shake like the bough of a willow tree

Hana had gotten her Nyquil courtesy of the help of a few kind strangers and had been bunking down with Jinx for a few days, but she had always had trouble sitting still. It didn’t take long before she was out wandering and even less for her to end up at a bar – The Last Drop. Cute, kitschy. It would work. She didn’t really have any plans for the evening, just nursing a gin and tonic at the bar for a moment as she tried to wash the remnants of fake cherry taste out of her mouth.

Hearing someone speak, she turned her head and let out a small, “Hm?” as her brain processed the words, still a tiny bit off even as her fever waned. Smiling back at the stranger, she gestured towards the stage, “Oh that? That’s a train wreck, honestly, but that’s the appeal. You just can’t look away, right?”

Taking another sip of her drink, she gave the glass a swirl to see how much was left and tucked her hand under her chin smirking, “Yeah, sure. If you’re buying, how can I say no?”

_

“Mhm. Dunno if I’d call it the appeal, certainly nothing appealing about that voice,” Rory smiled once again, the expression solely genuine this time. “But, yeah, it’s definitely hard to look away from. I promise they’re not normally quite this bad.”

Charlie could’ve sworn it was Thursday. It’s not a good sign when she’s mixing her days up, given the impending doom of winter, and it’s even worse when she stumbles into The Last Drop’s open mic night. She winces at the sounds coming from the stage and tells herself she should go home, but the bartender sets a glass of whiskey down in front of her, and she has no choice but to stay. She swallows it all in one. 

Liquor fights the change, she thinks to herself. It isn’t true, but it certainly helps.

“You offering?” Charlie asks, not even turning to look at where the voice is coming from. The glass of whiskey is still in her hand, and she stares at the bottom of it, like if she looks hard enough it’ll magically refill itself. 

“It’s either that or a lobotomy.”

_

“Sure.” A pause. “The whiskey might be easier to come by,” they smile, half to themself and half as a way of greeting (not that their companion bothers to even fucking look - noted), before raising a hand in an attempt to catch the attention of the bartender. It doesn’t quite work, a glance cast in their direction before the blonde to their left is served first. “But, then again. The lobotomy would probably work quicker so it’s your call.”

The woman is familiar yet somehow Rory can’t quite seem to place her face. Probably a customer from the diner - most of the town was - but something about her didn’t seem quite right for that. The age fit, they’d always been a hit with the older crowd, but the rest of the persona seemed too harsh to be seen sipping on a milkshake.

open: @shiverstarters​

Sadie never used to feel so out of sorts in her hometown. She knew these streets better than anyone, could name just about everyone who had ever lived inside the town’s boundaries during her lifetime, but ever since she saw Hickory transform, she couldn’t help but be on edge just walking through the town, especially as the weather turned colder. So lost in her thoughts of trying to reconcile the Blackrock she grew up in with the one where children went missing and acquaintances turned into wolves, she didn’t notice the figure until she almost bumped into them. “Oh, I’m sorry!” she exclaimed, taking a hasty step out of the way to narrowly avoiding running into them. “Are you okay?”

_

Rory, in somewhat typical fashion, had found themselves in a daydream whilst on their way to work, thinking of anything but the pure slog of an eight hour shift at the diner. With a coat thrown over their shoulder, they rounded the corner - rushing physically but their mind still elsewhere - and found themself but a second away from bumping into the approaching figure. They recoiled, a soft apology muttered, as they stepped to the side also and looked up to meet eyes with the figure before them.

“I, uh,” Rory stuttered, “no, I’m fine. Sorry.” A smile graced their lips when they realized who said person was. “Are you okay? I feel like it’s been forever.” 

Generally, Rory wasn’t one to try and start up conversations with the people sitting around them at the bar. But then again, they also weren’t one to find themselves out drinking in The Last Drop on an open mic night. Well, at least not anymore anyway. With an influx of Christmas parties, this past week at work had been hell and with Friday off (a Christmas miracle, if ever they saw one) and no plans (other than perhaps a Netflix binge with two men by the name of Ben and Jerry), it felt about time to brave the bar once more. Possibly even find a warm body for the night too – if there was anyone around as desperate as they were. As it stood, things were getting busier and that was never a bad sign.

Taking a (hefty) sip of bourbon for Dutch courage, they decided to do something and turned their attention to the figure on their right. A lone singer wailed on the stage at that point and Rory visibly winced as the woman tried (very unsuccessfully) to hit a high note. It was with that that they let out a light chuckle.

“Enjoying the show tonight then?” They forced a smile, as naturally as they could (in spite of the bubble of nerves in their stomach), and leant across the bar top. “Or do you want another drink to tide you over until the next singer comes on? God knows that I need something strong to get through more of this.”