#lakehamstarter

Listen. Sometimes, you just had to get out under the sun, even if you were a pale fright. It was a rare enough night off, and with Noah’s pockets full of cash from exuberant tippers that afternoon, it meant he could spend the last bit of the sun basking in the warmth of the beach.

The issue was that Noah, as always, came woefully unprepared.

Stripped down to his trunks and sprawled out on a towel and just wanting a nice nap, Noah peered around with his hand over his eyes, then saw a distant figure heading in his direction, so far off he couldn’t tell for sure if he knew them or not. “YO!” he called, waving with a friendly grin. “Tell me you got a bottle of sunscreen on you, huh?”

It was rare that Evelyn actually got out and about rather than keeping herself either tucked in her office at the hotel or squirreled away at home. Out didn’t suit Evelyn anymore - hadn’t for a number of years. But as she watched everyone preparing to go to the event from her seat by the window, book going neglected in her lap, she’d felt the walls start crushing in.

What was a little time on a beach for one of the new girls in town, huh?

She likely wouldn’t stay long, she reasoned to herself. She strode forward, flats abandoned and tucked away in the thick bag hanging from her side, and paused in front of the food tent, brow furrowed. Someone else was nearby, and she glanced over, not hesitating to speak up. “What do you think, barbecue pork sandwich or a hamburger?”

location: hinsdale, outside beginning to end

Jack was feeling annoyed. He knew that when he was canvassing he had to be nice, that most people would say no and he couldn’t let that affect his mindset. But, well, Jack was Jack, and he couldn’t stop himself once he started getting angry about something. That’s usually when twitter or the podcast came in handy, but he couldn’t do either right now. All he could do was harass people outside this bookstore. And as much as he didn’t want the Sunrise Movement to look bad because of him, sometimes he couldn’t help himself.

The next customer came out of the store, and Jack spoke in a louder-than-necessary voice.

“Hey, would you care to give one fucking second to talk about the environment unlike the rest of these rich assholes?”

there were few things solomon liked less than difficult customers. god, they did his bloody head in - he’d had some mad old cow in, getting up in arms about the fact that she’d have to pay an extra twenty cents if she wanted to drink her to go coffee in the cafe. that rule got a lot of people a bit pissy, but it worked well enough - solomon tried to do his bit in the war on plastics. talk is cheap was almost entirely plastic free, aside from the lids on the bloody to go cups. he’d tried he best to be polite with the silly old bint (’no i’m sorry, just how it is.’ ‘tryin’ to do my bit, you know? world’s on fire, love.’), but when she’d pulled out the ‘it tastes better in a take away cup!’ argument he’d almost lost his bloody mind. he tried awfully hard not to be a wanky coffee purist, but he was a bit. and the fact she thought it tasted better out of one of those awful paper cups made him want to scream. 

he’d marched right on out for a smoke not long after the woman had left under a storm cloud - she’d promised to leave a bad review, and solomon had told her quite frankly that he didn’t give even half a shit. he’d been left to broil afterwards, letting himself out of the coffee shop to park up outside it. he pulled his pouch and papers from his pinny pocket, rolling himself a smoke nice and quick. but when he got to lighting it he ran into trouble - lana had nicked his bloody zippo. she’d pocketed it the evening before, when they’d shared a cigarette after closing, the tart. he’d tan her hide when he saw her next - he’d been left with a shitty bic lighter he’d found in his glove box. and it was empty, too. fucking typical. 

solomon made a low, frustrated noise as he tried to get the lighter to work one last time, ball rolling to no avail. he shoved it back into his pocket, eyes flickering up to a passerby, cigarette still hanging from his lips when he spoke.

“hey mate, you got a light?” 

Greta had her mind set on picking out some fresh fruit and vegetables for the week while Quinn had seemingly been distracted by every stall laden with something to catch a child’s eye.  It was one of those stalls that caused Quinn to pull away from her mother’s hand as she ran towards the display.

“Quinn!” Greta called out, chasing after her daughter before the young girl smacked right into someone’s legs in her hurry to get to the table full of handmade toys.

A few seconds later, Greta’s hand was gripping her daughter’s shoulder and she looked apologetically at the person her daughter smacked into.  “Sorry about her.  I swear she knows better than to run off and crash into people.  What do you say, Quinn?”

“I’m sorry,” the little girl replied.

“ hey, you ” she nodded to the first person she saw at the bar, as she pulled up a stool next to them. “ can i buy you a shot ?  i just don’t want to drink alone. last call is in, like, ten minutes, so i won’t keep you long anyway. ” she reasoned, as she called the bartender over. 

It had been a bad knee day. She was always a bit more gloomy and downright introspective during those days, but she was determined to not let it ruin her friday night completely. Tatiana decided to close the shop a little bit earlier and head home, maybe call her friends for wine and a film. As she closed up, however, she couldn't help but admire the view of the boardwalk, lit up and filled with people roaming around as they enjoyed everything that little piece of paradise had to offer before the summer ended. In turn, it made her want to take the long way home, in spite of the pain. 

Sometimes, looking at that extraordinary view, she allowed herself to fall a little bit more in love with the place — it was time to admit to herself that it was permanent. She had bought a store, for god's sake. She made plans and had friends over and a roommate and a dog. To be quite honest, the dog wasn't hers, per se, but it was part of the little family she was creating in Lakeham: part of how easy it was to call the town home. She turned one left street before her usual path, walking leisurely around the neighborhood on her way to Pitfire for a pizza stop. If she was even home, Alex would be starving. 

She ordered their usual, half pepperoni, half veggie, but as she opened up the box to check, all she saw was a big no-no. Tatiana looked around. There were plenty of people waiting for their orders. "Did anyone order a huge hawaiian? Because I sure as hell didn't ask for pineapple on my pizza! Who the hell does that, anyway?"

Controlled fire was never Cam’s scene (arson, on the other hand, she could get behind) but two months in the small town and it was quite literally boring her to death. Not that Boston, or New Haven, god forbid, was any more exciting, but Lakeham held a distinct sterility that boxed her out of the town. She’d never fit in, she knew that, being a high school dropout and unemployed, still; her identity as a half-clean junkie was just the cherry on the top. 

Still, Cam went anyways, arriving just past seven, while the festivities were still young, but she’d already had three glasses of wine and a couple lines of coke, just to ensure she was amicable throughout the night. She walked over, unconcerned that she didn’t recognize anyone yet, and lit a cigarette, blowing a steady stream of smoke towards the fire. 

“Mm, sorry sight, isn’t it?” Cam mused, watching the flames lick at the sky, leaving a hazy blur over the horizon. “If it were up to me this whole beach would burn.”