how does it feel?

cindy kimberly & she/her / cis woman ‷ watch out , victoria adsuar has crash-landed into roswell !! they look twenty-six years old and celebrate their birthday on august 17th. they are from roswell, nm, reside in greystone and are currently working as a bartender at the wild pony. one thing you should know about them is during her brief stint as a model, a video of her falling off the runway went viral‷ ( pinterest )

tw; drug mention 

an uncharacteristically docile demeanour washed over fletcher , focused only on the towering ash at the end of his cigarette ; it fell in grey motes from the embers , twirling through the air , disappearing before they hit the ground . maybe victoria was right — perhaps fletcher wasn’t any better than anybody else for , at the end of the day , he still lived in roswell , and just like her he hadn’t found the means to escape — what made him so special ?? as venomous as her words were , spat from the fangs of an agitated cobra , he stayed still , smirking around the gilded filter of his smoke , his ears parrying words that he already knew all too well . they were the same words he spoke to himself at night on those restless evenings where he tossed , turned , and eventually resigned himself to tugging himself from the shroud of bed linen and making his way to the basement of the sports complex . this wasn’t success , no matter how much he redressed it ; he was the same as those ruffians at the bar , those drunkards , those old and forgotten souls that found solace nowhere other than at the bottom of a bottle . breaking himself away from the kiss of nicotine , he responded , “ you wouldn’t understand because you’re so quick to bite . look at you . i bet you’re just itching to throw a punch at my smug face right now , huh ?? “ a pause , taking the cigarette from his lips and allowing it to hang , billowing , between his index and middle finger , “ hang onto that fire and use it for something . don’t waste it on people like me . you’re right , “ a revelation he had known yet never admitted , not until now outside that shitty bar , in that shitty town , just as victoria had so ruthlessly spotlighted , “ i’m just as shitty as the rest of them , nice clothes or not , money or not . it means nothing . it’s all just decoration . “ 

“i bet you’re just itching to throw a punch at my smug face right now, huh?” her jaw tenses, teeth clenched hard enough that she can hear the blood pumping through her ears. the rage feels like coming home, numb for a little too long and suddenly remembering that she’s alive, worrying that the strength of her emotions could incinerate her from the inside out. for the moment, fury is better than nothing and a cruel, humorless smile stretches across her lips, head cocking to the side with dark eyes honing in on fletcher like a predator with her prey. but the fire turns to ash on her tongue, doused by his self-deprecation until she’s blinking up at him, suddenly confused, arguably angrier than she was before. you can’t insult someone already insulting himself, can’t kick a man when he’s down and all that. her hands ball into fists at her side, a low humming verging on a growl at the base of her throat as her eyes clench shut. then a sharp inhale. the surge of emotion is entirely too overwhelming. she wanted a fight, needed a fight, and he ripped the rug out from under her, left with adrenaline pumping through her body and nowhere to direct it. “fuck you,” she hisses without venom, swallowing down all the rest as a shaky hand comes to remove the cigarette from her lips and she shudders out a smoky breath. 

LOCATION: shocktober fest! AVAILABILITY: open, @roswellstarters​

 “FUCKIN’  HELL,  MAN.”  gael  complains  as  someone  bumps  into  his  shoulder  for  what  felt  like  the  tenth  time  in  the  last  half  hour  or  so.  all  the  yelling,  running,  food  spilling  and  crazed  kids  high  on  sugar  had  been  putting  him  on  the  worst  mood  of  his  life.  but  he  still  wanted  to  enjoy  some  goddamn  corndogs  at  the  damn  festival.  “if  someone  almost  spill  their  drink  on  me  one  more  time,  i  might  be  inclined  to  turn  this  into  a  real  horror  fest.”

between the cheap alcohol sloshing through her system and the mushrooms she’d forced down via the most disgusting peanut butter and jelly sandwich in the world, vic’s impulse control is at an all time low. she bumps into the guy again, if only for the bit. or maybe because the cheap fluffy cat ears holding her hair back make her want to swat glasses off tables and find boxes to sit in. still, she manages not to spill a drop on him, though the same can’t be said for the front of her bodysuit. “ah, fuck,” she half-groans half-laughs, sweeping the droplets off the spandex before they can absorb too much. “not my ‘sleepy hollow.’ this shit was ten bucks. that’s like, a dollar seventy-five wasted.” 

      she’s got his number right. this is exactly how jude wants to play tonight — a quick and mindless fuck against the pool table with a girl who acts like she hate his guts to remind him that he has a body.  that outside of his thoughts, he’s still real. “ wow. i’m literally just bein’ friendly, ”   jude counters, her audible little gasp doing more to unsettle him than he’ll care to admit, nails raking over the scalp beneath the patch of hair he’s cradling. he hadn’t lied when he said he’d do the dishwasher.  he was willing — more than willing — to pitch in wherever he could, but any thoughts of grabbing a shammy and disinfectant dissipate the moment her hand snakes back to paw at him through his jeans. oh shit.  “ fuck, ” has barely escaped his lips, raspy and wanton, and he’s gripping her hips, turning her in his hands to back her up against the pool table, coloured balls scattering like m&m’s.  “ i’d like to revoke my previous statement… ”  jude starts, the phantom pressure of her hand between his thighs still lingering as he splits her knees, moves to stand between her thighs. “ i’m feeling decidedly less friendly. ”  and by that, he simply means he’s d.t.f. if that wasn’t already glaringly obvious from the tent rising in his jeans. his mouth falls to her jaw, where his teeth catch against the lobe of her ear and pull, something inherently animal in the action.  “ so yeah, do your worst. love.”    vic gets it, body parts exchanged like phone numbers in the dark. she’s like him, young, directionless, with nowhere to put all that restlessness except into insatiable need. no need to overthink it.

“you weren’t being friendly,” she scoffs, annoyed at the obvious conclusion—if he hadn’t started it, then she must’ve, which is laughable in its complete inaccuracy. he knew exactly what he was doing when he’d grabbed hold of her hair. may as well have shoved his hand down her pants with the way that simple tug shifts her into gear, as he knew it would. as it always did. this isn’t their first rodeo and, if nothing else, jude is intensely proficient when it comes to understanding people’s bodies. he’s picked up a little too quickly on the things that make victoria tick, and while she often chalks it up to luck (liking your hair pulled or your neck bitten is hardly uncommon), she wonders if he might be more perceptive than he lets on. at least where pleasure’s concerned. and finding his way under her skin. 

his hands are cool against the exposed strip of skin at her hips and her back arches in a shiver that effectively pushes her closer as he closes in, cornering her against the pool table. her legs open for him as she perches against the green felt, fishing her hands through baggy sleeves to hook two fingers through his belt loops until she has enough leverage to shimmy her hips closer. “don’t worry, jude,” she rasps, winding her legs loosely around his until she’s pressed to him from the waist down, though they separate there, where she leans back on her hands to casually gaze up at him. “we’re not friends.” the words are barely out, the vaguest hint of a smirk in her eyes when he’s ducking toward her, her neck exposing itself of its own volition, though he tackles her ear instead. it surprises a gasp out of her, one hand curling around the back of his head to keep his hot breath exactly where it is, if not attempting to redirect slightly closer to her throat. “you can’t handle me at my worst,” she mumbles, grazing her teeth against his own ear before her legs are sliding higher and an arm wraps around him, pulling him down over her as she leans them back, free hand expertly swatting pool balls out of the way of their descent. “and you don’t deserve me at my best, yeah yeah yeah,” she can’t help but add aloud, deciding not to let very obvious bit go unsaid for fear of him hijacking the joke. and when her mouth finally finds his, or rather her teeth find his bottom lip, it’s with a roll of her eyes. 

Alara needed some fresh air. Being around people wasn’t something she normally liked to do but when the girls had asked her to leave and go out with them, she decided that she would surprise them all by accepting a night out on the town and letting her hair down. Now, if she were honest, she was starting to regret that a little bit. It was stuffy and the people who continued to try to talk to her were drunk. She’d been lucky she’d missed a drink flying about earlier in the night. “I don’t know.” She said honestly as she leaned against the wall. “I’m out here for fresh air because I’m exhausted. I’m not even that old but it feels like I’m seventy when it comes to this much socialization.”

"well seventy’s like, the average age of the clientele, so...” vic begins, brows betraying a hint of judgment. she can’t think of a place less socially taxing than the wild pony. every night is a well-practiced routine featuring the exact same conversations, often verbatim, with the exact same people. even the tourists that occasionally stumble in tend to follow the preordained script—’so, you ever seen an alien?’ (’nope.’), ‘wait, how far is area 51?’ (’the nightclub or the one in nevada?’) ‘do you guys sell whiteclaws?’ (‘mango or black cherry?’). manning the bar has become so second nature, she’s confident she could do it in her sleep and often ends up climbing into bed without a single defining memory from the night, though that could just be the booze. vic takes another drag. “you know, you could leave,” comes the suggestion, though it lacks any malice. she’s just not in the business of doing anything she doesn’t want to and would advise everyone live just as selfishly. 

Bre wasn’t much of a drinker, but her friend group had made the call to go to Wild Pony. They’d knocked off some of their homework that was draining their souls. But as of this morning, it had been turned in… and it was on to the next task… She smiled at the other and gave her a nod, “Particularly stressful homework. Year three didn’t come to play. I don’t think I’ve seen the outside of my school or Crashdown in like two weeks. Are you celebrating anything tonight?”

“dude, kudos to you. i can’t fucking imagine being in school right now. having homework and shit, that’s like, literally my nightmare.” the idea strikes her as exceptionally hilarious in its absurdity and her head falls back against the brick as she lets loose a laugh that’s really more of a snort. “fuck, that really sucks,” she exhales with another cloud of smoke, aimed away from the other girl. “celebrating the fact that i’m break for another—” she trails off as she pulls out her phone, screen illuminating the time brightly enough to blind her, “seven minutes. i hate football season.” 

         i’m not tipping you out. for a moment, his eyes glaze over, eyebrows knitting in the middle like flesh over an open wound, and it looks like jude might pass out.  “ wow. sorry, what ?  i heard that in nothern, like, not tipping you owt…. like you were talking about cash money tips an’ that. just had like… a mini brain aneurysm. why’s victoria from manny on the map?”  he extrapolates, feeling the need to explain his silence — not that silence is unusual for jude. her suggestion that all his other mate’s are busy draws a snort.  “ nah, jus’ wanted to see you, innit. ”  always a charmer. it’s probably the closest thing she’ll get to jude admitting that he likes her company,  “pain in the ass in more ways than one,”  rallied back like an innuendo ping-pong ball before he can consider his words. he blows hot air through his lips.  “‘pain in the ass’.   said i’d do the dishwasher, didn’t i, so what you bein’ mardy for?”   his hand pulls at a lock of her hair as victoria stalks ahead of him, and he hurries to catch up, thinking of sticking a boot out to trip her. he decides against it. “hey...”   jude’s behind her now, a fistful of her hair wrapped round his fingers while his other arm circles her waist, trailing her in a clumsy lolloping dance of trying to walk at the same time as her, pelvis to pelvis, surely detrimental to her ability to get anywhere, but instrumental in his need to be close to another body.   “ why you bein’ mardy?”

she stares at him blankly for a moment, her own brows mirroring his confusion, which only worsens with his long-winded explanation. “what? i’m saying you can help me close out if you’re dying to, but i’m not giving you any money.” her voice has an edge, doesn’t warm to him an inch, though some of the rigidity in her body eases, tension and stiffness giving way to something softer, looser. the messaging is hardly subtle, you’re welcome here but not here, can have this but not this. in that sense, jude is easy—just another way to feel good and numb for a little while, no different than a bar of xanax or bump of coke. he’s low effort and even lower risk, and about as likely to fall for her as she is for him. it’s why she’s able to relax against him as he clumsily ushers them through the door, head hitching back from the yank against his fistful of her hair with a sharp intake of breath. “is this really how you want to play tonight?” comes the taunt as her arm snakes behind her back, slithering down between them to grab him through the front of his pants. “keep running your mouth and we’ll see who’s walking out of here mardy.”

mattie needed to escape the apartment that she shared with her older brother, he was playing video games with his friends and things had started to get a little loud. she’d been wandering around roswell for a little bit, she’d stood outside the wild pony for a moment when she was greeted by victoria. mattie smiles brightly, “i was just on a crazy adventure. i needed a break” she’d not seen the other in awhile, “wanna join me or have you got work?”. 

“like, an actual crazy adventure or a crazy adventure for you?” mattie has always struck her as pretty tame and while the two were in high school at the same time, victoria doesn’t remember talking to her much until after her big Roswell return. she might’ve thought her boring once upon a time but now just finds her grounding—there are too many chaotic people in her life as it is. she takes another drag from her cigarette, lets the smoke sit deep in her lungs before nearly coughing it out. “i’m probably heading out in a few, just have to grab the rest of my shit and close out. did you want a drink or somethin’?” 

as much as fletcher talked down the wild pony , those cigarette-browned walls and the ‘ trophies ‘ hanging on the walls , dusty old taxidermy from the hunters of old , he would be lost without the place . he wouldn’t be caught dead at planet 7 , and nobody above the age of thirty was welcome at area 51 , unless of course you were an ageing DJ clawing onto the threads of a dead-and-buried career . drinks were watered down and overpriced , and bar snacks should have come with a health warning ; even so , the oldest of the liu siblings found himself sauntering through those doors at every opportunity , ordering spirits and swirling bitter liquids in the swell of his glass . “ you’ve never heard of anyone wearing cufflinks before ?? it’s not bridgerton anything . when you have high quality shirts , you need high quality accessories . “ when his money wasn’t being siphoned into the bar , it was being spent on egyptian cotton , italian cigarettes , french cars .. and for what purpose ?? to brag to those beneath him ?? to harbour a sense of achievement when , really , he was as miserable as the next man ?? thoughts were lost in the next puff of nicotine . “ i wouldn’t expect you to understand . “ 

“’when you have high quality shirts, you need high quality accessories,’“ she wastes no time mimicking with an irreverent snort. “you’re such a city boy, fletch. why are you even here?” here as in roswell. here as in a dead-end town with a single upscale restaurant that was still more likely to be filled with flip-flops than dress shoes. sometimes he seemed photoshopped into the scene, too pristine against the backdrop of the pony from the perfectly pressed, tailored suits down to the car he’d arrived in. the minute she left LA, the designer clothes were the first things to go, mostly because she needed the money but also because they just didn’t make sense here. who here, in roswell, new mexico, would actually be impressed by all that material crap? who here was even worth impressing? fucking no one. though the sentiment feels way less harsh coming from her own head than confirmed through the words out of his mouth. “no? why wouldn’t i understand, huh? why wouldn’t i understand?” it’s the type of thing that used to roll right off her shoulders, but she can’t seem to reign in her emotions these days. the agitation comes spilling out before she can cap it. “act like you’re better all you fucking want but whatever decisions you’ve made in your life have lead you to the exact same fucking place i am—smoking a shitty cigarette outside a shitty bar in a shitty town. so how much better can you really be?” 

     𝗪𝗔𝗦  𝗜𝗧  𝗥𝗜𝗗𝗜𝗖𝗨𝗟𝗢𝗨𝗦  𝗧𝗢  𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗗  𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗢  𝗛𝗢𝗣𝗘  ?  mei  had  spent  a  lifetime  searching  for  “the  one”  mostly  finding  him  in  books  ,  all  of  them  fictional  ,  real  life  compared  to  none  .  some  might  have  considered  mei  naïve  for  ever  be  holding  onto  such  things  ,  and  maybe  she  was  ,  but  she  would  be  damned  if  she  stopped  looking  .  she  would  be  damned  it  she  would  cower  in  face  of  bad  dates  —  blind  ,  tinder  ,  or  any  other  option  .  she  looked  at  the  other  woman  with  a  soft  look  .  she  had  never  been  bad  at  making  friends  and  talking  to  anyone  ,  no  matter  where  she  was  ,  be  it  in  a  dinner  party  or  on  the  sidewalk  by  a  dubious  bar  .  she  was  thankful  to  be  given  the  time  of  the  day  to  be  honest  ,  considering  what  she  had  gone  through  inside  ,  mei  thought  this  exchange  was  a  great  improvement  from  what  she  had  not  five  minutes  ago  .  ❝  guess  i  always  have  to  learn  it  the  hard  way  ,  one  time  a  guy  actually  brought  his  mother  along  ,  ‘till  this  day  i  don’t  know  why  i  stuck  around  until  dessert—  ❞  she  muses  ,  a  smile  still  on  her  lips  to  make  obvious  the  memory  was  laughable  rather  than  something  she  was  angered  at  .  pursing  her  lips  to  the  side  as  she  considered  the  other  brunette’s  words  ,  mei  sighed  ,  glancing  once  more  at  the  crack  on  the  sidewalk  .  ❝  well  ,  i  guess  i  won’t  be  much  more  seen  around  here—  not  for  dates  anyway  .  food  ,  though  ,  is  there  anywhere  around  you  recommend  ?  ❞

victoria has no interest in romance at the moment. has never really been the type to go looking for it, but is still trying to find her equilibrium after coming off a brush with some of the highest highs and now, lowest lows of her life. it’s hard to think about him. even in the abstract of her mind, she doesn’t have the language to explain what they were or what she’d felt or what went wrong, so she opts not to think about it at all. or as little as she possibly can, which means limiting any time spent alone with her thoughts, though that’s hardly a new development. the woman’s train-wreck of a love life is actually a welcome distraction. “did he cover the bill or did she,” she wonders aloud, cracking a smirk around another drag of her cigarette. “if it’s any consolation, you’re not alone. i mean, you are, but you don’t know how many people come in here complaining about the dating scene. if nothing else, you’re in the same boat as a fuck ton of people.” she shrugs, blowing the smoke in the opposite direction. “statistically you should be fine.” it’s meant to be comforting, so it doesn’t matter whether she believes it or not. statistically, she’s not so sure love is anything more than another drug with a shitty comedown. “dates are fun here on trivia nights, but if you’re looking for decent food...” she mulls over the question, wondering when the last time she grabbed a bite out was. or really, ate anything that wasn’t stale fries and shitty burger all but forced on her by the kitchen. “i dunno, dude. i’m not really a sit down dinner date kinda girl. that fancy italian restaurant closed down a few years ago... maybe that expensive mexican place? although i don’t know if i’d want beans on a first date.” 

a brief snort escaped gunner’s lips as he leaned against the brick, a cigarette between his lips as he did. “poor life choices,” he hummed back, the quip leaving his lips instinctively as a a smirk lifted the corner of his lip just a touch. he was at the wild pony most nights, really, so it wasn’t rare to find him sitting at a bar stool, or here in the shadows for a smoke, because drinking and smoking were the only two vices that gunner dunn had ever allowed himself. his head turns enough from where it leans to look at her fully, one of his eyebrows quirking up. “on your break, vic?”

vic hums in agreement, free hand drumming against the brick as she takes another drag. what do a deadbeat former model and retired nfl star have in common if not the kind of poor life choices that land them both outside of a shitty dive bar indulging in bad habits? she can’t tell if that’s comforting or depressing and ultimately decides thinking about it at all is a mistake. a “hm?” sounds automatically, though she did hear him, just processes the words slowly. “i don’t know if i’m on my break, but i’m definitely taking a break. energy in there’s weird tonight, right?” bleaker than usual, all of the negativity and none of the relief from a session of venting and shooting the shit over cheap beers. misery loves company, she supposes, and it’s especially contagious in there. or maybe she’s just sensitive to it tonight, trapped in her head in a feeble attempt at exposure therapy. ‘it’s important to feel,’ they say. ‘you can’t have the good without the bad.’ and even with the trap glaring her in the face, she still aches to scream out that she’s managed it this long. can’t the ends justify the means? ...or maybe work’s just different nowadays, the constant turnover of employees bypassing her while everyone else seems to move on. “is it me or has libra season been fucked?” great, now she’s doing it too. 

Birdie can’t blame anyone for their vices, not when his own have him bogged down in memories best forgotten, or at least waded through a different way. He knows he’s his daddy’s son when he finds his rage at the bottom of a bottle. It’s almost ritualistic, those late-night visits to the Pony; the bar staff can sense him coming from a mile away, their Birdie radar ever sharp since the first few incidents of broken barstools and bloodied flesh. It’s almost a tribute to the man who’d painted scars on his big brother’s back. The one who’d instilled in Birdie a fear that has him in a chokehold to this day.

That chokehold keeps his voice at bay; he has to clear his throat now, feeling a rasp scrape the back of it as he adjusts. “Your eyes ain’t workin’?” he returns, albeit quietly. There’s a familiarity between them that brings them close enough for soft nips such as these.

it was startling enough to kill some of her high, the trill in her chest blasting away whatever acute calm she’d managed and her lips curl in annoyance while she massages the spot over her heart, as if that might slow its pace. “nope. and neither is your sign.” she doesn’t ask before dragging it about a foot forward, loudly centering it in the aisle, though there’s a good chance she wouldn’t have seen it there either. frankly, she didn’t realize they bothered cleaning these floors, or that birdie was the one to do it. she briefly wonders if she’s ever seen him outside the wild pony. “you gotta be a little louder. take up a little more space,” flows some unsolicited advice that instantly conjures thoughts of his brother, whom she regularly pleads for the opposite. ‘sit down and shut up.’ while obviously brothers, the two couldn’t be more different. “what if we bedazzled your sign.” 

      “ fuck off. you love my harrowing junk. ”  his statement errs at the edge of something agreeable. she won’t acknowledge the fact that she’s seen it — at least not out in the open — but as she so casually acknowledges, the bar’s basically empty now which means they’ll soon be slipping back into old habits, her thighs around his hips, her teeth at his neck. close downs were always his favourite part of a shift.   “ early night, indeed. ”   the gaze he fixes her with is loaded. taking the last drag of his cig, jude tosses the butt end down at the tarmac and stubs it out beneath his shoe.   “ right then. want me make a start on the tables ?”  strictly speaking, jude’s not even an employee at the wild pony, but he’s helped them out so many times when they’re short-staffed that it feels like second nature to make their lives a little easier, even when he’s spending his night there as a punter. and obviously, it’s nice to get time one-on-one with victoria, even if she is kind of dreary and miserable ever since the big ex left the picture. sometimes, jude’s hit with the shrinking feeling that victoria only fucks him because he sounds a bit like her ex ; that way she can close her eyes, and it’s almost like he’s back with her. and while that’s kind of fucked up, jude isn’t really complaining about it either. he’s happy to be someone else so long as it’s him she’s shagging.  “or i could do the glass wash if you want. whatever makes your life easier.”

victoria fixes him a warning look, brow arched, lip curled slightly. cool, though. no heat behind it, no anger. not even annoyance. just the wariness that seems to follow any interaction with him to its inevitable close. “i’m not tipping you out,” she says automatically, finishing the last couple drags perhaps a bit faster than she’d like, her body rushing without consideration for her head, which hadn’t been prepared to deal with him tonight. “you didn’t say you were coming by,” though she’s not entirely sure if that’s true. her phone is forgotten in her bag somewhere, dumped under the bar with a pre-rolled joint for the walk home, her mostly empty wallet, and an old desani water bottle filled up with warm tap and maybe a splash of tito’s. “everyone else busy tonight?” she gibes around her last puff before making a show of putting the cigarette out in the standing ashtray just a few steps away with pointed eye contact that she can only manage a minute before her gaze turns upward in an almost eye roll. she could tell him to go. it’d be easy enough—bar’s closed and he’s not getting paid—though that’s not why he’s here and they both know she’ll let him in. and while that’s almost enough to force her hand, she merely clenches her teeth and begrudgingly ushers him inside with a shove against his back, the last bit of smoke curling around his neck as they go. “you know, you’re a pain in the fucking ass, jude. I swear to fuck.” 

the wild pony was the routine stop-off once fletcher was given the all clear to hand in his weapons and break free from the military base . he wished there was somewhere a little more up market , a watering hole with doors on the toilets or that didn’t feature the phone numbers of strangers grafitti’d ‘ for a good time ‘ , but roswell was roswell , a small town slowly slipping into the history books as the alien landing fell further and further afield . once he’d stared through to the bottom of his first measure of whiskey fletcher had found himself flicking his thumb against the spark of his lighter , illuminating the dregs of a summer evening as they crept towards those dull , bitter winter nights . “ i’d have thought you would’ve got used to me using this bar as my stress-relief , adsuar , “ the comment was shielded by a plume of pale smoke , swirling into the ether in a coil . “ i’m here enough , classing up the place . i’d give you ten bucks if you can point out another guy inside wearing cufflinks , “ 

“you couldn’t class up the place if you tried,” she shoots back, though it’s not a dig at him but rather a praise for her home away from home. “she’s completely null and void of class. sucks it up like a vamp and spits it out somewhere down the road. set foot in here and you’re as grimy and hopeless as the rest of us. all part of her charm.” she may hate working but only in the way that she hates authority, hates being asked to do anything or worse, expected to do it. the pony’s filled with all sorts of memories—the good, the bad, and the ugly—stretching all the way back to her childhood when her mom would name drop the place before disappearing for a bit or the time the ‘do not enter’ wall prominently featured a polaroid of her flipping off the bartender that confiscated her fake ID. those are the easier ones to tackle, water under the bridge compared to the recent memories that sting too hard to do anything more than push ‘em away to be dealt with later. “real question: where the fuck are you buying shirts that still need cufflinks? isn’t that like, bridgerton shit?” 

                  𝗜𝗧  𝗪𝗔𝗦  𝗢𝗡𝗘  𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚  𝗧𝗢  𝗦𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗖𝗛  𝗙𝗢𝗥  𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘  𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗟𝗘  𝗔𝗟𝗢𝗡𝗘 ,   another  thing  entirely  to  do  so  when  she  had  twin  babies  at  home  .  mei  should  have  known  the  moment  she  mentioned  them  there  would  be  some  lame  excuse  as  to  why  the  other  person  would  have  to  leave  .  family  emergencies  won  ,  usually  ,  she  had  never  seen  so  many  people  with  so  many  family  emergencies  .  still  ,  she  kept  herself  optimistic  ,  part  of  her  was  truly  scared  of  what  would  happen  when  the  optimism  gave  away  to  the  dark  thoughts  that  often  swirled  the  edges  of  her  mind  ,  she  tried  not  to  give  them  space  .  to  be  quite  fair  ,  she  should  have  known  this  date  in  particular  wouldn’t  go  well  ,  tinder  was  hardly  a  dating  pool  ,  besides  ,  they  had  chosen  the  wild  pony  ,  she  might  have  been  there  once  or  twice  before  moving  away  to  new  york  and  never  again  since  ,  people  knew  her  there  ,  maybe  one  of  the  reasons  she  accepted  the  consoling  glass  of  wine  once  the  man  had  gotten  up  and  gotten  out  .  she  waited  a  few  moments  before  going  outside  ,  giving  him  enough  time  to  have  already  hailed  a  cab  ,  or  walked  home  .  mei  finished  her  glass  and  said  her  goodbyes  to  the  people  behind  the  bar  ,  taking  her  leave  and  checking  one  more  disastrous  date  to  the  tab  .  outside  things  were  fairly  better  ,  she  thought  ,  the  wind  that  blew  her  hair  back  and  made  her  tighten  her  coat  around  her  body  also  cleared  her  mind  .  she  leaned  on  the  wall  ,  eyes  falling  on  the  crack  beneath  her  feet  until  her  attention  was  called  ,  her  grimace  gave  place  to  a  small  smile  .  ❝  bad  tinder  date  ,  ❞  she  admitted  ,  seeing  no  reason  why  she  should  ever  lie  ,  even  if  she  wasn’t  looking  for  pity  .  ❝  gotta  remind  myself  never  to  rely  on  tinder  for  dates  ,  or  to  tell  my  dates  i  have  children  .  not  exactly  good  at  this  kind  of  stuff  ,  i  guess  .  ❞

one look had her nearly regretting the words entirely. the two of them looked worlds apart, victoria swallowed up in her baggy sweatshirt and the jeans she’d been wearing for days, smudged makeup only drawing more attention to sunken eyes and cheeks looking hollower by the day. the other woman was clean and bright, if not a little tired looking, and way too put together for the likes of the wild pony. even without the confession, victoria would’ve assumed a first date. “yeah...” she agrees, the word stretching until it fries in the back of her throat. “you’re not gonna have much luck on tinder. that one’s a bit more one and done than take ‘em home to meet the family, innit.” she considers suggesting the woman not mention her kids to future suitors, but ultimately bites her tongue. no one asked and she’s in no place to be offering dating advice. and her real advice would be too bleak anyway: that dating in roswell is a waste of time. all the good ones made it out already. “not gonna have much luck here either,” she gestures to her stomping ground. “they’re only family men in that they’ll treat you to dinner so you can listen to them complain about their wives and kids. good money though, if you’re down.”