#devinstone.starter

A beach was something, despite his extensive post-high school years travels, that Wolfie had never enjoyed in his life before. Surely, he had gotten a glimpse of the Atlantic once or twice before, but there was no enjoyment in the sewer-like swamp around New York City or the slow arm of the Delaware River in Philly that he’d played in on summer vacations as a toddler.  This was different and Wolfie almost saw the value of these rich folks living ‘round these quarters spending their massive sums of money on an oversized mansion like the ones he passed along on the way.

“Don’t seem to be using that money for all that good, huh?”, he mumbled to himself, words entirely fading away into the sound of the beating wind, too harsh for this time of year back home but, apparently, to be expected here, as nobody seemed to be around for it. By the look of his red ears, a beanie wouldn’t have hurt to bring along, but solitude could be blissful, even with his freezing ears hurting like hell. Or so Wolfie thought, as his lost words seemed to have summoned just what he hadn’t wanted at the moment-- company.

   “What? Are you gonna call the cops on me because I’m walking on your private beach?”

“Welcome to the sanctuary, I’ll be with you in just a moment!” Aveline called as she heard the jingling of the bells above the door. It was her favourite sound, lately. People rarely came into the sanctuary with bad news. An injured animal, sometimes, or a sick one, but even that was exciting for her. A challenge. A chance to heal something, to fix something, to make a difference. Opening this shelter was the best thing she’d ever done, and she was proud. She washed her hands and dried them as she walked out into the front room.

“What brings you by today? Looking to volunteer, to adopt, do you have any questions, do you want me to leave you alone so you can explore?” she smiled.

Something she hadn’t expected to happen, happened. Riva was not in any mood to be bothered but, given she was in a public place, and knowing her luck, she would probably run into someone she knew while she tried to remain inconspicuous. The blonde glared at her cell phone; an old flame, someone she hadn’t heard from in a long time had contacted her and sent her back some pictures he’d taken of her, as a ‘hey, remember this??’ and she just glared, praying to not be remembering anything or throwing back to anything with him. It was his communication after so long that reminded her she had been supposed to call him but, she’d been busy with other things. As the messages from him continued to rain through, her cell vibrated each time, she hissed at the guy (the device) hoping it would cease, “I wish you’d just fucking stop it!”

alessandra became a regular client of the karaoke bar. they had great rosé, she would never deny it, but there was nothing better to cheer her up than a heartfelt song in front of a small crowd who did not ask for something this extra. and since she did not want noise complaints from her neighbors, this place was the designated spot. she sat by the counter for an hour, maybe even longer, sipping on her drink as other people took turns on the stage and had their own fun. the moment her cheeks turned a light shade of pink and her stress vanished away faster than the liquid in the rosé bottle was when she knew she was ready to sing. she walked around the tables, smiling shyly at someone with whom she made eye contact with before the first notes of go your own way by fleetwood mac started. she grabbed the mic and did her performance, mimicking the intense drama that filled the lyrics. a glance at the crowd who seemed to get into the groove was all she needed to finish the song.

almost as soon as she was done, sandrine hopped off stage like it was lava and went back to her initial location to meet with her beloved glass of wine, but also with the person she noticed earlier.  “i don’t think stevie nicks is quaking right now.” she chuckled and asked for a refill. “not even slightly trembling!”

There wasn’t a lot of danger in Devinstone. There was danger of getting side-eyed by a rich blonde woman named Barbara, and there was always the looming danger of finding a single piece of litter on the side of the road - such horrors. It was easy to get bored here, which was something Felix was only just now realizing. Things had never really been boring while he was with... 

Well, anyway.

So now, here he was, swinging from a fire escape, and jumping onto a rooftop, sliding from there to the ground, all in the name of avoiding the barbed wire on the top of a locked gate. Some dangers had to be manufactured, these days. Desperate times. He preferred barbed wire to Barb the Boomer any day, anyway.

There was always some parkour involved in street art, he’d learned. The dangers in the city were more about guns than falling from heights, but as he slid off this rooftop, he realized this one might be scarier just now. He hadn’t anticipated missing the ground entirely, but here he was in a dumpster. A softer landing than the ground, maybe, but a much smellier one. He popped up from it only to find someone staring at him. They blinked. He blinked back.

“Lovely evening, isn’t it?” he smiled.

Solitude seemed to be the new normal for Taylor these days; between an empty house in Ellington and bustling lecture halls filled with half-wits that loved to think they knew everything after scoring a barely satisfactory 150 on their LSATs to scrap by into Harvard Law, there was a many interactions that he had had outright skipped out on for preservation of his own sanity. His way home from the latter to the former seemed to be the breaking point for him on this specific day, compelling Taylor into the King’s Head instead, entirely overdressed in an exorbitantly expensive suit and tie, too. The initial attention that he stirred walking in did not deter him so much, as he made his way down to a seat at the bar, knowing it would either die down or he’d deal with whatever was thrown at him after his first drink. Just enough time to feel like normalcy had not completely abandoned him.

    “Know what? Whatever’s everyone else’s having next is on me, too.” Just as his decision to stay with the one drink paid in cash crashed and burned with his J.P. Morgan Reserve Card slid across the counter, so did Taylor’s reluctance to train his eyes on anything or anywhere else than the back of his bartender or the remnants of said drink. Though the gesture had not been decided on the basis of having an audience, meeting the eyes of someone else after speaking the magic invitation of a free drink seemed too easy by a lot. “Got something to say, say it.”

Mia: Sometimes self-care is taking a shot of vodka and moving on.

Mia: Or, you know, ten shots of vodka.