cool kid

"Riiiight, yeah, sure. And your level is what, rock bottom?"

Classic Randy move. His inability to take accountability would always impress (but never shock) her; even at the height of their... their whatever it was, he'd never been able to even pretend to say the word sorry. He's bad news, always has been, yet Merritt doesn't flinch when he leans forward because she knows, at the back of her mind and her heart, that she's not ready to walk away from this.

"It doesn't take a fucking cop to know you're never going to make it in music if you can't play nicely with your little band boyfriends. Talent will only get you so far with a big mouth, Randall."

She says his name like it stings. It does, a bit, especially with the way she catches his eyes drifting - especially with the way she catches herself moving closer. The two of them have never been a good idea, but that doesn't mean they don't have good chemistry.

Merritt rolls her eyes and forces herself to take a step back; not conceding, just keeping her distance. "Okay? And? Do we look like a fucking music venue? People are here to drink and smoke and have fun. Do you know what fun is, Randy? Or is your brain too full of half-baked song lyrics and shitty riffs to enjoy a party?"

he hated that she knew exactly where to press, and hated more that she was usually right. his name wasn't his favorite, no one loved being named randall. "you think i don’t know that?" he shot back, voice dropping a notch. "you think i wake up every day thrilled about being the asshole everyone remembers?" he blurted out as he shook his head. though, he did like being an asshole in most instances, just not when it came to the success of his music career. and suddenly, he was trying to be that asshole again, letting a smirk appear on his face. "what i'm hearing is that you think i'm talented."

he noticed the way she stepped closer before she caught herself, the way he even paused to think about all of the what ifs. it made his chest ache in a way he refused to name.

"yeah, i know what fun is. i just don’t fake it for rooms full of people who’ll forget tonight by morning," randy quipped, though his voice was a little quieter, "besides, don’t act like you didn’t like me like this, you didn’t sleep with me because i was easy to get along with." his gaze then dropped to her mouth for half a second before he looked away, jaw set again. "so which is it?" he asked. "you here to tell me i’m doomed, or you just missed arguing with me?"

Dark brows crumple even deeper when he tries to parse out whether it was good or bad to share with a hypothetical raccoon. "Uh, well. I mean, would you not want to share with a raccoon that smokes weed? That feels super rare, dude. I've never seen a single one of those buddies smoke a joint."

he then gave a nod as if he was almost impressed, "'ve heard of that strain," surprisingly, considering he wasn't a connoisseur. he kinda just smoked whatever was available. but sativa strains were a little more familiar for him. "i prefer sativa, anyways, but if i start reorganizing the store by vibes instead of alphabet, it's your fault." he retorted, before pausing for a moment. "uh, thanks, though. seriously."

Moosh is one of those people that Stella feels particularly protective over, even though she's pretty sure Randy's shit talking wouldn't get to him. "I don't know anyone else who sells," she lies, "And I don't think Moosh brought anything with him tonight so I guess you're SOL."

randy then shook his head, "i’m not trying to score weed. that makes it sound desperate," he was not desperate. "i’m just lookin' at my options for the night. i wouldn't have to everyone here wasn't so unbearable," he replied as he reached for a slice. "you really think that he didn't bring any with him? you're either stupid or dumb," he knew that meant the same thing, but he also knew moosh, sorta, and that didn't seem like a thing he'd do. "you tryin' to keep all the weed for yourself?"

Vodka, Diet Coke, and a single (if a little hefty) line course through Merritt's veins as she peruses the party. She hops from group to group, mingling for a few minutes with everybody like a good little host should. The social part has always been easy, and with a few party favors, bouncing around conversations and refilling snacks and keeping Moosh off the roof is no harder than breathing.

Until she sees Randy in the corner and almost chokes on an exhale.

Ugh.

Okay, so she hadn't told him not to come, but she hadn't explicitly invited him either. Merritt scowls, flipping through her mental rolodex of Bend employees as she tries to decide which one of them would've invited him, though ultimately decides it's not worth the energy. She'll just ignore his presence, pretend she never saw him at all, and keep having a fucking blast.

Except her feet start carrying her towards Randall instead of away, and Merritt knows she's not going to do any of that.

"Nice pimple," she says bluntly, her arms crossing protectively over her chest. "Is it your newest band member? Or is he ultimately going to quit because of 'creative differences' in six months like everyone else?"

he was so close to leaving unscathed, but he wasn't sure that that was what he really wanted. why did he come if he didn't want to be here? "mature." he replied as he rolled his eyes, "for the record, they don’t quit 'cause of me, they quit because they aren't on my level." that was a theme in his life, either people leaving him or him leaving them, especially when things started getting a little too real for him.

"besides," he added, leaning in just enough to make it clear he wasn’t intimidated, "i didn’t know you were the commitment police." his gaze dropped to her mouth for half a second before he pulled it back up, jaw tightening. "and fyi, i don’t get pimples," he added, "but i appreciate the desperateness." the irony was lost on him when he was the one who basically came to this thing in the first place. "also, even my trailer has better sound absorption than your basement." ooo such a sick burn.

Looks like Moosh's dealing with the downs today.

He squints up at Randy from his spot on the ground, back against the warm brick of the building. "Why? You tryin' to buy or just mooch off my stash?"

He's joking, mostly. Moosh takes a look around and then shoves his hand into his pocket, grabbing the steel cigarette case he's carried his joints in since he learned that keeping loose ones in his pocket is, like, totally going to smoosh them up.

"Only you would find a way to complain about free shit," she teases, making a show of taking a big bite out of her own slice, voice a little garbled as she talks through it, "It's good pizza. And if you're looking for pot, ask Moosh. Duh."

at the mention of moosh, he gave a nod, "yeah, i know. but asking moosh means that i'm gonna be getting like a three hour convo. and i'd even rather get bossed around by sloane than have that, y'know? "

got a question about your bestie's top six ? did you move down a spot ? move up ? just really curious why certain people made the cut ? now's the time to lock in and ask ! p.s. you can totally use this as another way to harass your co-workers either on or off anon !

It was so satisfying, how passing his cigarette seemed more like a reflex than a choice; the smile that bent over her lips was just as reflexive, the blood that seemed to pump harder through her veins. Sloane disguised her smile as a smirk, and took a drag off the cigarette.

"Drugs too," The smoke pillowed out of her mouth; she spoke around it, "Alcohol. Working 'til midnight... hanging out with guys like you. I like doing plenty of things that are bad for me."

"Well, you know I can't just throw around a Prime Day Off, Randall. People would froth at the mouth, riot in the streets - they'd call it favoritism." Sloane thought over the question with another drag of his cigarette. When she handed it back that stupid-silly-girl part of her made sure that their fingers touched for .2 seconds too long - steadying the cigarette, she could always call it. Who the hell wanted a burn? "And put in a good word to who? The Boys? (Her boyfriends' bands name) Or are you planning on using me as a reference at some other job?"

he liked to think he had more bad habits than she did, not that it was a competition. but if it was one, he'd so win. "hanging with someone like me is a good thing, i'm a good influence. you're welcome." maybe making out with people who weren't her boyfriend wasn't the best habit to have, but like, that wasn't completely his fault. "though 'm still tryin' to figure out why you hang with guys like me."

he then took a drag, letting the smoke sit in his lungs before he exhaled toward the ground, just to avoid letting her see the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "people can call it favoritism all they want, you can call it anti-favortism," he figured that was a little more digestible, cause not favoring him was part of their thing or whatever. "i’m not asking for a prime day off. just asking you to pretend you don’t see me disappear for, like… twenty minutes. or you know, not being on my ass."

"if the boys need better songs then sure, put in a good word. tell them i’m very professional and got a great bedside manner." maybe there was some sarcasm in his response, but also a bit of seriousness as well. he wasn't even sure what he'd want to do if that situation ever came to fruition. "fyi, if i was tryin' to get hired somewhere, i wouldn't use as a reference anyways," not that he'd be going anywhere anytime soon, "pretty sure you'd be a bit biased."

“Have you ever tuned in to a lecture? Most of the time it seems like the sound of your own voice is the only one you like to hear most of the time” It was hard not to notice the way that his eyes dropped down toward the ground. She shouldn’t care; what did she care if he didn’t want to meet her eye-line? Still, she had to fight the urge to try and force the contact. “Share your cigarette with me. I’ll owe you one.”

he almost instantly extended his arm towards her, holding the cigarette out for her to grab. if it was probably anyone else, he'd bark at them like a protective dog over his cig, but he was fine with giving it to sloane for some reason. at this point if she had cooties, he did too. "smoking's bad for you, just an fyi," he had seen those dumb commercials they put out targeting their age group, but it was still a successful musician staple, "what kind of owing are we talkin' about? like you'll give a prime day off or you'll put in a good word?"