#castle.start

                death.  it  had  always  been  known  as  someone’s  biggest  fear  ;  even  one  that  beck  had  considered  a  fear  of  her  own.  that  was  at  least  prior  to  waking  up  &  gasping  for  air.  death  was  easy  ,  you  began  to  rot  ,  people  remembered  their  memories  with  you  ,  but  coming  back  to  life  ?  what  was  she  supposed  to  say  when  someone  asked  her  how  she  was  breathing  ?  sure  ,  she was  a  writer  but  she  had never  thought  about  how  to  lie  about  her  own  (  apparent  )  death.  all  she  knew  is  that  she  needed  answers  ;  second  chances  were  rare  ,  she  was  granted  one  to  gather  answers  that  were  necessary  to  her  new  survival.  sitting  at  the  firehouse  ,  a  place  that  was  new  to  beck’s  dictionary  of  hang-outs  ,  a  beer  sitting  across  from  her  with  untouched  fries  ,  trying  to  blend  in  with  the  scene  presented  to  her.  turning  to  whoever  was  next  to  her  ,  she  rested  her  blonde  head  in  the  palm  of  her  head. ‘‘  humour  me  ,  ’’  she  muttered  ,  eyebrow  raising.  ‘‘  thoughts  on  resuscitation  ?  or  ---  coming  back  from  the  dead  ?  ’’  way  to  sound  fuckin’  crazy  ,  beck.

❛    oh my god,  i’m such a crybaby!    ❜        her voice is shaking;  the words hit her chest so strongly.    she truly isn’t that much of a crybaby, but when poets ramble about love?!    for a second,  she does try to hold it,  but the tears come soon   ---   but a loud,  ominous sound comes from the dark depths of the bad brews,  and her hazel orbs go for them.        ❛    what the hell was that?     ❜        the french accent shows up more in her terrified whispers.

“oh my god, a ghost definitely just went through me!” forty rolls his shoulders, shakes out his arms. maybe a door opened, a gust of wind sweeping through the tiny hairs on his arms & the back of his neck. or maybe, and he likes this more, even ghosts find him sexy. “you,” he says, pointing sharply towards the nearest person. he’s standing in line at the bad brews. this is the level to which he must lower himself, because he can’t find matcha anywhere in this old ass town. “did you feel that? did you feel it?”

               just  start  a  conversation  ;  it’s  not  that  freakin’  hard.  he  could  honestly  hear  his  brother  in  the  back  of  his  head  ,  as  though  jonathan  was  better  at  socializing.  other  than  eleven  ,  will  didn’t  entirely  know  where  he  stood  with  half  of  his  friends  ,  especially  after  moving  from  hawkins.  will  was  robbed  half  his  childhood  ,  stunting  his  growth  &  socialization  ,  while  his  friends  did  get  moments  of  growing  up  ,  knowing  what  is  was  like  to  have  their  first  drink  prior  to  being  of  legal  age  ,  knowing  what  a  relationship  felt  like  ,  what  playing  games  outside  of  d  &  d  was.  will  ?  he  was  still  learning  the  ropes  ,  testing  the  waters  ,  dipping  his  toes  in  very  slowly.  clearing  his  throat  ,  he  sat  up  straighter  in  his  seat  before  looking  at  the  other  he  managed  to  intrude  with  his  company.  ‘‘  i  -  honestly  have  been  trying  to  find  something  cool  to  say  for  the  past  half  hour  ,  &  i  haven’t  come  up  with  anything  other  than  some  extremely  cringe-worthy  pick-up  lines  my  brother  has  provided  me  ,  all  of  which  would  just  benefit  him  with  laughing.  i’d  order  you  a  drink  ,  but  the  most  knowledge  i  have  is  a  rye  &  coke.  so  here’s  the  deal  ,  i’ll  buy  you  whatever  drink  you’d  like  ,  as  you  probably  have  more  knowledge  about  alcohol  than  me  on  a  good  day  ,  &  i  just  need  you  to  laugh  for  two  seconds  at  my  horrifying  attempt  at  social  interaction  so  my  brother  over  there  will stop  nagging  me  for  being a  homebody.  ’’

“what kind of business are you running here?” demands dandy, waving at a clump of employees from the pick-up stand at the end of the counter. he’s at the bad brews, and apparently it’s true to its name, because he’s holding a cold drink. the condensation is cold on his fingers, it’s making them wet. he hates it. many of the items on this menu he doesn’t understand nor has ever heard of… but warm tea is one thing he thought he did. “i wanted a tea LATTE! not ICED tea!” hand comes down on the counter, swiftly. he’s making a statement, for all around to hear. yet … when he feels eyes on him, he looks sharply in their direction and snaps, “what are you looking at?”

heart jumps from chest, just about, when the other appears on the same path as adelaide. she definitely heard another, earlier---hadn’t thought much of it, then. she’s a little distracted now. “what on earth are you doing?” asks adelaide on the defense, drawing a braid behind her ear as a means of doing something with her hands that isn’t strangling the other person. “you scared me.” sacred heart memorial, she hasn’t dared step on the grounds before, out of fear. but she had to see. it was early enough that it was light, she wouldn’t be lurking around in the dark like she had for awhile. but it’s also early enough to promise she’d be alone,  well, that was what she thought anyway.

his eyes are on his cast downwards, so junior isn’t paying much attention to his surroundings. but he’s not walking, so he doesn’t really need to be. the firehouse was full of people distracted. by their thoughts, fears, wants. he’s no exception. he’s all of the above. he hasn’t talked to his dad since he arrived here. it’s been three days to no avail & it’s putting junior on edge, for three days. he’s tapping his foot & jiggling his leg, squeaking the chair he’s in with every tap. junior grips his hand into a fist, palms sweaty, and barely half-glances at the person next to him. “is that bothering you? it’s just a nervous habit.” like he’s suddenly aware that they’re there. like he’s suddenly self-conscious about his behavior. when really, it’s so lively in the bar that the other may not even hear the squeaking.