#godclaws

The bell to signal the end of the day had rang and the halls of Hawkins high were quickly emptying out, leaving behind those who either had agreed to stay behind to catch up on work or were forced to attend detention. Boris had half a mind to just skip out on it entirely because he knew it would be dead boring, but he didn't want to risk pissing his dad off with a phone call home over something so stupid and time wasting, especially when he only just moved here. Slouched in his seat with a book open in front of him, his gaze shot up when he saw the only other person in the room, a redhead, get up and rummage through another students backpack after they'd temporarily left the room with the teacher.

the sunlight was peaking through his blinds before hopper finally rolled over to crack open his eyes. another glorious morning... a groan sounded as he heaved himself up and made a staggering trek towards the bathroom. the usual routine ensued as he mentally prepared for the day ahead. it started in alternating order depending on his mood. cigarette, coffee, dressed, pat the pockets for required items, and then out the door to arrive fashionably late to the office. there was one hiccup in his wonderfully flawed morning, and that was when he stepped out onto the porch, his foot went right smack into a casserole dish. the chief growled his frustration as he shook the beautifully baked mess from his boot. "dammit..." his keys jangled at his side as he looked around for the suspect.

It was a rainy day in New York City, the rain coming down in sheets and doing little to drown out the sounds of life in the bustling city that never slept. The honking of horns, high heels clicking briskly against the sidewalk, conversations pertaining to business being discussed over the phone. Boris kept his head down and his hands in his pockets while he walked, an occasional wary glance thrown over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being followed. In his line of work, he'd learned the hard way that one could never be too careful.

Boris was headed back to the Polish club he owned when he spotted a dog wandering by itself, a leash dragging behind him on the wet pavement. His gaze scanned the crowd of people, looking this way and that for any signs that would tell him his owner was nearby, like a panicked expression or repetitive calling of a name, but there was nothing. Feeling sorry for the animal being lost out in the rain, he had made the decision to take him with him (it wasn't very far away - within walking distance, and it was his club and his rules) and figure out where to go from there.

Upon arrival, after peeling his rain-soaked trench coat off of himself and hanging it up to dry, Boris knelt down in front of the dog to check who it belonged to. Employees who were somewhat like family gathered around to enthusiastically greet the animal, questions spoken in Polish being asked about where he was found and who the owner was. The tag read: ' Oh shit I'm lost. Please call my mom. She is ugly crying. Really ugly crying. ' He began to grin to himself, amused at the silly tag, and took out his cellphone to text the given number on the back. Apparently, the dog belonged to someone named Felicity Richelieu.

[ Text ] r u ugly crying right now? :-( [ Text ] ur dog seems 2 think so!!! he is here with me [ Text ] will text u meeting place ok?

After sending off the name and address of the club, all that was left to do was play the waiting game with the dog, Orion, who was surprisingly well behaved. Boris knew that Orion had spotted his owner when, after being curled up comfortably beside him, he got up and excitedly ran over to the woman who had stepped into the building, his tail wagging happily and his tongue hanging out. Figuring that she would at least want to know who was responsible for keeping her dog for her, Boris pulled himself from the comfort of the chair and made his way over towards the young woman.

＂ okay . . . but how do you spell it? ＂ far from the strangest thing he'd ever heard ( hello, his own name may have taken that award ) curiosity was still piqued as bear couldn't help but to overhear the other repeat their name, the question spilling from him before he had the chance to wonder if maybe minding his own business would have been a wiser move. ＂ is it a spelled like it sounds, or did your parents get 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 ? ＂

nancy  wheeler  (  @godclaws  )  said  to  cora  hale  ;  something’s different. with me, my friends, all of us. something’s changed.

@godclaws, ❝ why are you so bent on hurting me like this? i’ve done nothing to you. ❞ / from felicity 🥹

‘ chin up, ‘  ‘ voice down. ‘  ‘ it’s not about you ––– is it, jaime? ‘  ‘ oh, hardly. it’s about ‘  ‘ dear old dad. ‘    the dorsets lounge across felicity’s furniture like a pair of orange tabby cats, jaime with his legs draped over an armchair that’s not at all his taste / bonnie with her entire body stretched out across a worn-in couch. they bat their words between one another with such ease that one might be inclined to believe they’d rehearsed the entire thing. ( and who’s to say they didn’t? their game thus far has been a calculated series of machinations, executed with the utmost care. ) their only mistake: felicity was never meant to find out. collateral damage of the oblivious kind.

❝Imposing? Hah!❞ Boris barked a laugh, lips shaping into a wide and toothy grin. Whoever this girl was, she was giving him the impression that she was very polite. It was because of the way she spoke and her choice of words. It was different than most Americans he'd met. More proper. ❝There is nobody for you to impose on. My dad works in the mines, so he is gone sometimes. Is only me at home right now.❞ It got lonely sometimes, especially when he was starting over in a new place and didn't know anyone, but Chicago seemed like it was full of possibilities.

As he listened to the blonde vaguely explain her thought process, Boris gave a slow nod of his head when she mentioned not wanting to involve her parents. ❝Ah, I understand.❞ He didn't even feel the need to ask why her parents would get upset because he was content to simply take her word for it. ❝Parents are terrible most of the time.❞ That was what he could gather from his own experiences, at least. If his dad wasn't gone away for work, then he was often stumbling drunkenly around the house and flying off the handle with his short temper. Boris learned from a young age that he couldn't rely on him, which was why he had learned how to rely on himself: finding his own ways to school, shoplifting school supplies and food when he could, signing his own report card, and so on. ❝I have lived many places, but most recently moved here from Alaska. Living there wasn't as interesting as you might think. Chicago? Paradise, compared.❞