#monleon.open

status: open ( @monleonstarters )

Strolling down Monleon’s Main Street, newly bought handicrafts in hand, Sadie could almost forget how much she had despised the town growing up. Seventeen years later, with the sheen of success and money, it was easy enough to recognize that it was her circumstances she had loathed, more so than the location. Still, a faint bitterness remained at the back of her mind.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the small object she spotted on the ground just in time to avoid stepping on it. “Excuse me,” she addressed the person several paces in front of her. “Did you drop this?”

“You’re probably wondering,” the brunette in a sparkling mermaid costume with glitter in her hair spoke up, puffing out a cloud of smoke– her only vice, if you asked her. “How I ended up in this situation. Supposedly I wasn’t smiling enough, so the event planner sent me home, what the hell? I don’t get it, aren’t sirens supposed to be these… lethal, dark, soul-devouring creatures?” However, before she went on with her rant, she lifted her gaze and flashed a charming smile at the person nearby. “Come, join me,“ and she patted the empty spot on the staircase beside her. “Hope your day’s been better. If not, I have a whole pack of cigarettes and an inside man at a 24/7 diner, instructed to save me some pie.”

rosalind perused the bookstore shelves as she waited for the restaurant at oxford exchange to finish the takeout order she’d just placed. she supposed she ought to have called it in, but work had been busier than usual and it was only on her way back to the town that she realized she’d promised to bring dinner over to percival’s; she’d left nala with him for the day and rosalind was thankful that she wasn’t ( once more ) apologizing to the dog daycare for arriving after they’d closed.

her hand reached for a book of photographs from the area the same time as another and rosalind withdrew her own, offering a smile as she turned her head. “oh, i’m so sorry. go ahead,” she gestured toward the shelf.

“i didn’t really know what to put out? i don’t have guests round that often.. oh and uh, excuse the mess, i’m halfway through re-organising this room, so there’s kind of books everywhere..” light smile touches your features as you exhale, fluster beginning to die out and cheeks returning to their usual rosiness. you hadn’t been lying, guests over was a rarity, so this was nice. different. a feat you could perhaps get used to. “so we have a bowl of peanuts and some crisps-” you point and cock your head, “chips. peanuts and chips. i have wine in the fridge too.” you kick your shoes off, getting two glasses and the bottle, returning to comfortably settle on the couch before pouring. “can you tell it’s been a while since i’ve had someone new here?” gentle smirk catches at the corners of your lips and you lift a brow, sliding one of the glasses across the table, “i can assure you i usually come across a little cooler than this.”

But life didn't work that way, and more often than not Beck found himself traveling down the same routes he had once taken on his bike as a teenager, now on foot with a cigarette between his fingers. Though then, he supposed, he'd also usually had a cigarette between his fingers. Quitting had never been possible for Beck, not when he already had so many other vices he found it impossible to let go of. He figured that keeping one was better than keeping all of them. He stopped in a particularly clear part of the street, the treeline separating just enough to encircle the moon in a wreath of branches as he gazed up through them, taking another drag from his cigarette. Life here, he supposed, could be beautiful every once in a while.

Reaching over for his cup of coffee that was fuelling the energy he so awfully lacked, it came up empty as he stared at the bottom of the cup a pout following. How long had that been empty? He grumbles as he pushes up from his chair, a stumble straight after as he chuckles to himself — damn, he was tired.

Cason had forgotten over time how much working on a novel could eat at him; it was slowly becoming soul consuming and his mind did not deter from the goal. But he wondered if the goal was worth his sanity at this rate?

‘‘Could I get another black coffee please?’‘ He calls out as he begins to fish for his wallet.

Wyatt was completely out of his element that night, knowing that it probably showed. He supported local fundraising initiatives, but his teaching salary did not leave a lot of disposable income for attending charity galas - the only reason he was in attendance that night was because a colleague had given him her ticket after she fell sick. After texting the babysitter for the fifth time that night to check in on Noelle, Wyatt plucked another champagne flute from a passing server. “Have you tried any of the cocktails yet? If so, what would you recommend?” he casually asked the person next to him near the bar. He was usually a beer drinker, at least when he did go out for a pint or two. But there was a long list of cocktails, keeping with the 1920′s theme -  Sidecar, The Southside, French 75 to name a few. There was the usual Old Fashioned on the menu, but this was his opportunity to explore different options rather than getting the safe one.

open starter for: @monleonstarters​

The one thing Alexandra loved about every other Thursday was that they were her Fridays and this week, was that week. As a little pick me up, she was going to treat herself to a few macarons and sitting out on the patio to enjoy some sunshine while reading the newspaper and that was exactly what she did. Now here she was, a few pages in when she noticed a disturbance in front of her causing her eyes to slowly move from the page to two quarreling idiots in the street. “God, it truly wouldn’t be Monleon if there weren’t idiots fighting in the middle of the street,” She mused to no one in particular.