#sterpstarter

Today was going to be like any other. She walks to Family Video, David Bowie's Heroes, playing faintly in her ears. She opens Family Video and slowly sets everything up to start the day, before going to the door to switch the CLOSED sign to OPEN. On her way back to the counter, she notices that someone had brought back 'A Nightmare on Elm Street", she grabs it, deciding to watch it as she rewinds tapes. As she pops in the VHS tape in the TV and starts rewinding, the sound of bells ringing alerts her to a customer.

"Just ask me if you need anything," she says not moving her eyes from the TV.

Daphne sat at the mahogany bar, one leg tucked neatly beneath the other, a flowy floral skirt spilling around her ankles like sunlight over water. A half‑finished glass of sparkling cider kept company with her Polaroid camera, both catching fragments of the amber light. Ink still clung to her fingertips from the menus she’d been updating, and she traced the gold rim of the glass as though it might hum back.

The chime over the door sliced through the low hum of a jazz record. She didn’t look up right away—just tucked a loose chestnut curl behind her ear and leaned closer over her father’s receipt ledger. "We’re just about to close the kitchen," she said, her voice soft and melodic, carrying that practiced, hostess-bred warmth. She finally lifted her gaze—eyes wide and honey‑warm against the gloom. "But… if you’re hungry, I can probably find something in the back."

Right now though, there once again were so many things on his mind, worrying him, that he decided to spend the afternoon shooting some hoops on the abandoned basketball court near school. Lucas worried about his friends, about Max, about everything that was going wrong lately. So he dribbled the ball across the court and took shot after shot at the hoop—without success. Normally, he wasn’t this bad, especially without an opponent. But he was obviously so distracted that he did not score once.

“Damn!” he cursed as the ball bounced off the hoop's rim again and flew off in another direction. Lucas hurried after it and only then noticed that his ball had landed right at someone’s feet…

Sighing, as he contemplated whether or not to take another swim, he was interrupted by crunching footsteps coming from the forest behind him.

"Don't mind me," he spoke as he stood, brushing the dirt from his pants. "I was just leaving."

Some people might consider the music he made, the work of the devil himself, but those same people would never know about his broad taste in music. He never hated on other genres, he found inspiration within them all, and he knew that every genre was capable of shit music.

it’s one of those rare warm days when hawkins almost feels normal again —sun out, streets are quiet, half the town pretending it didn’t almost collapse a few months back. gareth’s standing on a rickety stepstool outside the record shop, one roll of tape in his teeth and a stack of freshly printed flyers in the other.

they’re for corroded coffin’s next gig —messy, the band logo drawn by hand, a crooked font eddie swore looked “metal as hell,” and doodles around the edges that gareth secretly redrew three times before anyone noticed. the color's just slightly off —but it’s theirs.

a group effort. and that makes him stupidly proud.

he smooths the latest one against the side of a light pole, running the tape along the edges like it deserves to stay up forever. “not bad,” he mutters to himself, stepping back to make sure it’s level. “we might actually look like a real band this time.”

a passing breeze tries to peel the corner loose, and he scowls, slapping it back into place. someone walks by just in time to catch him muttering, “don’t you dare,” like he’s out here arguing with tape. he glances over his shoulder, half‑grin forming when he catches their eye. “you’d think promoting local art would come with, i dunno, less physical combat.”

She sighed out a frustrated breath, her brows furrowing at her creation. "Just... work, goddamnit!"

But it was not working. The sweater she'd meant to create was already halfway through becoming hobbit-looking clothing—far too wide all over, almost a blanket at this point. She picked it up and examined it in its entirety. And then she decided that, yes, of course she'd meant to make it that way. It was almost robe-like. Yes, that was what she'd meant. So she placed it back onto her lap and apologized to the inanimate object for being so rude when clearly, she just hadn't understood what it was, and continued her project.

The day was nice. And Vickie was content.