Rogue Wilder

Her shoulder rose and fell slightly. “I don’t really have a fixed address,” she clarified then, not wanting to go into depth with all of that. It was complicated enough trying to navigate her own emotions without putting another person’s two sense into that.

“Ah, I see. You live in your van,” Tommy gave an exaggerated nod of understanding. It really didn’t matter whether it was true or not - it seemed like the kind of assumption someone would correct either way. “That’s cool. I get it - did it a while myself, actually. Your hygiene’s much better than mine was, though. Let me guess - you got a gym membership to 24 hour fitness?” 

“My true sexual awakening.” He teased. “Now that’s what I need !! But knowing drunk me, I’d get the one tattoo I actually wanted removed and the drunken pepper pig I got instead.”

“Peppa Pig? Really?” Tommy laughed. “Alright, come on - show me it now. You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.” 

Adam couldn’t help but laugh at the man’s praise, a grin touching their lips. “Surprise?” they said, taking a seat at the bar and waiting for Tommy to join them. “Thanks.” They sipped the sweet drink as it was put in front of them, humming. “What do you usually get when you’re here? I’m guessing something harder than a cocktail.”

“Well I’m flattered, my dude, but I am most certainly a cocktail guy,” Tommy smiled. He’d never quite understood the mentality that cocktails were girly - in his estimation, cocktails were a hell of a lot tastier than beer or straight spirits, and he was secure enough in his masculinity to favor taste over style. “Pina Coladas are my favorite. I like the little umbrellas.” 

@tommy-wilder :

Bil had just said her goodbyes to the other hen’s party women. Wearing a ridiculously low cut blouse a baby pink colour which all the hens wore in different colours. Her jacket on her body to protect herself from the cold breeze blowing through the street. She had finally finished the detailed the bride wanted on her dress that morning which meant she stayed up all night doing so she wasn’t in the party mood. Leaving early even for her standards, walking the opposite way to the hens.

Being a block away from the others, she could still hear them laughing a smile curling on her own lips at the sound. Bil stopped at a light post, placing her hand on the post to hold herself up as she bent down to set her gift on the ground below her a lovely bottle of Tequila. Her hand tugging her heels off one by one. 

Sybil then continued down the dirty pavement, shoes hooked on her bag and her alcohol tied with ribbon in her left hand. Brown eyes watching the ground under her bare feet, making sure no glass is anywhere near them. She was so engrossed in looking at the pavement, she walks straight into someone’s chest. “Oh, Jesus, I’m so sor-” she started to say when she looked up at the face,  whom the chest belonged to. She looked as if she seen a ghost, well to her he was a ghost. “Tommy?”

Tommy had gotten out the second he heard moans. His mom and Frank were now approaching their one year anniversary, and much to Tommy’s chagrin, they still had not vacated the Honeymoon stage. It was disgusting, and probably unhealthy, and Tommy was definitely printing out pamphlets tomorrow about heart disease and the perils of overexertion during sex. 

He wanted to get Frank 2 to come out with him on a walk - the kitten was putting on weight in a way that had to be alarming - but the fat lard had never reacted well to a leash, and this was the kind of dire situation where any comrade that fell behind got left behind. As such, he was left to wander the street alone, headphones in, barely paying attention to where he was going until he bumped into someone. 

At first, all he saw was the shock of red, but when he pulled out his earbuds, the voice was unmistakeable. Shit. “Bil? What, uh, what are you doing here?” 

“Why did you pretend to be the manager?” he asked, because of course he would, whether or not Tommy was telling him the truth. He wasn’t, more often than not, but that didn’t matter to Casey. Once the inquiry was made as to what had gotten him kicked out of the store, and any person with the ability to observe would, he shook his head and raise his shoulders as he spoke, “Nothing, I didn’t do anything,” before quickly dropping them. “I just… opened this box of paint because I wanted to see how it would feel like on my finger and how pigmented the colors were, but then they said I wasn’t supposed to do that, but they didn’t say it before I opened it. So I don’t think it’s my fault.”

“Eh, I dunno. Just seemed like fun,” he shrugged in response to Casey’s question. In truth, there often wasn’t a reason behind most of Tommy’s actions; he tended to be one of those ‘act first, think never’ type people. He listened patiently to Casey’s explanation, chuckling slightly at the end of it. “Dude, my advice to you - and this pretty much carries across everything - is don’t finger anything without getting permission first...”  

Special delivery for; @tommy-wilder.

         Skye should’ve probably known better than to walk around town with her eyes glued to her phone, not really paying a lot of attention to everyone around her, nor the traffic— normally she knew how to do it with her attention split, but a long, ridiculous e-mail from her boss had her momentarily forgetting what she was doing, swallowing her up in frustration that nearly spilled out of her when she smacked right into someone else who might not have been paying attention either. “Dude, what the f—” She stepped back, holding up her coffee as if she was scared it was gonna spill despite of the secured lid, her eyes focused on none other than Tommy Wilder. Tommy Wilder from high school. “Oh… hey,” she said, dialling back. “I’m sorry about that.”

Tommy didn’t mind being the stereotypical millennial walking around with his nose stuck in his phone. It was technically kinda-sorta his job to do so, and all the old people who might see fit to complain had a ruined economy to answer for, so he was going to square this one as equal. And he was pretty adept at navigating around without looking, in a very ‘Provincial Town Belle’ kind of way - not that he was saying he was any kind of Disney Princess. 

Because a Disney Princess probably wouldn’t have run smack into someone else. “Woah,” he exclaimed, looking up from his phone to see... Skye.  As in the first girl to ever break his heart. “Uh, hi,” he replied, for once actually feeling the awkwardness of the situation. High school was ages ago, but teenage heartbreak never really leaves you. “It’s- I mean, my bad, too... Millennials, right? Can’t get off our damn phones?” 

“Why did you get banned? Were you secretly stealing dresses or something?”

“The only thing I’m guilty of is trying to bring women happiness on their special day,” Tommy said obstinately, though he knew it was slightly more complicated than that. “Why are we doing this anyway?” 

“I was thinking you were going to say to get some insane place pierced but yeah that would be a wild thing to wake up hungover and see you’ve done to yourself. It’s a shame a rabbi did that to me a long time ago.”

“Oooh, third base with a Rabbi... Kinky!” Tommy teased with a smirk. “What about drunk tattoo removal? Wake up with one missing? That’d be pretty weird...” 

Adam snorted softly. They weren’t some yokel or some idiot who didn’t know that he was talking about a cocktail. “I like it better with orange juice than pineapple juice.”

He’d hoped Adam might choke on their own air, but he had to admit that their answer was a hell of a lot more impressive. “Look at you, Shrinking Violet!” Tommy cooed, making his way up to the bar. “Two Sex on the Beaches for me and my friend here,” he called out to the bartender. “Orange juice - not pineapple...” 

“Really? What kind of other things wouldn’t they say?” Alice said with a scrunch of her nose, not too sure if she wanted to know. “I don’t live anywhere, technically.” Alice said with a shake of her head. “I mean, I do, but not really.” After all, could someone call a motel room a home.

“You do, but not really,” Tommy repeated skeptically, ignoring her question in favor of the far more interested one. “Look at you, all Girl of Mystery... What does that mean - ‘you do, but not really’?” 

“I didn’t even think about that. I have no idea what insane permanent decision my mind will think up when I can’t get any more tattoos.”

“I mean, there are many forms of bodily mutilation,” Tommy nodded in mock seriousness. “You circumcised yet? Because I feel that could be a viable next step...” 

Adam laughed lightly as they saw the other man, shrugging. “I thought I might as well come out, since you invited me,” they said. “I wouldn’t have come out here on my own, but at least I know you already so I won’t be by myself.”

“Good man,” Tommy grinned, clapping them on the back in a friendly gesture before hooking his arm around their shoulder and leading them inside. “Tell me: how do you feel about Sex On The Beach?” he asked abruptly, hoping to startle out an answer. 

“Oh. Well, that sucks.” He was disappointed, sure, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized it wasn’t anyone else’s fault but his own. He really shouldn’t have argued with the salesclerk in the first place. Of course, knowing him, it had escalated quickly, especially once the guy threatened to call the manager, which he did. “What did you do?” He turned to Tommy, who seemed to know a thing or two about it from his own experience.

“I pretended to be the manager,” he shrugged. “It worked, too, until the actual manager showed up. I had one employee totally on my side, but unfortunately the other dude had the majority, so I got booted... That one employee, too. It was real rough for him.” He paused just for a moment, as if to pay his respects before continuing on. “What did you do?” 

Axel remained silent for a moment longer then was necessary. As if to give the impression that he was thinking hard about it, or even about to turn down the idea. But instead, he’d hold up a hand, and motioned with two fingers at the bartender. “Round for Rocky Balboa over here.” He called out.

Tommy’s grin widened, his chest puffing out victoriously. “I’ll have a glass of your finest scotch!” he called out to the bartender. He’d never actually had scotch in his life, but it sounded fancy and manly, and he was really going for something here...

                The man’s — or should he say ‘boy’s’ — defensive snipes only furthered Jason’s amusement and deepened the upturned corner’s of his mouth into a broader grin, a laugh shaking his chest, his voice’s pitch lifting a few octaves until his lilt matched that of Mickey Mouse to only further the blonde’s irritation, “Fuck off, I’ve ‘bedded’ women before, and you better watch what you say ‘cause my dad will totally beat up your dad when he comes to pick me up from school,” He was still laughing, all the way until the words ‘a hell of a lot more bank than you ever will’ left the blonde’s mouth, and Jason’s own slowly started to downturn, the slant of his brow’s with it in a narrowed gaze. The male had hit a nerve. “… Yeah, and not to mention a lot more needle marks on your forearm to call your own, Maucalay.”

Tommy, completely unaware of the sudden shift in tone, continued on as though nothing had changed. “Yeah, well Macaulay Culkin dated Mila Kuniz for years, so that just further proves my point, butthole...”  

He was barely able to get a word out when the manager escorted him out of the store, holding him by the back of his collar as well as by the sleeve of his shirt before he was shoved out of the door rather unceremoniously, followed by words mumbled in profanity and a warning to never come back. He stared at the closed door, the security guard blocking his way should he attempt to re-enter. Turning to the nearest person, he said, “He didn’t mean that, did he?” 

“Yeah, I think he did,” Tommy sighed reluctantly. “Don’t worry - they’ll forget in a week or two. I think my ‘lifetime ban’ lasted about a month...”