#whstart

“I dunno, I ain’t ridden a horse since I was a little kid.” Dixie’s eyes darted to the other and she tried not to seem too nervous. “Might buck me off. Animals don’t like me much. I had a cat when I was a kid. Little feral fucker. Bit my hand so hard it bled and had to get a tetanus shot. And a rabies shot.” Not that Dixie was trying to discourage anyone from taking her out and showing her the ropes. And it was a ranch, was it not? Dixie reasoned with herself, palms sweating and worrying the sides of her little white dress, that she had enough to get used to within the first day.

“Just wait a minute, like one minute, I’m about to beat this gym leader---- Oh, I downloaded Pokemon Emerald onto my phone and now I feel like I’ve been transported back to sixth grade.”

Slightly disappointed with her costume as Supergirl, she was still going to the halloween party held at Erika’s. Originally she was going to be Poison Ivy but then her grandparents forbid her to wear those as the costume was too provocative. Next her grandparents also warned to watch her drinks which basically translate to: don’t go home too drunk to walk herself home. No -- actually they noted that she should take care of herself good and make the right choices for herself. However to the blonde, it directly translate to that.

Hallowe’en, even with all it’s skeletons and candy, had never been one of Tommy’s favourite holidays, always much too easily trumped over his budding excitement for Hanukkah. His mother for years had to actually force him into skeleton onesies - the only thing he wouldn’t tear off - or into allowing her to paint his face. He’d just never really gotten the holiday, and where everyone else went wild with mindless, youthful excitement, Tommy felt only a dull indifference. And so Tommy measured up the happy, excited feeling he felt to the ‘funky’ cigarette he’d blasted through on the walk over. Maybe a little credit was due, as well, to the costume he donned that year - a red flannel under a jean jacket, fingerless gloves with a particularly beat up pair of combat boots left Tommy feeling as though he wasn’t dressed up at all. If asked, his terrible memory and even worse knowledge of film would leave him answering any questions of who he was with ‘that guy from the movie with that song’.

The word document for her paper was still pitifully blank except for the header and the title, which was somewhere along the lines of ajhskfjahsdf. Her sketchbook was still nestled in her bag, just begging for her to take it out instead of trying to come up with at least one sentence for some English essay she would probably end up bullshitting at midnight the day before it was due. How did she end up getting roped into a study session, anyway? Friendship truly worked wonders.