#ask reply.

nat is rummaging, running through eddie's things to find her stuff, her boots, her jacket, her bag. because this is her life now, wake up sneak out of the house, find eddie munson, buy drugs, hang out with eddie munson until the sun goes down and even as the sun goes up, do the drugs and go home...sometimes. sometimes she stays. and that's. that's fine. but right now she's in a mood, maybe it's the hangover. maybe it's feeling vulnerable in a way she can't verbalize. the tape is all fried. there's no rewinding this one now.

"it's like three pm, dude." she's sitting down, on the bed. she can still feel the warmth radiating off him. in the back of her head she is sort of doing the math, what she can get away with. it's a friday. life back to normalcy, life back to pretending. and here she is. pretending. except maybe in these in between moments of lucidity. she doesn't know. everything's bleeding together, time, space, herself, blending into a mess she can't make the shape of.

"-you're playing tonight, right?" eddie's in a band. and he plays the guitar. and he deals, and natalie scatorccio is a fucking cliche. "the hideout or whatever." she knows the place vaguely, one of the few places nat can manage to get booze. two birds one stone. "is it like invite only? or...they just let anyone in..." she turns to him, rubbing the light out of her eyes. her head's killing her. there's a nice little bottle of jack waiting for her under her bed, it's fine. wardrobe change, girl stuff. the usual.

the bell rings as the door is opened. eddie is always like that, chivalrous. it's always a hassle, a new place, she can never quite decipher the type of thinking she can encounter in a new place. but everyone seems neatly distracted, the walls in this place are covered in worn out paper, floor to ceiling. jean looks around, a small sparkle in her eye. she doesn't like looking new, or out of place. but she has no choice. fire ginger hair with a soft smile, she is bound to stand out in a place like this.

green eyes turn to eddie, waiting for him before she walks further in. rows and rows of everything, from casettes to cds to vinyls somewhere off in the corner. she puts her hair over her ear. bites her lip. "-so, this is different." jean mumbles, leans into eddie's side. holds onto his jacket. not scared, never scared. wary, it's the way she moves about the world. pretending as if she cannot hear most people's thoughts in the background of her mind. pretending to be, mundane. regular girl jean grey.

"it's been ages since i've been to...you know, somewhere like this..." a pause, before she looks back into the see of aisles. "what are you looking for again?" making this about him, rather than her. a nice tactic she can buy some time with. it's only some time, eddie's nice to her in ways she sometimes wishes she could be annoyed at. meaning, he cares and asks. makes it about her. it makes her all melty, gooey at the center.

@demobrat

mabel is great at finding her own fun and comfort even in the toughest of situations. yet this isn't tough, not even remotely it's fun. dipper never told her how this nerd game was almost like setting up a show. eddie and her are doing what she's dubbed immersive fantastical set dressing. it's the area behind the throne. she's done the job is ransacking her grunkle's basement for old timey fabrics, now she helping with the nails and the stapler.

except now she has in her grubby hands the latest teen idol magazine, throwing to drown what sounds like trashcans doing the can can dance. or alternatively what eddie munson has royally decreed to be good music. all she can imagine is a cat running through the alley. maybe that's the image it's supposed to evoke.

"no, no, no, we are not paying attention to those today. as much as i would loooove to know what ralph macchio's favorite snack on set is, we have like work to do and i need you in perfect health, or as close as we can get." she looks up at eddie in the ladder she borrowed from the school supply closet. "-we're doing a quiz! i'll just ask the questions and you give me your answer and i'll write it down. i won't tell you what it's for." her smile is adorned with metal and she finger guns him. "until we are done of course. a little mystery never hurt anyone." she shakes her head as she makes a weird voice to say the last part.

jason is busy, in his own little world. business as usual. he hears annie, distractedly. nods with it, pretty boy, surely about someone else. in the room. he looks around before he feels her hand. warmth spreads, like standing right next a fire he can almost smell the marshmallows. eyes blink as he gets pulled away.

"oh." it's soft, suddenly the warmth spreads to his face, his cheeks. "oh i didn't think you. you meant me. like when you said-" he gets a dorky smile on his face, holds her up. pulls them to a stop for a moment. jason tries to find her eyes before speaking. "-wait. wait. wait. say it again. please?" is this the time or the place? probably not. but she started it.

the city brings forth so many things. things to see, things to do. it also brings the dread, eyes, cazador looms over astarion's momentary happiness, his fleeting freedom. their little adventuring party were invited to a coronation, trap or not it astarion cares little. he wishes nothing more than to show off, the type of action that would certainly be a slap to the face to cazador. he's almost gleeful.

karlach towers over him, and astarions moves gracefully, ears flickers. he's in high alert his imagination does not compare the machinations of cazador's twisted mind. karlach does bring him some sense of comfort and safety. they are side by side, when they past the stores, dresses. the expensive kind.

they fall into a conversation.

and then. i can't wear things like that anyway.

astarion looks offended. eyes karlach, a once over. fingers on his chest. "nonesense." sure karlach's fashion sense isn't refined or delicate, she is all leather, weaved into functionality more than anything else but that does not mean that karlach isn't deserving of some finer things. if she wants them. "all there would need to be done is a good fitting." and astarion smirks then "and it appears you are incredibly lucky, my dear, a good fitting is within my wide set of abilities. you'd just have to ask." this is perhaps, a little bit self indulgent. karlach is not only funny and nice, she's breathtakingly beautiful. a dress she does not need, but astarion can't help his mind wonder. a slit, she looks best in black. makes the red pop.

eddie. eddie. little guy eddie. picked up by the scruff oh so long ago. been away for longer than he was around. ed visits because ed has nothing else to do but stick his nose where it doesn't go. funny little thing how life plays out.

ed let's out a breath, twirling the knife in his hand. boot on the table. eyes linger on eddie, so different. the same. she can see where ed starts and ends, the nervous nature of the boy. once boy, now man. shaped by more than ed. "oh come on." ed smiles, a little twisted a little crooked, off center. "-don't give me that. what...you are miserable out of nowhere? suddenly? have you got your fill now? you have barely scratched the surface, little baby bird barely out of the goddamn nest. what does it matter if i love this." and ed knows what they are playing at, a little too much of themselves in each other. a little too much of ed in eddie. he stands up head shifting to a side, slow, blinking even slower. hair and jewlery cascading with the moment. "i am not miserable. not right now anyways." his heart isn't in it. but he isn't lying. "right now, i love it. ohhhh how i love it." it's quiet, the way he approaches.

"now tell me all about your misery. it can't be all bad."

zatanna remembers what it is like to be kissed by john constantine. it's just the two of them, she does not know why she let him so close. but it's easy. it's easier than running and trying to put a sea between them. she's looking at him and he's older, stopped being that young man she fell in love with. it's not like he has changed, but maybe she has, the circumstances certainly have. she sees him and she does not see the fire, or death looming grim over his shoulder. she just sees him, getting lost on blue eyes. he leans in. and the old zatanna would've moved away. the old zatanna would have been upset. but she's been livining stuck in the past, like a broken record, living like a ghost, like she was the one who died.

but her mind clears, her cheeks warm. and her hands on his shoulders, the hesitation of pushing melts into the intent of pulling him just that little bit closer. leans closer and faster than him. a conscious decision. zatanna almost melts into it, the tension leaving her body. and she remembers, it's this very silly warm feeling. it's like casting magic without any of the words. she's twenty again, it's all the good with none of the bad. the rub of his stubble, the way the smell of cigarettes kisses the airs. damn you, john constantine.

she shifts the balance of her body nervously, draws half a smile. lately she's found herself at the company of violet. did not know what to make of her, she's seen things distractedly either imposed over the monitor, sequences roll by and pearl isn't entirely sure what they mean. something underneath the surface of violet but the images static and blurry enough. whatever is in charge of what pearl can see clearly did not take into consideration visibility when it came down to these visions. pearl's eyes linger over it. distracted. the tv is definitely off to others.

"yeah. old school." she sort of sighs before turning back to vi. clearing her throat. "-i mean it's partially because they put the damn-" and then her voice, quieter "-curse on a goddamn tape. like. okay i get it. but it's like a thousand times harder than to just. look it up somewhere else." that still does not account why she seems to be a living image of the nineties. decade somewhat past gone.