#chstart

text 🍏 open.

text; open

-- “impara a leggere un cartello la prossima volta, coglione (learn to read a sign next time, asshole)!” harley snarled, throwing the crumpled bill in the direction of the slamming door. it was way too late for this bullshit; the garage needed to be closed up, the cars accounted for, and the place cleaned. muttering under his breath, harley marched out from behind the counter to pick up the fliers that had been swept off in his...debate with the latest customer. the quiet, however, didn’t last long; a moment later, there came a chime from the little bell atop the front door, signaling another entry. instantly, harley was on his feet and turning, eyes murderous. “va’ a far-- i said the shop’s closed!”

finn’s rain soaked curls clung to his cheeks and forehead, his eyelashes dripping with water. it was hard to believe that the summer sunshine had only been a few weeks ago. at this point, it seemed like they were deep in spring. “hello! anyone in there?” he knocked on the door with a heavy hand, hoping his pleas for shelter would be heard through the thunder and torrential drops of rain. “i’m stuck out here! help!”

Julian flipped his tiny sketchbook open to the newest page, passing it over to the other with an expectant grin. “So, what do you think?” He pressed eagerly. It was a wobbly sketch of a Pikachu (Or, at least, that’s what he originally intended it to be. The Pikachu didn’t even resemble a Pikachu, except for its zigzag tail.) wearing an astronaut’s suit, floating around in space. It wasn’t the ugliest drawing he’s done, but it wasn’t the best either. With the small size of his sketchbook, Julian had to utilize two, full pages to draw the whole thing, which made it look worse. “I’m thinking of colouring it, but I don’t want to fuck it up.”

Admittedly, it had taken far too long for Vera to realize just why her houseboat had been filled with a veritable ocean of multi-colored balloons. Plastic and mylar burst forth and pooled around her ankles as soon as she’d managed to slide the front door open. Though her first instinct was to stare dumbly into the neon abyss, her next move was to wade into the chaos for any indication of what had transpired. Even her at her most drunk, Vera couldn’t imagine she would whip out her AmEx just to buy what must have been a couple hundred dollars worth of balloons. Which left the question of who had the time to bother? More than that, how had they gotten into her home?