ophaeliacs

[ophaeliacs]

this was delicious, and dramatic. chance kind of wanted to ruin the whole thing now. just march in and demand to be seen as the best. ah, well. the buzzword did work, but he recognised it too, because he had to do his online marketing for his restaurant. he did that shit on his own, didn't bother hiring someone else on. that's because he couldn't afford it! of course. "sangria leaves are totally not it." chance had to mirror her body and verbal language. something about it was funny. biting on the straw made him scoff, but also smirk, because he loved being up to no good. "if they want an all american vision, they better not pick captain america. that'd be too on the nose, but who am i to give that opinion?"

he glanced down at the drink, which was not a sangria, in his own hand. "eh. i'd say about a four. definitely gonna plunge in and change that. if i somehow remember jack shit and absolutely everything about this night at the same time? considering it a party well done. otherwise, might be boring. wish i could walk in heels." he then angled his boots to show off the fact that there were barely any heels — but what the boots didn't have in heel, they made up for in platform. "then i wouldn't be able to tall, dark, and handsome my way into anything i wanted."

Usually people didn’t ask this many questions, but it wasn’t an issue, Madisyn could handle it. Her Instagram Lives had taught her well. “I heard, they’re like, looking for a particular look. One that just screams Halloween, embracing the whole all-American vision.” She decided on, throwing out enough buzzwords to make it sound super profresh. “And in my opinion, a sexy Mother Nature just doesn’t fit the vibe.” She nodded over to the costume in question, the green leaves marred by an earlier sangria. “But, like, sexy firemen? Is that your vibe?” Madi would be a liar if she said she didn’t judge, but you couldn’t blame a girl for being curious.

She bit down on her disposable straw in her cup at his follow up question, shrugging coyly in response. “I have no idea what you mean, I’m very stable, and unlike some of these bitches, know how to walk in heels. What about you Zorro? On a scale from 1 - 10, how drunk we feeling?”

[ophaeliacs]

these later working nights were not on nate's original schedule. none of it was, not really. except he had been shot towards investigating a case, one which should have been put to rest, and now he couldn't let it go. not because he was on the hunt for vigilante justice, but well, he didn't want to disappoint anybody at his job. this resulted in the routine of being jolted out of his head? at least that followed through. he almost dropped the entire folder he was holding. he'd forgotten to put it in his bag, pressing it to his head, eyes wide. "oh ... bum a smoke? legit? well. i'm like, totally fresh out of them, but if it's your birthday, could ... oh! a light." yes, it did take him a little bit to click in — but once he did, he nodded sagely.

here he thought he was being asked for a whole cigarette. he should have paid more attention to the dangling thing between his teeth. "i hope you aren't loitering outside alone for your whole birthday. that's not super fun." he would know. often he loitered outside of places during his birthday. though his came more from never being sure quite what he wanted to treat himself to when the day came around. he wrangled his backpack around and slapped it on the bench before opening the front pocket. "ahhh, here. i think this should work." this in question was one of those plastic bic lighters. the paper dragon was coming off around the handle. "oops. uh, far out, it hasn't been used in a while. i hope it actually does work." if it didn't. that would be embarrassing. nate took this chance to shove the folder inside.

» aurora ! » open !

It seemed to him that his birthdays had become more and more involved affairs as he'd gotten older― he couldn't quite remember having a proper party for one before he'd been thirteen years of age and a few of his remaining teenaged years were fuzzy at best― all of his most enjoyable birthday memories had come from adulthood and he still felt that way now― skin tacky with sweat, hair mussed where someone had run their fingers through it for the better part of the last five minutes, and a smile that might've cured terrible diseases if he'd been a genius in a slightly more mad scientist sort of way. It was safe to say Percy was enjoying his thirty-second birthday quite thoroughly and certainly planned to continue that trend― just as soon as he'd had a smoke and gotten some fresh air... so to speak.

He found himself standing outside the bar a few moments later― patting his pockets with a cigarette already hanging between his teeth― a rough groan in the back of his throat when his hunt came to naught. "'Scuse me, love?" He called to the nearest person, "You wouldn't happen to have a light, would ya? I've lost mine and I'm fiendin' for a smoke." He explained, noting the roughness of his accent on full display now that he wasn't paying attention to all of the ways he could make it anything but. "I'd be happy to buy ya a drink if you let me bum it for just a bit," Percy continued, grinning rakishly around the cigarette. "I've been gettin' 'em free all night 'cause it's my birthday so I'm not fussed about repayin' that favor."

[ophaeliacs]

the giggle barely reached his ears through the rampant kitchen noise, and when he turned and stared at her, the weird sensation of leaving his body ran right through him. what would you tell him, what would you ask him. what would you. it repeated itself like one of those high-pitched background records. he hitched a breath and the pot of water slipped, and he grabbed onto it with the pot holder and it still collided with the edge of the stove. the water spilt over the burner, and the flame burst up. the other line cook shouted, throwing his towel over it to smother it. and in the pause, chance let out a laugh of his own. just laugh with them, not at them. that was how he was taught to deal with bullies in high school. it was why he had become the funny guy in the friend group.

his physical response: frozen like a deer in the headlights. "i'd ask him how he had any clue all this would be possible. and i'd tell him he was crazy for it." this was the honest answer. the first thing that came to his head. he should've thought it through for media's sake, but he didn't. the chef wasn't being interviewed with that question, but the younger brother, period. he broke through and rattled the windows trying to get further out. "i mean. uh. yeah. he'd probably ask me why i thought doing surf n' turf was clever on a busy night. overall, i hope he'd just. be fine with it." be fine. not proud. not look on with envy. in the middle: fine. indication of how fine chance was not. "he —" nope. not going to say anything else. "— handed pressure better. y'know?" end it, end it.

As he spoke she jotted down his answers, word for word even with the chaos continuing to unfold around her. Brown hues would find herself looking up every so often as he spoke, checking to see if he was even looking at her when he did so or if he was so tied into what was going on around him to even take his eyes off of what was in front of him. She couldn't blame him though, being back here during all of this and having to not only run the kitchen but also try and do his best to answer a nosey reporter.

Scarlett even found herself giggling at the look on his face when he finally looked in her direction, knowing it couldn't have been her question that caused the response. Whenit came down to her final question and his answer, she smiled warmly at her paper as she wrote. "If he was here today, what would be the one thing you would tell him...and the one thing you would ask him?" she quickly asked back, pausing to hear his response once more...though this time she kept her eyes on him directly—wondering what his physical response would be.

[ophaeliacs]

to add insult to the previous embarrassment of being animated and cracking those jokes, chance's expression lit up when she began describing the beginnings of a dish. oh, this reminded him of something. those dark times in the kitchen, but it wasn't because life felt like a dredge; it was because it was after closing, and they'd peer through the leftover ingredients, and challenge each other to make something out of nothing. they would sometimes cook until well past midnight. chance never felt bothered, never felt like it was intruding on his space nor his time as he so often did these days, with much of fucking everything else. his gaze, on maya's face, did linger. listening to the lime and the sweet and the almonds. he was even smiling.

she played it off with a wave of her hand, but in chance's mind, something about it was already too late. you stupid idiot. don't get hopeful about her. and then there's that other part of him. that whispering voice, logical, needling: you know she would deserve way better than you in any shape. "ahhh. sure, sure." this was how he spoke over the rattling in his head. "big enough, schmig enough. i won't take any of the apples ... and you can repeat that recipe so i can write it down. doesn't sound like something you can serve at your place, yeah? taking one for the team." his lips pursed. found himself smirking, as he rearranged the apples in his bag and then put them against his arm. any time he glanced away from her, he felt the jitters. oh, this was not good, you stupid idiot! "i'll try lime with the sesame. then lemon. i've been here both too long and not long enough. but, nine months now. give or take." and now, he had to follow up. didn't have to, but would. "you?"

Maya let out a soft laugh as Chance teased her, mock impressed that she did her own shopping. “Well, I live to serve,” she joked, performing an exaggerated curtsy, and bowing her head before standing back up. She caught his Pokémon joke, but his delivery fell a bit flat which still had her shaking her head with a smile tugging at her lips. It wasn’t hard to see that there was more under the surface with Chance, but Maya never pushed. She knew people had their layers, and Chance? Well, he had his fair share. “By the way, I guess  the Farmer’s Market is big enough for the both of us, but don’t go thinking that you can take all the best apples for yourself.” She gave him a playful, challenging look.  When Chance started talking about the dish he was looking to prepare the apples for, Maya had to admit it sounded pretty good. “You could add a dash of chili flakes for heat, and maybe a citrus glaze–like lime or orange–to balance the sweetness,” she said, her eyes lighting up as she pictured the dish. “And maybe a few toasted almonds or sesame seeds to add texture to the mixed greens…” She trailed off, eyes widening in surprise as she realized she was halfway through planning a whole menu for his skewer idea. Maya cleared her throat, feeling a bit embarrassed at how easily she’d slipped into her old sous chef mode. “But, uh, yeah–sounds like a killer skewer,” she added, trying to play it off with a casual wave of her hand. “So, how long have you been in town? Surely you’re not just here to give me shit about my choice of apples.”

[ophaeliacs]

what could he say? he enjoys being involved. peering over shoulders, murmuring into other's ears, offering dreams to become realities. vanya, fortunate or unfortunate for her, falls into the same kind of persuasion-umbrella as the rest. maybe even more intensely, for nate finds that some kind of strange affection has arrested him. locked him in irons and everything!

he can't believe this is the first kind of crime he's committed: suggesting the wrong font for the website. look, he has a knack ( or something? ) for how the main page is meant to look. how the firm wants to have it be, much less the colour scheme. easy on the eyes, but still slaying ( he already knows he isn't using that term correctly, hence why he doesn't say it aloud. he keeps it locked away inside his head, as he does most things. )

so the fact that these opinions can't carry over to the radio show kind of hurts his feelings. he approaches her, already pressing his hands into prayer, with that kind of puppy-dog pleading expression fixated on his face. "listen. please listen! okay! i know lucinda blackletter is a super out there choice, but we're a far out station. i think we deserve the glow-up." another term slips out. he read that on a webpage and he latched onto it forever. such is the way. "imagine logging in and being hit in the face with that. like, it's not a bummer, it's a blast."

like jimmy neutron! brain blast! that feels like a faraway reference. or like fred jones, who was often overlooked because of his tone of voice. but he has good ideas.

little does velma dinkley here know that nate looked for her the minute they heard she was back in the office. crept around like a mouse on the prowl for cheese, only to then pace outside of the archives and comb through his hair.

look. it's not a crush. it just so happens to be, like, a lot of feelings. nate is strange about his feelings, and he knows it. gets shy when they get too real, whatever their nature.

"what font? calibri?" he wrinkles one side of his nose. "please don't. it's such a far out tragedy, vanya, to put everything in calibri." and then his wrinkled nose takes him into his nosey-ness, peering over her shoulder at the records. "whatcha lookin' at?"

STARTER FOR: @ophaeliacs LOCATION: 104.5 harbor fm offices / cardinal hill

Oh—the Blue Harbor FM offices were fun. Independent in the way that local radio stations are, by nature, independent. A piece of home saved from the grip of merger mania of theme parks and cable networks and publishing division and all sorts of consumer goods and products—ah, hadn’t NBC been bought out by General Electric?—that adhered to logic in the silliest of ways. (NBC and GE: in the radio waves and microwaves business!) 

If it weren't for the school district job, Vanya thinks she could’ve done well here, in this tucked-away office in Cardinal Hill. Even as she’s always found the whole radio business as… without swagger. Never understood the shtick of the A/V club when her public school had computers that ran the latest software.

But Vanya digresses there is some merit there, in sifting through the station’s history. She is lost in the station’s archives again, working but not-really-working, pretending that refurbishing the station’s website takes far longer than it does. ‘I can do this in my sleep’ is a lousy idiom. No such thing. In sleep the brain processes and consolidates memory and communicates with neurons for doing to happen much more quickly when one comes back into consciousness. To Vanya, the more accurate turns of phrase would be ‘I can do this as a fourteen-year-old tinkering with syntax for the first time’ or ‘I can do this in 12 hours with a Red Bull and a dream’. Actionable. Tangible. Conscious of time and temporality. 

Mostly, she thinks, Vanya finds the quiet rather nice. She opens a shelf, parses through the first radio programs of 2005. What could have been recorded then? All commercial cacophony. Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston divorcing. Paris Hilton legal troubles. And, oh, Britney…  

A voice emerges. Smooth, expressive, and warm. Perfect for radio; perfect for her conscience. Another voice in her head to dull out the others. Vanya turns on her heel, drawing out the source and double-checking that the voice is not coming from inside her head. It is not. 

“Abadiño,” she says to them, “Whatever it is you’re saying—it’s no.” Had he said something? She can never tell. Her fingers idly carding through another shelf labeled MAY 2005: TINA FEY BABY; JAMES C, CHESTER B DIVORCES. “If you’re going to make a case for Lucinda Blackletter again, it’s no. Leave that to that firm of yours. That font family has no place in local radio.”

[ophaeliacs]

ruby nodded along in agreement. they considered themself blessed to have muscle memories that weren't running off, to be blunt. out of everyone here in town, they hadn't anticipated connecting to a man over his woodworking — but, they then thought to themself, why the fuck not? did it have to be scheduled or make sense? did it have to entice them or be exciting? finding enjoyment in the mundane often was how they navigated through these times where everything was confusing, or in the moments they wished to fight against stability. hearing him discuss it from his own perspective helped too. already they would begin to think of ideas on how to thank him, but they wouldn't load him down with scones, even with cream.

"man, that's so real. did you ever have a huge gut feeling about something and just flat-out ignore it anyways? that was my vice, i swear. it's like yeah, i know this is about to go real bad, but somehow i still found myself stepping forwards into the deep pit. like okay, go off then." ruby gestured wide, at themself mostly. they did wish to improve that habit, but one thing at a time. making it solid and a skill instead of a whim. then that gesture fades into lifting their hands and warding off rory's new compliments. even though it was genuine, it made them uneasy. not necessarily in a bad way either, but rather that discomfort, that do i need to hear this? which, in their mind, they logically knew they did. "ah, don't sweat it. next one you get will be doused in clotted cream and you'll wish for none again." and it was a jest, and it was also a comment, because that seems to be the nature of things.

the expression flickers across his face then. being in the present moment alerts them to its appearance. he thinks of something. ruby hopes that it brings him some kind of consistent comfort, that it doesn't make him want to run off when he thinks of it too strongly. something about him deserves more warmth and light than ruby saw in blue harbor sometimes. "mmh. you're preaching to the choir. thank the lord for that." if he wasn't, they would still have a much longer way to go than before. "it does feel good. it just reinforces what i'm supposed to be doing, even on those days where i'm like: uh, why am i here again?"

Rory grins at Ruby's comment about balancing precision with instinct, rubbing the back of his neck with a bit of bashfulness. He hadn't really thought about it like that — knowing himself and his skills. It’s one of those things you just do without analyzing too deeply, but Ruby’s words give him a bit of a considerate pause. “Yeah, maybe,” he agrees eventually. “Suppose it’s like muscle memory at this point, isn’t it? You do something long enough, it starts feeling second nature. Doesn't mean I don't fuck up,” he adds with a small smirk. “But it’s a nice thought, knowing it’s coming from a place of trust in what I can do. Guess that’s the trick, really — knowing when to trust your gut and when to lean on the stuff you’ve learned over time.”

He looks down at the empty wrapper that once held a scone, then back up with an exaggerated, sheepish grin. “Right, no clotted cream this time, but I’m not exactly complaining, am I?” he says, gesturing at the general lack of a scone around him as evidence. “Don’t think that scone stood a chance.” His grin softens into something more genuine, a bit of warmth creeping into his tone as he adds, “They were solid — better than solid, really. Might be missin’ a little cream, but if I’m honest, that’s probably just me looking for an excuse to have another,” he jokes. Then, far more sincerely, adds, “You’ve got skills, Ruby. No two ways about it."

He takes a moment to absorb Ruby’s words, then hums. “Stability’s one of those things, isn’t it?” His voice softens a little, and there’s a flicker of something in his expression, like he’s speaking from a place much deeper than the moment they’re in. He thinks of Eliza, and how stability had felt different with her than it feels here, now, in Forest Lake. “Sometimes you don’t realize how much you need it until you’ve found it. And then you wonder how you got by without it.” His gaze lingers on Ruby for a beat longer, warm and understanding, before he asks lightly, “Feel good to have it, though? For you, I mean.”

[ophaeliacs]

the holidays would arrive before giselle was ready. the days often felt in their deepened rush, tripping over one another to see who could pass the fastest. hours all running out, and time refusing to slow down. well, at least so far as coming here for shopping therapy, giselle could be convinced ( with rachel's humour and help ) it was slowing down, even for a moment. "yes! pipe cleaners. i'd love to make lots of jumpers and scarves for my siblings, but i'm trying to start small. otherwise, i'm treading water and feeling frustrated and lost." it was neat to them that rachel was able to have the skills to make gifts like that. giselle themself had studied enough of the online videos, she was certain her mental catalogue had expanded out several tomes' worth of information. now, the retention of that information? another matter. but those were frivolous details she needn't bore anybody with.

"ooh, i didn't think of a coaster. and you could basically do like anything with that." she hated that when she thought of gifts, miles crossed her mind. surely if she went and made anything for him, he'd think it was ridiculous. scoff at her, as he usually did. she almost wanted to stomp her foot, but in the present time, that wouldn't make a lick of sense. at least now she could begin with the pipe cleaners, which she managed to wrangle and hunt down in the same aisle. she plucked black and pink out of their holders, noticing there was a deal. she always took advantage of those, and it often meant she would over-buy, but oh well. "is that what you're here for? the yarn for the sweaters and the hats and things? i can't believe christmas is up and around the corner. i've been wondering if i should go home for these holidays or ... well." they shrugged. "stick out another season in the harbor, as it were."

Rachel laughed at Giselle's comment, it was an absolutely wonderful trade off in her books. "Oh absolutely! I mean I am shocked at just how much these yarns cost. Like I came here today to stock up for some projects I'm doing for gifts for the holidays!" She shared before her smile spread even more when they shared that they also crocheted. "Me too!! Mostly sweaters and blankets and beanies and scarves. I have a few friends with kids and I like to make them sweaters."

Hearing the reason that Giselle came to the store made her smile, though they were having a hard time identifying the materials they needed. Rachel knew sometimes it was easier just seeing them than remembering the names for them. "Pipe cleaners?" She offered hoping that was the right answer that they were looking for. She was sure there were plenty of ways to create cat ears. "That sounds very cute, and I'm so sure that you could find some video online if you get lost!" Rachel pointed out as she let out a small hum, tapping her chin in thought at the options they shared as far as what they were looking to do. "Well a coaster is a year round thing where I feel like this is a perfect time to be making a bat plushie! Or I guess any time would maybe be a good time for a bat plushie!" She didn't want to limit Giselle in when they could or couldn't do a craft project.

[ophaeliacs]

he blinked, slow and steady. the sharpness of the retort surprised him. in a sense, something about it hurt his feelings. maybe they were correct, maybe they weren't wanting to speak to anybody. and yet nate found himself grounded in these moments. staring at them, evaluating them through a slight squint, lenses of his reading glasses perched upon the bridge of his nose. he forgot he didn't take them off. "sheesh. well. your attempt to converse is painful, and totally not tubular. but i don't mind it. maybe you can go up from here too." encouraging. or so he hoped. he'd rather hear that kind of encouragement from someone than nothing at all. he'd figured it was a good idea. not touching it, saying those things. following the ebbing and flowing of the current, which made juno pause, and so he also paused.

he didn't realise, nor was he intentional about it, that he was mirroring them. that it was easy to, that it flowed from him better than words ever would. "sometimes, i just say things i don't like. and so i leave the argument, i go somewhere else. and sometimes, i don't like the way that other me looks at me, yeah? so i turn away. i bring him with me, and then i gotta look back. if that makes any sense." nate let his brows furrow, nose and mouth to follow in the softened grimace. he hoped that it meant — well, something. anything at all. something to be read better. he'd like to be read better, and do the reading like a professional. "but then i get sucked back in because all this loud noise out here ..." he trailed off and shrugged. but they were still invited into that shrug, and the space created around it. maybe that was a part of their story that he wanted to know about too. "do you also like to drift a bit?"

“Your attempt to read me is both unimaginative and weak.” Juno said a little defensively at the insinuation that they might want his attention. Or any attention for that matter. They didn’t know him enough for the joke to stick, but wondered if perhaps he was like Leo and simply loved to talk crap. “Creativity must have skipped you, but no worries. There's nowhere left to go but up.” It wasn’t his fault, though, Juno thought. Not everyone could understand their mind the way that they did. Plenty of people questioned, their family included, but Juno simply liked the little space they occupied in this world. Getting by unnoticed by the masses was their crowning glory. Even if their writing limited just how much they could disappear along with the shadows.  His next words brought them pause. Juno could understand them in their entirety. Floating along in their own subconscious while the world around them moved. They were able to skip through the most unpleasant moments in life without a second thought. Burying all the feeling and emotion that came along with humans. But much like him, Juno got so lost in it sometimes. Unable to tell what was real and what was not, and merging both worlds into one. “It’s a good thing you didn’t try and touch it.” Juno said, remembering having read somewhere they could be harmful. They had never seen it first hand, had never really cared to test it out themselves, but it felt like the right warning to give. “What makes you run from yourself?” Juno asked before they could stop themselves. They were too curious sometimes, but even more when it came to Nate. An unknowing part of their story.

[ophaeliacs]

it tickled ruby's secret humour that safiye's cat was also named jasper. they found him to have a similar personality to their newly acquired roommate as well, and it always resonated as an inside joke they couldn't quite share. the good news: despite that, they could share tea. it always crossed over common ground, acted as a strengthening to the bond, no matter what separated them nor made them take a while to get to these parties. not to mention the free boost of happiness that came out of hearing rave reviews, in their opinion. "warm embrace of a fireplace? that's poetic. this might be out on a limb or something, but have you legit ever thought of writing poetry? the way you describe stuff is outta this world. i sure can't think of pretty ways to say things." ruby, always more grounded, even in their telling of stories. they struggled with even cohesive visual art, colour theory, and theme.

impulses reaped benefits their demeanour otherwise wouldn't present. grimacing at the mention of blue habor, they momentarily hesitated in answering. this was a hard question despite it being a somewhat easy answer; they got fed up with it, that was that. one of the stupid decisions of their lifetime, which was the reason behind it being so hard to admit. maybe if they'd made different choices out there in the big city, they wouldn't feel so withdrawn about this subject. then again, they probably wouldn't ever have returned, if that was the case. funny how that happened. "well. i just. i got sick of it. it's kinda lame to say it that way now, but it's true. i got bored and felt caged up and ... thought going out there was better." they gestured out of safiye's window towards the great beyond. they managed to pat jazzy-boy in their absentminded fluttering thoughts. he allowed it, which was nice. "which i mean. we're kinda similar, like. although i grew up in my own thing, i never had interest in learning more about it. i just kinda drifted, wanted to go my own way, but. like, you take. you." this was where the poetry failed. they went for the shrug whereas safiye went for the sigh. "i've learnt all about the ways different tea plants have all different uses for their parts. so leaves are for one thing, petals another."

Hands rubbing together, Safiye's expression turned playfully menacing as Ruby went into greater detail about her menu of autumnal offerings. She felt oh so privileged to have such insider knowledge. As gracefully as she could, Safiye took a dainty bite out of one of the colored macarons. There was some pride that came with the tasting, as she sunk into the lavender morsel and its light fig flavoring. "More than appealing, I think. All of those varieties you're describing sound amazing—like the warm embrace of a fireplace." She could picture it now: snuggled up next to her feline companion Jasper, who made a most timely appearance as he stretched out on the patio deck beside Ruby. "Sounds so incredible that you even enticed Jazzy boy," she crooned, leaning over to pick him up and set him into her lap. Though there was an initial hiss of dismay, he settled shortly after a generous trade of petting.

Upon hearing that Ruby had acquired her shop on a completely whimsical emotion, Safiye found herself in some envy. She couldn't imagine herself being so impulsive but she could imagine that it was such a liberating thing to not feel the need to struggle with the feeling and powers of control. "Back to Blue Harbor," she echoed, "Why did you ever leave in the first place?" It seemed like a real awakening moment they were having, at least with the amount Ruby was sharing—like Safiye was really getting to know Ruby beyond the surface level alas. She lifted her teacup and hummed a sound of satisfaction as the liquid streamed into her, filling her with a comforting warmth. "It is but I wish I could say I was more involved with it. It wasn't really something I grew up around." A brief sigh was all she could do to elaborate on how she felt about that. "So, tell me more about it. I don't have a whole lot to share outside of what things I've learned very recently," she urged, her fingers combing through the brown coat of her furry friend.

𝐅𝐎𝐑: @ophaeliacs · · · Ruby

[ophaeliacs]

when it came to instincts, ruby often resisted them. they spent the majority of their earlier twenties fighting against the feelings, whether they were good or bad. ignoring them, plunging onwards with whatever whimsical choice came along. this had turned out to be the worst way to live for them. they tried to pause with each of these versions of themself, tried to acknowledge this was who they were for the time being, that they could pluck out the qualities they disliked like fishing litter from the pond, and discard them as they went. however, what they hadn't anticipated was the waft of positivity emanating from this exchange. things that were meant to be, meant to happen, and happening precisely as they're intended. whether that was by fate, or something else entirely, ruby never assigned it a name. it was only jasper's surprised stumble over the mention of their mothers that kept them from diving in.

"i have two moms. my first mother is the one who carried me. my mom is the one who was there, raising me with her. and then i've got a dozen others: aunties and uncles and cousins, even if we're not blood-related." they hoped this explanation made sense. it was always easier to let these things exist rather than attempt to put them into words. it would be kind of comical if it was a deal-breaker — but ruby did not think that'd be the case. "oh, man. yeah, all of my collections have homes like that. i love that you've gotten them from your parents. this is gonna be so weird, being away from mine. the last time i was, it was college." and that was a version of their life they'd rather not relive, in any sense of the term. their stomach shook in excitement, though, because this truly did feel, deeper than anything, like the next right step. "well!" they got embarrassed, feeling shrill. they couldn't keep the smile from their face either. "i'd love to take it. it's a resounding yes from me. and if you'd brought anything with you, honestly, i'd sign right now."

sometimes, jasper was sure they had a sixth sense, perhaps a certain level of clairvoyance that reared its head from time to time. the moment he had sat down and started speaking with ruby, he had known that this felt right — now, after talking with them through the fog of fresh tea leaves, jasper knew they wouldn’t want to offer the room to anybody else. they were different, but their wires crossed in all the right places; as though they were two corresponding puzzle pieces and had been searching for the other all this time. being in an apartment independently was a huge step in itself, but they knew it wasn’t one that could be maintained. the rent was growing, and with every leaky tap or crumbling wall jasper was reminded that they weren’t the most capable person in the world. he cowered in the face of danger, of threat — even if that threat was a particularly loud boiler. “first mother?” it stole them out of their stupor, and jasper swallowed hard as they moved their attention back to ruby’s features. they were becoming more familiar, slowly, like a reflection in fogged glass. “as long as your collections have homes, they’ll fit right in. i—i actually have some records, too . . .” he gently played with his fingertips, “the smiths. stuff like that. some really old vinyls. a lot of them were gifts from my parents,” silent apologies for being away too long, a sweetener to take away the ache and the emptiness that settled in jasper’s heart whenever they left. they supposed they had grown used to being without parents at a young age. it was being away from their siblings, not having to share a bedroom with giselle and not hearing josie banging around in the morning that made their move feel strange. “i think . . . if you like the apartment, i'd be happy for you to take the room. if that's something you want.”

[ophaeliacs]

although their stim adventures did not manifest in the same ways, giselle's body responded to the softened patterns of jasper's singing, as it so often did in their childhood. he would sing; she would shimmy her shoulders, or undulate her spine in a pattern that sometimes made sense for the melodic pattern, sometimes not. often it wasn't about making sense. it was about being involved, showing interest and the response that she was listening to him. as he organised the cards in rainbow order, she set out to finish up the crystal organisation before closing up shop. there weren't too many to do, a few to restock, and she pulled and pushed them to the shelves. at first, she didn't realise she replaced the missing stock to how his syllables tremolo, only after a few arrangements did she quirk the corner of her mouth at it. i just want everything to be how it was before. this unsettled her vein-deep, unexpected. "we can't control the shit that sends us over the edge, yeah? the world ends a little bit at a time anyways. i like to think you're more sensitive to it than the rest. and that makes it hard. like how i look at people and get feelings and ... a lot of the times, it comes true, and i'm sad anyways." this comparison, not precisely similar, but she offered it regardless because she hadn't shared this emotion before.

the strength sometimes grasped at its own façade, keeping it firm over her face. the fact that jasper continuously thought she was strong, and couldn't be overwhelmed, meant she was doing far better at concealing it than she imagined. than sometimes it felt. kept most outbursts to herself, or funnelled them to be in appropriate places. the only time it showed itself was when discussing the past, like now. though even here, she found she tried her best to keep it reined in — and god, she felt old. she felt as though the edges of her photograph curdled in from being burnt. "good. keep thinking that of me. it gives me strength like tinkerbell getting believed in." and yet she hoped, in sharing that emotion prior, despite its brevity, that it would tell him they both, split down the middle, shared also in this human ( which sometimes felt rather inhuman, and not really by any fault of their own ) experience. "i wish all of the family stuff could be fixed by belief alone." even if he was correct about avoiding it not solving anything. even if giselle themself sneered at the crystal at the idea.

"then it wouldn't hurt so much to talk about it. i think i've taken the whole damn thing a lot harder than i'd like." making those scenarios an intrinsic part of her, as if the constant remembrance and the bitter pill surrounding it would be what added to her strength. not letting anyone walk over them or force them to do something they disliked or made them truly uncomfortable. did this worsen the belligerence? the sensation of walking on eggshells? they placed the last obsidian crystal on the shelf. they moved three sapphire clusters over and brought the aquamarine to the front. all things, some kind of transaction; giselle couldn't shake the feeling that returning to their family would be the same thing. making shit up inside my head too? "i just. i'd not want us to go back and then have to listen about how we're incapable again. it wasn't said a lot, but i've heard it ... enough. we're carving life out as best we can. and it's good enough. plus the money. but." she added the hard but more for her own train of thought; even if she disliked this strongly, she wouldn't keep stamping on it. "but. we can try to look at planning it out. and see what they say."

hazel eyes fluttered and squinted in response to the light. it was a lot more bearable than others — the sharp beam of the doctor’s office or the flickering illuminations of the classroom — but it didn’t mean he liked it. after a few seconds, their tensed shoulders dropped and jasper took the stack of cards to meticulously begin organising them in rainbow order. softly, he sung under his breath, one of the familiar broadway tunes that giselle had heard time and time again, swimming on the steam beneath the bathroom door whenever jasper had a shower or being belted into the head of a hairbrush; “we need some light. first of all, we need some light.” it was a sweet noise, like birdsong. not many people had heard them truly sing. giselle, josie and valentine were the only people in the world that jasper was comfortable in front of, wholly and completely, and that knew him in his entirety. every quirk or strangeness — he was loved despite them all. “i always feel stupid,” a gentle shake of their head, focusing on the task at hand to fight the tears that stung the corners of their eyes, “i freaked out over a book misprint. there are worse things in the world, but it felt like . . . it felt like the world was ending.” they had always been sure that, out of the pair of them, giselle was the one with their head firmly on their shoulders. valentine was the leader, the one that had their life together, and josie was the cool one — with her own shop, her own life, with a spring in her step that jasper could only dream of. him and giselle were one person split down the middle; his heart lurched at the image of her getting overwhelmed, too. “but you’re always so strong,” there was a lift to the words, almost a question. “i couldn’t imagine you getting overwhelmed over anything.” those hard nights where the world felt heavy, where giselle had to hold jasper through a flood of tears and hyperventilation — maybe they weren't so alone in those moments after all. he hummed and lifted up two cards, one maroon and one dark red, and they raised them to the light, zig-zagging the cards before ultimately deciding which was darkest. “josie is really capable. so are you.” it wasn’t a competition, he understood that, but it didn’t mean that a heaviness didn’t settle in their chest whenever they saw their siblings doing something he couldn’t. fixing things, making advancements in their life — promotions, relationships, small wins. jasper felt as though they were behind, like they were on a delay, always two steps behind. their eyes settled firmly on the cards and didn’t stray, staring at a selection of blues, scrunching their mouth to one side and mumbling, “it would be fun. we’re never going to make this any better if we completely avoid it. we’ll be happy watching a musical. it’s impossible not to be.” even if he managed to wrangle the four of them to watch wicked at the cinema, it would be a development. “i don’t understand . . . i don’t get it. i just want everything to be how it was before.”

[ophaeliacs]

due to the increased dramatics of the situation, giselle found herself easily distracted. his antics and the queen's wave near sent her over the edge, hand over her mouth to conceal the witch's cackle that soon erupted afterwards. turning her shoulder away from the couple, flush settling against her pale cheeks, she shook her head at leo, and of course in this time, he grasped her hand. this wasn't exactly the first time she had men holding her hand; far from it, despite how she and jasper did try to pretend otherwise to each other. but it was the first time she near felt her little smile fall from the jolt of electricity. oh, please, giselle, come off it. isn't he like this to everybody? the last thing she wished to do was feel special. maybe that was why she refused to show inhibition of surprise, or enjoyment at what he was doing; even though the laughter bubbled up in the end, even though she simply couldn't help it.

genuine surprise flickered across her face. "wait, i've never mentioned i'm a twin? i swear to god, i talk about it every other fucking sentence." you afraid of him getting to know who you really are? these metaphorical questions were cramping the style of the night; she was about to reach into her own skull and pull them out. "but yeah, jasper's technically the youngest. i'm a whole whopping eight minutes older than him, and then i've got two elder siblings. there's four of us running around in this world, god help it." and she personally wouldn't have it any other way. with the hand contact still maintained, giselle lifted leo's hand, and read the planchette that he made with her fingers, providing answer by resting her nimble knuckles between the spaces of leo's own. ( the reason you keep tripping up is because you've said he did this with everybody, but you don't. ) "you summoned the spirits to ask about my shirt? now that's dedication. i'll bet they don't mind either?" the shirt taken in question was one of those sweater-vest, dipped collars. she liked it; apparently, so did he, which she didn't anticipate, nor choose for that reason, but the bonus kind of warmth which permeated her was unmistakeable. "alright, fine. i guess i won't fix it. what a shame." it wasn't. giselle had never been shy about her appearance. it was a middle ground; never going out of her way, but never holding back either.

"well, the homies might be disappointed, but i wouldn't be. you've been thinking about it?" red alerts went off in the back of giselle's head, indicating the game ( or was it? ) she drenched herself into playing. what about the perfume of tonight was so different? indicating she needed to speak her mind like THIS? embarrassment then overtook her. she might be bold, but she was still — well, a finch. who had been conditioned to speak before thinking, and then get shy later. "the football may convince me it's a good idea. though a dance would do it better." this, a swirl down the drain. the comfort she felt near him, emanating from the colour of how he chose to walk in this world, with all his ideas — bad or otherwise — near overwhelmed. the flush travelled down to her throat. "i mean. man, it's fucking hot in here, innit?"

Where Giselle’s gaze flitted about, as if ceaselessly entertained by everything around her - not that he could blame her, still biting back a grin at their dinner-and-show special - Leo’s gaze was fixed on her. She seemed less than impressed by the display that’d somehow involved her, bouncing back with enthusiasm once Leo was visibly back in her orbit. It warmed something in his chest, when he could actually see the shift that took place as she gave him her full attention again. He was almost always greedy for it, as he was with most, but it felt like it’d been earned whenever Giselle granted it to him. There was something fun about never knowing how she really felt, never knowing if he’d actually get it or not - she was either playing the longest game of hard to get ever or Leo was completely off kilter, but the mystery added a thrill. He truly was just a play thing in her hands at this point without her even realising it.

“You’re a twin?” He asked, brows rising at the tidbit of information she’d shared. He couldn’t tell if it made sense or surprised him to hear - it wasn’t that she gave only child energy, but from what he’d seen of his own siblings, she was far more brazen than most. Maybe she was the youngest? “How many of you are there?” Casually attempting to peel back more layers, out of nosiness and a genuine desire to know her better. “I know fuck all about football, but I could probably ham it up or something. What’s there to know? Everyone who plays it’s got their brain scrambled real good, don’t they? U! S! A! U! S! A!” By the end of his chant, Leo had worked up to a full on roar, pounding the table with each syllable. It’d grabbed the attention of the couple apparently arguing about Giselle again, so Leo gave them a bright smile and a rather postured version of the Queen’s wave, feigning elegance at their annoyed gaze. “Jesus. Think it actually kinda worked - to clarify, it’s not like it’d be a big deal, though. If you, like, actually wanted me kissing you instead of the homies. They’ll be disappointed but they’ll just have to get over it.” Flirtations were so easy for Leo, he hadn’t even realised the quip had slipped from his mouth until he noticed it lacked anything lewd. It was a genuine offer that masked as a reciprocated joke, punchline pending.

“He’s a busy dude, but lemme see what I can muster.” Taking her hold to his advantage, Leo intertwined their indexes, the first step towards pulling her in closer until he held a gentle grasp of her entire hand, toying with her fingers as if they were his personal planchette to God. “He said your shirt is way too low cut and that you’re gonna give people the impression that you’re a homewrecker - bit late for that one. The voices, they come in late sometimes, y’know? It’s hard being a messenger, but someone’s gotta do it. And since we’re already here you might as well keep it as is. Your shirt, I mean. I’m a fan, personally.”

[ophaeliacs]

"yeah, you heard him. it's an irish pub and he can't do it." chance spoke up from his place down on the barstool, setting the froth of his own drink back down on the counter. the customer, who seemed to be borderline intoxicated anyways, shot a glare down towards him, and he grinned, shit-eating and derisive. look, whether he liked people sometimes or not, he wouldn't ever put up with this shit. "get one of the gins if you're hankering for something fancy or whatever." with the protesting to follow: but that's not fancy enough! well, then that's where you go somewhere else. he didn't even have a chance to mutter that aloud; the customer decided that on their own, gathering up bag and pushing back their hair. "aaaand good riddance."

he had little beer left in the glass. "i'll take the gin and tonic, just to give you something to do." outside of the short ruckus, it'd been one of those quiet nights. chance's blood ran hot with the need to start something. or finish it. "and if you got the crispy bits left from the last order of fries ... those too."

who: open! @bluestarters where: o'shea's (irish pub extraordinaire)

leon tried hard not to let his face reveal the growing annoyance as he was rattled off to ingredients for some overly complicated cocktail. it was supposed to be a quiet night—just him, his regulars, maybe a chance to go over last month’s sales in peace. o’shea’s wasn’t the place for sugary, twelve-ingredient monstrosities. aurora down the road thrived on that sort of thing, but here? no. o’shea’s was a pub, not a cocktail bar. the only sweet liquor they had was that weird hornet thing for st. patrick’s day, and that was a stretch. otherwise, this place was about beer, whiskey, and the occasional gin mixer. “we're an irish pub. i can’t do that,” leon said flatly, shooting down the request with a shrug. “you can have a lager, guinness, or an amber,” he offered, tapping the taps as he spoke. “i’ve got cider if you want it sweet. and i can make you a gin and tonic—that’s about as fancy as we get.”

[ophaeliacs]

oh, god, this shouldn't feel like so much pressure. but they soon after got to work, the aromatic strength of vanilla foam and cinnamon rising from the station. a frothing milk settled atop the glass as ruby focused, tuning out the running of their nerves for the sake of their favourite; it would be iced, once they were through. as the black tea settled in the bottom of the chilled glass, they pulled out one of their baked goods from the glass display. "okay, this is a caramel apple cupcake. and the drink's gonna be in the same vein, a brown sugar milk tea. this covers five different season in one." even though there were technically only four, when it came to the business, ruby split them even further. "have you been up to whatever your heart desires lately?"

Oliver hums slightly, leaning his arms down to the surface of the counter as he lifts his gaze up to look at the menu for a second. He's unsure if he wants a hot or cold drink but if he thinks about the weather a hot drink and a baked good would probably be the way to go. "Why don't you make me whatever your hearts desires? I'm not very picky on whether the drink should be hot or cold but I'll always take a baked good with them," to hell with the weather, let creativity fly.

@ophaeliacs

[ophaeliacs]

"what! that's super wicked. you're a mortician?" he knew what it meant by osmosis, and watching random youtube videos, but he didn't know too much when it came to the grittier details. he supposed, from what she said, as she delved into the clearance bin, that the trope of morticians not having colour was true. honestly? it was kinda epic. "y'know, kinda takes a special person to do that. like, i could try it out, and i know i'd just either get really sad, or, not know what to do." nate was firm in believing this. he overheard his uncle once, saying it took a special person to be in the medical field; this wasn't any different, in his opinion. whereas from what he witnessed, almost anybody could be a lawyer, including a skeeze. nate didn't like skeezes; their attitude was not tubular for the times. "ooh, man. you'd think a black dress like that would be avant garde or whatever, but i guess it just isn't here. but i mean, you could try to find a polo, or something. tuck that into the shorts. get a sparkly belt. that's, like, idol-chic." these things all pivot from nate watching little videos on youtube, scrolling through and his mind cherry-picking details to recall.

“i wish!” she almost howled. it came out as more of an excitable squawk. elspeth righted herself, shook her head, puffed air into their cheeks. “i’m a mortician, so it’s … the exact opposite, really. a lot of plastic and protective equipment.” which, historically, wasn’t too sexy at all. they were already counting down the days leading up to their halloween festivities, an opportunity to really pull out all the stops and show that they weren’t always all greasy hair and alcohol gel. “it’s hard to move away from something so classic when you know it works for you, right? that’s like me and all the black. it’s a comfort.” elspeth pivoted and her hands — no longer claws — delved into the clearance bin. a strange smell rose from the collection of discarded rags and old, unloved garments. “so, nothing is speaking to your spirit so far? honestly, i feel the same way. i thought i'd walk in here and find a sexy black wedding gown or something. instead it's just old lady shoes and some oversized basketball shorts. i'm destined to exist in scrubs forever.”

[ophaeliacs]

"i mean! but you are rocking it! with the bloody drip and everything. you've got it down pat." she swirled her straw around in her drink, sipping until the ice was revealed and the liquid sank down. "hang on, don't give up yet. you're jennifer, right? did you bring a lighter with you to fake one of those pictures of that iconic scene in the booth?" she plunged right in; she had seen jennifer's body three times, always with friends and never around halloween.

who: @ophaeliacs (giselle)

where: phantom mansion

"Please," she turns her head to look over at the person standing next to her. "If you are here to tell me that I'm rocking this cheerleading outfit I might have to go lay in the middle of the street for the rest of the night." She could not be the only person who has ever seen the iconic Jennifer's Body.

[ophaeliacs]

she took in the spin, nodding to herself, pulling what her sibling might and on the verge of being truthful if she saw any other oversights. she might have eased the whole thing previously, but giselle knew if it was her, she would want to know right away if another malfunction was about to happen. "you're spick and span to me. it's your first full year here? oh, man, i remember mine like it was yesterday." it was odd; usually, you could tell when someone was new to town, but she seemed to fit right in, as though she had always been here. "i don't think it'll fall down again unless you throw your hands in the air like you don't care." giselle went ahead and did the gesture. the ties of her corset remained tightly laced, though her arm caught on the ribbons and tossed them both into the air. "mine's the 7th! with my twin."

giselle could never introduce their birthday without involving jasper. they were too intrinsically tied to not be mentioned. if she ever didn't, it was because she'd gotten angry at him, and even so, she later would correct it and include him. "we just got ourselves on the twenty-six train. it's left the station." having to shout over the rave music was her natural element. "wait, hang on, you've got actual halloween as your birthday? oh, my god. you're literally unstoppable. your aura is powerful." it was no tarot reading which made giselle proclaim this, but their favouritism towards it as a holiday. "yes! okay, i scoured the fabric and crafts store. it's not, like, vintage boning or anything, but i shaped it to my own waist and i recycled old boot ties for the laces." giselle willingly stepped into her space, giving permission for her to touch the corset if she liked. "the skirt, i sewed and pinned from a discount find. it took me ages, honestly!"

Scarlett felt the blush creeping up onto her skin at the comment, her drunken smile growing in size as she looked over the other woman. Scarlett had probably gotten a nice amount of compliments throughout the night but she was too busy trying to dance and have fun to notice. Here, in her face, it made her feel about ten times m,ore confdent in her costume choice, regardless of the potential wardrobe malfunctions. Fuzzy vision saw the pin being offered to her and her green eyes dropped to look around her top to see if there was a way it would help. "I dunno...what do you think?" she did a small spin, slowly, so that the other girl could assess anything she couldn't see.

"I know right? This will be my first full year here and if we have something like this every year...I'm definitely staying!" Scarlett knew she wasn't leaving anytime soon regardless, but at this point she was just too excited to be precise. "Oh no, no," she shook her head as she faced the woman. "Like, Halloween is my birthday! Wait...when is yours?" she asked, hoping to find someone with a birthday the same as hers if not close. "You made that?" her mouth dropped open, moving to touch at the corset the other woman wore. "Wait, wait, tell me all about it."