"The grizzly bear equivalent of a sea creature?" Lizzie echoes, a snicker following her words. She's endlessly enamored by the thoughts that not only enter Conrad's brain, but have the guts to leave it through his mouth. In a world where everybody who's anybody pacifies what they're thinking, it's nice to be around somebody who has little to no filter. At least, when they're around her.

She watches him examine the otter toy. She's not lying—she wants him to like it. And she's fully aware that it's probably going to end up in shambles across the entire apartment, but that doesn't bother her. If she sees him cuddling it even once, it's a worth-it purchase.

"Ah. Perfect."

And it was, indeed. A buttercream blossom was one of the first things Emily learned how to do when she began to bake (and really bake, not just follow by-the-box directions) and she'd been proud of it ever since, jumping at any chance she could to pipe it on any dessert that Bambi let her. She'd just finished a batch of lemon and lavender cupcakes, something new for the upcoming spring menu, and tonight was her chance to show it off to the rest of the crew—see if it was good enough to sell at the restaurant someday. Taking extreme care, the blonde transferred each one onto a white cupcake stand, crafting a sort of dessert bouquet while the restaurant buzzed, sizzled, and dinged around her.

"Behind," came Beckett's voice from the direction he'd called out. Big red oven mitts covered his hands and a big smile was sprawled across his face as he headed toward the oven, Emily moving herself—and her delicately crafted cupcake stand—out of the man's way.

The smell of cornbread as Beckett opened the oven knocked the aroma of her lemon and lavender cupcakes out of the park. She smiled warmly, watching as he pulled a square pan out. "That taste as good as it smells?" she asked.

He glanced over at her, sending a wink. "Even better." He set the pan of cornbread on the counter beside the stove and opened up the big pot, the only one left. The thing about Beckett was that he was a bit of a turtle when it came to cooking; everything he made was low and slow. Well, at least, everything he cared about making. He opened the lid to check on his mom's recipe of chicken and sausage gumbo, which simmered to completion in the pot. The smell of paprika, garlic, andouille sausage, bay leaves... It filled the room and overpowered the cupcakes and everything else everyone was cooking in the best way. It was the main star of the night, after all. Bambi had entrusted him with this, and he needed to exceed expectations.

Beckett took the lid off the pot and turned off the heat. Like clockwork, Emily swerved behind him, pulling out enough bowls to feed everyone who'd be at the table. As she did that, Beckett cut up the cornbread into messy squares.

"Thanks, darlin'," he muttered to the blonde, who was like a sister to him at this point. In exchange for her quick work, he offered her a piece of cornbread. She took a bite.

"Holy crap."

"S'that good or what?" he asked, nervous.

"Beck, that's fantastic. Bambi's gonna freak."

Then, a pause before Emily added: "And so is Mickey."

A moment later, Lizzie emerged from the front of the house, somehow toting around a few liters of soda. She was clearly struggling, and Beckett came to her rescue, retrieving the drinks and setting them off to the side. "So fucking sorry," she spoke hurriedly, obviously flustered. "My fucking card wouldn't work at the fucking liquor store and I had to go to the goddamn ATM and—" Her words were stopped only by the feeling of Emily's hands on her shoulders.

"You're good. We're ready. Go get 'im."

Lizzie took a deep breath. Tonight was important. No, it was more than important, and everyone in the restaurant felt that, the gravity of that. She nodded, then turned to head to the back of the restaurant, making the same route she always did when it was the end of shift and she needed to toss the garbage.

She found him by the dumpster. In comparison to the sensory overload that was the diner, this side of the streets brought her ears respite. Even if there were rats and running gutters. Arms folded over her chest, feeling the breeze blow through her sweater, she approached him. There he was.

"Hey, Mickey," she said. "Family's up."

FADE IN... A lone billboard flickers in the night, atop a mid-size apartment building made of red brick. In the style of an exploitation film from the 1970s, its text reads ███'s WRAG TAG WRECKING CREW! The official name has been scratched out from decades of wear and tear. This side of the city is quiet. All quiet, except for— INT. LIZZIE & EMJAY'S APARTMENT — NIGHT The violent smacking of a palm against a CD player, one from the late 90s or early 2000s. The force of it rattles all the other shit that's on the set of drawers. Perfumes, lipsticks, a fidget spinner. A picture frame falls flat on its belly. We eventually see LIZZIE, 29, almost 30, a short young woman with a curl of wet hair sticking out of a towel. She's using her other hand to hold a towel around herself together. She has faced off with this CD player before but it has never won. The song finally plays. When I'm out walking I strut my stuff And I'm so strung out I'm high as a kite I just might stop to check you out

=

"How many times have I told you to get rid'a that thing?" Emily asks, brushing past Lizzie on the way to the vanity. And it's the vanity, not her vanity, because it's more of a shared space—sort of like everything else in this apartment, even though it's meant just for the two of them. She touches up her highlighter, keen on reflecting like a disco ball, and puts on jeweltry.

"It's, like, a relic at this point, Emjay. I can't get rid of it," Lizzie protests. "Besides, trust me, I went to Best Buy the other day. Fully intent on getting one, mind you. Shit cost, like, $50. That's, like, two nights of tips." Then she starts getting dressed with their backs turned to each other. Hell, who cares at this point.

"Yeah, Liz, but it's yer daggone berth-day," the girl from a ways out of Atlanta throws right back. "You deserve to treat yourself."

Now fully dressed in a fuchsia slip dress, Lizzie rests her chin on Emily's shoulder. "Why do that when I've got my best friends to do it for me?" She usually doesn't act this spoiled, but it's her daggone berth-day. She lets Emily do a bit of her makeup for fun and a few more Violent Femmes songs play before...

The pair step out of Emily's bedroom (yes, Lizzie keeps her shitty CD player in there) and present their outfits to the one waiting in the living room. The blonde does a simple spin. Lizzie's a lot more theatrical about it, fingers pinching either side of her dress and hoisting it up just so as she does a little shindig. Peacocking to her boyfriend, Mischa.

Who rolls his eyes. "It took you two long enough," he says. Then, in a louder voice: "Thes! You ready? I'm not saying it's your fault or anything, but I've literally been waiting here for almost an hour and a half. I have to be at soundcheck in 15 minutes."

Yes, for Lizzie's birthday, they'll be en route to The Wet Spot, one of the better venues in town, where Mischa's band's going to play a special set. A brand new song, apparently.

"We can't go yet! We have to take pictures," Lizzie says with a pout. "Thes, stand in the middle so it's not so obvious you're the tallest." She's usually not in the greatest mood, but nothing can burst her bubble tonight. The four of them are unstoppable as far as she's concerned, and that's to be celebrated.

“Welcome to Blue River Acres,” Darcy greets, hands falling atop her 7 year old daughter’s shoulders. “I’m Darcy and these are my kids, Ryder and Annabelle. Here at Blue River Acres we have 4.5 acres of land that house this house, a guest house, and a stable with caretakers quarters. Each room has its own thermostat so feel free to adjust the ac to your liking. The master and two bedrooms on either side of it are off limits for obvious reasons but there are 6 other rooms available for your choosing. The guest house has some arcade games, a small stage for karaoke and if you play an instrument, and a pool table. There are 3 suites in the guest house so if any of you want to crash over there, feel free. Both this house and the guest house will be fully stocked at all times. There’s a fire pit, a koi pond with a waterfall, and an oversized spa or hot tub as some prefer to call it. The stables currently house six horses soon to be eight as we have a mare currently pregnant with twins, if anyone would like to give horseback riding a go I’m more than happy to show you the ropes, figuratively and literally. Within the stables is a caretakers quarters with a kitchen so someone can stay there, as well as an office, which is off limits, and a gym. Any questions?”

"Hey! It's one of those things."

An excited finger points out at a plaza across the street, past all the hustle and bustle of the road crossings in the middle of Shibuya. There's a line of Japanese vending machines along a brick wall of some building, and near the vending machines are a few picnic tables where citizens and tourists alike are enjoying their automatically prepared meals.

She had watched plenty of YouTube videos about those contraptions, each of them serving something different and gimmicky—ramen, bento boxes, smoothies, salads. Lizzie grins, grabbing Conrad's jacket sleeve and tugging, because they gotta go. And the pedestrian timer to cross the street at this busy intersection is about to run out. "I could go for a snack. You hungry?"

@worthless-weight-in-gold // @caught-between-narratives

“You’re spoiling me, yanno that.” Lizzie looks down at Thespian through half-lidded eyes and she bats her lashes, flinging a dazed smile over. They’ve been at this kissing and teasing thing for a good few minutes now, and it’s a nice change of pace for her.

Every other time she’s hooked up with someone it happens fast, almost in a transaction—like everything else in her life. Mischa is the only other person who has made her feel valued when it comes to intimacy, and now she can add another person to that list, all in the name of convincing her she’s worth it. And she’s not even sure that this session with Thespian will end in going all the way, but this already feels like a whole new world. A new threshold of pleasure that she’s discovering and doesn’t ever want to get away from.

@hungryyheart //

She's at the driver's wheel taking them home right now. She's technically the adult, not him. She is doing the best she can to take care of herself, despite just having been bailed out of county jail by him. How he managed to do that with the little money they had in her savings jar in the kitchen, she's not sure—but Lizzie's brain is fried, fried like the greasy meals she serves day in and day out at the diner, so she elects not to think about it too hard.

"I am," she insists. She's trying to get more money for them to get them out of her hellhole apartment, and out of this area in general. And for some reason, she believed that getting involved with her old boss again, slinging narcotics, was the best way to do it. Now she's not so sure anymore. She's lucky she got busted trespassing and not with possession, but her record isn't exactly squeaky clean, which means she'll probably be on the drug unit's radar for a while. It'll be some time before she can make good money again, enough to buy this place she saw a couple of counties over...

She focuses on the radio; the DJ is introducing an oldies but goodies night. Gangsta's Paradise starts playing and she immediately reaches over to shut it off as soon as she recognizes it. Way too on the nose.

"I didn't order anything," Lizzie called out to the front door from her kitchen, where she stood with her arms crossed over her chest, brown eyes impatient as she glared up at her microwave. Ten more seconds, then the double cheeseburger that Pete had tossed on the grill for her special right before she left her shift at the diner was hers. In all of its greasy, melty glory, it would be hers.

She'd felt a strange, looming presence around all day. In fact, for the last... week, maybe. Born and raised in the city she didn't think much of it, always kept her pepper spray on hand in case of emergency. But there was something different about this presence; it seemed persistent. Whether it was an actual person on her tail or something more mental she'd been paranoid about (an overdue bill, maybe?), there was something that felt like it was gnawing on her.

She was yanked out of her thoughts by two things: the microwave beeping and another set of knocks on the door. With a huff, she took her burger out of the microwave, set it on the counter, and headed to the door, opening it to the extent of the chain lock. Only a sliver of her left eye could be seen as she looked out.