#lia.

Estamos sim, cinza! Por mais que as coisas pareçam mais paradas se olhar só a central, a dash continua cheia de jogos (nossos players não tem dó, eu mesma já chorei com reply hoje) e o discord animadíssimo com todo mundo combinando interação. E está rolando uma super missão envolvendo a trama do rp, que você pode acompanhar pelo nosso blog secundário @anaklusmoshq-extras !

the words of his childhood best-friend turned roommate, ricky rye with the wonky eye, ring in his ears not to “goof this one up” as he stands stiff behind the marble countertop this place tries to pass off as a bar.  he’s one of the line cooks, and the one that landed him the job at this fancy schmancy restaurant when the last bartender neglected to return after a roadtrip to saskatchewan  but of all the temporary jobs he’s held  over the years, he’s never had one where he had to address every customer strictly as “sir” or “ma’dam”, or put on a dress shirt and tie just to serve alcohol. and fuck what you heard, most rich people tip like shit. 

still, the job has one perk. 

all night he’s been stealing glances of the doe-eyed beauty from the opposite end of the bar, certain that the boss man would be in any minute now to ward off any wandering eyes, lay claim to her with a kiss on the cheek and a pompous glare thrown strategically in the direction of the help. a subtle reminder to all the little people, yet again, of why he truly was a master of the universe.

but as minutes turn to hours he grows a little bolder. until finally, when her glass needs refilling, he tells tamara that he’s got it this time. 

“boss man must be running late” he offers nonchalantly as he goes to mix another martini, and wonders deep down what in the world could be important enough to keep a girl like this waiting. 

cheers to more stupid conversations like this <3 uhh i love u both @atelierwriting @tarttisms 🌷💐🌼🌻 ( derogatory )

What ringtone my muse has set for yours:

all-american girl by carrie underwood (don’t ask how he knows this song)

What contact photo my muse has set for yours:

this picture!!!

What my muse thinks of the way yours texts:

since he thinks of her as someone who’s super professional and cool, he’ll try to not use abbreviations or acronyms. he’ll try to write with proper sentences and punctuation.  

How quickly my muse responds to your texts:

as soon as he sees that she’s sent him one, because he doesn’t want to waste her time.

How often our muses text:

every so often, i feel like! when he needs advice or when she needs to vent to someone, i feel like they lend each other an ear.

How often our muses call:

usually whenever jack needs help with trying to cook a meal, he’ll call lia because she usually knows all the answers.

Does my muse purposefully miss calls from yours:

he wouldn’t even dream of it.

Last text sent from my muse to yours:

of all of her post-italy rendezvous (her parents, her unsuspecting baby daddy, his parents), this one felt easy. perhaps because lia was one of three people she did her best to keep in contact with from the other side of the world. one of two actual attendees at the skype baby shower she didn’t even really want to have. or maybe she just knows that her cousin will accept her in whatever form she shows up in--skinny, fat, rich, poor, or even x2. 

she lifts a brow at the sheer amount of marble in the lobby of the address she sent. when lia said her new beaux was loaded she was expecting a few fancy cars and evidence of a private education. what she steps into instead are the trappings of pure generational opulence. the luxury of it all  has little time to settle on her though, because then she sees her, standing there in the flesh, looking just a little older than the last time, almost a year and a half ago if you could believe it. she figures she looks a little different as well, carrying a sleeping veronica by the handle of her bassinet in one hand and a grocery bag in the other. her smile is one thing she’ll never outgrow, the way it’s slightly impish and stretches halfway across her face when she squeals “lia!” and throws her free arm around her.  suddenly they’re little girls again, the ones that would beg their parents to allow the other to stay the night so they could stay up til’ 2 watching movies they weren’t supposed to, who’d spend their summers joined at the hip, telling boys at the mall that they’re twins and watching them believe it. “i missed you” she says in earnest, holding her there for a minute before her attention turns to the baby. “she’ll wake up for you in a second, but til’ then i brought sangria!”