#dcgtown

"And I don't know where I'm going, but I gotta move. Are you coming too?"

"Are you worried that I might find something wrong? 'Cause I'm worried that I won't."

Kat looked between the wrinkly jowls of the dog and his disheveled owner, only one of them she’d been happy to see at her door. Friendly neighborhood conversations didn’t typically happen in their neck of the woods where houses looked as bad as their sale price. It wasn’t a lot, but it was home. “He should be okay,” the blonde determined, giving the animal a scratch beneath the chin. “Keep a close eye on him for the rest of the night. Can you handle that?” She shot the words aggressively, her eyes slits as they glared up at the male. “And maybe put away your fucking shit so he doesn’t get into something he shouldn’t again.”

She stared at them with uncertain features, her eyes going between her hand of cards and the one her friend held close to their chest. This wasn't a game that she had much stake in, but her competitive spirit fought against her better judgment. "Go fucking Fish," Koda shot back with a malicious laugh, coming into her villain arc while turning down any 4s. "It sounds like you're getting slaughtered over here."

hooking up with another musician just made sense, even zion was incapable of navigating intimacy without getting feelings involved. nico doesn't need to know that. until it starts becoming habitual, those lines blurring -- zion doesn't know where he stands, what nico wants, what this means for either of them.

he stares at the other guy, working up all the courage in the world to open up his pathetic mouth and say something. when he does, finally, he hates himself for what he asks. "do you like me?"

It was a decent party. Bowie hadn't gotten out much lately; work always seemed to feel more important. She made sure this night was free — both the Deckers in one place? Unheard of for as long as she’d known Mac. She had to meet the other half of him, the girl Bowie only knew through stories and photographs. After winning another round of beer pong — she and Mac were undefeated — he’d disappeared with one of his surfer friends. The type that would brew his own kombucha, or so she assumed. What was a trip to the kitchen for a refill turned into a side quest upon catching a glimpse of the blonde. A beer from the makeshift cooler in the sink would have to suffice; a second was grabbed for her target. “I’ve got to hear some embarrassing Mac stories,” she started while approaching with a bottle extended by the neck in offering. “I’m Bowie; I'm not sure he’s ever mentioned me or anything, but he’s always talking about you.”