SHOVELING SMOKE.

DIALOGUE PROMPT FROM A SUNNY PLACE FOR SHADY PEOPLE. SUBMITTED BY CURSEDGET'S GABRIEL CARVON ON 6.22. REPLIED TO ON 6.24. WC : 1,491.

It’s a nice night, all things considered. Summer dwindling down, dusk only hovering over their shoulders. The restaurant is busy, but straddles the line between full and packed. Antonio doesn’t like to feel crowded, so they sit out on the patio, enjoying the tableside salad service. The price doesn’t match the demonstration, and more importantly, it’s fucking Ceasar salad, but, whatever. It makes Antonio happy, being catered to like this, and Elaina isn’t paying anyway, so who is she to argue? 

It’s a nice night. That’s all that needs to matter. Antonio prattles on about his day, and she does care, really — he’s the only true friend she has in the city, but, well. He’s a stay at home husband, for the most part. More than alright just coasting off the money his father supplies, getting into various adventures across Manhattan, and they’re all fun to hear about for the most part, but occasionally there’s a pang in Eliana’s heart when he talks about the stupid shit he got up to with Jason and Toni ( whoever the fuck those two are ), and how he slept in until one in the afternoon, and how there’s another pop-up Uptown that he’s gonna go to tomorrow. He’s happy. Eliana wants him to be happy. 

Sometimes Eliana thinks about her happy.

Most of the time, though, she doesn’t. It’s easier that way. Just like it’s easier to stop listening completely, to turn her attention to the street. It’s New York, so the patio is really just a section of the sidewalk covered with rickety tables and uncomfortable metal chairs ( and again, this is where Eliana really has to question the authenticity of a tableside Ceasar ), providing no real divide from a restaurant guest and a pedestrian on the street. She takes the opportunity to watch the crowd, just a blanket curiosity that is easily assuaged by the flow of the afternoon swarm. The bodies scurry around each other, low level hum of traffic providing the stereotypical soundtrack of a New York Summer Evening™. Everyone always moving, everyone all in their own worlds. None of them are particularly notable — no one ever really has been, not to Eliana. Which is okay, actually. She likes it. It’s stable, especially considering all that Eliana has. She’s got her books. She’s got her dreams.

She’s also got, surprisingly enough, a particular annoyance. Technically, if she’s being fair about it, there should be four of them. She’s run into them a few times across the city, their entire friend group loud and offputting, grating, sliding in under Eliana’s skin anytime they’re in the same space. 

She tries not to lie to herself, though, so the truth is that there’s really only the main annoyance. Gabey-baby, someone’s called him once before. Too pretty for his own good, almost to the point of nausea. Blondest hair she’s ever seen — it’s gotta be bleached. Hopefully the white boy knows how to take care of it. He doesn’t ever really react to Eliana, despite the few times they’ve crossed paths, and that’s obviously something to psychoanalyze at a later date, the way that bothers her, but Elaina won’t, because it’s easier to simply point her fingers instead. 

In her defense — the annoyance is valid. The entire group is loud, often falling over themselves in the most spectacular of ways, bright laughter, shrieking jokes. Ignorant of the way they stumble into other people’s personal space, naive enough to believe their joy of the world is shared by their company. They’re loud, inconsiderate. One of them, Seth or something, is an actual criminal — Eliana would know, she was at the hearing. She doesn’t know the full story, of course, but she knows enough to have her mind made up. 

So she’s almost instantly surprised when she catches sight of Gabey-Baby’s blinding hair, and follows it to see them walk into the restaurant. Her stomach rolls, just slightly. Antonio picks up a caper and tuts about the quality of a good dressing. Eliana sits and waits. 

Unfortunately, annoyingly, after a handful of minutes, Gabey-Baby’s entire group comes spilling out onto the patio. Eliana clenches her jaw. 

Forty minutes later and the annoyance has turned into pure frustration. There’s Gabey-Baby’s group, herself and Antonio, and two other couples on the patio. Everyone has been shooting glares at Gabey-Baby’s group. They’re all either blind, or purposefully ignoring societal conventions. It implies an ego that, frankly, Eliana thinks none of them deserve. It’s grating. It’s frustrating. 

It could be easily solved.

All Eliana would need to do is stand up. Cross over to them, put a hand on someone’s shoulder. Wouldn’t need to clear her throat, they’d all be paying attention to her for intruding. Lower your voices. She might even tack on a please, just to be considerate. They would listen. Everyone always did, when Elaina spoke like that. 

She doesn’t anymore, alright? It’s important to know that. Eliana is nothing like her father, and makes a point to act as his antithesis in every way she can. It’s not right, exerting that control over someone, just because she can. For the most part, Eliana doesn’t even think about her ability, doesn’t even consider using it. Except — well. Fuckin’ Gabey-Baby has proven to be an exception. The urge always arises, when he and his group come around. Something else to psychoanalyze. 

Antonio is relaxed in his seat, watching the crowd behind Eliana. He’s finished his pasta, not entirely pleased with it. Wrote down notes in a little journal, still debating on if he'll actually that food review substack. He’s gonna bring up dessert next, always alright with spoiling himself. A screech, metal on concrete. Eliana looks up. Gabey-Baby is extracting himself from his table.

She should look for their server, ask about a dessert menu. Maybe ask Antonio just exactly who Jason and Toni are. Create conversation with the couple sitting two tables down, very clearly on a first date that is obviously going bad. Hell, Eliana could even get up, approach Gabey-Baby’s table and ask them to lower their voices, pretty please. Those are all logical ideas.

Elaina gets up. Gabey-Baby cuts through the crowd around the bar, steps into a hallway. Enters the restroom. Eliana follows him the entire way. The door to the men’s restroom doesn’t even have time to swing shut completely before she’s sliding in. 

There’s a stranger at the urinal as she enters. He looks over, disinterested, before doing a double take and yelping. It’s not particularly loud, but considering there’s only the three of them in there, it gets Gabey-Baby to look back, to look at her. The man at the urinal starts speaking, voice high and shocked, but all Eliana clocks is the way Gabey-Baby’s gaze travels from her head to her toes, barely intrigued, definitely bored. There’s no visible cue of recognition, but he heaves a sigh, world-weary. Something settles in Eliana’s stomach, and she crosses her arms over her chest. Opens her mouth, real eager to tell him off, but Gabey-Baby interjects : 

❛❛ Just a little discretion. That’s all I ever ask, ❜❜ Gabey-Baby says, more as an aside to himself. There’s the slightest turn to his mouth, not entirely a pout, but there’s an obvious layer of disappointment threaded through his words, which makes Eliana bristle. 

❛❛ Are you guys doing a drug deal, or something? What the fuck, ❜❜ the guy at the urinal asks, indigant, voice way too squeaky, somehow clashing with the bald spot on the center of the back of his head. Elaina shoots him a glare, full of vitriol and frustration. He physically flinches before resolutely turning back into the urinal. 

❛❛ I’m surprised you even know the word, ❜❜ Eliana shoots back, recovering as she turns her glare onto Gabey-Baby. It should be noted that he does not flinch. Instead, he rolls his eyes. Eliana gets huffy, throws her shoulders back, plants her feet. A mountain, unmovable and just. She will stake her claim, make herself known. It’s the right thing to do. ❛❛ Do you know how hypocritical that is? Coming from you? ❜❜

Gabey-Baby doesn’t spare her another glance before turning and shuffling into a stall. The bolt slides into the lock audibly. 

Eliana has never been so summarily dismissed in her life that she stands there for a moment further, still in her power stance. It’s quiet in the restroom, even the bustle of the bar muted. El is frozen, mouth slightly open, still on the edge of releasing her rant. Urinal Guy is still frozen, unmoving and silent, but she can see the way he’s peering at her from the edge of his peripheral vision. A few more beats of silence, and then : liquid pattering against ceramic, a steady stream echoing throughout the restroom.