#holywitchkid

Well, this was extremely awkward. Ruben was sure his cheeks had to be akin to tomatoes right now, the way they were burning. The heat was all the way up to his ears and his gaze lowered to the table underneath him. He wanted to move a little further away and create some distance between them, but he knew how it would look if he didn’t say anything. They’d just made it clear to their companions that they were not, under any circumstances a couple and it was true, but Ruben still felt a tightening in his chest. “Yeah, nope, definitely not.” He chuckled, but he’d be surprised if it came across as believable. The gazebo they were under suddenly felt so small and it was getting harder to breathe, so he stretched out his legs as the person who’d asked about their status changed the subject, seemingly with no idea what had happened. 

unusual asks

9: What are you really bad at?

Tolerating stupidity and dating 

14: What is your least favorite word?

Moist. I HATE THAT WORD.

31: How does someone win your heart?

KJFAKSFJASKFJSKSJFKASJFKJAKS FUCK OFF! but yes

41: Last movie you watched

Gone Girl for the 100th time probably

48: Are you a forgiving person? Do you like being that way?

                 Ever since the small incident that had occurred some weeks ago now, Hayden had felt a little less inclined to apply themselves to things they were usually otherwise obsessed with, and that led to a lot of milling around the house when Talon wasn’t home during this festive season. Elaborate pumpkins had been collected (yet saved, because even Hayden knew their spleen would deck the halls if they left Talon even remotely out of the activity), their wardrobe rearranged, new bedsheets ordered off of Amazon with decorative skulls that would have even Emily The Strange in her own personal dreamland... and despite the doctor’s orders of taking a physical holiday for their health to explore their struggling plateau of emotions, Hayden was bored. They weren’t a fan of this stay-at-home life, especially during a season they would otherwise be training harder for than usual. But on the other shiny side of the coin, spending time with the girl they were practically living with now was a major bonus. So in their own Hayden way — they were trying to make that count.

                When the sensor lights of the patio flicked on, Duke’s head rising instinctively from his spot next to Hayden to look at the front door, they felt their spine stiffen in vague excitement. In front of them on the coffee table lay a plethora of spooky classics, all in dusty DVD case condition but still great nonetheless. Hayden’s fingers clasped a beer, their other arm draped over the dog next to them just waiting for Talon to come home from whatever technicolor adventure she’d been on. Clad in their comical Halloween socks that rose well above the knees, PJ shorts with a gravestone on each rear pocket and a festive oversized shirt, it was obvious that Hayden had planned for a night of downtime for the two of them.

     “Hey Scream Queen,” They greeted her as she came through the foyer. “Long day?”

                     It had only been by absolute chance that Hayden had seen the familiar face on their way home from work, freshly changed out of scrubs and back into habitual leather and black denim. And while a good part of them knew that they should get on their bike and just go home to Talon, another part, a savage part, caused them to bow their head, zip up their jacket and follow a good safe distance behind. They didn't even know his name, but they were good with faces. Too good, maybe, as his was ingrained with the loud bang of a nail gun to follow.

                     It had taken almost an hour for his trail intercity to lead them here, into the thick of night to some back-alley carpet crawler den where the music was alternative and the place was lined with a dirty, industrial feel. Weirdly, it felt like a place Hayden would come to as well if only to escape the everyday norm on the streets, easily receiving the sultry and wicked looks from the bizarre looking people they waded past in order to keep an eye on the back of their target's head. Taking in little else after he hit the bar though, Hayden decided to blend themselves into the shadows just to observe, to see what he was like when he didn't know someone was watching him. The hand gestures, the stretch of his skin as he laughed moronically despite how the music drowned him into a silent puppet. For almost twenty minutes, they drifted from shadow to shadow, watching and learning things about him from a distance, slipping into the setting whenever Hayden noticed him craning his head towards them. It was stimulating like a game, and when it was made pretty clear that he wasn't looking to move, Hayden knew that this was their moment to decide. Either they planted themselves into the scene like they had a few times before, or they left for the exit and went home.

                     Cold eyes blazing back at them from their reflection, Hayden's mind snapped to the present like an elastic band and suddenly, they fell into motion as if they were running out of time. Pulling the dark overshirt from their torso, they balled it up with their leather jacket to leave them a layer less and now revealed in a black camisole, straps upon straps lining their shoulders from the garment underneath resembling some kind of BDSM style that was just so in these days, tattooed chest, arms and neck now overly exposed. Hayden knew that without cover-ups, people looked. They always looked. And in times like these, that would be the point.

                     Hair frizzing from the sweat sanctum that was the rest of the club, Hayden began to cross the floor and look for the familiar face all over again. Still where they'd left him, Hayden twisted a little so that when their stomach met the bar, they were conveniently only a  few spaces down the road from him. Enough in plain sight that they were sure if he had eyeballs, he'd see them, but not so close that their placement felt obvious. Planted, even.

                     Handing out their jacket and shirt to the bartender, words were exchanged about holding onto them for the time being before Hayden pulled out some cash from their back pocket to get a drink. After all, people in places like these only hovered at the bar to order drinks or to pick off people who were ordering drinks. Most of the time though, Hayden was good at boycotting any of those lingering conversations, and right now, even if they were intending to be seen, that didn't mean they wanted to talk. Something about their expression must have read it too because nobody tried. Instead, they were left alone as the music vibrated through the floors and the bartender took their money, a casual exchange while Hayden took the chance then to glance down the way just in time to meet the pair of eyes they'd been starving for all night.

                     The club was dark, probably unnecessarily so in some places and Hayden was sure that there was no safety policy in some of the back rooms or stairwells surrounding this joint which made it borderline perfect. Lights glittered where they were supposed to and avoided other corners completely, making the shadowed part of his face look even more like a nightmare than the abandoned subway ever had. A sharp drop in the beat of the song reminded them in a flash of the crack of leather against his skin, blood rushing as welts rose and their hair being pulled followed by the bang of a nail gun. All these images passed through their mind as they held his gaze, no real emotion touching their face but not remaining entirely a blank expression either. There was something provoking there, behind their eyes just like there was in his by nature, yet at the same time, it also came with a warning.

                     He liked being on the open road, the general sense of movement towards a goal always made Adam feel better about himself than being cooped up on location whenever her was back at one of the warehouses. But he couldn't help it, whenever there was even a slight chance to stop by the warm pavemented area of the sunny epicenter of grunge, share housing and questionable neighborhood occupations ---- he had to pay her a visit.

                     Despite how much money the company made on an annual basis, (and it was stupid money, enough to make anyone go dumb and act like a lunatic if they weren't careful), Adam barely had a lick to show for it. A condition of fairness set by his father right atop Adam's childishly demanding nature, he was basically getting paid like people who got fed through a tube. Slowly, in small increments, and not really much to make a fast difference that showed. And unfortunately, the promise of a long run success wasn't really Adam's style, he was impatient and he was hardy. So to him, it was painful, and when he wasn't slaving to try and make it look like he was trustworthy and... well, just worthy... he was desperately trying any other angle to make a buck on the side. Whether it was charming his way with others so he never had to buy the next round, stealing the gas pump when some modest (and hello, careless) patron wasn't looking or selling shit that.... wasn't exactly his to sell, Adam was always ready to brandish his sticky fingers and use them.

                     So, maybe that was part of a reason why he and Cassidy got along, both of them scrounging pennies and looking damn good doing it. Though he couldn't lie, after driving up a mileage that'd make any mechanic's insides hurt, he did like to stop in and press pause for a week or two. She was nice, and she wasn't all that nosy, or not in the annoying way girls could be sometimes, and Adam was sure one of these days she'd saddle up and let him give her a ride. Or maybe she wouldn't, but he liked to dream. He could still dream.

     "You know, I have to say, Goldie, the traffic here sucks but your water pressure is awesome." Adam strung the last word out like some college frat jock, one hand clutching at the towel around his waist and the other in praise to the shower down the hall he'd just left wet footprints from. If anyone else was watching him, they might have assumed he lived here too.

     YOU ARE NOT YOUR CHOICES.

                 Even after closing her eyes to block out her surroundings, Liz could still see the poster of damaged eyes and a face twice her size staring back at her from across the subway station, the thick smell of sweat, grime, grease, and god knows what else filling her nose as she took a few beats to get her mind on track. You're not your choices? Bull fucking shit, all you are are your choices. That's what makes up a person, who fucking thinks of these ads.... Her mind rattled off as her brows drew in, and hard, eyes opening up again at the sound of subway brakes screeching. Glaring at the passing scenery of neighborhood come industrial wasteland turn neighborhood again only to break into sudden high-rise skylines, Liz was reminded by the bustling crowd on board just how much she hated The Orient Express and how different of a person she was since the last time she used to ride this same line regularly. Shit, to think that.... at the ripe age of twenty-six she'd catapulted herself into the heart of New York City like some bat out of Hell on an escapee Visa, it was almost like trying to match her life with someone else's she didn't recognize now. From one messy break up to a broken wrist to fishing for a place to stay with a literal stranger, well... it was hard not to smile at where she'd been so far. Even if she did really fucking hate this city.

                 Liz was an entire reflection of her choices in life, and she wore them on herself as obvious as clothing and yet as hidden as any traditional family secret. There was a very smart part of her that knew this choice, the one she was making right now as she stared at the building ahead of her marked target, was definitely not one she should have been making. But if asked, it wasn't hard to explain why she was making it, not to anybody who was paying attention to her anyway. Though that was just all part of it ---- who was paying attention anymore? Like always, Liz felt alone in her troubles but the problem now was that she was spoiled, and she didn't love her solitude anymore. If Lanford had taught her anything, it was how to make a family, a family that counted, out of the people around her no matter race, gender, alien or straight tequila. And hell, if she let herself be human for a minute, she fucking missed it. She missed the unshowered ratbags, the cultured assholes, the margarita crew and Olympian Gods of her life. She missed having people walk in her door with a story to tell and a bottle in hand to tell it with. Now, the apartment she lived in was almost empty of anything resembling that life. Leo on the couch was an old-new addition and an entirely different matter to deal with, but that didn't make up for the gaping fucking hole in her chest when she saw a familiar face across town and didn't even bother to shout out.

                 Staring at a door in front of her now, Liz damned herself to burn a mismatched hole in it. Her hands were shoved into the ass-pockets of her old jeans, the curve of her chest strained against a random vendor shirt with some unreadable slogan she'd gotten that one time Gus had thrown up on her after too many nostalgic blue drinks. It had only cost a dollar, something she usually announced to anybody who was caught staring. Today though, she was sweating into it and her hair, now grown long and tangly again with unkempt attitude, begged to be pulled back from her face with one of the five elastic bands she collected on her wrist for no reason other than she used to flick them at people when they annoyed her.

                 Regardless of the nerves she felt in her belly though, the door sat in front of her untouched. She had no real reason of being here except for the zip lock pouch in her bag, a pathetic excuse but an excuse all the same. If she just stood and stared for long enough, Liz knew she could talk herself out of this, that she could spit on the step, turn on her heel and never look back until some other excuse popped up. But God, she was grinding. Yearning for something to come out of that door and smack her in the face, shake her around and rattle her thoughts to scramble them up again. She always liked it more when things didn't make so much sense, felt ease within the chaos that easily stressed people to the high heavens. She craved that anarchy; needed it even. Hell, she just wanted to feel more than this. Whatever this lingering feeling was.

                 Yanking a hand out of her pocket with sudden spirit, Liz began to smack the heel of her fist against the door, loud enough for any neighboring resident to hear should any even exist. She had to get his attention, she had to make him know it was her. Of all people, it was her and that counted for something, he had to open the door.

       "So, basically you’re telling me that in all the time you’ve been here, you haven’t heard of Plus Bar? Shit, well you haven’t lived at all then...” Helena snorted, but not in malice as she was actually enjoying the flow of conversation regardless of their personal differences. Helena loved people, that was the simplest way to put it, she was always so fascinated by their authentic patent and what made them more individualist than the rest. To her, people were works of art in their own right, and there was nothing she loved more than good, stimulating conversation. She was always more than happy to cross any topic no matter how taboo, and she was pretty used to people perking interest or prejudice right around this part of her story. “You know, if you’re curious or interested, I could take you some time. They’re really cool to newbies and the people are just so genuine there. I mean, once I found Plus, I never felt the need to go anywhere else. It’s kind of like the Collette Club except... less neon and idealistic, I guess. Nothing against them but I never really liked that vibe, kind of makes me think I needed to double bag it, y’know?” She looked over at them with a borderline cheeky grin, gesturing obnoxiously with tattooed fingers. "Anyway, Plus hasn't been around as long so politics haven't exactly worked their way in yet. Also, get this, it's a play on words. Plus. Eh?" She leaned in, as if waiting for them to catch on. After a moment, she continued. "It's French for more. I thought that was cool. Also, Échangistes is a bit too dead center. Also probably didn’t fit on the sign."