just a rat in a cage

.

She looked at him a moment longer—at his lazy, smug smile turned sham of a pout, his body language, at the words still dancing behind his teeth—and came to an old conclusion: Riggs was a douchebag. He could hand her coats when she was cold every day from now ‘til the Second Coming and she knew nothing would change that assessment. Clem’s eyes tracked him up and down, and then she scoffed and stepped through the door. She held her hand out behind her to stop it from swinging, so he wouldn’t catch a glance at her once she had left the room. She stood there in the quiet hall, her dad still dozing a matter of feet away down in the living room, then brought her hands up to her face. Clem wanted to yell into them but reminded herself that one of the men on either side of her would hear it.

So instead, she settled on pressing her palms as hard as she could into her closed eyes. Colorful dots swooped in and out of her vision, and she didn’t know how long it’d been when she finally dropped her hands back to her side. The colors continued to swim in front of her, and by her feet was the stupid laundry basket. And folded right on top was the vile denim jacket. She picked it up by its collar and shook it out of the semi-sloppy fold her mom had placed it. The fabric softener was fragrant; she wished she had the time to quickly bring it out to the goat pen and throw it in. But there was no time, and she didn’t really want more of it. She wanted Riggs gone. Readying herself, she took a breath and then pushed the door back open, walking back into the kitchen with a newfound sense of purpose. As she went, she balled the jacket up in her hands. And she didn’t stop until Riggs was right in front of her, barely a foot between them. She smiled emotionlessly, her eyes blank and her lips thin. “Here’s what you came looking for,” she said pleasantly. And then, without another word, she jammed the jacket toward him, aiming purposefully, firmly, and heartily for his groin. 

-

For someone who went around saying and doing things that could get him hit in the dick, the last thing Riggs ever expected was getting hit in the dick. By Clem, no less. “Fuck—!” With his hands cupped over his crotch,  Riggs fell to the floor almost instantly. The pain between his legs was something else. It shot all the way up to his stomach. Each aching throb felt like the white-hot jab of a branding iron. “Jesus H Christ...” Riggs groaned, whining painfully on Fontaine’s kitchen floor.

He rocked pathetically on the linoleum tile, gripping himself tightly in fear that the protective cupping of his hands was the only thing keeping the pain from becoming worse. Like a gunshot wound. You didn’t take pressure off that shit.

“Did that feel good, Clem?” He asked when he finally found his voice. Pain by damned, Riggs’ capability of being an annoying shit would persevere. “Was that everything you ever wanted?” He goaded. “What about your peace and love bullshit? Maybe violence does have a place in the world, huh?” He groaned again, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily.

.

Clem’s hand white-knuckled the back of the chair. She felt her chest tighten, she was just so — angry. And it wasn’t like the emotion was entirely unfamiliar. Lots of things pissed Clem off, from the obvious misogyny the whole of Lockhorn reeked of to the wall of cacophonous noise she always walked into at Thanksgiving dinner, overstimulated and grouchy and pressing her palms to her ears in the upstairs bathroom. She felt that similar type of itchiness now, looking at Riggs. The kind of feeling that made her want to scratch at her own skin, or better yet his. She took a deep breath. She imagined how she’d walk barefoot into the creek in the woods out back, cool and calming against her flushed body in the heat of the summer. Clem willed her heart to settle. She let the breath out slow.

“You know what, Riggs?” she started, not as calm and put together as she’d like to sound but close enough to the mark for her to continue. “You can make your jokes and have your fun and treat everyone around you like shit under your shoe, but that don’t change the facts.” Clem finally let go of the back of the chair and flexed her hand by her side, sore from how tight she had held on. “And the fact is that you’re pathetic.” She stepped away and rounded the table to the other side of the small kitchen. Just outside the swinging door were the stairs to the bedrooms upstairs. There was a good chance her laundry basket was left at the bottom of them. “You’re a small, sad, pathetic man. You always have been.” She reached a palm out to the door, starting to push it open. “Now I’m gonna get that jacket of yours, then I want you out of my house. And I don’t want you coming ‘round anymore. I mean it this time.”

-

“What, Clem?” Riggs replied with an all-too-satisfied smile, stoking that fire he could tell was burning just below Fontaine’s skin. “Facts?” He questioned. His smile pulled into a pout and his brows pinched together, confused about what ‘facts’ she was referring to. And the fact is that you’re pathetic. Her reveal drew his mouth into a grin and a soft chuckle fell from his curled lips. Riggs’ amusement only grew as she went on to call him small, sad, and there it was again, pathetic. In a world where he wasn’t used to being called those things — by people far closer to him than she was — maybe they’d hurt. But he was quite familiar with that category of words. In fact, pathetic was one of his uncle’s utmost favorites. Her insults were like water off a duck’s back.

But what about your mama’s business? You gonna deny sweet Sylvia a visit from a paying customer? The words were right there. On the tip of his tongue. He could taste them. But knowing he might have poked the bear a little too much, pushed a little too far, Riggs simply held hands up and kept his trap shut. Sure, the shit-eating twist his mouth sat in was still plastered on his face but at least his would-be words suffocated behind lips that were pressed shut. He’ll give Fontaine a small win for the afternoon. He didn’t want her keeping his jacket hostage after all. He needed it. He could always push her buttons the next time he saw her ‘round town. Lockhorn wasn’t the biggest anyhow. They were bound to cross paths sooner or later. Especially since he and Fontaine were both vying for the same prize with Panic. 

“Whatever makes you happy, Clem,” he said instead. An unusually accommodating string of words from the mouth of one ‘Riggs Rigsby’.

.

“Oh yeah, a real barrel of laughs, Riggs Rigsby is,” Clem said. “That’s why I’m always seeing you ‘round town absolutely bombarded by admirers. You’re so popular, it’s a mystery how you’ve got the time of day to keep down that difficult job of grilling hot dogs.” It was a miracle to Clem that Riggs would have anyone he could call an actual friend. He was all performance; exasperating wisecracks, insincerity, and an ingratiating grin. To her, he was a barely a real person. She didn’t want to dignify the claim that she cared about his physical wellbeing any more than she would a random person picked off the street with a response. She really didn’t. 

“You wanna test that theory? Because it’s just as easy to pick that thing right back up as it was to drop it.” Standing inside the kitchen, looking at Riggs backlit by the sun out the backdoor, she squinted. You wouldn’t know what that was if it bit you in the face like one of those giant mosquitos out by the Devil’s Mouth. “I’m boring, I haven’t got a sense of humor,” Clem started, listing his insults impatiently. “And who could forget when you called me bug-eyed?” The offhand comment on the night of the Jump still bothered her. Unfortunately. “You’re racking up a real laundry list of complaints there. Do you ever have anything good to say? Are you capable of it?”

Clem bristled as he spoke. It wasn’t that she thought she was unique in her unpleasant experiences with Riggs. She didn’t think that. She knew he went around giving nine out of ten people the same amount of shit he gave her, and it wasn’t even what she was getting at. But she bristled just the same. You’re not special. She crossed her arms. “I don’t reckon that’s really any of your business,” she said flatly, absolutely resolute in her stance to not touch the subject of her falling out with Alex with him of all people. “But, fine, I’ll rephrase the question. Since you’re so distracted by the particulars. So how about this: what makes you think it’s okay to talk about any girl like that?”

She thought back to high school, when word got around that she and Eric Weekley had gone parking. Suddenly two other boys in her grade claimed they’d done the same with her and every other girl gave her a wide berth for the next month. She was easy. She didn’t go to Church. Her Mamma was wicked. It was the same thing, again and again and again. Riggs had hit more than one sore spot. Clem placed her hand on the back of one of the kitchen chairs, left pulled-out and crooked. She pushed it back into the table; it squeaked suddenly across the floor. “Women aren’t a punchline, never mind your nonexistent conquests with them.”

-

It always amused Riggs when people said his name like that. Riggs Rigsby. Not quite knowing what his first name was. Even if people were to scour the drawers of the local high school’s cabinets, they’d only find the fake name his uncle registered him under — Earl Frank Rigsby — deeming it more appropriate. It was less... what did his uncle call it? Downright absurd? His real name was a secret between him and him. Well, him, his uncle and his aunt.

Did he call her bug-eyed? Damn, Riggs didn’t even remember that. A small chortle escaped him. He was right to call her that though. Bug-eyed little thing. Do you ever have anything good to say? Are you capable of it? The twist of his mouth expressed the disbelief he held for her opinion. "Course I’m capable of it.” A scoff followed his insistence. To make his point, he started to list of ‘good things’. “I think the coffee at the Cracker Barrel is ain’t half bad. And I think Koda pours a decent beer.” Not one but two nice things to say. Suck on that, Fontaine.

Riggs wasn’t going to lie: the squeak of that chair startled him, making him bounce in place just slightly before he got a grip on himself. Sheesh, what was it with Clem and this woman agenda of hers? Always hootin’ and hollerin’ about rights this and equality that. He’d sigh if he felt like wasting breath. Instead, Riggs made no attempt to answer her question and coolly shared what he thought the root of her issue with his humor was. “You know what your problem is, Fontaine? You’re way too serious. I think if you let me pull the stick out of your rear, you’ll feel a whole lot better.”

.

“You think I’m a soulless husk because I don’t go around makin’ trouble? Think that says more about you than it ever will about me,” Clem said, ending her complaint in a half-grumble as she stepped onto the small back porch. Her dad’s work boots were left on the side of the door, a solemn reminder that he was taking a nap out in the living room. She’d have to keep things quiet to keep from waking him; he wouldn’t judge her for having a boy in the house so much as having this particular boy waltzing around. George Fontaine’s discernment was sharply honed and wielded without shame, sometimes skewed and oftentimes mocking. Clem never asked for his opinion on Riggs, but she felt she could fill it in like a Mad Lib. And she couldn’t imagine her dad thought highly of a boy who worked at Hometown Hotdogs and toted discourtesy like a badge of honor. Said boy’s next words nearly made her eye twitch. She turned to him. “Let’s make one thing clear, Riggs, you are not doing me any favors here. You never do and I doubt you ever will. And there’s near nothing Christian about the way you go about your days.”

As he laughed, Clem lifted the last bit of the stick as if to whack his arm, then thought better of it. She opened her fist mid-air and let it fall to the old wooden decking with a dull clatter. She smiled thinly, then turned to test the back door knob. It was unlocked. She was a little disappointed. Clem had fantasized briefly about making him stand in wait while she rounded back to the front door and took her time getting his jacket and well away from him. The door creaked as she opened it and entered the kitchen. A lukewarm pot of tea still sat forgotten on the center of the table; two cups left dirty and half-drunk beside it. She’s usually really cool. Yeah, because that was the problem, Clem thought. Alex hadn’t been cool enough for such a hilarious joke. She put a hand out toward Riggs before he could step in after her, giving him a solid nudge to the chest to keep him out on the porch. “That’s the thing about a joke, Riggs. Usually they’re meant to be funny. And from what I heard, yours ran more along the lines of a sleazy lie.” She felt her face warm as she mentally repeated the words Alex had told her. Belatedly, her voice lowered to an angry hush: “What made you think it was okay to talk about me like that?” 

-

“Yeah, it says I’m fun and you’re not.” The retort fell out of Riggs easily. He could do this all day. Go back and forth with Fontaine. If she didn’t react in that quintessentially ‘Clem’ way she did, he wouldn’t have any interest in keeping up with it. But without fail, each and every time, Clem grumbled or denied or huffed. It was far too amusing to Riggs for him to even consider stopping. 

Clem whipping around to face him sent Riggs halting to a stop. His brows jumped up his forehead at the unexpected motion, figuring he had far more to go before he got Fontaine to snap. She seemed close though. The sight of that stick going up then dropping delighted him more than he cared to admit. His wry smirk widened into a proper grin. “Aw, you care about me. Couldn’t hurt me if you tried.” He just had to rub it in as Clem turned to open the backdoor.

Just as he was about to step in after her, Clem’s hand met his chest, stopping Riggs in his tracks.  A joke was on the tip of his tongue about her being inhospitable and what her Momma would say about it, but then, just like Auden a damn near week ago, Clem scolded him for his humor. God, what was it with these girls? Was being bad at taking a joke a prerequisite for their little friend group? He let out a bit of an exasperated noise. “It was funny,” he insisted plainly. “You wouldn’t know what that was if it bit you in the face like one of those giant mosquitos out by the Devil’s Mouth.”

What made you think it was okay to talk about me like that? The question nearly had Riggs’s eyes rolling to the back of his head. “Relax, Fontaine. As much as you think you are, you’re not special. I talk about everyone and anyone in whichever way I please. I’m equal opportunity like that. You just happened to be the name on my tongue because I know you, Auden and Collier used to be tight back in the day. Whatever happened to you guys anyway? One of those sleepovers y’all never invite me to finally went wrong? Hair braiding disaster that none of you could get over? Did a pair of scissors have to be brought out? Was it Alex? Would explain her hair.”

.

Clem continued down the side yard. A short walk, for which she was grateful, as she batted a bug away from her face—some mayfly or mosquito obnoxiously buzzing around. The air was hot and sticky. It was another thing for her to hold against Riggs: dragging her away from where she had just been lying prone on her bedroom floor in front of a standing fan she’d directed to point right down at her. Windows open, a Belle and Sebastian tape playing quietly over the stereo, she had the silly thought that her day would be a quiet one. Oh. Uh, cool? I guess. His dismissive non-interest irked her, that something that bothered her so much wasn’t even what would first come to his mind made her neck flush in frustration. “Drinks, pranks, stupid shit…” she repeated back flatly. “I’m an adult, so no thanks. Aren’t you a little old for at least two out of three of those things?” She pointed the end of one of the twig-halves toward him. “And I’m not jealous.” She dropped it again, then tossed it aside entirely. “Jeez Louise.”

Rounding into the backyard, Clem stopped short for a moment. The clotheslines were empty. She had thrown Riggs’ jacket in with the rest of her laundry yesterday without really thinking of it. Now, she thought he didn’t deserve even that consideration. A guy who ran his mouth like he did shouldn’t be allowed to smell like her Ultra Downy fabric softener. But her mom had come out that morning to take down her own things and fold them out on the small back porch. Usually she’d just nudge them through the door after, where Clem’s dad would eventually pick them up and take them upstairs. Maybe she folded Clem’s things too. Clem didn’t want Riggs in her kitchen. She snapped the other half of the twig, then looked over at him. “And I wouldn’t count on Alex wanting to do any of those things with you going forward anyhow. From what she told me, she left you in the lurch during the Solstice. After you… what was it?” She pretended to think. But Clem wasn’t an actor, and never would be, so the charade came to a quick end. “Right. After you let it all hang out in front of God and everybody. Real classy.” She tapped the end of the stick against her opposite palm a few times as she approached the back door. “You remember anything else about that night?”

-

“Ain’t no age limit to fun,” Riggs stated with a shrug. “You know who says shit like that? Boring people. Old husks with no soul. That what you are, Fontaine? Soulless husk?” He would argue that she did have the eyes for it. Large and sunken. Like a cartoon skeleton with the skin still fitted on. The unspoken thought made Riggs’s mouth twitch, lips curling into an amused smirk as he followed her around the Fontaine property. Into the backyard, where the clothesline was but where his jacket wasn’t. “You leadin’ us on a wild goose chase to spend more time with me, Fontaine? If that’s what you wanted, you coulda just asked, you know. I was raised on them good Christian values. Thou shall spendeth time with those less fortunate and all that.”

A barking laugh left Riggs when Clem reminded him of how he spent the night of Solstice. Clearly he didn’t find it as unamusing as she did. In fact, Riggs found it hilarious. “It was a dare,” Riggs explained easily once he got a hold of his laughter, hand pressed to his middle. “Loser had to go butt-naked in the creek. I’m a man of my word.” At Clem’s question, Riggs gave it a moment’s thought. Did he remember anything else about that night? He did recall Auden leaving in a huff, abandoning him with a perfectly good bottle. A bottle they worked hard for. Or rather, she did. Why was it that she left again? "Oh yeah,” Riggs said when it occurred to him just why Auden left in a hissy. “Auden left all upset. Couldn’t take some jokes I made about you and Collier. Surprised me actually. She’s usually really cool.”

.

Clem’s brows pulled together as she frowned. What the hell was he talking about? She dropped her arms to her sides, sock-clad and grouchy in the grass. You probably sleep with it. And hold it real close at night… A beat passed and then it dawned on her. She scoffed over his next words. “Please, as if I didn’t take that foul thing off as soon as possible. It reeked of hot dog water and French fries,” she said, though that wasn’t strictly true. For one, it didn’t smell all that bad—or at least not enough for her to notice when she was drenched in dirty water herself. Secondly, she had been drunk and cold and did, in fact, fall asleep in the jacket atop her old quilt-covered bed. It was by no means on purpose, but she still wasn’t going to tell him any of that. Clem pressed her lips together, then exhaled noisily. “Whatever. Follow me,” she ordered, and started on a trek that took her around the front of the house. As she walked, she noticed a twig had fallen from one of the birches and picked it up. Just to have something to occupy her. “Y’know, you’ll never guess who I got to talking to at the Jump,” she started again, holding the twig with her two hands. Clem didn’t give him time to make any guesses. “Alex Auden.” She brushed her thumbs against the familiar bark, then snapped the twig in half. “Didn’t know the pair of you’d been hitting it off, chit-chatting here and there.”

-

“And you’re telling me you hate the smell of French fries? It’s one of the top three smells in the world. Everyone loves French fries.” Riggs countered back quickly. Clem’s words didn’t faze him. He took good care of that jacket. He knew it didn’t smell like that. And if it did, then surely it was only faintly and probably because of all of those times he shrugged it on right after working a shift. With a soft shake of his head, he followed after Miss Huffy McHuffpants, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Least he was finally going inside. Then he could ask for some juice. With extra ice cubes, his brain thought to remind him.  Y’know, you’ll never guess who I got to talking to at the Jump. Riggs opened his mouth, about to give an answer before Clem beat him to it. Alex Auden. He blinked. Okay? Was that supposed to surprise him or something? The sound of the twig in Clem’s grip snapping in half did more to pull a reaction out of Riggs, making a brow of his quirk upward. “Oh. Uh, cool? I guess.” Did she expect him to cream himself over that information? Because it wasn’t all that exciting, no offense. Whatever got Clem all bushy tailed weren’t the same things that got him all sparky. “Yeah, we kick it back now and again,” he revealed to Clem with a shrug of his shoulder. “Drinks, pranks, stupid shit like that. You jealous me and your ol’ girlie are hangin’ out? Ain’t nothing to be green over, Fontaine. You can join us if you want to. I’d love to see you knock back a jar of Homeless Bob’s special moonshine. Stuff is lethal. It’ll have you coughin’ up a lung and forgetting your middle name.”

.

Clem snorted as he listed things off, rolling her eyes up and away. Annoying annoying annoying, she thought on repeat, her jaw clenched. Her gaze caught on one of the windchimes hung from the porch. A circle woven from brush and twigs, with five bells hung at different lengths. It rang dulcetly in the breeze, alongside the others that littered the perimeter of the Fontaine family home. Kept the haints away, but let Riggs Rigsby walk right on up to her front door. “Yeah, Riggs, I’m really not having it today,” Clem answered, arms still crossed as she side-stepped around him and toward the few steps that led back down onto the grass. Her shoulder mildly bumped into his arm as she went, done on purpose, though the gesture didn’t bring her any real satisfaction. It mostly made her feel silly. And it wasn’t until her foot came down onto the stone path did she realize she’d gone down with just socks on. Annoying annoying annoying. Looking back over at him, she continued: “If you rack your brain real hard, do you think you’d be able to put together why that’d be? Not that I’m holding my breath over here.”

-

Feeling Clem’s shoulder bump into his, Riggs made an amused face. Was that–? Was that Clem trying to be aggressive towards him or something? If anything, all it did was tease a chuckle out of his thraot. Well, okaaaaay then. Riggs let out a low whistle, shaking his head lightly as he turned around and moved to stand beside Clem. If you rack your brain real hard, do you think you’d be able to put together why that’d be? Not that I’m holding my breath over here. Riggs scoffed a little, lips taking on a delighted shape as he brought a hand up to the back of his neck and rubbed. “Look, I know...” He started, pushing out a sigh. “The frustration, the anxiety. I get it.” He looked over at Clem, knowing she must have been really confused about whatever the fuck he was going on about. But that only fueled his fire, kept him in the direction he started in. “You probably sleep with it. And hold it real close at night... Probably means more to you than your entire left arm, but...” A dramatic beat passed. “I’m gonna need my jacket back.” 

.

Clem looked down at the untidy flowers—brow furrowed momentarily in sheer skepticism—then looked back up at Riggs with an unimpressed looked. She didn’t take them. His smile promised trouble. You sure you don’t wanna let me in? Neighbors might get awfully curious seeing you and me talking out here. To the left lived her Aunt Betty, to the right were the Whithams. Further down the road, more cousins and aunts and uncles. Across the street, the McGuire’s and the Burroughs. They’d all known Clem since she was a baby, and they’d all have something to say to her about standing out on her front porch with a young man for a period of time that took longer than a quick exchange. None of which she cared to hear, most of which wouldn’t bother her—though maybe it would, given who the young man was. Stubbornly, she told herself no, she didn’t care. She set her jaw and stepped out onto the porch, quietly closing the door behind her. “In case you forgot already, we run a business out of here, I’m sure they wouldn’t bat much of an eye, so don’t go worrying on my behalf,” she said, her tone conveying she knew he didn’t actually. She’d be shocked if Riggs worried on anyone’s behalf at this point. “We can talk out here long as we want.” Though she hoped it wouldn’t take very long at all. She knew she was usually short with him; reflexively on the defense, waiting for the next rude or gross thing he’d say. But she also knew she was even pricklier than usual. Her arms crossed, her expression set even as her face warmed with displeasure. Clem never wanted to lead with animosity, not without provocation, but here she was. Provoked enough already, she reasoned. “What could you possibly want, Riggs?”

-

Someone was determined to not let him inside to get some juice. It was sweltering out here. No matter, Riggs supposed talking out here was fine too. It wasn’t like he was actually here for juice. Though, it would have been nice. “Well, I want a lot of things. The new Les Paul, one of them cars where the headlights are hidden until you pop ‘em out... Also saw an ad for one of them memory foam mattresses too. Wouldn’t mind one of those.” But that’s not really what Clem meant. He knew that. He just wanted to waste her time. Like he always did. “Also some juice wouldn’t hurt,” he added. “With extra ice cubes...” A final poke to the bear to see if it’d make Clem rip her hair out. He stared at her for a long moment to see if she’d offer him beverage then before he shaped his lips into an uneven tilt and spoke. “You really not havin’ it today, huh?” Maybe it was her time of the month. Probably why she was so prickly. 

-

“right. do you hold back on stealing and talking to strangers much, then? you break those rules just for me? don’t go saying i’m the bad influence,” alex waves a lazy hand, rolling her eyes. mostly, she’s teasing, and anyways, nobody’s really a stranger in a town like this, unless they’re an out of towner. but the stealing part is pretty undeniable, not that alex didn’t partake. “sixteen?” she huffs out a breath. “might be getting a bit old to be playing pranks on these kids, riggs. sooner or later, it’s gonna get a little creepy,” she says. she cringes at his description; “jesus. thanks for the fucking visual, dude.” the the mention of punishment, alex shrugs, scoffs. “well, if he’s not punishing me, fucking God must be, ‘cause my car wouldn’t start this morning,” she complains. well, God has plenty of reasons to punish alex, not just her fucking summer solstice activities. “you don’t happen to have a getaway car on you, do you?” she says, maybe against her better judgement. what’s worse? spending more time with this asshole, or walking to work at like 6 am? well… jury’s still out. 

-

“I’ve got an old-fashioned getaway car.” Riggs pointed down at his feet, shoved into worn boots that have walked more miles than a car considering how long he’s had them. “Call it confidence or a character flaw, but I didn’t think I’d run into much trouble. I’m a smooth operator like that.” He smirked, figuring the best way to keep Alex from asking questions was to be his usual annoying self. “But uh, that’s some shit luck you got there. You plan on takin’ it to Reid’s garage? Sure that Kobayashi could do somethin’ about it. Heaps of junk always come out sputtering back to life from there. Sure your car can too.”

-

Theo laughed and waved him off. “Nah, maybe later. I’m tryin’ t’ get my drink on right now and maybe find somethin’ to smoke.” Though there might be one too many snitches around. Then again, if they snitched they would have to admit they were at the jump in the first place and that was a major taboo. They finished off the rest of the can in their hand and let out a triumphant belch to follow the accomplishment. Theo picked up the second one they’d nabbed, because if you’re going to nab a beer you should always nab two. “Why thank you, my dude.” She grinned and took a drink from her freshly opened can. “Mmm,” she nodded while she swallowed. “Yeah, yeah. I’m finishin’ bringin’ the mess of my stuff over tomorrow.” It had taken two weeks, but she finally broke the news to her father on one of his rare moments at home. “Maybe Alec will be down to throw a rager once we’re settled. He still has to get used to me, he might want to throw me out next week.” Though they’d already been getting along really well, she was excited to start this new chapter. There hadn’t been a lot to be excited for in a long time. At least not for Theo.

-

Nah, maybe later. I’m tryin’ t’ get my drink on right now and maybe find somethin’ to smoke. Riggs glanced at Theo for a beat longer than usual at that. He always wondered how that worked. You know, since she went off and did a stint at rehab. He always thought it meant barring off all things drugs but he guessed he was wrong. “Well, your roomie’s probably the best person for that,” he told her anyway. Chance usually had something on him. And if he didn’t, he’d probably have something back at his place. Dude was hospitable like that. “Nah, Chance is cool. He’ll like you. You’re chill. Known ‘im for... I don’t know, three years probably, and he ain’t ever been uncool for a second. Y’all will get along. Trust.” The words of assurance surprised even Riggs himself, making him go quiet for a lengthy beat before he spoke up again. “He’ll probably be into it. A rager,” he clarified. “If he ain’t, tell me. I’m sure I could warm him up to the idea.” Riggs waggled his brows. The insinuation of his words pulled a laugh out of him before he took a long swig of his beer. 

-

honestly, riggs wasn’t so far from succeeding, because the story that he cooked up was ridiculous enough that alex believed it. like, okay, yeah: sounds like some stupid shit riggs would go ahead and pull. sounds realistic enough. still, she raised en eyebrow slowly, glanced over to the school, then drew her eyes back to riggs. “jesus christ, riggs, anybody ever tell you not to go around getting into feuds with high school kids?” she mumbled, relatively unimpressed. she hated bratty fucking teenagers as much as anyone else, but stooping to their level required a certain immaturity (and stamina, evidently, since riggs was up before the ass crack of dawn) that alex just did not possess. “how old’s this kid? like fifteen?” she said, ribbing him a little. in all likelihood, if there was a single camera lining the halls of the local high school, it wasn’t in working condition, so it’s not like riggs ran some great risk of being caught. just, the whole thing made him sound like a little bit of a dumbass, honestly. 

-

Jesus Christ, Riggs, anybody ever tell you not to go around getting into feuds with high school kids? Riggs could have heaved a breath of relief. Alex bought it. And thank fuck she did. Though Riggs wondered briefly what that said about him if the story was so believable... Whatever. She believed it. That’s all that mattered. “Well, sorry, my aunt and uncle were too busy telling me not to steal and not to talk to strangers and crap like that.” It was true. Did Riggs ever heed their advice? No. But that wasn’t the point. “He could be sixteen,” Riggs put forward, happy to feed into his fib. “Fucker’s huge. Got a big head. Probably ripped his momma apart shootin’ out of her.” Honestly, it was a little ridiculous how committed he was to hating Radley Beaufort now that he’s mentioned him by name but Riggs would argue that he didn’t say a thing that was untrue. The kid was huge. And a real messy eater too. Always dropping toppings all over the floor whenever he bit into a ‘dog. “I’m teachin’ him a lesson. See how he likes cleanin’ up messes...” He shook his head. With that out of the way, Riggs felt like he could relax a lot more. “So... morning shift, huh? Think Steve’s punishin’ you for blue ballin’ him at the Solstice?

—

         “It ain’t hard to see why they an’ everyone else came out here,” he replied, eyes on the next person in line that was about to take the same plunge as the ones before them. “I’m wondering more about the ones that didn’t take the plunge like what’s holding them back?” Though he knew that none of the tasks would be like this one, history showed them that much as he shrugged his shoulders at trying to put a name to the most out of place one that he could name for jumping off the cliff. “Not sure, maybe Newman?” Though he could have easily named either one of them as his most surprised above himself, since he hadn’t a plan or a clue that he was going to take the leap until he was practically at the water’s edge and looking every bit like a drowned rat with everyone else that’d gone before him. Banks hadn’t planned to come out there and believe wholly that it was real or that it was more than a prank, but now he was in the same boat as them. “Though I doubt that’s the last surprise we’re gonna see tonight. There’s bound to be a few more that’re gonna take the leap.”

-

Riggs couldn’t comprehend Banks’ concern over the non-Jumpers. Why give a shit? It was less people for them to worry about. They didn’t need more people bringing their chances of winning down. At least Riggs didn’t need ‘em. Hell, didn’t want ‘em either. “Probably ain’t that deep. Some people got balls, some people don’t. Better for us in the long run. We already got, what? Like 15? 16 people to compete with? More than enough if you ask me.” Riggs wasn’t all that good at math but even he knew that the higher the player count went, the lower his chances of winning went too. “If anything, we gotta bank on more people being scared shitless. Leaves more room for the real players like us who’re gonna give each other a run for their money.” Banks was probably going to be a problem for him down the line. But that was something for Future Riggs to be concerned about. Right now, they were just two guys talkin’. “Newman? Yeah, that was pretty out there... I’m surprised her daddy hasn’t turned up yet to yank her back home by the ear.” He chuckled. Though I doubt that’s the last surprise we’re gonna see tonight. There’s bound to be a few more that’re gonna take the leap. Riggs gave it some thought, turning his head toward the Tooth to see who was up next for the Jump. “Yeah... Probably a coupla more surprises... You know, I think I’d shit myself if I saw Mira Rose Ishii up there next. What about you?”

**

it seemed for a moment, while studying his features to figure out how serious he was aka how badly she would have to kick his ass, that his face changed, the sardonic mask broken for a moment? “fuckin’ right about that.” she confirmed but was willing to ease off when she heard his reasoning. her birthday? her stance shifted to the other foot for a moment, being the caretaker in her family, the mature child of an immature parent, she was usually on the other side of presents and the thought of someone getting her something? and being worried it was shit? it was an annoying reminder of how foreign that was to her. also that she didn’t even remember his birthday. “no, don’t be lame, just split a six pack with me or somethin’.” she said, hoping her less critical eyes were enough to get them back to their regular dynamic. “fine, inventory’s all yours. when’s your birthday anyway? am i a dick for not knowin’?”

-

“A six pack? S’all you want?” Riggs pushed his bottom lip out in approval of the choice. “Alright. Done deal.” He nodded. A small price to pay to keep his secret under wraps longer. It’s not like Maeve asked for an arm and a leg. ‘sides, it’s not like it wouldn’t be something he wouldn’t get on his own. At least now he’d have company next time he wanted a drink. With the inventory thing settled and out of the way, Riggs felt the tension leave his body, wiping down the counter with his shoulders feeling a lot less taut. “My birthday?” He smirked. “Nah, you ain’t a dick. It’s the 31st. October.” Lies about the date of his birth left his lips the easiest. He didn’t like people knowing his birthday. It was just... a thing. It was more fun having a lot of birthdays scattered throughout the year anyway. “You gonna split a six pack with me then? It could be our new thing. Servin’ ‘dogs, splittin’ six packs. Maybe we could leave a bag of lit-up dog shit in front of Jason’s too. Get real festive.”

.

Clem didn’t think much about when and where she’d see Riggs next. When the thought did cross her mind—and perhaps it was out of self-preservation—she didn’t imagine it’d be at her doorstep. She curled her fingers around the side of the door, which was the only thing that kept her from slamming it back shut when she saw him. She tried to keep her face impassive to no avail, her features tense in irritation. Clem thought again about what Alex told her. Her grip tightened. “What’re you doing here?” she asked bluntly, then quickly glanced over her shoulder and into the house. Her dad was in the living room taking a nap on the couch after complaints of a headache. Her mom was out with her sisters. One of Clem’s aunts planned a manifestation ritual for a promotion at work during the New Moon in a few days, which meant seed-collecting was in order. When she turned back, she lowered her voice. She didn’t want to bother her dad. “Mamma’s not home, so if you’re looking for a reading you’re out of luck.” She smiled in a short-lived way that would’ve communicated regret over the tenor of events if she actually felt at all sorry. Which she didn’t, so it was both performative and bland. “Shame.” She gestured toward a patch of lawn behind him, shaded by an old black cherry tree. “Now don’t go trampling over there when you leave. We just laid down some grass seed.”

-

Riggs made a face at Clem’s tactless greeting. “Well, that’s one way to greet a guest...” He said, voice thick with sarcasm as he eyed her. Already in such a fowl mood and he’s barely been in her presence 5 minutes. A feat to be celebrated at a later time but for the moment, it was confusing. He tried some humor to lighten things up. “No: my, Riggs, what a surprise?” He suggested after staring at Clem a beat. “It sure must be hot outside?” He tried again, raising a brow. “Would you like to come in for some juice?” A final attempt at coaxing her to warm up at him but nothing came of it. “...No? ” Then he shrugged. “Well, fine by me.” He wasn’t all that fussy about how niceties anyway. Mamma’s not home. Followed by something about grass seed that had Riggs looking over his shoulder toward a tree on Clem’s yard before he turned back around to face her. Well, someone wanted to get rid of him. Clem should have considered being more coy about her distaste for his presence right now because all it did was make Riggs want to find reasons to stick around if it irritated her so much. Instead of leaving as one would expect after that whole don’t go trampling over there when you leave business, Riggs simply held the bundle of flowers he’d stolen from Mrs. O’Heare’s yard toward Clem. “Here you go. Shocked as you might be to hear this but I ain’t here to see Sylvia... M’here to see you,” he revealed, lips curling up at the corners in a manner one could only describe as devious. “You sure you don’t wanna let me in? Neighbors might get awfully curious seeing you and me talking out here.”

despite how much she really didn’t enjoy her job at Hometown Hotdogs, there were two things that made it bearable, one of course, was the money, which was more of a necessity than an actual perk. the second, was Riggs and the fact that they both got along so well, smartasses stuck dodging questions what’s actually in the hot dog meat or whatever. she knew this wasn’t either of their dream, which is part of why being a team member in this mattered so much. “you mean you’d rather inhale toxic rat shit?” she asked, eying him suspiciously. sure they helped each other, but that’s not what this felt like, not completely. “why?” she had a hand on her hip as the other rested on the counter while she leaned against it, until she could figure out what his whole…whatever was.

“this isn’t some fuckin’ women can’t count sexism is it? cause that shit won’t fly with me.” she said a little more abrupt, but the sexist voice of Bernie Colmer unfortunately had not totally died with him and she was ready for more of the same. 

-

Why? Riggs made a face, like he didn’t expect her to ask that. “This is a weird way of sayin’ ‘thanks for doing the boring part of the job for me’,” he joked. Then Maeve went on. This isn’t some fuckin’ women can’t count sexism is it? Cause that shit won’t fly with me. Riggs chuckled, and his lips eased into a smile before he spoke again. “Trust you me, last thing I wanna do is underestimate you.” Riggs thanked his lucky stars every day they worked together that Maeve wasn’t anything like her daddy. Being raised by Bernie, he figured she knew how to dish some damage if she really wanted. “I know you can count,” he assured her. “I just...” Wanted to do it just ‘cause? No, that was suspicious. Riggs tried to think up another explanation for his ‘altruism’. “–wanted to do somethin’ nice for ya ‘cause I got you a shit present for your birthday a coupla months ago.” Boom. There it was. A solid excuse. Back in April, he had found out it was Maeve’s birthday the day of at work after Jason had made some dumb comment about her clock tickin’ away. Riggs had given her a stray stick of gum from jacket pocket then because it was all he had on him and said he owed her something better in the future. This was the future wasn’t it? Wham bam thank you ma’am, look how all that turned out. “That alright?” He asked.

-

it should probably be noted that alex didn’t actually care all that much about riggs, or his activities, basically anything he was doing in his downtime. she wasn’t, like, deeply invested in how he spent his time, and she was certainly no fucking detective. she was just passively curious as he’d ended up in front of her, so it made sense to ask. of course, the way he’s holding his trash bag like he doesn’t want her to see it is kind of suspicious - if it comes out that he’s a murderer or something later on, and she realizes it’s someone’s head that was in that bag, she’ll only be mildly surprised. “oh, sure, send me a fuckin’ telegram,” alex waves him off with a roll of her eyes. “i’m going to work. my job,” she tells him, gesturing widely around her. you know, a perfectly normal place to be heading in the early morning - unlike riggs’ unusual departure from the local high school, which he hasn’t actually attended for years. “what are you doing? actually?”

-

“Right, right...” Work. Alex’s job. That made sense. Unfortunately for Riggs, it didn’t quite give him much to work off of. Going to work was normal, everyday activity. Sneaking a shower at his old high school was not. He was just going to have to play this by ear. Besides, this was Alex. It wasn’t like she cared all that much about what Riggs was doin’ with his life. In fact, if he was lucky enough, seeing as it was so early, he could probably just annoy her away without giving a proper answer. “You really wanna know?” He asked. “Like whole truth, nothin’ but the truth wanna know?” It was far too early for him to be using his brain. He was stalling, trying to think up a reason that was either so boring or so ridiculous that Alex would just drop her line of questioning altogether. Come on, come on, he thought to himself. “I’m... getting something,” he started. “For.... a friend.” Did Riggs have friends? That wasn’t believable. He tried again, “Okay, I pulled some stupid shit, alright?” A beat. He pushed out a sigh, like he didn’t want to admit that. “That asshole Beaufort kid was bein’ a real dick at Hometown yesterday so I broke into his locker and filled it with shaving cream. So just – keep it between us, will you?”

Knock, knock, knock. Three quick raps to the door and Riggs let his hand drop down to his side. The Fontaines were in for a little treat. One in the form of Riggs Rigsby – Clem’s least favorite person in the world. Trust Riggs, it wasn’t like he wanted to see Fontaine so quickly after seeing her just the day before. But she had his jacket and it wasn’t like he had a whole lot of clothes to choose from as of late. This was a necessary visit. But regardless of this being a trip of ‘business’, he knew how to show up to a lady’s house. Riggs wore a shirt that didn’t have a faded mustard stain on it and he even plucked some flowers off of Mrs. O’Heare’s bushes on his way over here to make a simple little bouquet. You know, to come bearing gifts and all. The first being his presence. But he imagined the flowers would be a nice afterthought.

When the door opened, Riggs smiled at the person behind it and did a little curtsy. To think, his uncle once called him a mannerless delinquent. Who’s the mannerless delinquent now, Uncle Pete? “Hello, hello. Top of the...” Riggs didn’t own a watch so instead, he looked at the sky for a moment and took shot in the dark. “...afternoon to you.”