#willow.start

*˖➴            musical theatre      was not pearl’s preferred mode of entertainment.      it required an emotionality that she found hard to digest; left something sticky, pulsating in the pit of her.      and she was loath to sit among a crowd.      tonight, however, an exception would have to be made— an exception by the name of liesl, whose actress requested pearl be in attendance.      and we must show up for our students, or so she was once lectured.      but there was an issue.      “      no.      no, no.      ”      the doors appeared to be locked.

                  ⋆◞⃕         𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐫   𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝   𝐭𝐡𝐞   𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲   overpriced   ,   utterly   soulless   gift   over   in   his   calloused   hand.   glossy   pink   packaging   ,   ribbons   ,   some   silly   fragrance   name   stamped   across   the   front   that   meant   absolutely   fuck   all   to   him.   “   i   mean   …   it’s   pink.   girls   like   that   sorta   shit   ,   right   ?   ”   he   muttered   ,   shrugging   one   shoulder   as   he   glanced   sideways   at   them.   then   ,   with   a   low   scoff   “   don’t   look   at   me   like   that   ,   i   ain’t   exactly   known   for   givin’   heartfelt   presents.   "   he   shoved   the   box   toward   them   slightly.   “   you’re   supposed   to   be   helpin’   me   here   ,   not   judgin’   me.   ”

the din of people chatting in the darkened room , a singer crooning onstage , a haze of cigar smoke hanging in the air . . . brooks counts his blessings , lazily leaning against the bar at the amber lounge . he arrived into town late , his work trip to nyc coinciiding with the town's rodeo . but he doesn't mind ⸺ he's been to rodeos a MILLION times , his grandfather having been a land developer in the south for decades , but he'd rather be at the bar , anyway . he sips his negroni , the third of the night amongst other pick - me - ups , as his eyes roam lazily over the room , finally landing upon a familiar pair across the room . a curt smile , a lazy nod , and suddenly he's pushing himself off the bar and sidling up next to them , his large frame squeezing itself into the space beside them . " not a rodeo FAN , huh ? " he teases , knowing it likely they were at the rodeo at some point , " i couldn't give less of a fuck about it . i'd rather be right here , " he smiles , leaning in to raise his glass and cheers against theirs .

Needing a moment of fresh air and a break from all the poor attempts at subtle glances his way, he cursed himself for coming back here. He had enough funds to go and do his own thing, but what that exactly was...Grayson had no fucking clue. The Morgan name was a hefty one to carry, and with it came pros and cons. For some unfortunate reason, he only ever had the negatives attached to his name as if he was cursed from the womb for his own father's folly. His name  was great with all the accolades that came with his career, and now he was the poor Morgan boy who threw it all away. "Hey...long time no see. How's it going?" 

        🦢       ﹕       ʚɞ          the  wide  brim  of  her  hat  casts  a  careful  shadow  across  her  face  ,  its  edge  softened  only  by  the  single  bloom  pinned  there.  cut  that  morning  from  her  own  garden.  the  rodeo  stretches  out  before  her  in  all  its  noise  and  dust.  a  tradition  willow  glen  insists  on  calling  unchanged.  though  vivienne  has  lived  long  enough  to  know  better.  time  refuses  to  preserve  things  ,  it  loosens  them.  it  softens  standards  ,  invites  a  kind  of  carelessness  she  has  never  quite  learned  to  tolerate.  “it  used  to  be  different  ,”  she  says.  “people  understood  what  it  meant  to  be  seen.  even  here.”