starter for. thatcher ward. | @goblinkingg location. thatcher’s back porch. time. evening, after dinner.
Being surrounded by family still wasn’t something Quinn was used to. She hadn’t realized how much she missed the dysfunctional group until they were a daily part of her life again. For so long, it has just been her and her mother — The two of them against the world, with the occasional appearance from her father on a holiday. Thatcher’s side of the family was mostly kept up with via social media and text message, with an occasional in person visit every few years. And yet, it was somehow easier to create relationships with them than it was to find common ground with her father. She was trying (or at least, liked to say that she was trying), but couldn’t seem to see past the fog that is her resentment.
Quinn was determined to figure this out, but her own emotions threatened to choke her during each awkward silence they shared. Feeling overwhelmed, she opted for a smoke break — It was a nasty habit, once she picked up from her years working in restaurants. After having to bite her tongue more than once, Quinn abruptly declared she’d be back in a minute. Not leaving any room for her father to question her, she made a beeline for the back door. The cool night air makes it easier to clear her head, though the small sparks of her dying lighter make the feeling short lived. She curses through muffle of the cigarette between her teeth, eyes rolling as she cups her free hand around the lighter, stubbornly attempting to ignite it.
She’d barely noticed Thatcher seemingly materializing beside her, the intrusion only pulling more frustration from her. What she’d hoped could be a moment to clear her head has proved to be the opposite. Finally giving up with a groan, she glances at him. Pulling the cigarette from her lips, she speaks. “I need a lighter.” The look on her face makes it clear she’s annoyed to even ask, leaving her wishing she’d said a goodbye and left rather than a smoke break. The voice in the back of her head -- The one that sounds a hell of a lot like her mother’s -- reminds her why she’s even here in the first place. “Can I borrow one?” She asks with an arched brow, it’s a simple question but it feels like a strange version of an olive branch. Tossing her dead lighter on the patio table, she huffs. “This piece of shit lasted all of two days.” Quinn’s not sure why she keeps talking, but somehow she can’t stop herself. “You should’ve warned me about the shit they sell at the gas stations here.”
