#memeweek

Arthur

Ella

Mulan

Heilan

James

Lady

Marie

Phillipa

Rose is startled by her back suddenly colliding with the vending machine. She looked around, seeing why her friend had shoved her. Security.

Back against the plexiglass display still, she tilted her head to the side to assess the snacks on display.

“…They never restock the barbecue chips,” she grumbled. “It’s criminal, honestly. Don’t get me started on salt and vinegar, they taste like sadness and battery acid. These however” she said pointing to the reeces cups. Directing their attention to them as well just in time for the security guard to walk by none the wiser.

[Scene: Sports Bar – Late Evening]

The bar was buzzing with the chaotic energy of a tied game and discounted drinks. Neon signs flickered overhead, casting streaks of color across the crowded room. Laughter, shouting, and the clinking of glasses created an intoxicating atmosphere that vibrated through the wooden floorboards.

Misty sat near the back, slouched deep into the booth seat with her legs sprawled beneath the table. Her curls clinging to her temples in the heat of the room. Half-empty pitchers of beer littered the table beside her, puddles of condensation pooling under the half drank glass. A plate of picked-over wings sat untouched now, cold and forgotten. She wasn’t entirely sure who was winning—or even what inning they were in—but the noise, the lights, and the cheap drinks had wrapped around her like a comfortable fog. This wasn’t how she usually spent her nights but she was having fun with her best friend.

She reached for her phone again, squinting at the screen, her thumb swiping clumsily through contacts.

Misty: Kronk wtf did you go, the games almost back on, and some dude keeps trying to get me to leave with him. Come get him before I get thrown out.

The message sent. Almost immediately she typed again—more rushed, more aggressive this time.

Misty: KRINK you meathead where r u?!??

Her spelling had deteriorated with each drink, but her frustration was crystal clear. A tall shadow moved toward her from the corner of her eye—broad-shouldered, slow-moving, someone reaching toward her with careful hands.

“Hey, Misty, c’mon—let’s get you ho—”

She didn’t let the man finish his sentence before

Her eyes blazed as she snapped upright, popping up to an offensive stance with a grace unheard of in her inebriated state. The haze in her head cleared just enough for her mouth to snap into motion.

“Touch me again,” she snarled, her voice low and dangerous, “and you’ll be learning to write with your other hand.”

Misty takes accountability for her wrongs, maybe not right away. She morally gray; laws don’t equal morality and she is known to excuse her own transgressions if they benefit the greater good. But in interpersonal ways she takes accountability.

Do you believe in love at first sight?

"Maybe not 'love' but... something. A feeling, a spark. An energy. There can definitely be something just, like, intangible at first sight. Right?"

Have you ever written a love letter?

"Yes but not because I was in love."

Do you collect anything? And what are some hobbies you have?

"I used to," if you switched out 'collect' with 'steal', "Not so much now. Maybe a photo, a ticket stub, an old wallet from another life but I try not to hold onto stuff. Hobbies-- how long have you got? Used to be being a 'Jack' or Travis, of all trades was a way to survive. I learned everything I could. Guitar, painting, mechanics, there was a brief mime gig-- Uh, moment, in time. I guess I'm half good at bullshitting my way through most hobbies, you know?"