#✦ ・ thread 001. cj & ᴇᴠᴇʀᴇᴛᴛ.

[ghcstlies]

Evangeline loves pulling this shit on him nowadays. Guilt trips him into meeting her at a bar (I feel like you never spend time with me anymore) only to stand him up last minute with some bullshit babysitter excuse. 

(And he knows it’s a bullshit excuse, because he pays for a full-time nanny and keeps several excellently-rated babysitters on retainer for situations such as these. His little sister, however, doesn’t care how believable her excuses are anymore — just loves to get him out of the house to socialize and mingle and stop living like The Beast, lest I find out you’ve started talking to your furniture, Rhett.)

As it stands now, Everett can think of ten different things he’d rather stab himself in the eye with than spend another second in this place alone, a list which he types out furiously in the midst of a scathing text message to his sister about disrespect and a waste of a perfectly good Netflix queue. He’s in the middle of typing the words ‘a used glass dildo’ when he pauses, reassessing the situation. It takes him less than a minute to settle on deleting the entire message and texting back a simple ‘K’ instead, because he may be angry, but he’s not angry enough to antagonize the person who dictates how much access he has to his niece. 

He pockets his phone, ready to close out his tab and crawl back into the hole he similarly crawled out of, when the words Ghost Towns assault his ears. He doesn’t flinch, but it’s a near thing — almost instinctive, nowadays, when the name of his show is shouted at him. There are two kinds of people who’ll do this: the kind that hate him, and the kind that don’t. He’s not really sure he’s in the mood to deal with either.

Glancing at the source of the intrusion, he’s met with a young man — probably in his twenties, by the look of him — who looks, for all intents and purposes, like he’s been left unsupervised. Everett can’t really put his finger on why he looks this way, but he catches himself looking around for a parent or guardian anyway, just to be sure. “Uh huh,” he replies warily. He braces himself for whichever of the two ways this can go. If history has any say, it’ll either go fine — big fan, man — or not-fine — so you’re a piece of shit, huh. He scratches his jaw anxiously, attempting to school his expression into one of nonchalance. “That’s me.”

𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔱 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔠𝔧 — 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔡𝔬𝔩𝔭𝔥𝔦𝔫 ( @ghcstlies )

You break one bottle of vermouth and suddenly you’re ‘not welcome at The Velvet Unicorn any longer’. CJ thinks it’s ridiculous, because it was the bartender who dared him to juggle it in the first place. It’s like…making him one of those escape goats or something. That lick the salt lamps.

Still, there’s not too many places in Aluma Lake he can go for a drink that would happily have him, but he thinks he can risk The Fighting Dolphin, because they don’t seem to mind that he’s there, as long as he — loosely quoting some grumpy man who stands behind the bar with his arms crossed all the time�� — ‘doesn’t touch shit’. And he won’t, he promises.

So there he is, being exceptionally well-behaved at the bar, not attracting attention to himself at all, until —

“Holy shit! Aren’t you the dude from Ghost Towns?!”