bobbyhughx

[bobbyhughx]

Bobby Hugh dared to do the impossible today. Honeycutt Farmer's Market...with his mom and Uncle Rich. She rarely went outside these days, but he would be damned if she missed another winter. It used to be her favorite season. Uncle Rich and his mother had wandered off, she had started to mumble something about fruit looking like demons. It'd been a long day...Uncle Rich would be able to handle it.

Bobby Hugh instead made his way...elsewhere. Elsewhere just happened to be at Sugar's booth. 'Walking my mom!" He answered. That was not the way to say that. He shook his head. "I mean...taking my mom for a walk." He changed it.

He was running away from dealing with his mother's mood swings. He didn't really expect to end up face to face with Sugar. "Can you distract me? Try to sell me something...or something. I want my brain to turn off for a while."

who: sugar & open! where: the honeycutt farmer's market

Sugar wasn't a fan of the hysteria takin' to Misty Mountain these days. Everybody was freaked out, Mamas lockin' their young ones inside at the first sign of dusk, and God-- everybody thought they were a goddamn detective. She never signed up to live in no Sherlock Holmes fantasyland, and she reckoned if that's what folks wanted, they oughta go over to England.

The last thing Sugar was gonna do was let any of it impact her plans, which included runnin' the Pascal Apothecary booth at the Honeycutt Farmer's Market every fourth Sunday. Mamaw always preferred to do it herself on account a' the business she conducted with a couple folks in town, but Sugar had all but taken over this year. It made her feel mighty important, and it was nice to see a fresh batch a' faces once a month.

Except... maybe they weren't all fresh faces today. "Hey!" Sugar pumped her arm in a wave, takin' her bare feet off the tabletop and standing to her feet. She put a hand up to shield her eyes from the sun, other hand on her hip. "Whaddaya doin' so far from home?" Her eyes flicked down her neighbor's frame inquisitively, "Runnin' away from somethin'?" Sugar asked, dropping her voice with a mischievous glint in her eye.

[bobbyhughx]

Bobby Hugh hadn't run his VHS swap since the Flurry Festival. Making next to no money, even after the Buck co-sign, was enough to make him give up on the free market. But a bill for his mother's medication came in the mail...and it was steep. Tips weren't going to cover it all. So there he sat, sipping on a Cocacola and pawning off his movie collection to the great people of Misty Mountain.

He'd had an okay day. Three Men and A Baby. Trading Places. E.T. and Gremlins. He'd gotten a few rentals situated and even some full sales. (let it be known that Bobby Hugh HATES E.T. and he couldn't be happier to have sold it to an old man wearing socks and sandals in winter weather). As he was counting his cash, A VHS and cassette tape hit his table. He looked up at the delivery girl with wide eyes.

Lou. Lou Stafford?

"Oh um...thanks? I've heard of him! Hard to get your hands on these kinds of movies up here...and I don't really leave Misty....like ever." He said, timid but excited. He looked at the mixtape quizzically. "Did you make this for me?" He asked. "You do know who I am right? Bobby Hugh Belleto. People don't do this kinda thing for me. At least not...people who I've never talked to. Not that I didn't want to talk to you. I feel like we see each other! Well...I've seen you! Not so much lately! But I did see your sis at the funeral. Good people" He rambled.

WHO: Lou Stafford & @bobbyhughx

WHERE: OUTSIDE wynn-pixie's

WHAT: baby's first stalker????

Lou had seen Bobby Hugh a couple of times when he stopped in at the museum, but she hadn't ever really...talked to him. When groups expanded to three or more, she tended to let others do the talking until she felt she knew enough to have the high ground. That hadn't happened with Bobby Hugh and Rosie yet. Usually, on his visits. Lou made herself busy and inspected everything in the museum for the billionth time.

But since coming back from her bender in Honeycutt, Lou had a change of heart. So, she'd started asking around about Bobby Hugh. Some folks were quick to tell her to leave that nice young man alone with whatever yur fixin ta get into now! But others let enough slip out that she had vague enough scraps to assemble a childhood much like her own, ostracized and othered from their classmates. There were even a few residents who were eager to gossip about his Mom to Lou, who'd never found that kind of talk useful. Simultaneously, she wondered how fucked up she had to have been to miss that piece of information when it was happening. In all her research, she found herself growing attached to Bobby Hugh. Like, almost protective? It was really odd, but nonetheless she found herself approaching his VHS swap outside Wynn-Pixie's. Lou rolled up casually, sunglasses down, cigarette burning between her fingers, and grocery bag swinging from her arm. Without any introduction, she set the bag down and pulled out a VHS, "You ever watch Spike Lee, movie boy?" Lou asked, fully revealing the cover of She's Gotta Have it. Then, she pulled out a cassette with sloppy lettering scrawled on it -- Anti Assimilation Music.

Lou left them on the table for Bobby Hugh to take and pulled more smoke from her cigarette, "I curated that for you. Keep 'em both. Don't want nothin'."

[bobbyhughx]

Bobby Hugh was starting to lose his mind. Or at least what was left of it. As he fiddled through the reports in the newspaper and his notes from overhearing conversations at the diner...one thing was clear. Nobody really had a clue what happened on Christmas Eve. The cacophony of superstitions and 3rd person accounts was becoming overwhelming. It was almost loud enough to dull the guilt that Bobby Hugh was carrying for the past week.

He didn't do enough.

That thought was pierced almost immediately by Rosie's voice...cutting through his downward spiral. She had to be joking right? Bobby Hugh's Italian accent was a hail mary in an attempt to save a failure of a night. At least in his eyes. He smirked at her. "That's how Grandpa Hugh spoke. Well...kinda." He said still looking down at his notebook. He doodled some detailed stick figures of himself and rosie at the hospital. His notebook fluttered between gibberish and doodles. It was just the way Bobby saw the world.

He finally looked up to meet her eyes. "I'm sorry us boneheads couldn't pull it together in time for you to get your interview. I feel like we have more questions than answers now."

He pondered for a moment. "Something weird went down at the Cemetery right? Are you close with anybody from that group?"

a closed starter for @bobbyhughx

where: the museum, sometime before baylor's funeral

Christmas Eve had been a shitshow.

Rosie'd gone into the night full of confidence, sure that all of the preparation she and Bobby Hugh had done would yield results. Instead, they'd gotten kicked out purely because the receptionist was lacking in holiday cheer. And maybe also because they'd been mistaken for troublemakers, which they most certainly were not.

Somehow the night had only gone downhill from there. They'd improvised, overcome roadblocks, and yet they'd left the hospital emptyhanded. And Baylor... well.

It had been bothering her, the fact that she couldn't remember the most important part of that night. Rosie could see the evening so clearly in her mind, her brain easily supplying details as small as the numbers on the rooms she'd ruled out, her notebook full of faked scribbles. Yet when it came to anything after she caught a glimpse of Baylor at the hospital, her mind went blank.

What happened to Baylor Dawson?

Rosie and Bobby Hugh were still looking into things that afternoon, the museum their top meeting spot for discussions about all things spooky and scary. They hadn't yet discussed the Christmas Eve Disaster, but as a quiet moment stretched into two, and then two to three, Rosie knew it was time to speak up.

"I'm sorry it didn't work out at the hospital," she started, finally. "For what it's worth, I thought your Italian accent was dead on."

[bobbyhughx]

" skeletons in your closet. itching to come outside! "

Bobby Hugh Belleto + Rosemary Anne Routledge @rosieroutledge

a misty mixtape of sorts 002/???

[bobbyhughx]

"Oh...that's an understatement if I've ever heard one." Bobby Hugh agreed. He didn't know what he expected from her. Some people experienced tragedy and turned to something like religion. Bobby Hugh tried...but it didn't last very long. He eyed the statue a little bit longer. "But I read that the Greeks liked their gods a little fucked up. Funny that we're so...stuck up about our big man." He pondered, tilting his head to the side as he admired the great i am's washboard abs.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and bounced from the tip of his feet to his heels.

"I'm pretty agnostic too. That's what they call it right? Mama used to say grace." Bobby Hugh nudged, his voice getting a little quieter. "She made it sound like the most important thing in the world. Now I can barely get her to eat...let alone pray." He went on. He didn't mean to dump...especially on Mabel. But this funeral was bringing a lot of unsaid to the surface.

She thought she should make an appearance. Not for Baylor's sake—oh sure, she's sorry enough that he didn't pull through, but at least he's not suffering anymore. It's not much of a relief or a comfort to his family, she knows, but there's a reason she stayed at the back when she was in there, skirting around the edges. [Yes, the reason was mostly because of her aversion to crowds and insistence on knowing exit routes, but she wasn't stupid. She knew the last thing any grieving parents or close friends needed was her dumb-ass awkwardness saying the wrong thing.]

Somehow, despite the fact that she was the one to approach in the first place, Mabel's left standing looking like a deer in headlights, eyes flitting from Bobby Hugh to the statue on the wall, back and forth, back and forth. She lets the silence lie for an almost uncomfortable amount of time, and just when it seems she's going to ignore him entirely, there's a half-hearted shrug of her shoulders. "Dunno."

Verbose as ever, Mabel Mae. The gentlest rustle of her scarf being wound around her neck fills another little pocket of silence, boots scuffing on the lobby floor until she comes to a stop just a couple feet from Bobby Hugh. "I think he and his Paw are real sick fuckos, if they are real."

[bobbyhughx]

𝐖𝐇𝐎: bobby hugh & @mcthmancometh​​​​​

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓:​​ austin you have to save him

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄: misty mountain church - the let out

Bobby Hugh loved to talk if you hadn't noticed. He would talk to the squirrels if they didn't run away from him. When there was no one to talk to...he talked to himself. But he hated confrontation. He hated hard conversations. And now...on the front steps of the church he was trapped in a conversation he did not want any part in. A gaggle of old ladies from town (who hadn't seen him in ages) were vulturing him. Asking him questions about his mom. Asking him questions about his appearance at the hospital on Christmas Eve. He was overwhelemed and overheated...letting their rumors and gesticulations fly.

In a dire search for help...or at least an excuse to excuse himself. His eyes darted all around. They just so happen to meet August's. Great. Would that hard conversation be any better?

"You know that Daisy sure has eclectic taste! I heard your dad is a bad as they come. I that true? I mean you have met him right?"

Yup. August was definitely better. "'Cuse me! That's my ride home. My condolences." He said gently as he shook each other ladies hands. He then scurried to August like a small child looking for his parents in the store.

Suddenly he was side by side with the man, willing him in a direction opposite from the old ladies. "We should talk! We haven't spoken since the...ya know." He explained. "Promise I won't try to speak Italiano this time."

[bobbyhughx]

𝐖𝐇𝐎: bobby hugh & @paranoeo​​​​​

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓:​​ jesus save our children

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄: misty mountain church - lobby

Bobby Hugh had stepped away for some much needed air. Funerals had this way of making his mind spiral. No...churches had this way of making his mind spiral. Where did people truly go when they died? Was Uncle Rich going to make it to heaven with his gambling addiction? Greed was a sin right? If god cared so much...why did so much stuff go wrong on Earth? What is the point of power if it isn't used for good? These questions were audibly mumbled here and there as Bobby Hugh's footsteps padded the lobby of the church.

His eyes locked in on a statue of Jesus on the cross...hanging on the wall. He stared at it for a while, the sounds of the pastor eulogizing inside softly echoing in the background. He almost didn't notice that he was no longer alone...but when he turned to see Mabel, he didn't jump. His eyes were warm. He never knew what to say to Mabel. He wouldn't wish her life on anyone.

But in this moment he only had one question.

"Do you believe in our lord and savior Jesus Christ?"

[bobbyhughx]

𝐖𝐇𝐎: bobby hugh & @majorbanks​​​​​

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓:​​ cousin talk

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄: misty mountain church - in the pews

Bobby Hugh couldn't look up. It was a wonder he even managed to walk through the Church's front doors on this day. He felt responsible for Baylor's death. Wait that wasn't right...his crew couldn't really have anything to do with that. The more he thought about it...he felt responsible for Baylor's death being meaningless. No one in this town really understood how or why he passed away. If they didn't lollygag...if Bobby took his role as distraction more seriously. Maybe somebody could have reached Baylor before it was too late.

His knee was moving a mile a minute as he and the other mourners awaited the funeral's beginning. At one point he had fidgeted so frantically he stepped right on Major's foot. Bobby Hugh immediately looked up to Major, eyes wet with worry.

"I'm sorry...I didn't mean to do that. I-" He flustered. "Man!" He shouted, kicking the seat in front of him. He couldn't even panic correctly.

He flopped his head into his hands and mumbled at a frequency only Major (who was likely an assistant professor in bobby hughisms at this point) would be able to translate.

"Can this thing be over so I can go home and watch something less depressin'?" He groaned a mile a minute. "Even All Dogs Go To Heaven would be cheerier than this."

[bobbyhughx]

( •̀ ω •́ )y

Bobby Hugh shook his head from side to side, still focused on filling his shakers. "People used to...what's the phrase? Pre-game here? Festival prices can be a little outrageous some years. Eat Tastee's for dinner. Eat desserts at Flurry Fest. There were quite a few families here a few hours ago...but now." He sucks his teeth. "I think tourists are less keen on us these days. Can't imagine why." He spoke, looking up at Abilene as he did.

A change in management. A public abandonment of the previous owner while her health declined. These things changed the culture of the business. Bobby Hugh still believed in Tastee's...but it wasn't the diner it used to be. "The new boss likes these new "stylistic" shakers." He explained, gesturing to the red detailing on them. "Plus...it's cheaper to buy salt and pepper in bulk. Just means suckers like me have to refill these every few weeks." He explained with a subtle eyebrow raise.

"You sure you don't wanna eat? Or drink? I can get you a boozy shake if you need it." He suggested with a warm smile, and subtle whisper. He knew it'd been a hard time for the denizens of Misty Mountain. Abilene always looked put together...but Bobby Hugh didn't like reading books by their covers.

Abilene Pryor hadn’t planned on stopping by Tastee’s. She wasn’t sure why she’d let her feet take her there at all - maybe out of a half-hearted craving for a milkshake or a soft place to sit while the festival buzzed outside. Or maybe it was something else entirely, like the tiny thread of nostalgia tugging at her chest whenever she passed by. Tastee’s wasn’t the same as it had been when she was a kid, but then again, she wasn't either, was she?

She hadn’t expected to see Bobby Hugh behind the counter. The sight of him, bent over salt and pepper shakers like the very act could somehow hold the universe together. It was almost laughable, the way time passed. Here they were, strangers in every sense except for the faint imprint of a shared childhood.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said. “It’s quiet in here," she glanced over her shoulder at the mostly empty booths, fingers drumming lightly on the counter. “Figured this place would be packed during festival week.”

Abilene had no sense of what it meant to work a job. She had babysat for families around town, picked up camp counselor shifts at bible camp, but never did she know what it meant to work for longer than a few hours at a time. "I thought those would have been like, pre packaged," she motioned towards the salt and pepper shakers.

[bobbyhughx]

(((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))

If Bobby Hugh's face could flush any more visibly, he'd be mistaken for a beet. He gave a grimaced nod as Buck complimented his art. Why did he feel like this? Like he had to apologize for being himself. Why couldn't he be loud and proud about his strengths and his flaws like Major was. Because Buck was right...there was someone out there who would get Bobby Hugh's art.

Baylor was the elephant in the room. One of quite a few elephants actually. The room was getting a little zoo-like at this point. "I'm glad he's alive." Bobby Hugh blurted, thumbing his sketch pencil anxiously. He didn't really like Baylor...but he was sure Buck had a different dynamic with the fellow. One death was a horrible accident. Two was a coincidence. If they lost Baylor, they'd have a pattern of death on their hands. Nobody wanted that.

Then the next question came up. Bobby Hugh's eyes got big. He eyed the lawn chair at his side...the one that was previously reserved for Rosie. Then he looked back at Buck. "I mean...if you're not busy. The company would be nice." He said proudly. Maybe good things could actually happen to a boy named Bobby Hugh.

"Busts are $10. Full body pieces are $15. And a live caricature is $25." He gestured at his blank art pad. His eyes lit up with an idea as he spoke.

"Maybe I could draw you? If people see Buck Whitaker getting drawn...maybe we could get a line for caricatures goin'?" Bobby Hugh suggested. It's not like it would be hard. At this point Bobby Hugh could draw Buck with his eyes closed.

Buck chuckled, the sound low and easy, his eyes softening as he watched Bobby Hugh squirm a little. He couldn’t help but feel a little protective of the guy, even if he was a bit... well, all over the place. He’d seen Bobby Hugh around town enough times to know that beneath the jittery energy, there was some serious talent. Maybe it wasn’t the mainstream kind, but it was real.

"Yeah, I get that," Buck said, nodding toward the empty tip jar and the Superman sketch. "Sometimes it’s like that—sometimes people just ain't ready for something different, ya know?" He rocked back on his heels a little, watching Bobby Hugh with a steady, considering gaze. "But hey, it only takes one person to really get it. I mean, that Superman's got some serious..." he coughed, "muscle. I'm sure there's someone out there who'd dig that."

He ran a hand through his hair and glanced around, taking in the festival with a little more focus now. "As for me... yeah, this ain't exactly the Flurry Fest I remember. Feels a little off, don’t it? The whole town's just... on edge. With Baylor and all." He trailed off, his voice quieter now. It wasn’t like he wanted to get into it—hell, there were some things he didn’t even want to think about. But there was a heaviness in the air, a weight everyone was carrying. Maybe Bobby Hugh felt it too.

Buck turned his attention back to the booth, gesturing to the art again. "But I ain’t here to talk about all that. You need a hand with this booth, or you good on your own?" He shifted his weight, taking a step closer, his voice lighter again. "Could always use a distraction. Maybe I’ll see if I can’t scare up a sale for you."

[bobbyhughx]

🌟🎀

🌟: do you have any new years resolutions ?

I don't want to die. Think that's good enough for now!

🎀: what's one of your favorite christmas memories ?

The Christmas after I broke my leg was really freakin' depressing. I think I was twelve or somethin'? I know that's not the question you asked but walk with me. I'll get there, I promise! I was in a cast...and nobody at school had signed it so I was feeling really lonely and embarrassed. But Uncle Rich bought me a pack of Marks-A-Lot magic markers...in every color. So mama had the idea to make up this lie that Uncle Rich took me to the beach for the holidays.

The story was that a troupe of famous surfers were visiting Carolina...which was a little ridiculous in hindsight. But they saw me reading on the beach and all decided to sign my cast. So when I went back to school in January my cast was filled with celebrity signatures from all of these "famous" surfers. I don't think anybody believed it...but mama always knew how to cheer me up. I'll never forget all the pieces of paper she wasted practicing all these different signature styles. It was real sweet. I love that lady.

[bobbyhughx]

CHRISTMAS IN CAROLINA !

Well, howdy, Misty Mountaineers! Long time, no see, what with Tilly takin' up all your attention lately! Now, I know the time for Christmas Cheer is almost over with, but I figured you might like to show me some of that good 'ol winter spirit before we ring in the New Year... Reblog this to participate, make sure to send some asks out to your fellow players - oh, if you're hankering for extra brownie points? Well, me and Cherie wouldn't say no to a little gift or two!

🎁: for a Christmas gift from my muse !

🎅: for a secret santa gift from my muse !

✒️: for a holiday themed note from my muse !

📺: for a christmas confession !

🥂: what's the drunkest you've ever been on christmas !

🎄: what is a holiday tradition your muse celebrates !

🍪: for a holiday treat from my muse !

🍽️: what is your muse bringing for christmas dinner ?

🌟: do you have any new years resolutions ?

❄️: do you like the holidays better with or without my muse ?

⛄: what's one of your favorite holiday memories with my muse ?

🎀: what's one of your favorite christmas memories ?

⚡: what's one of your worst christmas memories ?

💋: would you kiss my muse on new years ?

🛷: what's the furthest you've ever travelled for the holidays ?

🔥: roast chestnuts, or roast my muse !

🧣: who do you wish you were snuggled up with this christmas ?

[bobbyhughx]

where: tastee's diner when: sometime during the festival week. who: OPEN (0/3)

Bobby Hugh was the least clumsy when serving at Tastee's diner. He grew up in this space after all. He could bus tables blindfolded if he tried it. He would never try it...the new management would murder him. He was lucky enough they let him stay on staff after his Uncle sold the diner. It was crazy how much his responsibilities in the place grew after it stopped being something he could inherit.

It was late...well...late for Misty Mountain. The sun was beginning to set and most of the tables in the place were empty. Bobby Hugh was refilling the salt and pepper shakers behind the bar, classic busy work at a time like this. He barely noticed the human standing in front of him waiting for assistance. When he looked up, he flashed on his classic customer service smile. "And how can I help you?" He asked, a mix of sarcasm and glee resonating on his last word.

He liked to believe people saw a different Bobby Hugh at Tastee's. One who had his shit together. After all...one of his biggest dreams was to buy this place back one day. Likely story.

[bobbyhughx]

(┬┬﹏┬┬)

Bobby wanted the words coming out of Rosie's mouth to make less sense than they were making. Baylor was the social type. Baylor was all about appearances. But he still didn't want to overwhelm the guy. Bobby Hugh was a bit of an overwhelmer. A lightbulb flashed over his head finally and he grabbed Rosie's hand in his exictement.

"This is the part of the movie where the dynamic duo splits up!" He whisper-yelled, excitement dripping off his vocal chords. "Baylor will totally be woo'd by pretty young thing like you! He won't even realize he's giving you all the information we need. He'll leave the conversation floatier than that French Looney Tunes skunk!" Bobby Hugh mused, getting more excited.

"Meanwhile I'll home deliver some Tastee's to Baylor's parents and really butter them up. Let them dump all their trauma...and hopefully a little wine on me. Then we meet back up and cross reference the data we find!" Bobby suggested, finally releasing Rosie's hand. "I mean...I think they'd like me enough. I can really bond with middle-aged folk. I musta been one of them in my past life."

He shrinks a little bit. "Or we can just interview Baylor together...you're the brains of this operation after all!"

"But what if he's really wantin' to see people? Baylor's the sociable type!" Rosie argued, animated, no hesitation between Bobby Hugh's protestations.

Ever since he'd wandered into the museum (and then even further, into the archives), he'd been like a little angel on her shoulder, keeping her from going too far. And she was thankful. She couldn't keep isolating people like she was, asking questions that had both current and former friends avoiding her in the streets. She was trying to keep their investigations low profile, but without Bobby Hugh it was unlikely she'd have gotten very far - her determination could blind her to how she was coming across. As unlikely as their friendship had been at first, he'd turned out to be a good balance to her, a calming figure amidst the chaos unraveling in Misty Mountain.

And deep down, Rosie knew he had the right idea - it sure wasn't ideal, trying to interrogate Baylor when he was knocking on death's door. But what if there had been someone there to talk to Bobby Hugh's mama after she came back from the woods? To decipher the tongues she was apparently speaking in? Baylor loved to keep up appearances. To his last breath, she was sure he'd do anything to avoid being seen as crazy, but wouldn't it be so freeing for him to have someone who believed him? Who was specifically asking about things that would be unbelievable to most, so he knew it was safe to talk?

Scooting her lawn chair closer to her partner in crime, she made sure to speak somehow even quieter than before, doing everything she could to ensure that their conversation could remain private even with so many Mountaineers hanging around, browsing through the craft tables.

"In case somethin' happens to him, if he loses the progress he's hopefully made, I'm sure he'd want people to know what he saw." She doubted that very much. "And I think the questions we'd be left with would answer other questions. If he saw somethin', if he felt funny or if he just fell asleep with no warnin'."

It was only then, after she'd said her piece and polished off the last of her cookie, that Rosie appeared to be mulling over the alternative Bobby Hugh had presented. Less of a chance for answers, maybe, but way more morally sound.

"Do you think his parents would talk to you?"

[bobbyhughx]

Bobby Hugh got the feeling that Liliana was tired of talking to him. But to be fair...he got that feeling from most people. What did they call that? Imposter syndrome? Bobby Hugh was no imposter! He was Bobby Hugh. So he kept talking. "Chicken is good! I'll make sure everyone else knows not to bring any." He said, ripping a small notebook from his pocket. He had to flip past he and Rosie's murder investigation notes...which took a while...but he eventually landed on an empty page. "Lil...will...bring....chicken...to...birth...day...par-tee." He enunciated as he scribbled on his thigh.

His heart sank upon Liliana's rejection of the instant classic Hairspray (1988). Editor's note: Herman has discovered through this specific thread that Hairspray (1988) is NOT a musical. It inspired the broadway musical which then inspired the newer 2007 movie-musical. Herman's Hairspray knowledge up to this point was limited to the made-for-tv production that Ariana Grande was in.

"Liliana...you didn't like hairspray??? You're just like the kids who get to dance on the Corny Collins show. All rich and pretty and well-dressed. I would have to dance on "Negro Day" if I were in the movie. And probably do a lot of other lame stuff too. It was the 60's after all.'' He groaned, letting out a sad sigh. "Do you have a favorite movie? We don't have to watch something you don't like."

Liliana zones out about two sentences into Bobby Hugh’s rambling. It’s remarkable, really, how someone can fill so much space with so little substance, she thinks. Her gaze slips past his shoulder, lazily tracking a couple haggling over a too-small wreath, and she absently wonders how much quieter the world would be if Bobby Hugh simply ceased to exist for, say, five minutes.

She glances back at him, still yapping about bootleg movies and birthdays, and has to suppress a sigh. God, if only she could shove a hair scrunchie in his mouth and be done with it. A pastel one, for maximum insult. Her lips twitch at the thought — if they were some ancient Amazonian tribe, she'd have sewn his mouth shut by now. Shrink his head, dangle it from a belt. Bobby Hugh, the Relentless. A cautionary tale for others who dared to yap away.

Her focus snaps back just as he’s saying something about good eats. She tilts her head, fixing him with a flat, assessing stare as if deciding whether he’s earned a response. He hasn’t, but she’ll give him one anyway. “I’m not gonna cook anything. I'll drive to Honeycutt and get a bucket of chicken or something.” Lili says crisply, monotone. “Hairspray? Really? It's like you want me to physically eject you from this town.”

[bobbyhughx]

Bobby Hugh was like a hummingbird. His heart was beating triple-time. His eyes darted from his art to Buck to anyone nearby who could save him for the embarrassment he was feeling. Even so, Buck's voice was the opposite of that. Stoic. Calm. Normal. How could a man be his trigger and his safety? It was crushable crack, quite frankly. "I'm pushing through." He blurted out quickly. It was his go-to answer when someone asked him how he was doing. He coined it during the time when his mom was in the psych ward. Perfect deflection for nosy church ladies who didn't actually want to donate their time or resources to a temporarily orphaned teenager.

But Buck was no nosy church lady. He was worse. He was hot and lightly conversational. Bobby Hugh's absolute kryptonite. He scratched the back of his neck casually as he came up with an answer to Buck's very reasonable question. "Uh...not really." He decided to admit. "To be fair this is probably the wrong crowd." He decided.

"There was a kid who I've seen at the comic shop once! He wanted to buy the Superman piece...and his mom took one look at it and said no." Bobby Hugh said, defeat radiating off of his voice. Did Uncle Rich put him up to this booth to embarrass him? To prove that he was right and Bobby Hugh's art was too niche? To scare him straight? It was looking likely. "How are you? This ain't exactly a typical Flurry Fest, right?" He asked. Buck was the jock type...he probably had a relationship with Coach Adkins and Baylor...maybe even Siberee. Bobby Hugh wanted to offer his support...or condolences...or simply hear him say a few words that had nothing to do with his underselling fanart.

Buck had been wandering, a little aimless, when Bobby Hugh’s booth caught his eye. He wasn’t much of an art guy—unless you counted the amateur oil painting his grandmother kept in the living room? The one with a crooked barn and a lopsided cow—but he respected anyone who could put something out there for folks to see. It took guts. He stepped closer to the booth, tilting his head at the framed drawings. Superman with shoulders like boulders, Marlon Brando with a chest that could stop traffic—it was bold, that was for sure. Buck smirked, the kind of smile that said he didn’t quite get it but appreciated the energy. And then Bobby Hugh’s voice cut through the air like a firecracker, startling him. Buck took a half-step back, his hands instinctively raising. “Whoa there, partner, didn’t mean to sneak up on ya,” he said, his tone warm and easy despite the commotion. His eyes flicked to the sketchbook Bobby had flung behind him. He caught a glimpse of... something. A figure, maybe? Didn’t matter. Bobby’s attempt at composure brought a chuckle out of him. “Good to see you too, Bobby Hugh. You holdin’ up alright?” He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, his head tilting to glance at the array of art again.

“Christmas shoppin’? Nah, not really. Just stretchin’ my legs, takin’ it all in.” He gestured vaguely to the festival around them. “Figured I’d see what everyone was up to. You, uh…” Buck’s eyes flicked to the empty tip jar, and then back to Bobby’s face, his smile softening. “You sellin’ much today?” He wasn’t trying to press or pry, but something about Bobby’s energy felt... frazzled. Buck wasn’t sure if it was the festival, the art, or maybe just the fact that Bobby Hugh was Bobby Hugh.

[bobbyhughx]

(┬┬﹏┬┬)

Bobby's anger bubbled as he laid on the floor. The more he thought about it...he shouldn't have to still put up with this shit. High school was over! Didn't his bullies have jobs? Collegiate futures? Teen pregnancies at the very least? His fists tightened as he made the decision to get up and ask those very questions (in that order!). When he heard footsteps approach he was ready to pounce...it wasn't until he heard 'bud' in August's familiar tone that his body language shifted.

His head flicked up like a mole's would. Looking at August from below was almost as threatening as looking at a bully. Had he really matured that much since the last time they talked? He could still remember when they were around the same height. He stumbled to his feet, shaking off snow and dirt as he did so. Now eye to eye with his old friend he couldn't help but let his eyes water a bit. "It's stupid. They're stupid! And that was a stupid joke. Those people's families could be here today!" Bobby Hugh ranted, eyes bubbling more and more as he spoke. He frustratedly swiped his sleeve against his face and leapt into action, picking up the remains of his hot cocoa gift.

"What are you even doing here? Ain't this is a social event?" He inquired. It was a subtle jab. Bobby Hugh could be good at those when he tried to be. His face still felt cold and wet, a fact he made painfully obvious by continuing to swipe at it.

August was practically fine-tuned for picking up on sudden noises. It was probably only natural for someone who was on guard just about all the time, always waiting for one shoe or another to drop, because at the end of the day, as much as he liked to pretend otherwise, he was more of a prey animal than anything. Didn't mean he wouldn't fight back with teeth and claws if he was provoked, but he was just as likely to flee. And there were no shortage of noises and distractions in a place like the Flurry Fest, but a sudden burst of combined laughter bubbling above the rest of it was still enough to draw his attention, eyes snapping towards it like a rabbit who just heard a twig crack in the forest. Especially because that laughter wasn't the same kind of carefree mirth he'd expect. It was sharp, and mean, and painfully familiar. He wasn't exactly planning on going over there, but he found himself watching the group of boys from afar anyways, unable to help the morbid curiosity as to what unfortunate soul they'd picked out as their temporary plaything this time. It wasn't until they'd left that he managed to catch a glimpse, though, and it took a second, but his stomach dropped when he recognized that it was Bobby Hugh, curled up on the ground half-covered in snow, surrounded by a splatter of cocoa like a crime scene, and he knew he couldn't just leave well enough alone. "Hey, bud," he said gently after he'd made his way over and crouched down next to his old friend. Fuck, he couldn't even remember the last time they'd talked, really. If it was anyone's fault, it was his. He hadn't been frequenting the diner much lately for multiple reasons, but Bobby Hugh wasn't one of them. He looked Bobby Hugh over, glad to see that he at least didn't seem to be physically hurt. "You okay down here? Don't tell me you're plannin' on turnin' into the next popsicle." It wasn't a particularly funny joke — insensitive, if anything, but then, August wasn't a particularly sensitive guy, or at least not about shit like that.