#vxrixble

     Back in the day, mobsters would help people. This help, of course, came at a price. Jimmy was no different. It was well known in the underground that if you had a problem, you went to Jimmy, and maybe, just maybe, if he was drunk or high enough, he’d help you out. He eye’d the empty glass on his desk, his office was fancy underneath the mess, his rich mahogany desk coated with remnants of white powder. “Optimism’s important,” Jimmy said, pulling a bottle and an extra glass out from the drawer under his desk. Regardless of the fact it was ten AM, he poured out two vodkas, and slid one across the desk. 

“There is no need to panic, hm.” That’s very easy for her to say, seeing as she’s currently splayed semi-seductively over in a motel armchair, a hand pressed over her eyes as if it would somehow alleviate this bombshell of information he’s just dropped on her. Didi, in nearly all situations, is rarely this calm. 

She’s not a nervous woman, but one that’s usually quick to act and attack. Had his news displeased her in any other circumstance, she would have yelled and started swinging. Because physical altercations have proved to solve many a problem (in her experience anyway). But right now she’s eerily calm, taking the news in stride.

             The man had crashed from taking too much Happiness, his behaviour growing increasingly sporadic. So far, they had established that his reason for injecting was to forget about the loss of his leg in the war; it was his hallucinations of being whole that he constantly chased after, but the reality had left him feeling angry. Hopeless. It broke Elsner’s heart. He treated every person that walked through their doors equally, giving them his undivided attention, and making sure that they had everything they needed on the road to recovery. It was the least he could do for a country that welcomed him when his life was bleak. This man was no different. 

            During his crash, the man had scratched up his arms and leg, the cuts fairly deep with having long fingernails. He made a metal note to have them cut once the man was settled. Users were often found in disheveled states, unable to care for themselves with spending all their money on Emotions; it was clear that he was a frequent user. The only problem they had was that they were short of help, especially those trained medically, because most of them were completing Emotion raids. Elsner was skilled, certainly, but he trusted those with far more experience than himself. And, as he attempted to calm the man, he remembered that there was somebody in the building who was trained. A visitor, no less.

             “Vera! Vera, love,” the Irishman found the nurse easily enough, urgency in his voice. “You were a nurse in the war, right? ‘m sorry to ask, but I could really do wi’ some help. All my medical staff are elsewhere, and I have a man in urgent need of attention. Please -- If you could, love? I’d appreciate it!” 

Merri was still getting the hang of this whole time travel thing. Sometimes she can control it, sometimes she can’t. Sometimes she just has to make the best of a situation, which is how she’s ended up wandering around in an American camp listening to planes flying overhead. 

She never knows how long she’s going to be in one place, so she has to fit in as much as she can. She’s not even vaguely dressed for this, but of all the things to be sent into the past in, an overlarge wool sweater and a pair of jeans isn’t the worst outfit ever. 

She’s spinning around trying to figure out where to go or how to get out of the camp when she runs directly into someone. “Oh-- oh no.” Her face feels beet red. “I’m really sorry, I’m-- new. I’m lost. I’m new and lost.” She clears her throat. “What’s today’s date?”

          Today, he was given a small parcel and an equally sized note, simply reading: ‘A gift. Love W x’.  How far it must have traveled! Whilst he served in the North, his love remained down South and he could only imagine the trouble it took to send something like this. It was why, as he rested the parcel upon his knee, Eli was in no rush to open it; he spent a good while staring at the note, instead. He had, like most soldiers, given up counting the days. They had no idea what day it was, never mind the date. And he only hoped that this was sent recently, reassuring him that Walter was alive and well. It was a bittersweet thought.

           Placing the note inside his breast pocket, Eli breathed in deeply before unwrapping the parcel. It was chocolate. Chocolate. He must have looked like a fool smiling to himself, but he was over-come with emotion. An instantaneous reaction to an incredible sight. He had no idea how Walter managed to come across it in the first place, but his happiness far outweighed his confusion. The last time he had chocolate was when he was seven, and even that was a rare treat. Glancing up, Eli was about to thank the sky when he noticed another soldier at the other end of the trench. 

           “Hey,” he whispered, before crouching towards them. “You look like you need cheering up, pal.” Some soldiers were unfortunate enough to receive nothing, and he wondered whether this was the case. But he was hardly one to pry. “Keep quiet about this, but my...uh, missus sent this to me. Would you like a piece?” He revealed the chocolate like he was guarding a great secret. In a way, it was. If anyone caught wind of his luxury, everyone would want a piece. 

sun rays.

effervescent smiles, dandelion puffs, bare feet, beach waves, flowers pressed into books, champagne glasses, rose-gold eye shadow, boho skirts, wire-rimmed glasses, hair in loose waves, kaleidoscope eyes, sunshine in your hair, fire in your soul.

incandescent bulbs.

crop tops, floral print, dancing in the rain, quiet defiance, hand-knit beanies, rosé, painted bookmarks, marble floors, cirrus clouds against a blue sky, polaroid pictures, hands held, fingers intertwined, flower crowns, baby bluebirds.

stardust.

lace bralettes, brisk breezes, jasmine-scented perfume, books with yellowed pages, tracking constellations, sterling silver, violin music, chess games, iced coffee, glittery dresses, high heels, secret grins, midnight meetings, wishing upon a star.

candle flames.

denim jackets, gladiator sandals, braided hair, messenger bags, movies at the cinema, stolen kisses, wax-sealed envelopes, haiku poetry, cherry wood, succulents, fountain pens, jigsaw puzzles, soft tired eyes, hidden smiles, cuddling with someone you trust.

moonbeams.

newspapers, over-sized sweaters, dancing shadows, fleece throws, cutoff shorts, piano chords, red wine, messy buns, embossed journals, a hint of blush dusted across your cheeks, freshly fallen snow, tranquil solitude, burning incense, light hair and dark skin.

auroras.

combat boots, burgundy lips, infectious laughter, spiral-bound notebooks, pencils used down to the stub, ripped jeans, painted nails, cloud-watching, summer thunderstorms, hiking trails, vinyl records, film cameras, skating on a frozen lake, hot chocolate by the fire.

fireworks.

dancing until the break of dawn, heelys, being wheeled around in a shopping cart by your best friend, the euphoria of soaring through the air, being excited for what the future holds, group hugs, colorful tattoos, bronzer-highlighted cheeks, hugging a stuffed animal, lifting a child onto your shoulders, space buns, bright streaks in your hair.