#demobrat.

lisa’s at school during the day, so chris and eddie are cloistered in lisa’s ugly bathroom. she can’t see his face in the mirror, the way they’re sitting: her on the rim of the bathtub, his back against the tub. his head between her spread knees. she doesn’t know what he’s thinking. she felt his absence like a hole in the world, and now he’s back and she can’t think of a single thing to say.

she likes the steady motion of the comb. it grounds her. reminds her of the last time they were in a bathroom together. “do you remember,” she says softly, surprising herself by the need to reminisce aloud. to not be alone in a shared memory. “when i tried to give myself bangs like, an hour before we were supposed to leave for that show in evansville?”

nat is rummaging, running through eddie's things to find her stuff, her boots, her jacket, her bag. because this is her life now, wake up sneak out of the house, find eddie munson, buy drugs, hang out with eddie munson until the sun goes down and even as the sun goes up, do the drugs and go home...sometimes. sometimes she stays. and that's. that's fine. but right now she's in a mood, maybe it's the hangover. maybe it's feeling vulnerable in a way she can't verbalize. the tape is all fried. there's no rewinding this one now.

"it's like three pm, dude." she's sitting down, on the bed. she can still feel the warmth radiating off him. in the back of her head she is sort of doing the math, what she can get away with. it's a friday. life back to normalcy, life back to pretending. and here she is. pretending. except maybe in these in between moments of lucidity. she doesn't know. everything's bleeding together, time, space, herself, blending into a mess she can't make the shape of.

"-you're playing tonight, right?" eddie's in a band. and he plays the guitar. and he deals, and natalie scatorccio is a fucking cliche. "the hideout or whatever." she knows the place vaguely, one of the few places nat can manage to get booze. two birds one stone. "is it like invite only? or...they just let anyone in..." she turns to him, rubbing the light out of her eyes. her head's killing her. there's a nice little bottle of jack waiting for her under her bed, it's fine. wardrobe change, girl stuff. the usual.

"don't worry. i'm, uh, not going to turn you in. i saw the crime scene photos." he whistles. "nasty work." says it like a compliment.

ace is nursing a hangover. a neat little hammock set up in eddie's room. hidden away from the rest of the chaotic crew that surrounds them. this is home, it feels like home. he’s hungry, but he’s always damn hungry. with his hat hiding his face he lifts it up slightly, raising an eyebrow…he wants a smoke. or the closest thing to it.

“we were drunk, I don’t think you were being dishonest.” ace talks slow, people can interpret that as mysterious. but he did finish a whole bottle by himself, he’s feeling it now. “-you meant that. and I heard it. I mean if you feel so inclined we can chase that guy. you’re the boss.” he holds his hands up, defeat.

@demobrat

it's a night off. no souls to feast upon. more like hex's hunger is sufficiently satisfied, heather's anything but a bad host. the music is loud and heather can feel it in her bones already. the vibrations reach the uttermost deep chasms of my essence, i enjoy it, we enjoy it. and heather decides to merrily move past that. the lights dance around as the venue sort of envelopes her. hands in her long jacket, more matrix than anything else. she gets a couple of looks, the intention behind them none of her concern, she's not here for them. as much as they bring forward the carnal and overall human pleasures of a show, she is trying to disconnect.

then. a feeling, a sensation. raising from the bottom of her spine to the back of her skull, a creature of instinct first. questions soon following after. it fades out the shrill of guitar, just slightly. i can feel it too, it is nearby. it, heather thinks, should take a break tonight. not in the mood. and the calling isn't something that respects moods. bright eyes pealed, looking around for danger until.

until her eyes land onstage. and the sensation boils, bubbles over and it's like static one second as if a radio is trying to reach the same frequency. and it does. it only does when her eyes land on the guy playing the guitar. it. hex's thinks. conveniently. we should eat him. all heather can do is say no and tilt her head. entranced, enchanted. trying to read him. everything sort of fading away. trouble, hex wants to say but heather isn't listening. she just stares and looks, and then smiles. slowly. surrounded by a sea of people. who would've known? he's here.