#nonempyreal

Bête, like the scent of cigarette smoke, or like the eyes in certain paintings, or like a stray dog, has a tendency to follow. It's how xe's ended up here. Haven's door and its lock are as sturdy as ever, but Bête is on the other side of them anyways, rifling through her fridge. Xe wears the same guise xe'd worn when she passed xem on the street: a shadowy bramble more or less in the shape of a man. Xe pulls a bottle of ketchup from the mostly-bare shelves and turns it over in xir thorned hands.

INBOX PROMPTS ╱ 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑒𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔.

“Are you on my father’s payroll?” He finally just asks, leaning against his chair, the dim fairy lights of the dinner party glittering around them, begging for any recognition, but Will finds her gaze instead. He hadn’t wanted to come, but it was one of the obligations he could not weasel his way out of. He risked his father’s ire, so he made his dutiful appearance until he could find a polite reason to excuse himself, no eyebrow raised and no scornful glare. However, the new addition to his already thorough plan of execution was the new guard assigned to him; his old one seemingly replaced all of a sudden. So, he was suspicious, and his methods had always been a bit more direct than most.

"you bitch!" Is shouted by a man almost a foot taller than Temperance Daugherty, glaring down at them and looking about two seconds away from taking a swing or a shove. Temperance seems nonplussed, raising a brow and looking through their camera at the man.

"hey, no need to get all angry with me. i'm not the one who cheated on my wife with a-" They start, smiling in spite of themself. The man makes a grab at their camera and they jerk back and out of the way. "with a rando off grinder while i'm posting-"

Another grab. This time less at the camera, more at Temperance's hair. They duck and he gets empty air.

Usually she ignored the brusqueness of others; shoulder checks on the sidewalk, the blaring of horns, snide comments, all of it rolled off of her like water on a duck's back. But when @nonempyreal shoved her...Karen wasn't sure if it was intentional or an accident.

It felt like hands were on her when she tripped, but when Karen whipped her head around, the offender looked innocent, as if it was just a little stumbling accident. "What the hell?" Oh that question held so much to it.

There's a calm humility to sitting on the floor, even when there are more comfortable seats available. It's a sense of grounding, perhaps, being the most down-to-earth you can be without going outside and sitting in the dirt.

She cradles her cream soda in her lap, back up against one of the tool cabinets, meditating on the coolness of the concrete floor beneath her. Beer and everything like it is banned from the garage. Anything that can compromise the abilities of the mechanics and drivers is too big of a risk to even allow on the premises.

Haven looks down at her hands, covered in grease, dirt, and oil - a testament to the work put in that evening - and looks back up at Alex.

"Yeah, I guess we are. Not bad at all."

“I’m starving.” He checks his watch and the fact that it’s a quarter to midnight makes his eyebrows jump. “Jesus, I didn’t realize it was so late.” They’ve been working on his car all evening, and one by one, the mechanics have filtered out of the garage to go back home to their families and their lives outside of motor sport. To Alex, his life is his car, and it’s his first grand prix tomorrow. Everything has to be perfect, or as close to perfect as he can get.

“Is this you asking for my HELP? Y’know, you’ve got a funny way of saying you don’t wanna take ownership of your mistakes.” Not that Haven thinks she has any right to PREACH about something that, knowing she’s got her own flaws and faults to come to terms with, but she’s got enough elbow room to be PETTY. Besides, she’s in an irritable mood and he’s found a way to push all of her buttons, apparently.

“Look, I’ll help you, but you gotta figure out what to do since this is your MESS to clean up.”

Julia listened quietly, then let out a faint sigh. “It’s hard, loving people who don’t love us anymore. You think, maybe today will be different. Maybe they’ll feel otherwise, and it just -- never turns out.” She withdrew the bottle and held it between her hands, more as something to do with her hands than anything.