just save helpless apples or searching for a pumpkin to mutilate?”

Elijah had ditched his pressed and tailored suit for a black hoodie and matching joggers, covered with a denim jacket and paired with black and white sneakers. He wasn’t trying to be incognito, but in the alley beside the popular theater, he wouldn’t be remembered. 

That was why it was one of his rotating meeting spots for Oliver. He had another job to pass off, among other needs, but Oliver was late as usual. The longer he stood around waiting for the deadbeat to show up, the more willing he was to ship those jobs off to more experienced people on the wrong side of town. Elijah had decided to push the jobs his way in exchange for drugs, but there were plenty of people who could handle those needs.

Eli pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time: 11:24 pm. If he didn’t show by 11:30, Eli was out. They would have to meet up again and his pay would be severely docked. 

He stood with his back to the street, keeping his face in the shadow cast by the theater. The alley way empty beside the large blue dumpster sitting outside the building’s fire exit. Two tall blank brick buildings stood on either side of him, blocking all wind and sound from the main road. When he heard footsteps approaching him, he shook his head and whirled on the person approaching.

“I don’t have time to wait-” his voice caught in his throat. The person in the alleyway was not, in fact, Oliver. He blinked, alarm bells sounding in his head. While he tried to shut down the rising panic and frustration, he narrowed his eyes at the other person. “What are you doing down here?”