I Put A Smile On My Face

—

If there was a handbook on creeping up on people, then Lee would have written the cursed thing. Decades of coming in, and out, and only being noticed when it’s too late. Lee only makes himself heard when it’s some sort of punchline.

The blonde lass seems at peace, so to hell with it. His boots sound like bricks on concrete.

“Is that a bloody bowl you’re looking at?” Lee asks, pulling a face. “Fucking hell.” Hands in his pockets, he looks around. “The photography exhibit, love. I heard it’s absolute garbage, so I had to come and see.” 

.

The blonde let out a soft laugh, delighted to hear a familiar accent. “It’s actually a bloody bowl I’m drawing,” She corrected lightly. There were more dynamic places she could take time to explore, but she wanted a nice cool down sketch. Fountains were always a treat to attempt, the water refusing to stick to a path forcing Whitney’s hand to bend to its freedom. It was the perfect challenge to end on. “I fear you’ve made a wrong turn if you’re looking for photography, but yes, I haven’t been hearing very good things about it. Something about being so focused on be able to create a discussion that it’s rather forced.” 

@whitney-fletcher

This isn’t his finest fucking moment — but here he fucking is. Lev had lost a match against a known Mario Kart legend, and the cost is the appearance of several freckles. Stood in a tattoo establishment, looking between Bambi fucking personified and his phone, before he finally lets out a quiet chuckle and nods. “Alright. Listen. If this comes out cursed as fuck, you’re going to make someone cry. And I really don’t wanna see her cry, you know?” Beat. “This. Behind my ear.” Phone held up in offering, a million pleading face emojis barraging the banner notifications, Lev shows the image of what it is he’s wanting. “She drew it in fucking eyeliner.”

@whitney-fletcher​

The news of a free tattoo was like catnip for Tima - instantly appealing. Sure, she knew it was a risk, but if it was something small and simple, she figured she could deal with it, just excited for the idea of new ink. It’d been too long, after all. So she was in high spirits as she let herself into the shop, scanning the area near the front desk. “Hi, I’m looking for… Whitney, is that you?”

It had been a bit of a fight to prove that she was actually ready to tattoo. With her apprenticeship in the UK falling through due to her family circumstances, she still had a few more months before she was ready to be a junior artist. Still, she was thankful her mentor was willing to let her go forward with doing a couple of free tattoo this week. She stuck her hand out to the woman in front of her,”Yes! It’s nice to meet you. If you wanna follow me to my station we can talk about where you want the tattoo and all the logistical things before we get to business.” 

The woman’s laugh caused an easy smile to spread across Conor’s face, though he could tell it wasn’t because he was funny and more because she was surprised by what he’d said. But, a laugh was a laugh, right? And it was true. As the bartender slid his drink toward him, Conor nodded and took a sip from his glass before responding, “I dunno, I’ve never said it before.” He paused, mulling over the other lines he’d used on chicks in the past. None had really been like, lines or shit. They’d mostly just been compliments. And what he’d said had sorta been a compliment, right? “You laughed, so I’m taking that as a good sign. But you tell me.” Conor said with a nod.

.

“Well, it was quite smooth for your first time,” She replied with a smile. Whitney felt obligated to offer him a compliment after she had blatantly laughed in his face. Usually she was able to control her reactions better, but she had been so surprised. She hummed for a moment, pretending to consider him. “I think you’d have better luck if a drink came with the line, if I’m honest.” Whitney didn’t really have the money to be out here tonight buying more than one drink, but if she was able to get other people to buy her drinks... Well, she might be able to have a longer night out. 

Location: A random night club

Tagging: @whitney-fletcher​

The music pulsed through the soles of Conor’s shoes as he made his way through the crowd of dancing people. Clubbing wasn’t his usual thing, but he’d had a rough fucking week and needed to blow off some steam. And what better way to do that than to fuck around at a club for a couple hours? One of his brothers knew a guy who knew a guy, who got him in the door and he’d spent the last hour dancing to the blasting music with all the rich kids who’d paid the cover charge to get in.

Conor made his way to the bar and gestured to the bartender, “Glendfiddch neat, thanks.” He said with a nod before glancing down the bar. Lots of people hanging with their friends, chatting to one another as they waited for their drinks. Looking down the other way, Conor let out a low whistle before leaning towards the woman next to him, “Damn girl. You be out here looking brighter than my future.” He said with a laugh, gesturing to her sparkly outfit.

.

It had been a long time since Whitney had last been to a club. She had frequented bars and pubs enough in university, but clubs had been a rather large point of contention between her and her ex. It was much easier to avoid the scene than causing a potential fight for no reason. It wasn’t as if she was really a clubber, but she enjoyed dancing. Charles wasn’t a factor anymore, so there wasn’t a real reason to avoid something she used to enjoy. It had ultimately felt nice to get dressed like she used to, to dance without worry of a fight, and navigate this new place.

She had missed the camaraderie only found in the women’s bathroom of a club, where a girl had seen her outfit and whipped out a pot of glitter. There had been no names exchanged, just this quick moment between and Whitney was left with glitter across her cheeks to match her outfit. Whatever she had expected to come from the man next to her, that was not it. She let out a puff of a laugh as she processed his line. “Does that usually work?” Whitney asks amused. 

OPEN

The last she had been here, she had been fourteen dragged to New York by her parents for a business turned family trip. The Met was Whitney’s choice for the trip and as her brothers had gone to explore the endless halls of the museum, she had found herself alone in gallery turned courtyard. The water feature there hadn’t been quite as grand as the one she had seen in the Egyptian section, but it was quiet and gave her a moment to sketch alone. 

Today, this gallery was her last stop, sitting as she once had nearly a decade ago to listen to the small fountain. It’s a new sketchbook she has on her lap this time, the one she once had here buried in a box somewhere in her older brother’s attic. The nostalgia of the moment was broken suddenly as footsteps echoed the room. Whitney looked up, smiling a the newcomer. “Looking for a quiet place?” She asks warmly, acutely aware of how busy the first floor of the museum can be.

And while the anxiety of being alone in a city this big felt like it might swallow her whole, she was forcing herself through that feeling and into a bar. She had planned it for longer than she wished to admit, painstakingly picking clothing that was plain, but not boring. How she came across to the people in this bar was important to her, it could change the feeling of the night entirely. All of that planning just to sit at the bar, alone, a cold beer freezing her fingers as she held it. She had chatted politely to the bartender, but now she was alone again,waiting for the right person to approach .