#bsco.starter

Another dull night in the middle of no where as Banks stood behind the counter inside, shoulders hunched up as he leaned forward to rest his elbows against the tacky surface. He’d turned up the music earlier in the night when it seemed that the rest of the town had gone to sleep, nothing more than a ghost town which was far from the world that he’d come out of which left him feeling unsettled at the silence. It began to creep up on him as he tuned out the rest of the world and focused on the music, drumming his fingers against the countertop to the beat of the song as he left his pack in his locker in the back. The last time that he’d been caught out on the floor had left him with a warning and the slushie taken out of his paycheck. 

It took him another minute or two to notice that someone was in the shop as the music blared overhead, loud enough to wake the dead as he scowled before reaching over to turn it down enough that he could hear them. And their possible complaints. “Yeah?”

Location: Galaxy Comic Book Store (or elsewhere if your character wouldn’t go there)

Elise almost gave a little bounce as she spoke. “Okay, here is a question for you. So someone was writing a theme song about your life, what would the title be?” she asked, giving a smile as she stopped in front of them. “I just think it’s always so curious. It’s often so easy to write about other people.”

He was sprawled out on the bench like a cat. Long legs occupying the entire space available. A to go latte in one hand and a cigarette in the other, he watched the people passing by. He had not even picked up the book he brought with him. Some random choice off Oskar’s shelf at the house. Probably a boring read, anyways. Something about how to make the most out of monotony. He was mildly shocked he had not chained Zakarias to some desk at the resort so he could keep a close eye on him. No matter, he had no intention of causing his brother any more trouble. At least, not today. 

“Sorry, this seat is occupied.” He droned to the shadow in his peripheral. After another beat he looked over and assessed the person up and down without shame. “Can I help you? Lose your ball? Need to find your mommy or something?” Zak listed unamused. “If it is the latter, what does she look like and is she, perhaps, single?”

THIS STARTER IS NOW CLOSED

Nathaniel tucked his wallet back into the pocket of his thick green work coat and swapped the cash for the hot chocolate. He didn’t know what to expect in terms of a crowd, but he was out of books and in his month in Colorado he hadn’t done much exploring. As he adjusted the lead on his service dog, Cosmo, who leaned against his leg, Nate practically talked to his boots, though really there were enough people within earshot to hear him, “Umm, do you happen to know where The Last Chapter is or if there’s a pop up selling books?” His fingers combed through the scruff of the dog’s coat before he straightened up with a slow breath to calm his nerves, he could do this- one hour in a crowd tops, he’d promised Cosmo and he was sticking to it.

                          it was supposed to be a typical ( uneventful ) night at the phoenix, if it weren’t for the crowd gathered around the small brunette, and twice-her-size southsider playing pool. it was ( obviously ) a mistake to push ayda’s buttons and say she couldn’t take three shots of tequila and play, because if there was something she never backed down from, it was a challenge. and while she did agree to play along and ignore all the cheering that was definitely not for her benefit ( the man had a lot of southside friends ) , it took her exactly 48 seconds to push almost every ball in it’s rightful place, the crowd going silent after realizing she was better than she originally seemed. ❝ looks like i’ll be goin’ home with those fifty bucks after all, ❝  she commented on the bet they made, offering her opponent a smirk as she confidently stood before them. ❝— is your wallet getting heavier now? or do you still want to call it beginner’s luck? ❝

Festivals and any large crowded place wasn’t really Finn’s thing. Still, he ended up there because he secretly loved Stevie Nicks and had never seen her live before. Plus he could never say no to a good party and the night life at any of Bradford Springs’ events was bound to be a good time. 

His first stop was getting a corndog, because they were always better at a fair or festival. The next was the brewery’s truck to get something to drink to go along with his food. Honestly it was likely to be one of many trips there because Finn wouldn’t be Finn without some sort of drink in his hand. He turned and looked toward the stage to see them setting up for the show. It wouldn’t be dark for another hour but he was debating getting a good spot anyways. Not paying attention he walked right into someone, luckily saving the beer from spilling. “What the fuck, man? First time walkin’ or what?” He grimaced at the other person even though it was likely not their fault at all.

WHERE: downtown, late morning

        Shoulders are pressed to the rough brick exterior of the coffee shop as Rhys makes an exit only to pause a few steps beyond the door and lean back against the wall. A coffee cup and a half-empty soft pack of Marlboro Reds are clutched in one hand as the other pops the lid off the cup and balances it between his lips so he can reach for the flask tucked in his back pocket. It’s a whole series of gestures and movements and Rhys digs the heel of a boot into the sidewalk to hold his balance as he shuffles for a second before retrieving the palm-sized, silver container. Lid still caught in his teeth, he unscrews the cap and pours a modest splash of amber liquid into the coffee, otherwise black save for a generous pour of sugar — not enough to feel any sort of buzz from the liquor, just enough to offer a little extra warmth on a brisk Colorado morning and relax a little of the tension that’s settled in his neck and shoulders from another poor night’s sleep. He can feel a pair of eyes on him as he goes to screw the cap back on and bright, cerulean gaze flickers up from his drink with an inquisitive squint. His head cocks into a curious lean as he mumbles around flimsy plastic. “What? Irish coffee in the morning never hurt nobody. It’s late enough, anyway. Almost noon.” He sniffs, pulls the lid from his mouth to lick his lips and nods toward the other’s cup. “You want a little too or something?”

Instead, he had heard about a Chili Cook-Off - and had to look it up on google to see what that actually meant - and decided: this was a good way to do something he liked, throw himself out there, and overcome his fear of crowds. 

Of course, he was only about fifty percent sure he was doing what he was supposed to do. He had a collection of bamboo plates, and offered the extremely spicy chili (using some recipe he had found online together with whatever spices he felt like he needed to add in order to actually bring out any flavour) to the first person to walk past. “You look like you might be interested in burning your throat.”