#county of champagne

[dreamconsumer]

Geoffrey of Villehardouin (1150–1213) was a French knight and historian who participated in and chronicled the Fourth Crusade. He is considered one of the most important historians of the time period.

[todays-just-a-daydream]

'cause people believe that they're gonna get away for the summer

‘cause you and i we live and die the world’s still spinning round we don’t know why why why why why

[oasis - champagne supernova // getting high - paolo hewitt // farms in county mayo // delphi fishery in county mayo // photo of the gallagher brothers from paul gallagher's book brothers]

[postcard-from-the-past]

Map of the Marne county, Champagne region of eastern France

French vintage postcard

[histoireettralala]

Mother and daughter

Mothers and daughters, too, could have fundamentally different life courses despite nominal similarities. Helvide of Dampierre (ca. 1172-ca. 1225) and her daughter Marie of Montmirail (ca. 1205-72) , for example, both were third daughters who were married in their mid-teens to distinguished castle lords (Montmirail, Coucy) . Both had lengthy marriages (twenty-five and twenty-three years), several children (six and five), and were widowed at about thirty-seven. But their marriages were quite different. Helvide, who was no more than five or six years younger than her husband Jean of Montmirail, shared his lordship during marriage (1185-1210), jointly sealing letters with him for a decade before he abandoned her for the cloister. She continued to exercise lordship over his lands, over her own dowry, and over her dower lands until their eldest surviving son succeeded. Her second career as lordly widow was simply an extension of her first career as lordly wife. As her children came of age, she gave up the various Montmirail properties and withdrew to her dower castle at Montmirail, which she held for more than a decade (1212-ca.1225), exercising lordship just as she had shared it with Jean I during their marriage. In fact, Helvide had exercised lordship during her entire adult life. Her daughter Marie, by contrast, did not. As the third wife of the considerably older Enguerran III of Coucy, she did not share lordship with him during their twenty-three-year marriage (1219-42), nor did she assume the lordship of his lands after his death, since her two sons inherited immediately. Marie's thirty-year widowhood (1242-72), twice as long as her mother's, would have proved entirely uneventful had she not outlived all five of her siblings, none of whom left heirs. As it turned out Marie, at fifty-eight, became sole heiress of the entire collection of her parents' castle lordships and titles. Whereas her mother Helvide had overseen the division of the Montmirail properties among her children, Marie, the youngest of six children, purely by chance reconstituted her father's entire collection of properties. There was one further difference. Helvide, having been much aggrieved by Jean I's taking the religious habit and leaving her with underaged children, chose to be buried at Vaucelles in Picardy. Marie, who had a strong tie to her father, commissioned a great tomb for him and obtained permission from the monks of Longpont to be buried next to him; the tomb was inscribed: "daughter of a most worthy knight and most devoted monk Jean, former lord of Montmirail, and mother of Enguerran [IV] of Coucy."

Theodore Evergates- The Aristocracy in the County of Champagne - 1100-1300

[gdiie]

two months until my future begins. terrified.

[virtua-decor]

This daring makeover from The Champagne Bar(bie) in Durham City has caught the eye 🎀

The image, shared by Walkergate Durham, has been done to coincide with the Barbie movie, which came out in cinemas yesterday 📽

[1991diamondaries]

[clownyclaushoe]

art the clown x reader 🔞 | i taste blood and it's turned into an obsession series

part one | champagne confetti

the first time art the clown eats your pussy (and makes you squirt 😫🖤) 🔞 ofc

i didn't intend for there to be so much semi-plot before the porn but it gets just a little angsty/sad at the start. chapter title comes from the song 3d by jungkook cause i couldn't think of anything else and its a euphemism for squirting 😆💦🍾 series title is from lilith (diablo iv anthem) by halsey feat. suga.

part two | part three | part four

---

you couldn't quantify what your relationship with the miles county clown was; it wasn't really a friendship and you weren't romantically or sexually involved either, though you'd be lying if you said art didn't have a way about him that drew you in, something so inexplicably attractive about him. for his part, it seemed he tolerated you most times, others it was as if he kept you around for his own amusement.

that much was probably true enough, given the night you'd met and his over the top reaction to your homemade costume last halloween - harley quinn from the animated series. when he'd walked into the fast food joint and noticed you, he dropped his massive black trash bag to the floor, rushing up to you as if you were a celebrity. it was late enough that there were a few groups of people from the nearby bar throughout the restaurant. his display making them stare, snicker, and talk amongst themselves. it made you a little self-conscious, but the funny clown wasn't fazed at all.

you thanked him, because though a little embarrassing, it was also flattering, considering the time and effort it took to make each detail of your outfit and makeup just right.

somehow you'd let him sit at your table, you asking if he was going to purchase anything, if he was hungry; he had definitely looked like he could use a meal. he had pulled out some change, counting it out on the table. you placed your hand over his, stopping him, telling him you got it. his head jolted back as he looked up at you wide-eyed, mouth agape, as if he was scared by your touch. something in your chest clenched, wondering what made him react in such a way, what could have happened in his past.

six months later you still didn't know the details of his past, though you still were curious. what was he like as a kid, as a teenager, was he an outcast back then, too? would you two have been friends?

you stared at his back as he sat at his work bench, tinkering with some new items for his arsenal. it troubled you how you could compartmentalize that murderous, sadistic side of art from the silly, caring side, though as time goes on its lessening. you wonder, too, if those "good" parts of him were enough to keep him in your life, if it meant even monsters could one day be redeemed. though you doubt art sought redemption, his dark heart beyond healing.

you return your gaze back to your laptop, you had been binge watching youtube videos, just about to search for funny animal clips, when art's hand suddenly waved in front of the screen.

"shit, what, art--" you said all at once, as you hadn't seen or heard his approach. art's arm dropped, and he slumped a little, frowning at you curiously. "i'm sorry, i didn't mean to snap at you. i was just startled." you exhale a deep breath. "yes, art?"

art grinned, pointing at your laptop. "what is it?" art flexed his fingers in a gesture suggesting you hand your laptop to him.

"you want this?" art nodded. "for what?" art insistently did a grabby-hands gesture, while bouncing on his toes. "okay, okay." you handed it over, hoping he wasn't ordering materials or weapons to be used for his next kill using your saved card info.

after a few clicks, suddenly there's audio playing. it's a woman - and it sounds like she's shouting. for a moment you think it might be a snuff video. it takes a few seconds to realize those are shouts of pleasure, not pain.

"i'll leave you alone to enjoy that."

art grabs your arm momentarily, shaking his head, pointing at you, himself, then the screen. you stare at him, confused until he turns the laptop to show you what he was watching.

a man eating a woman's pussy. and not in the cannibal sense, but the cunnilingus sense.

he continues pointing between the three of you, animatedly. "art? you want to eat my pussy?"

art nodded excitedly while pausing the video and putting the computer aside. you didn't think he viewed you that way, wasn't even sure he had a libido.

it seemed at times even art was at the mercy of his own whims, compelled to do things without knowing why or bothering to question it. you wondered if this was one of those times.

did he even understand what he was asking?

"i didn't think-- art, i-i don't--" you trailed off, at a loss for what to say. for what you could say. the truth was for an unbearably long time you've wanted him in every way possible, how could you deny yourself the chance now.

you stood, turning to him, and pushing up on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck as he slipped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer against him. your faces so close, you can feel his breath fanning against your cheek, his intense gaze boring into yours.

the moment lingered. which of you would act first and finally release the thick tension filling the already stuffy air; the summer heat worsened in the poorly ventilated room, sorely lacking air conditioning. sweat trailed down your side, under the thin fabric of your dress. you needed out of these clothes.

art smirked at you, tilting his head, eyes widening and brows raising - he's teasing you, trying to see if he could get a rise out of you. you knew he liked to fuck around with people for his own entertainment, of course you'd be no different. luckily, the distinction between you and everyone else was he's about to fuck around with you, literally.

you couldn't wait any longer.

you leaned forward, capturing art's mouth suddenly, gripping the back of his head. after a moment, art kisses back, a little uncoordinated and off-kilter, which is to be expected with art, and the almost certainty that he's long out of practice.

you whimpered a little against his mouth, taking aback by just how much you're affected by the touch of his lips and his embrace surrounding you.

his hands move down to your thighs and you hop up, art pulling you off the ground, your legs wrapping around him. art takes steps forward and you have no idea where he's taking you and you don't fucking care. he walks you over to his work bench with all his beloved tools that he kept in a particular order and never let anyone else ever touch. he cast the tools aside with a swipe of his arm, setting you on the table.

you sit at the edge and he presses close between your legs as you kiss again, feeling his hard-on though his costume, your hips rolling to grind against him, seeking friction to drive you both wild.

"fuck, i can already feel your big, hard cock," you gasp out incredulously. "want to feel it inside me already. please, art."

art grins, but wiggles his finger at you, shaking his head with his tongue out as if to remind you of what started all this in the first place.

you wait impatiently for his next move.

he grazes his hands up your dress, starting at your thighs and up the curve of your hips, over your waist, shifting up to squeeze your tits together. he unfastened the buttons at the top of the garment before pulling it up and over your head. once again he's surprised you, you would've guessed he'd tear the thin fabric off your body. you get wetter at the thought.

he's quick to do away with your bra and underwear. you lie back on the table as much as will allow, your legs spreading further apart for art to see all of you.

he grabs the backs of your thighs, holding them up as he leans closer to your pussy. he spits on it, his cold saliva spilling over your hot and pulsating labia.

art ducks his head, wasting no time latching his mouth onto your pussy, his big nose bumping your clit repeatedly.

"ohh, oh my god," you struggle to get out, taken aback by his enthusiasm, watching his tongue jutting out to lick between your folds. your body already starting to shake with how fucking good he feels.

his grip on your legs tightens, keeping you still. there's already a familiar feeling of building pressure, like you had to pee - you knew if it were piss, art would be unbothered and perhaps even like it more than the squirt that he was about to coax from you. it was growing urgency, you were so close. your hand blindly reaching for art, for some bearing to ground you, as you felt untethered, completely unfurled by this curious creature and his perfect mouth.

that pressure became too much and you let go, releasing a guttural moan as you come, squirting on art's face, and calling his name.

once art draws back, bearing his teeth with a grin. you knew there was something otherworldly about art, something uncanny, and this seemed farther proof, how he knew how to make you come harder than you ever had, so deeply, it ached - it nearly hurt.

he stands, leaning over you for a kiss, allowing you to taste yourself. when he pulls back, he looks to the pile of tools and for a fleeting moment you think you're his next victim. the real death after the "little" one.

he grabs something from the pile, showing it off with a flourish of his hand. it'd been what he was working on earlier. it was a metal dildo with a smooth head, small ridges around the side and a ribbed shaft.

a shiver ran through you at the thought of art using it on you, that he made it for you. you got wetter imagining being pounded with it, impaled by it.

"fuck yes, please, art." he pushed it inside your soaked pussy, watching the way it stretched you. "ah, shit."

he kept thrusting the toy in and out of you, kneeling again to lick and kiss your clit.

"yes, art, ah, ahhh," you grab his head, holding him in place. "gonna make me fucking squirt again."

and moments later, you were squirting around the toy fucking you good and hard, drenching art's hand and face. the afterglow seemed to go on and on, you have no idea how long, spanning like the moments you had spend with him, time having no meaning anymore.

when you both righted yourselves, you noticed he was getting hard again, huge cock jerking in the tight confines of his pants.

"your turn?" art nods with a grin.

---

sorry to end it with a cliffhanger

i hope you enjoyed! 🖤❤🖤❤🖤

© angeljeonjkk 2024

[vintagelasvegas]

List: The Oldest Bars in Las Vegas

Atomic Liquors at dawn in 1993. Photo by Valentin Wuebben.

Tracking the oldest standalone bars in Las Vegas is a complicated by the matter of a few of them changing names, locations, or having fuzzy math in their own history. This list is not carved in stone but as far as I can tell the standalone bars 50 years and older are ....

ATOMIC LIQUORS (917 Fremont) – opened 4/17/54. We have a longer piece covering Atomic’s history and sources for this date.

DINO’S LOUNGE (1516 S Las Vegas Blvd) – They’ve had this name since ’69, but the bar dates back to this location as Ringside Liquors since ’53, and at a previous location since the late 40s. (The last 4 digits of Dino's phone number date back to the 40s.) Their motto “Getting Vegas Drunk Since ’62” refers specifically to the business’s incorporation date. '53, '62, '69 are all correct dates depending on the details.

HUNTRIDGE TAVERN (1116 E Charleston Blvd) – circa ’62, after starting at a nearby location, 1320 E Charleston, in ’54. Founder W.L. “Buzz” Holst and family opened several drug stores and bars including the next one on this list.

DECATUR LIQUORS (546 S Decatur Blvd) – ’63

4 MILE BAR (3650 Boulder Hwy) – ’63

TAP HOUSE (5589 W Charleston Blvd) – opened as Wild Bill’s Bar in '65. It went through a few names in the 70s and has been known as Tap House since ’85.

CHAMPAGNE’S CAFE (3557 S Maryland Pkwy) – opened under a different name in ’66; Champagne’s Cafe since ‘96. It was originally Sundown Liquors and Cocktail Lounge opened in ’66, a liquor store up front and a lounge in the back. It was combined into one room that exists today and was previously known as Jerry’s Inner Circle (’68), Huey’s Saloon (’77), Jerry’s Saloon (’87), Ole Inner Circle (’93), and Champagne Charlie’s.

FRANKIE’S (1712 W Charleston Blvd) – Frank August opened Frankie’s Cocktails in '68. It’s been known as Frankie’s Tiki Lounge since 2009.

HARD HAT LOUNGE (1675 S Industrial Rd) – ’70. Their “Est. '62” motto works as a reference both to their ’62 building and to the beloved ’62 mural in the bar which came from its previous location under the name Bourbon Street Lounge. The building was home to The Coffee Pot and Squaw's Corner, until the owners of Bourbon Street Lounge moved here and opened Hard Hat Lounge.

STARBOARD TACK (2601 Atlantic St) – also opened in ’70 according to some records, or ‘71 at the latest. Their website says “since ’72.”

Elsewhere ...

Pioneer Saloon (Goodsprings NV) - Built by George Fayle circa '13, without a doubt the oldest bar in Clark County, Nevada.

Gold Mine (Henderson NV) - "Hendertucky's Oldest Tavern," was licensed to Henderson councilman Giles L. Franklin in Sep. '65.

Not quite on the Oldest Bar list ...

70s/90s: Double Down Saloon (4640 Paradise Rd). There was a bar here called John John’s Cocktail Lounge here in '74, then it was called Dreamworld which might have been a disco. For many years in between it was a restaurant rather than a bar. Double Down opened in ’92.

80s: Sand Dollar Lounge (3355 Spring Mountain Rd). Similar to Hard Hat, the motto “Est. ‘76” may refer to the building complex, but Sand Dollar Lounge opened in ‘83 and there was no bar, lounge, or music venue at this location prior to Sand Dollar.

90s: The Hideaway Tavern (3369 Thom Blvd). Their motto is “Friendliest bar in town since ’62,” however Hideaway opened in a new building in the 90s. The ’62 date refers to the property history. In ’63 (not ’62) a building was relocated here from downtown’s “old ranch” aka the Old Mormon Fort State Park. The old ranch was established in the 1800s but building that was moved was part of a restaurant which was constructed in the 50s. At 3369 Thom Blvd was repurposed by Larry LaPenta as into a restaurant called Lorenzo’s, later know as Old Ranch House Supper Club, and Larry’s Old Ranch House. It was demolished in the 90s, and replaced by a new building which opened as Larry’s Hideaway. After a change of ownership it became The Hideaway Tavern. The changes to the structures can be seen in USGS aerial photos, and Clark County Assessor dates The Hideaway Tavern to ’93.

Missing any?

This started as a post on Vintage Las Vegas Instagram. Thanks to CityCast Las Vegas: An Inside Look at the Oldest Dive Bars in Vegas.

4 Mile Bar, '86. Photo by Chelsea Miller. Neon in Nevada Photograph Collection (PH-00225), UNLV Special Collections.

[rogerswifesblog]

Christmas miracle

my Masterlist

Summary: You are visiting one of Starks charity events. The unexpected happens.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!reader

Warnings; none?

A/N: it’s a bit soon for Christmas fluff but whatever here you go!

Don’t forget to share:) comments and reblogs are very appreciated!

Sparkling lights drape over every surface, with wreaths and garlands adorning the walls and doorways, their greenery offset by crimson ribbons and gold accents. A towering Christmas tree stands in the center of the room, its branches shimmering with ornaments and soft, twinkling lights.

A soft smile crept on your lips as you looked around the room. Stark really did know how to make a place look special. It was…magical.

While you were looking around, there was someone looking at you.

Even though Steve was engaged in a conversation with Bucky, he had forgotten the topic a long time ago, since his attention was somewhere else. To him, you looked incredible; a breathtaking dress that perfectly captures your elegance. The gown being a rich emerald green, the fabric catching the light with a soft, luxurious sheen, with a hint of vintage charm, while the flowing skirt cascades to the floor in soft, graceful waves.

“Okay then ignore me. Fine”, Bucky sighed dramatically, making Steve chuckle as he looked at his friend back. “Sorry I-“ “You’re distracted, I can tell. Go talk to her. Who knows, maybe it’ll be a little Christmas miracle and she’ll wanna go out with you-maybe she’ll even give you a kiss”, Bucky teased his best friend, making the blond blush as he elbowed him to the side.

But he did decide to talk to you.

While he had talked to Bucky for a few more seconds, in which you had turned your back to them. He noticed the thin satin ribbon, tied into a bow at the back, as he approached you.

„Good evening, Ma’am”, he greeted you, making you turn to him, a soft smile on your lips, a champagne glass in your hand. Paired with the dress, a set of simple diamond stud earrings and a matching bracelet lend an understated elegance, while a soft, sheer shawl rests lightly over your shoulders, perfect for the evening’s chill. You were breathtaking.

“Good evening, Sir”, you chuckled at the official terms, yet immediately realising he really meant it. It was Steve Rogers, dressed in a replica of his Second World War uniform. He looked good. Especially since, when you saw him on the tv or other events, he often wore his captain America suit.

Your smile became even bigger, Steve Rogers was exactly the man you wanted to talk to; the charity was, from what you had heard, his idea. The “Veterans list to Santa” charity was a charity where everyone could choose a Christma lost written by a veteran and make a gift for them-and if not, just donate money. Which in your opinion was amazing. “Great idea Mr Rogers. This whole thing”, you smiled. You liked this idea especially because your father was a veteran, too, but he had more luck; he had a family that took care of him after he came home, blinded from an explosion, the impact affecting his eyesight.

But you knew there were many veterans that didn’t have the same help. Some of them even ended up on the streets, after they had fought for the county…the country didn’t give much back to them.

The man blushed a little as he shrugged. “Thank you, I…I just think they deserve it. And Christmas is a time of giving, right?”, he smiled bashfully, watching you taking a list from the dozens of the placed letters on the decorated tables.

Steve watched as you read it, some tears glistening in the corner of your eyes, the words touching your heart.

So you weren’t not only stunning, but also caring.

“Well, that is true Mr-“ “call me Steve, please”, he said, holding out his hand, which you gladly took-not expecting him to pull it up to his lips, leaving a gentle kiss on the back of your hand behind. After introducing yourself, you two chatted for a moment.

Laughing you looked up at Steve as he told you how he had once fallen into the big Christmas tree Stark always put up, being too sleepy one morning and just forgetting it was there- “I don’t believe you” “trust me, Stark still has the footage”, he grinned, enjoying making you laugh, even then making a fool out of himself.

“Punk!”, Buckys voice was loud enough to make you both look at him, as he motioned over your heads.

And-

There was a mistletoe in a reddish light that hadn’t been there before. He looked back at Bucky and just as expected Wanda appeared next to him, both of them grinning. “Steve, you know what it means”, he blushed deeply at wandas words, before looking back at you.

“Don’t worry, we don’t-“ before he could finish your sentence you had placed your hand on his cheek and pulled him into a deep but soft kiss. He gasped against your lips, before-still a bit shocked-placing his hands at your waist.

Steve could definitely hear Bucky whistle in the background, making people stop talking and probably follow his gaze to the both of you as you slowly parted. You waited for him to say something, but he only looked at you dumbfounded.

“Well now it’s time you ask me on a date, Steve.”

Hi! Thank you for reading!!

Reblogs and feedback are highly appreciated. Support your content creators:)

Taglist: @rogersbarber @inlovewithchrisevans

Flood my inbox with HC, Drabble/OS ideas or questions! Just whatever you want to leave there! Anons welcome 😋

[rubyreadd]

except it’s your driver that has an entourage that shittalks Lando (don’t even deny it lmfao y’all bragged about it and called it county) while Lando has never been an asshole to precious Oscar

To be honest anon I'm not quite sure what the argument you're trying to make is.

"Oscar's entourage"?? Where?

If you're talking about Max saying that Oscar came in as a number one driver and so of course he wasn't going to bend the knee to Lando just because. Or even George having a chuckle about Lando qualifying P17, then that's just plain and simple mind games.

If you mean Mark Webber and him telling Charles that he had the opportunity to overtake Lando in the championship at Baku, or being outspokenly supportive of Oscar, then that's just Mark doing his job. He's an F1 pundit and Oscar's manager, he's going to have opinions on both subjects.

Lando on the other hand has the full backing of the British media, especially Sky Sports, who are a major English language distributor of F1 coverage. In Monza they could not shut up about how Oscar's fair and hard racing was actually unfair to Lando because Oscar should've held position and defended Lando's lead.

Yet in Australia when Oscar was ordered to relinquish position to Lando because he was on fresher tyres and McLaren wanted to challenge Ferrari, there was no remarking that it was unfair to push Oscar off a home race podium when Lando could not close said gap to Ferrari.

Similarly, when Oscar and Carlos touched in Miami and Oscar dropped to the back of the grid, then put in a mega effort to gain back several positions as well as set the fastest lap of the race, only to be told by McLaren to back off so as not to cause a safety car, it was accepted as the right thing to do.

Lando is not defenceless nor is he is a victim of some "Oscar entourage". Oscar has been a good team mate to him, has up until now bided his time, but if Lando is going to leave a gap then Oscar has every right to be a racing driver.

Ayrton Senna was a McLaren champion after all.

Now, granted, Lando has not been verbally dismissive of Oscar, but actions do speak louder than words. When Lando refused to give position back to Oscar in Hungary until the penultimate lap, it was as Nico Rosberg said: Lando wanting to humiliate Oscar.

Yes this was whole situation could've been avoided if McLaren had given Oscar the preferential pit stop strategy he had earned after getting the better start on Lando and leading the race for more than half the laps. However, if Lando had acquiesced to giving the position back when he was first asked to, there would have been a further twenty laps where he could've fought Oscar for the win, with a good chance of taking P1 because his tyres were up to heat.

Instead, he had a tantrum and delivered McLaren a tainted 1-2 that completely undermined Oscar's maiden win.

He also chucked a fit at Lewis in the cool down room, when all Lewis was doing was complimenting Lando on his speed, and then went on to snub Oscar on the podium by not spraying Oscar with champagne. A behaviour he repeated in Monza.

I know your argument is likely to be that F1 is a high stress environment where everyone is fighting for wins and championships and no driver wants to lose out by a few tenths or a lap, so it's natural for drivers to act out when they do. But for contrast let me talk about Charles and Max.

In Baku this weekend it was clear that Charles was intensely frustrated with his P2, yet he still had the grace to congratulate Oscar, compliment him on his race craft, and celebrate with Oscar on the podium. Similarly, Max went out of his way to wave at Lando after the race, even though Lando had bitten just that little bit more into his championship lead.

And what did Lando do? Snitch on Max for overtaking under the VSC even though it was after the chequered flag.

It's this kind of repeated unsportsmanlike behaviour that leaves me with diminishing goodwill for Lando. I laud Oscar for being cunty when he stands up for himself and his right to race, because Oscar shows maturity and respect towards his peers even when he is disappointed with his results. Lando however makes his poor performance (even when it objectively isn't) everyone else's problem.

Oscar has been driving F1 for one and a half seasons. Lando has been driving for six. Yet it is Oscar who carries himself with the mindset of a champion.

At the end of the day anon, it's unlikely that I am going to sway your opinion about Oscar and that's fine. You are free to like and dislike whatever driver you want. All the advice that I can offer you is to block the anti Lando tags, block Oscar's tag, and block anyone who posts F1 content, opinions, and discourse you don't like. Including myself. I am a stranger on the internet, it's not worth your time or peace to get upset in my inbox because I am voicing my distaste for a driver on my personal blog.

[disillusioneddanny]

You Are in Love Jazz/Cass

Jasmine Fenton let out a sigh as she followed behind her boss as they made their way across the large ballroom. It was the annual Wayne Charity Gala for Criminal Justice Reform and as a public defender at Gotham County Courthouse, Jazz was unfortunately obligated to be there rubbing elbows with rich, pretentious assholes. It was for a wonderful cause, and all of the money went to local nonprofit organizations that helped give people the life-saving resources that would keep them from reoffending or resorting to working for the Goonion as Jazz had heard it called.

When she had first graduated from Harvard Law, she hadn’t known what exactly she wanted to do. What kind of law she wanted to practice, who she wanted to help. And then Danny had told her about how bad Gotham was. After he had started working with Constantine and the rest of the Justice League Dark on the more magical problems, he had started to tell Jazz about all of the horrors of Gotham from when the bats called him there for assistance.

It was then that Jazz finally realized what it was that she was wanting to do. She wanted to help reform the horrible justice system that was the Gotham City justice system and help with the major crime that was going on there. So she had put in an application to be a public defender in Gotham County to help the most disenfranchised people of Gotham and she found her way to New Jersey of all places.

Four years later and the public defender’s office had been completely redone under the watchful eye of Jasmine Fenton and she had managed to make it work like a well oiled machine. She had helped partner with a few nonprofits who helped them work on their basic needs while the PD’s office focused more on helping them keep from going to prison or worse–Arkham.

It wasn’t a perfect system but it was getting better. So here she was, prepared to schmooze with the best of them to get more funding for all of the different organizations that were helping them reduce Gotham recidivism. For the first time in her life, Jazz found herself thankful for the lessons that she had received from Vlad when it came to trying to get people to give her money. Not that she would ever admit that to her godfather.

She plastered her most pleasant smile on her face as she floated through the ballroom, trying to not be self conscious of the fact that she was in a long, green ball gown that had already caused a few people to make comments about the fact that combined with her red hair was reminiscent of Poison Ivy. It was a little embarrassing but her girlfriend had told her multiple times that she looked good in it and that had her feeling a bit better. If her girlfriend thought it looked good, then it had to be.

She would never lie to Jazz.

Jazz was slightly suspicious that her girlfriend didn’t even know how to lie.

Teal eyes roved through the city as she eyed the other gala guests, looking for her next target. She really needed to find someone to chat with or else she was going to start looking a bit too awkward.

Then, her eyes landed on the most beautiful woman in the room and Jazz felt her stomach flutter a bit in anticipation as she made her way to Jazz.

Jasmine Fenton was a ruthless, cutthroat defense attorney. She scared Harvey Dent. Yet her girlfriend seemed to make her weak at the knees every time she so much as looked Jazz’s way.

Cassandra Wayne was the only daughter of Brucie Wayne, the playboy billionaire and host of their lovely gala for the night. Jazz had met her for the first time just two years prior when she had been forced to attend her first gala. The woman had been following Brucie around like a shadow, a pleasant, if not forced smile plastered onto her face as she followed the man around the room, sneaking glasses of champagne from her overly intoxicated father’s hand whenever she thought he had been drinking too much, or glaring menacingly at women who tried to approach the older man in attempts to get him to bring them home.

Then her eyes had landed on Jazz and she had given her the most genuine, beautiful smile that the redhead had ever seen. Jazz had found herself compelled to go over and talk to both Brucie and his daughter and it was probably the best decision she had ever made in her life. Bruce had managed to convince Cass to drift off with Jazz while he got into a long conversation with one of the DA’s who was also at attendance at that gala.

Which was fine with Jazz. The two ladies had found themselves chatting the rest of the night, trading stories, people watching, commiserating over the fact that they were forced to even be at a gala in the first place. And then as the night had come to an end, Cassandra had slipped Jazz a napkin with a phone number and a smiley face before she gave Jazz another one of those breathtaking smiles that had her swooning where she stood.

And really, the rest was history. The women had found themselves talking more and more, seeking one another out whenever they had the chance. Jazz had gone to see Cass’s ballet shows and Cass started to make weekly trips to the courthouse to make sure that the red head was eating properly and taking care of herself.

Somehow they had found themselves here. In a happy, comfortable relationship, living together in a nice brownstone in Upper Gotham and attending fancy galas together. Cass still followed her father like a shadow and Jazz still had to unfortunately kiss ass to a bunch of rich billionaires but sometime during the night they would find one another and get just a little too wrapped up in one another to even notice anyone else.

“Fancy seeing you here, beautiful,” a soft, polite voice said, as strong, calloused hands twined with Jazz’s dainty soft ones. Jazz looked down at her gorgeous, amazing, beautiful girlfriend and felt her cheeks go red like it was that first night all over again.

“I know, it’s almost like your father is hosting the charity ball,” Jazz said with a soft snort. Cass gave her that soft, secretive smile that always seemed to draw the older woman in.

Her kohl lined eyes rolled once as she glanced over at where Bruce was laughing loudly, throwing his arm over Oliver Queen’s shoulder as he laughed raucously, causing others to look over at him in thinly veiled disdain.

“Yes, he does enjoy coming to these,” Cass said, her nose crinkled ever so slightly. Jazz just gave her girlfriend a small smile.

“He seems to be really hamming it up tonight,” Jazz said with a laugh as her girlfriend just let out a tired sigh and shook her head. That was one of the fun parts of getting to know Cass, Jazz started to learn a bit more about all of the family and their treasure trove of secrets. She learned that Bruce Wayne wasn’t nearly as ditzy and arrogant as he let people think and was much more level headed and open. She had gotten to know each of Cass’s siblings as well and learn a bit more of each of them.

And then she had gotten to learn the real secret about the Waynes after dating her girlfriend for a year. She had learned about their nightly activities and had been more than excited to learn as much as she could about them. Not only that but then she got to listen to them tell her fun stories about her baby brother. Apparently he worked rather closely with Cass’s younger brother, Tim and the two caused more chaos than Danny had ever let her know about.

It was fun, getting to know all of the secrets behind her girlfriend, to learn every facet of who she was and how she came to be. How there were days when words were just too much for the shorter women, when days were so hard and difficult that she couldn’t seem to get out of bed. Then there were the days when her laugh filled their apartment along with the pitter patter of her feet as she danced along the kitchen to music only she could hear.

And Jazz found herself able to talk to someone who understood what it was like to grow up with just plain insanity. She felt more comfortable telling Cass about her childhood, opening up about the fact that the reason she was interested in justice reform was because her own parents had been thrown in prison when she had been just twenty years old after what they had done to Danny. Not to mention the years of neglect that they had endured under her parents' care.

Cass never looked at her like she was insane when she mentioned times where she had to beat down turkeys with a baseball bat. They found solace in one another, a comfort that Jazz had never felt before in her life. She found acceptance in Cassandra Wayne and she was addicted to it. In love with the feeling of being in love.

Cass treated Jazz like she was fine china, a delicate thing that needed to be treasured and loved. And Jazz made sure that Cass felt the same way, that Cass knew that she was loved and valued. That the shorted, hardened woman knew that she was more than just a weapon for other’s to use. That she could be more than just Black Bat.

That she could be whatever she wanted to be. That she was Jazz’s tiny dancer that she adored endlessly.

“Would you like to dance?” Cass asked, the corners of her eyes crinkled slightly with her smile.

“You just like showing off,” Jazz said with a roll of her eyes before taking Cass’s hand, watching the way her yellow ball gown seemed to swish around her as she led the taller woman to the dance floor.

“I like showing you off, yes,” Cass said simply before she rested her hand on Jazz’s waist, the other holding Jazz’s hand carefully. “How is it?”

“It’s fine,” Jazz said with a huff as she looked around at the other party goers. “We’re raising a lot of money already and we haven’t even gotten to the silent auction yet. I just hate having to play nice with all of these people.”

“Better than me,” Cass said simply as she allowed Jazz to twirl her around a bit. Jazz gave her a small smile and shook her head in amusement.

“You just have to smile and you have everyone here vying for your attention. You’re the favorite out of Brucie’s kids, you know,” Jazz told her with a small grin.

“Whatever. Tim’s the favorite,” Cass pointed out. Jazz just shook her head and dipped Cass down before pulling her back and giving the woman a soft kiss.

“Whatever you say,” she murmured, lips a hair’s breadth from Cass’s. “If it’s any consolation, you’re my favorite.”

Cass let out a hum, her eyes fluttered closed for a moment as she relished in the attention from the red head. “Everyone is watching.”

“Let them,” Jazz said, running her nose along Cass’s jawline for a moment before they went back to spinning and swaying and sashaying through the dance floor. “Isn’t that what you always tell me? Let them watch?”

Cass hummed. “Makes you more interesting,” she murmured. “Sometimes you’re scary, dancing makes you more approachable. More open.”

Jazz scoffed. “I’m approachable.”

“Intimidating,” Cass told her, pinching her side lightly. “Powerful women scare people. You’re powerful. Scarry. Unapproachable.”

“It’s not my fault that people are cowards and are intimidated by me,” Jazz grumbled. Cass just smiled and shook her head.

“No, but dancing makes you seem more approachable. More,” Cass paused and thought for a moment. “More human,” she finally said.

“I’m human,” Jazz argued.

“No, liminal. Big difference,” she said with a laugh. “Sometimes you stand too still, your eyes glow too much. Too strong, a little too other,” she said, smiling up at Jazz.

Jazz rolled her eyes and just gave her girlfriend another kiss. “Well, I suppose we can prove to everyone that I’m a non intimidating, kind, fully human person.”

Cass let out an excited giggle and allowed Jazz to spin her across the ballroom. The attorney just grinned as they took over the dancefloor, her love for her girlfriend bloomed in her chest.

[taelophone]

What music do you think he listens too? For some reason I think he listens to ambient music LMAO some shit like Aphex Twins. He’s clearly got a lot going on in his head, maybe something like that quiets it down. 🤷‍♀️

this is one of the questions I’ve thought about too😭

Honestly, im not sure cuz idk if he’s actually said anything about his music taste. But if I had to go off of vibes alone, I have a p stable-ish list

genre-wise, he’d probably fuck w Hip Hop, RnB, classical piano (he gives me piano while studying vibes) , art pop, film soundtracks, indie, etc etc.

Some specific artists;

Future, Travis Scott, A$AP Rocky, Sade, The Internet, Steve Lacy, Frank Ocean, any classical artist (he’s not rlly picky abt it cuz he only rlly listens to it while studying), Champagne Coast, TV Girl, Tame Impala, Across The SpiderVerse soundtrack, Hamilton soundtrack, maybe ABBA, Current Joys, Wallows, Rex Orange County, etc.

Some songs I feel like he’d orbit would be;

Daughter of A Cop (TV Girl) . Self Control (Frank Ocean) . Les (Childish Gambino) . Same Ol’ Mistakes (Tample Impala) . 90210 (Travis Scott) . Bad Habit (Steve Lacy) . Mortal Man (Kendrick Lamar) . Mr. Rager (Kid Cudi) . Pursuit of Happiness (Kid Cudi) .

[hsslilly-blog]

Summary: Claire Swanson attends a masquerade ball with her best friend, Addison. As is the norm with her, everything quickly turns into disaster when she runs into the worst man to have ever lived. Word Count: 6,9k A/N: This is my first time posting my writing here! Some things: 1. this one closely follows the structure of the original quest since I thought it worked for what I wanted to do (might not happen with my other rewrites); 2. English is not my first language; and 3. unsure if this is too long, since it’s mostly dialogue.

A universal truth to those who knew her, Claribel Swanson always found herself in situations she would not be able to explain. From totaling her car because she got distracted by a donut shop to spending a night in county jail since her license was expired, trouble followed in Claire’s shadow. She’d argue it was not her fault most of the time. Then again, it did not matter if she wasn’t the reagent — she was always the catalyst.

Mid July had a tendency of being arid in Los Angeles. The orange sky hid behind palm trees, while the light breeze did nothing to soften people’s flushed cheeks. The car radio informed Claire it was the hottest day of the year; so it was, of course, the perfect day to hold a white tie masquerade ball.

The taxi ride to Malibu was number two on her list of worst experiences in the month: first, wearing a petticoat in such a cramped space was very unpleasant; then Addison wouldn't stop rambling about the famous designer she wanted to meet; and, to top it all off, the car's air conditioning wasn't working. As soon as Claire got inside the venue, she was set on getting something to drink.

As she looked for a waiter, Claire swerved from women in long bouffant skirts and men preening in ill-suited tuxedos. She scrutinized their outfits as much as they must've been judging hers. Sequined gowns were abhorrent. Polka dots were worse. Holstein pattern… an inspired choice. Claire's favorite part of those events was the pageantry of it all. The low décolletage of the dresses did not take away from the stuffiness: theatrics, she liked to think, was rich people's most treasured hobby. She knew it was hers, at least.

The Regency-style ballroom was almost too much for Claire, but she fancied the chandeliers. The painted murals in the ceiling were pretty, too. The tall windows and the red curtains stopped her in her tracks for a few seconds before she resumed walking. And the people on the dance floor were terrible; did they not know how to quadrille? Outrageous.

Claire stole a champagne flute from a tray. It was not her drink of choice, and far from something she would have to dampen a heatwave, but it was fine. Everything was fine. She loved the bubbles! However, before she could thank the server, Claire's eyes singled out a lady in a feathery, bright green gown. The round, sturdy shape of her skirt left no doubt: crinoline!?

Claire had to find Addison. She could not keep in her outrage. That was like, totally absurd! Crinoline!? Oh, Claire was all for propriety. She loved propriety. She was the most proper young woman in the entirety of the San Fernando Valley. Crinoline, though, was taking it a step too far; next thing people would be wearing bustles and bonnets and asking when the regiment would be coming to town! She knew Addison would take no joy in Claire's ridicule of the lady's outfit, but she had to share her vexation with someone.

In her state of distress, Claire turned around and ran straight into a man's chest. Her champagne flute almost slipped out her hand, but she managed to avoid a disaster. The man wasn't as lucky: she didn't know what he had been drinking, only that it now was all over the floor.

"Oooops…!" Claire grimaced. "Sorry!"

The man frowned, assessing her damage. While his suit was left unscathed, his dress shirt was soaked. "Do you tend to bolt out running like a lunatic?"

"Um- What?!" She scoffs, "how was I supposed to know you were standing like, right behind me!? Why were you standing right behind me!?"

"I was not. I was walking past you," he said. "You, on the other hand, are blocking the passage and scurrying around with no apparent regard for anyone else in this ballroom."

Claire shook her hands in an attempt to dry her gloves. "I'm not blocking the passage! It's a ballroom! There's no passage!"

"You- Could you please stop with that?!" he raised his arms to protect himself from her. "You're making it worse."

"Worse?! I'm trying to do something about- You probably ruined my gloves and- You are sooo lucky my dress is fine."

"I did not ruin anything. I was walking and you got in my way."

"Literally swerve. Do you only move in a straight line!? Are you like, an ant or something?"

The man stared at Claire for a few seconds, not bothering to answer. Instead, he turned in the other direction. This was very insulting to her, and she could not constrain a scoff.

"Hey-!"

Claire trailed after him, her heels clacking on the parquet floor. Some guests measured her down as she zigzagged through the crowd; she did not even bother excusing herself! After what felt like crossing the entire ballroom, Claire caught up to the man at the venue's bar.

"Hi-? I'm talking with you!"

"Stop following me."

"I'm not- I just want to help!"

"I don't want your help." He came to a halt, turning to face her. His eyes flicked to the people around them. "And you are making a scene."

"I wouldn't be if you didn't walk off while I was talking with you!"

Once again, he did not answer Claire. He did, however, point to the crystal flute she still carried. She resigned herself into handing it to him and watched as he placed both their glasses on the bar counter.

"Are you listening to me?"

"Still, unfortunately."

Claire frowned, her lips pouting as she sulked, "there's no need to be so rude!"

"You just threw a champagne flute at me. I'm of the opinion I'm allowed to be curt with you, in retribution."

"It was an accident!"

"It doesn't matter if it was an accident. Your carelessness put both of us in this… circumstance," he gestured to himself and then to Claire's wet gloves. "So I'd appreciate it if you'd turn around and carry on to wherever you were running to before we met."

The man did not wait to see if Claire would comply with his request; he turned his back to her once more and sat on one of the bar stools, preoccupied with his shirt. Claire stared at his nape for a few seconds, the chatter around her somehow louder. She shifted on her feet… looked up… bit the tip of her gloved fingers.

The problem with Claribel Swanson was that she could not let go of anything, ever.

"But I feel bad." She slid to the man's side and observed as he attempted to fix her mess with his handkerchief. "I want to, like, do something."

"There is not a single thing you can do to make this any better. Unless you have a change of clothes, which I don't believe you do." He didn't look up to her as he spoke, "if you can think of anything else, I accept suggestions."

Oh, Claire had a lot of suggestions. In fact, fixing this predicament would be no trouble for her! She knew exactly what this man needed, and she was more than happy to be of service. She smiled:

"I know- I can keep you company!"

"That's the one thing I can't imagine myself ever desiring."

"Wha-! You're…- I'm just trying to help you not look super stupid alone and-" Claire flaps her hand at him, "so people don't think you're like, a drunk or something!"

"I don't care about what people think."

"You just told me I was making a scene."

"That's different. By attracting us unnecessary attention you were embarrassing yourself and, most importantly, me. I don't want to be asked to leave the function. If people make baseless assumptions about me, then there's hardly anything I can do. It's a masquerade."

"That's literally the same thing."

"No, it's not."

"Well, it is to me."

The man turned to Claire, amused. "Finally you're saying something that pleases me. I'm glad we are not alike."

Claire was thankful the mask concealed her face very well, for her cheeks betrayed her embarrassment. She was not, however, too much embarrassed to retort: "You are too mean, mister, and extremely unpleasant. I'm also very glad we're not alike!"

"I am being frank. I'm not to blame if you take that as meanness."

"Oh, you might be frank alright, but you're also a dick."

"Excuse me?"

"I can be frank too! I've been talking with you for, like, five minutes and every single word that's come out of your mouth has been some sort of insult." She measured him, "I'm beginning to think you're either a very miserable person, or a dick- Or both!"

The man turned himself on the bar stool, facing Claire completely. "Of course I'm miserable. You've been on my presence since you decided to spill both of our drinks on me, and you still haven't got the clue that I do not want to converse with you. Or with anyone, for that matter."

"I did not- It was an accident, and I'm trying to make up for it!"

"And you're failing. You‘re being inconvenient."

"I'm trying to make acquaintance with you so at least we get something out of this terrible experience. Can't you see that?!"

"Fine. What is your name?"

Claire blinked in confusion at his quick acceptance. "Um… I'm Marie."

"That's a lovely name, Marie. Too bad I cannot say the same about the person bearing it. I'm Orson. We're acquainted. You can go now."

Claire did not even entertain the suggestion as she was not satisfied with her pursue yet. Besides, his words delighted her too much:

"What-? Are you like, making this up? Who names their kid Orson?"

"My mother."

Claire giggled. "She had really bad taste!"

"I'm aware."

"It's just- You're like… the first Orson I know. This is a moment to me. Were you born prior to color TV?"

"I was not, no."

"Omigosh- Wait, there's the guy who wrote Ender's Game. But he's like super old, so that doesn't help you… and the film director. Who's also old. And dead."

This seemed to catch his attention. "Film director?"

"Yeah, Welles. From Citizen Kane- My mom loves his Macbeth adaptation… I think my first memory is probably watching, um, a really bad tape of it." Claire twirled her hair, thinking. "She has this cassette she recorded from when it aired on TV once and it's like, all blurry and grainy and fading and it's ugly and you can barely hear what they're saying and, um, I don't think… you want to know about my mom."

"No. I am far more interested in you right now. Is this superficial knowledge?"

"I'm an actress."

"Are you?"

"Yes."

Orson seemed to mull on her answer. Claire took it as an opportunity to size him up, something she hadn't done until then. Although his mask covered most of his face, his mien of self-satisfaction was very apparent; his tall frame probably contributed to it, thought Claire, but something about him vexed her to the point of physicality. His raven-black hair was combed to the side, not a single strand out of place. He was, from what Claire could observe, and in the most objective terms possible, very attractive. A good specimen, she would say.

"You're not a known actress, I presume."

It offended her very much, but Claire only pressed her lips together. "I'm… rising."

This amused him. "This denotes movement. Would you say you're closer to the top or to the bottom?"

"What if I say I'm very famous? How are you supposed to know if I'm telling the truth?"

"You're simultaneously too brash and too coy about it. If you were famous, you'd be either or."

"I could be like, Nicole Kidman."

"I… highly doubt it."

"Okay! Maybe I want to confuse you. Mm? And I'm not brash."

"Oh, you are, but I agree with you on the former; you do confound me." Orson's brown eyes inspected her face. "You ruin my night and make it your mission to spoil it further. You insist on trying to socialize with me as I continue to dismiss you. Nothing I say seems to dishearten you. I must know: were you born like this?"

Claire made a moue. "I ruined your night…? Do you promise?"

"This is amensalism. You're not even getting anything out of this."

"I'm getting plenty."

"Why are you here?"

"Um… because I followed you?"

Orson frowns. "Don't be cute. I want to know why you are attending this charity event."

"It's Miami! Men here are loaded and famous... and they can be generous to more than one cause!" She smiles, touching his arm. "Are you feeling any generous?"

"No."

"It was a funny bit. You could've laughed."

"I didn't find it funny."

Claire rolls her eyes. "Figures."

He didn't say anything after that, and neither did Claire. Orson didn't seem bothered by the silence, but his staring unnerved her; she fidgeted with her still-dampen gloves and looked elsewhere. Why was this man so immune to her charms? Claire could not understand how it took him so little effort to brush her off.

"I, um… I came with a friend," Claire retried after a moment. Orson tilted his head to the side, listening. "She wanted to meet this fashion designer… Barbra… something something.

"Tremblay-Leblond."

"You know her?"

He hummed. "When I attend an event, I tend to make a point of remembering the hostess' name."

"Oh. Was this a faux-pas?"

Orson took a few seconds to process her words, but he snorted when he did. "Please, tell me what you've done that has not been a faux-pas."

"Well- I'll let you know your etiquette hasn't been the best either!" she squeaked as her cheeks colored. "Asking this many questions is like, totally impolite. You keep probing me but you haven't shared anything about yourself!"

"You haven't asked me anything."

"Why are you here?"

"It's charity. I care deeply for the arts."

"That's it?"

"Should it be something else?"

"You just don't look like an art guy. You look, like, sad and miserable and lonely and depressed," she said, twirling a loose strand of hair. "I see no reason you'd come to this thing- You know the charity stuff is just an excuse, right?"

"It might be, for others." His gaze lingered on her finger. "I did not plan on staying for long, though."

"Did you change your mind?"

"It'd be discourteous to leave you here by yourself."

"Funny, because you were very eager to send me away just a few minutes ago!"

"Send you away, yes. Not leave you unaccompanied. And that was before we made acquaintance."

Claire could not keep in her smile. "You are all politeness. Gnarly!"

"And you're too content. I'm still trying to figure out a way to get rid of you."

"I'm very persistent."

"I can tell." He considers her. "Can I bore you with conversation?"

"You want to talk now?"

"I'm willing if it runs you off."

"Ooooh. Okay! I'm an adept speaker, you see. I can like, totally talk about anything, for any length of time," Claire nods, agreeing with herself. "Give me a topic and I'll give you an opinion."

"You have an opinion about every topic there is?"

"Yes. And if I don't, I'll form one on the spot."

"Is that how you go on about life?"

"Well, of course. You have to know where you stand on things."

"Even when you have insufficient information?"

"You always have information. Something, I mean. You can't ever be truly neutral, I think."

Orson thought about her words for a moment. "I don't completely disagree with you. Although I prefer to be more… deliberate with my opinions."

"As if! You can't actually believe that- You barely know me and you think a lot about me."

"Oh, you give me a lot to think about with very little."

She dismisses him with her hand. "Adds to my point. Could you be neutral about me?"

"I don't think that's possible, no."

Claire grinned, satisfied. When the dancing recommenced on the floor in front of them, she couldn't help but pay attention to the couples waltzing. Claire twirled her hair, coming up with an idea.

"Do you dance, Orson?"

"I can dance, yes. I try to avoid it."

"Aw… Come on, don't be like that. That's the whole point of a ball! It'd be soooo rude not to pay it the compliment of a dance once."

"I suppose so. I am willing to be rude, though," he told her. "We already went over how this is a masquerade. People won't know who, exactly, is not adhering to a social rule."

"Yeah… but it's still a gaffe with me," Claire pouted. She then leaned forward, "You may dislike dancing, but I know you'll find me very pleasant as a partner!"

"I wouldn't be so unlucky. To find you pleasant would hinder my plans of driving you away. Don't wish me such an evil."

"I'm wishing you all the evil, and more."

"I have a suspicion you're not one to only wish for things, Marie."

Claire inspected Orson for a moment, her eyes traveling over his figure. He still fidgeted with his handkerchief, his mind elsewhere. Something about him was profoundly intriguing to Claire; by his own admission he had no issue rejecting her, yet he seemed to get some gratification by her insistence. Masochism was no foreign concept to her, though concealing it under the guise of decorum was a phenomenon he seemed to have mastered.

Deep down in her viscera Claire could feel her desperation. The man by her side invoked indignation in her to the likes she'd never felt; why was he so opposed to the mere idea of Claire? It was impossible he did not fancy her as affable in the slightest. Claire was certain she had a perfect resemblance of her character in her mind, and she was very sure of her likability. Not only was she totally privileged in her appearance, with her golden mane and her heart shaped lips, but she was also aware of her cheerful and unpretentious disposition.

Claire settled on the opinion this must have been indicative of his own insecurities. For a man to desire to isolate himself in that way, even in the presence of a woman of her degree, he had to fear vulnerability. And, God, the lack of humility to be in this position! To snob other people when they're giving you their time, unable to overcome your shortcomings for the benefit of your partner… This upset her profoundly, and she couldn't help but confront him about it:

"I think you're totally afraid."

Orson furrowed his eyebrows. "Afraid of what?"

"Of, like, liking me."

"Don't think so highly of yourself."

She giggled. "Why? Am I not up to par to your thoughts?"

"It's not a concern I have at all. Finding you likable would be a surprise, but it wouldn't mean a thing," he said, folding his handkerchief. Orson pocketed it. "I'd still want you very far from myself."

"Oh, don't inhibit yourself like this."

"I'm inhibiting you. You look as if entropy was a person. I don't need that."

Claire tilted her head to the side, her curtain bangs falling over her face. "I already said I'm sorry. And I've been so nice."

"I would argue against that last point."

"Awesome! Do argue with me- Prove me wrong. If you're not afraid of liking me just a little bit, then dance with me."

He looked annoyed. "You sound like a child."

"And you are afraid!" Claire grinned big. "Frightened! Terrified!"

It was Orson's turn to consider her. After a heavy sigh, he slipped of his bar stool to claim her hand. With feigned coyness, Claire let herself be led to the crowded dance floor.

"Your gloves are still… damp."

She purred, "would you like me to take them off?"

"No."

"Why? Would that be too scandalous?"

"Once again; please, tell what you have done so far that hasn't been scandalous."

Claire beamed with his irked tone of voice. As Orson guided her through the steps, silence fell over them. Soon she started feeling restless; he didn't seem interested in speaking one word, all the while Claire was bubbling with remarks. For her, to stand face to face with a person for the entire duration of a dance and not chat about anything was akin to torture!

As they orbited their neighbors, Claire's bugs bit her insides. His gaze made her uncomfortable. She almost resigned herself into maintaining the quietude until she realized it would cause him greater distress if he were obliged to talk.

"Everyone here has put so much effort into their outfits!" She pursed her lips, "though some have no sense of aesthetics! Look at that guy and his terrible, awful, ugly suit. Not even a dress coat!"

Orson hummed. "Not worse than the lady he is with."

"Her tiara is so ugly. Ew," Claire grimaced. She waited a few seconds, but did not let them fall into silence again: "It's your turn to say something now."

"Is it a habit of yours to talk while you're dancing?"

"Is it not yours?" she smiled. "Do you expect me to like, not say anything for half an hour? Are we supposed to just stare at each other while we dance?"

"I didn't expect you to be silent, no. Although I naively did hope so."

"Aw… thinking of me? That's so cute!" Claire gave his shoulder a light tap, "but when you're paired up with someone who has trouble speaking you have to like, help them a little."

"How thoughtful of you."

"I try to be! So, you see, I'm doing us both a favor here! How awkward would it be if we just stood here… minding our own businesses…"

"Do you take an issue with people ignoring you, Marie?"

"What? No." She giggled, rolling her eyes. "I just think it's weird to be with another person and just… well, not talk. You should find it weird too. Because it's a little rude. But, um, you don't seem to have a problem being rude- Why would you even ignore me, anyway? You're dancing with me because you want to."

"I am not ignoring you, clearly. You don't make it possible." Orson whirled them through the other couples, "you seem to have a need to be always present, though."

"Omigosh- Are you like, a shrink? Ewwww… please, don't be a shrink."

He have her a weak smile. "I am not."

"Oh, good. Because I dated a therapist once, and it was like… weird. Well, mostly because he was like, my therapist, so it was totally awkward because he was kinda in my head, you know," she told him. Claire then raised her eyebrows. "Not saying I'm attracted to you, or to therapists- Or like, um, that I'm not. I don't know why I'm telling you this."

"I presume it's because you have no filter. It seems to be very striking of your character, though."

She scoffed. "So much for being deliberate- You don't even know who I am!"

"No, I do not… but this is something I've been wondering about ever since you mentioned you're an actress." Orson searched her face, "something about you is familiar, almost loathsome… yet at the same time, forgive me, attractive."

Claire should have been delighted, but her mites chewed her guts at the same rate as her face reddened. She did not enjoy one bit how he was going off-script; this was way too forward for him. And so indiscreet! He was not supposed to say it! At last she had succeeded in prying a somewhat positive comment from this man, and she found herself desiring she had never done so.

"I guarantee you I'm not familiar to you!" she retorted, turning her face away from Orson. "And- Do you only look at people to criticize them!?"

"No. You just happen to be so unabashedly unreserved that it makes it very easy to point out your failings."

"I can also point out your failings very well." She frowns, "you're so self-satisfied you think you're like, above every single person you come in contact with- That they're not good enough to even talk to you. Your fault is that you hate everybody!"

"And yours is to believe you know everything about the world around you, to the point you naively misrepresent what you can't comprehend."

"Oh, please. Tell me, which part of your person have I misrepresented? Are you not arrogant? Acting as if you've known me for years, pointing fingers at me like you have the facts- Like you have the right! Is this not arrogance!?"

They both fell into silence again, as Orson did nothing other than press his lips together and Claire said no more. Their exchange made her so incensed she found it difficult to cross her steps for the first time that night. As she struggled to keep up with the tempo, Orson dropped his hand at her waist and she thought he was finally done with her; instead, Claire was twirled around before safely returning to his arms.

"I apologize," said Orson afterwards, earning a confused expression from Claire. "You are correct in saying I do not know you. I can't make such grave assumptions from what you choose to show me when I'm not being very agreeable to you."

She shifts her gaze, chin high. "Well, um- I guess I appreciate that."

"I would like to blame my behavior on my 40-hour week schedule, but that wouldn't be accurate."

"Oh. You work full-time? Do you have health insurance…?"

"No, only five classes per semester and a migraine every Friday."

This was extremely humorous to Claire. "You're a teacher?"

"A professor."

"Omigosh, you have a title. I am so sorry, professor."

"Don't."

Claire laughed, tucking her hair behind her ear. "What's an university professor doing at this type of event? Shouldn't you, be, like, doing some lame stuff, like, umm… grading? How'd you even afford the tux?"

"It offends me deeply that you believe I cannot afford a dress suit," he said, almost good-mannered. Orson brought her closer. "As for you, since we've already established you're not a well known actress-"

"We have not established that."

"-I can only assume you have other means of affording your gown?"

"Why are you speculating on my pedigree?"

He smiled despite himself. "I said nothing of that."

"Well, um, yeah- I'm, um, a heiress." She giggles. "Yeah. I'm a heiress. My father is… Um- Daddy is, like, loaded."

"This was the performance of a lifetime."

"I'm so glad you enjoyed it. It was my mission tonight to please you."

"Very well. You just did."

This, for Claire, was like gene mapping for the first time. She grinned, petting his shoulder, and Orson looked thrown off by it.

"What kind of stupid university do you teach at that you have no benefits, though? Are you not tenured?"

"Why are you so interested in my benefits?"

"Um… just making sure you're not being exploited."

"You are so kind."

Claire laughed, then covered her mouth with her free hand. Orson smiled at first, but winced when the music changed. He pulled Claire to the side.

"That's enough."

"What?" Claire tugged on his arm, "it's a group dance now, it's going to be fun!"

"Clearly, we have different conceptions of 'fun'," Orson said. He looked to his side, assessing the dance floor. "I have no interest in dancing with someone I'm not acquainted with, which is to say I feel no desire to leave your side."

"You're like, such a loser. There's something very wrong with you."

"Thank you." He nodded. "I appreciate this coming from you. You would know."

"Um... excuse me?"

Orson smiled, but didn't reply. Instead, he took her hand and led her out of the dance floor and away from the commotion. Once again, she let him guide her and once again, Claire was perturbed by his touch. It was such a harmless act, yet it appeared so out of protocol her first reaction would've been to recoil and push him away had she been wearing no gloves.

As Orson walked them both out onto the silence of a private balcony, Claire leaned against the balustrade. The waves crashed on the beach below and she watched as a small crowd gathered for the fireworks exhibition. The weather was much more agreeable at that point of the night than it had been earlier.

"I'm a biologist," Claire blurted, breaking the silence. Orson turned to face her. "Um- Well, I have an undergrad in biology. I've never… worked in the field."

"Not a heiress?"

She rolled her eyes. "My dad doesn't talk to me."

"Very unfortunate for him."

"It's fine, though. I don't care." She shook her head and smiled, "I've always wanted to act, anyway. So I came back to Los Angeles."

"Have I seen you in anything?"

"Not yet. But you will."

Orson leaned against the railing as well. He stared at his hands for a moment.

"Must I share something about myself now?"

"Well, I'm not going to say no."

He gave it some thought. "I used to be a film director."

"Ohmigosh, really? This is so- I knew we had crossed paths for a reason. See?" She smiled and gave his arm a few happy taps, "I'm actress and you're a director. Verb tenses can change very easily, don't worry."

"I fear it's not that simple."

"Are you, like, famous? No, used to- Are you good? Oh, forget it, you wouldn't give me a negative." Claire waved him away. She did not let Orson reply to her, as she already had a planned line of inquiry: "Have you ever won something? How many films have you made? Are you like, recognizable-!? Hold on, let me think a little!"

Orson allowed her to muse for some time, with her index finger over her moue and her eyes squinted in concentration. Claire tried piecing together all the information she had learnt about him that night, but he could be any person in the county. She let out a frustrated sigh. "Okay, this is harder than I thought it'd be."

"I'm unsure if I should feel very offended, or very relieved."

"I'm bad at guessing games" Claire scanned him. "Oh- Wait-!"

She reached for his left hand, which caught Orson by surprise: "What are you doing?"

"I'm checking if you were smart enough to pocket the ring."

"I am not married."

"That's what they all say."

"I can assure you I am not married. It's not something I have ever given thought to."

"Seriously? This is embarrassing… Okay, so, here's a piece of advice." Claire gave his chest a tap. "You should get married and then like, get divorced. As soon as possible."

Orson frowned. "Why would I do that?"

"Um… first, because divorce is chic, but also- You have like, this strong divorced guy with kids energy," she rolls her eyes, gesturing at his entire being. "I keep thinking you're going to slip up at any moment and mention your ex-wife or tell me your children are at grandma's."

He tucked a stubborn strand of hair behind her ear. "You must have a talent in misunderstanding everything around you. It's… charming."

Claire grins. "Is it now?"

"Your overconfidence in… everything makes you annoying and naive, though it endears you very much."

"Are you unable to compliment people without insulting them first?"

"It's not an insult. It's the truth."

"Do I get to tell you a truth, too?"

"Did you not tell the truth at any point this evening?"

Claire smiles. "No."

"You have a lovely smile."

"Are you saying this because you mean it or because you're trying to be nice and my smile is like, the only thing you can see of my face?"

"I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it."

"In that case… thanks."

They retreated into silence once more. Claire could recognize, though, it was not any kind of silence; unlike the other occasions they stood without speaking, this one was tinted in expectation. Every subject she could think of seemed extremely inappropriate. Claire lowered her chin to her chest, her nerves overwhelming her.

The man in front of her appeared as uncomfortable as her, if not more. With his hands behind his back, his stiffness of manner was more obvious than ever. Orson's eyes did not wander away from her face and Claire could only suffer from anticipation. Besides, of course, wish she could turn around and run away from him. That would be uncivil.

If thoughts of incivility preoccupied Claire, then they overburdened Orson; and in no time she was made aware of it as she was in his arms, and his lips were upon hers. Soon, Claire's hands were on his lapels, and Orson's were on her hair, and her waist, and all over her.

Navigating propriety had always been a prelude. Claire tiptoed until she felt herself bump against the balustrade behind her. She gasped, her fingers trailing from his shoulder to his nape. Fireworks exploded in the distance and her heartbeat mimicked every single blow as their masks got in the way.

"Okay." Claire giggled out her words when he pulled away. She caught her breath, "that was like, a 76."

Orson searched her face, in an attempt to make sense of it. When he did, he frowned, "are you rating my kiss?"

"I rate all of my experiences."

"This makes me… deeply uncomfortable- A C?"

"Ewwww. Do you have those memorized? Freak!" Claire rolls her eyes, not letting him protest, "anyway- I have like, very high standards."

"I must not judge my own performance, but, surely, it's worth more than a 76."

"I just know you're not living up to your full potential, you know."

Orson looked very annoyed, but, to her surprise, humored her; he tilted her chin up and kissed her again. Claire smiled:

"Mmm… I'm giving this one an 82."

"How does your system work? What metrics are you using here?"

"Uhhh… like… lots."

"This seems dubious. I'm led to believe you're intentionally low-scoring me."

"Don't worry. It will be peer reviewed. Later."

This amused him very much, and even earned her a chuckle. Orson cupped her cheeks with both hands before leaning down once more. Claire was not expecting the kiss to be so sweet and she couldn't contain the giggles escaping her. The light ocean breeze was welcome, but it did nothing to assuage the warmth spreading through her body.

When he pulled away, Claire smiled. Her hands reached his wrists as she considered him. "This was nice."

“Nice?”

“What?”

"I want a number."

"Omigosh! I don't work well under pressure."

"And you're in Hollywood?"

"Unrelated. How's this: I still think you can do better, Prof."

Claire prided herself in her social competence. She believed herself to be sensible of people's inner thoughts, but the way Orson's smile dropped off his face was floundering to her. In seconds, he seemed to go through confusion, hurt and disgust until he set on scowling. Had she said something terribly insulting in trying to be funny? Was she too repetitive?

Before Claire could ask him what had happened, Orson reached for her mask. He tried to untie the knot on the back of her head as Claire laughed awkwardly, pushing his hand away. "Hey- No! It's going to like, ruin the fun!"

Orson didn't comply. Once her mask was off, he paralyzed. He searched her face, his eyebrows furrowed; not in confusion or anger this time, but what appeared to Claire as panic, perplexity, a breakdown of order. Discomposed under his gaze, she brushed her bangs to the side.

"Oh, come on." Claire avoided looking up, abashed. "I know I'm not bad looking."

"Claribel."

It was her turn to twist her face in bewilderment. Not once that evening had Claire even come close to sharing with him her nickname, much less her legal name.

"What?"

The sheer horror of Orson yanking his mask off was enough to make Claire stumble a few steps back. In front of her, with lips smudged with her red lipstick, stood Professor Thomas Hunt.

"What?!"

Claire could only turn around, her hands going straight to her face. Her body's involuntary reaction was to flex down in disgust. Her stomach churned. Oh, her bugs wanted out. And they wanted out now.

With everything she had, she forced her feelings down her throat. Speechless, she faced him once again. Claire covered her mouth, her eyes trailing his visage. "Oh my God- Oh my God!"

He frowned. "Stop with this, Claribel. I'm not falling for it. You must've known it was me."

"Wha- Oh please-! Are you delusional!? With a mask on you look like half of the guys in Los Angeles. You're the most generic looking man ever!"

"You-"

"And you're not that special! But you- You must've known it was me!" She approached him again, finger outstretched. "With your- Your meddling and asking questions and being oh-so-interested in me!"

Hunt scoffed. "Had I even suspected it was you behind that mask I would've walked away from you without a second thought."

"You speak as if I have acted any different tonight than I usually do! You were putting on an act, I wasn't!"

"Putting on an act? I was merely trying to be polite in face of your incessant pestering. It's not my fault if you cannot discern between that and not being genuine."

"You are not polite! That's not a word that even exists to you! You like putting people down and telling them to their face they are worthless- You were making an effort- You wanted to confuse me!"

"Are you listening to yourself?! Can't you see how absurd is this argument you're making?!" He scowls, "I have no interest in being involved with you in any form, Claribel- I do not wish to, and I cannot. You are not sound of mind if you believe otherwise."

"I know you at least suspected it was me! How could you not?! I said- I said so much about myself. I know you put everything together!"

"Do you think I care about you? Do you think I waste any second of my time giving you as much as a fleeting thought?" Hunt's face twisted in contempt, "you do not exist to me, Claribel."

Claire gasped. "Don't be under the impression I want you to- God-! You're the last man on Earth I wanted to have spent tonight with!"

"Very good. I'm glad we can agree on this." He squints, "this is not something that should have happened. This was a mistake. A line that should not have been crossed."

"Are you like, reassuring yourself? Or just stating the obvious?!"

"The latter. As you've shown me tonight and in many other occasions, I can't ever expect you to act rationally or follow any common sense. I have to spell out the obvious to you since you appear to be very fond of misconstructions."

"Are you calling me dumb?"

With a voice of forced calmness, Hunt said: "No. You are not dumb, Claribel. Far from it. You're too smart for your own good. You're blind to what makes you an unpleasant person to be around. You're disrespectful, insolent, and frustrating. So I want to be very clear with you, so you do not make up any fantasies in your mind: I dislike you, and I despise you."

Claire wouldn't be able to explain why his words affected her so much, but they did. As much as she tried to ignore the tightness in her chest, the burning sensation spread over to her face and ears.

"Well, Professor, I'd like to offer you a piece of my mind as well." Claire put on a scorn, getting closer to him. Through gritted teeth, she spoke: "From very moment I met you, I was certain you were the most arrogant, offensive and conceited man I'd ever had the displeasure to know. You have no regard to others, you are patronizing and you- You make me sick. I hate everything about you. The world is worse with you in it."

The silence in the balcony was only broken by the waves crashing on the beach below and the distant chatter of the other guests. Neither Claire nor Hunt seemed interested in breaking eye contact, their bodies inches apart. She tried controlling her breathing, but her anger only grew by the moment.

"Very well. I appreciate your sincerity, Miss Swanson. I can only hope I'm never in a situation again where I'm forced to hear it."

And with that, Hunt turned around and walked away with no hesitation. Claire watched him re-enter the building as her legs wobbled. Once she was sure she was alone, she could only indulge in the tumult of her mind; Claire leaned against the balustrade once more and shattered into tears.

For half-an-hour or so, that was the only activity she was capable of partaking in. The dread at any attempt at making sense of anything made her spiral into more desperation, and along came more tears. All of his words were terribly hurtful, but even more so was the bitterness of the situation she was in. What even were the odds of this even happening!?

After a few more minutes so she could recompose herself, Claire decided she could not stay there the entire night. Slipping on her mask again, she marched back inside the building, resolute in finding Addison and leaving that place, and that night, forever behind.

[nanshe-of-nina]

Medieval Women Week || Favorite woman writer ↬ Marie de France

Who was this versatile author, the first woman of her times to have written successfully in the vernacular? She was definitely not Marie de Champagne, daughter of Eleanor of Aquitaine and patroness of Chrétien de Troyes, as Winkler suggested. A tempting, but by no means fully convincing, identification is with Marie, abbess of Shaftesbury in Dorset, illegitimate daughter of Geoffrey Plantagenet and half-sister to Henry II. … A claim has been made, albeit somewhat thin, for Mary, abbess of Reading. This abbey was well known as a centre of literary activity and had in its possession the Harley manuscript containing, as we have seen, both the Fables and the Lais. There is no clear-cut reason why either work could not have been written by an abbess or a nun, and there is some slight evidence of experience of monastic life in Le Fresne, Yonec and Eliduc. But the prominence of the motif of adultery in the Lais (see also fables 44 and 45), Marie’s attitude towards the dissolution of marriage in Le Fresne and Eliduc, and her evident interest in the chivalric life suggest that these love poems were not written by someone steeped in ecclesiastical ideology. … Marie de France was certainly an educated lady of good family, who knew Latin well enough to have contemplated translating a Latin work into French (Lais, Prologue, vv. 28–32) and to have done so in the case of the Espurgatoire. She was obviously a good linguist and acquired a sound knowledge of English before translating the fables. She was also fully conversant with the life and aspirations of the nobility of her time. Her education could well have been obtained in a convent and her knowledge of court life from her upbringing and personal experiences in England. Was she Marie, the eighth child of Waleran de Meulan (also called Waleran de Beaumont), a member of one of the greatest of the Norman houses? Waleran’s fief was in the French Vexin, which would tally with Marie’s statement that she comes from France and explain her evident local knowledge of the town of Pitres in the Norman Vexin… Marie de Meulan married Hugh Talbot, baron of Cleuville, owner of lands in Herefordshire and Buckinghamshire, as well as in Normandy, and a member of a family prominent in several English counties including Devonshire, Gloucestershire and Kent. Marie’s father is an interesting figure – a loyal and courageous soldier, but also a well-educated man who may have written Latin verse. Moreover, several of the manuscripts of the Historia Regum Britanniae of Geoffrey of Monmouth are dedicated to him. It is tempting to think that his daughter may have known William of Gloucester, a possible Count William, as his father was also one of Geoffrey’s dedicatees. Marie de Meulan may, however, have been too young to be Marie de France, as her birth seems to date from the 1140s, perhaps as late as 1150. The most recent identification has been as Marie, countess of Boulogne after 1154, daughter of Stephen of Blois (King of England, 1135–54) and of Matilda of Boulogne. Educated in a convent, Marie de Boulogne became abbess of Romsey in Hampshire, but was removed from her convent by Henry II, who wanted to keep Boulogne in his sway. She was married off to Matthew of Flanders and thus became the sister-in-law of Hervé II, son of Guiomar of Léon... Eventually, at some time between 1168 and 1180, Marie de Boulogne returned to a convent, perhaps that of Sainte Austreberthe at Montreuil-sur-Mer in her own county. Her Count William could have been William of Mandeville, a crusade companion of Philip of Flanders, her husband’s brother. The ‘noble king’ would probably have been the Young King, as Philip and Matthew, originally supporters of Henry II, changed sides in 1173. Marie herself may have already been a supporter of the Young King, as in 1168 she sent Louis clandestine information about the secret negotiations between Henry and the Emperor Frederick. — The Lais of Marie de France translated with an introduction by Glyn S. Burgess and Keith Busby

[joelswritingmistress]

Last Halloween: Chapter 30

Summary: After a tragedy involving Joel happened on Halloween one year prior, the town now shuns him while ignoring the details of the now closed case. You are seemingly the only one to offer empathy to a man the town is making out to be a monster.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

One Week Later

"After seven excruciating days, the manhunt for Victor Alan Champagne of Haddonfield is over. Police have him in their custody and he is being held at the Livingston County Correctional Facility. Champagne is accused of kidnapping, assault, home invasion and attempted murder. One year ago his brother, John Champagne, died in an attempted car jacking as he was attempting to strangle the victim."

You would never forget the face of the news woman who recited the fate of Vic Champagne on television that November morning. As icing on the cake, she further freed Joel's name by including the horrific ordeal between him and Johnny the year before. Referring to Joel as the *victim* of an attempted car jacking and assault, rather than the villain as he had been labeled by the town, was a massive win. It seemed to solidify the truth and gave you hope for the future.

Beside you on the couch, Joel just stared at the television. He wasn't smiling or frowning, or showing any real sign of emotion. When he turned to you as the newscaster switched to the next story, he finally edge a smile out of the right side of his lips.

"This is all because of you, ya know," Joel said matter-of-factly.

You shook your head and kissed him before resting his head on your shoulder. "I can't wait to start fresh.. and be able to enjoy some time together without looking over our shoulders."

Joel rubbed your back and left a kiss on the top of your head. "I have to get to work." When you lifted your head he raised his eyebrows. "Dinner tonight?"

"Definitely." You shared another short series of kisses before he rose to his feet to grab his work boots.

You checked your watch, "I have class at nine and then work until four after that."

"I'll be by for my nightly coffee." Joel's eyes turned a little more playful and you smiled wide.

"Mmm.. back to where it all started."

"It'll be a great story to tell the grandkids one day." He raised his eyebrows and you smile back at him even wider. You loved when he made comments like that.

When he winked, you couldn't help it. You threw your arms around him and kissed him until he finally had to pull away with a laugh.

"Will Ronnie really be mad if you're a few minutes late?" You teased.

Joel laughed and looked down the hall. "Tempting."

"I'm kidding."

"You're half kidding."

"I'm half kidding," you agreed, still laughing, "Plus, I think we'd wake everyone up."

"We can go back to my place tonight then," Joel said, "I'll make it up to you."

"Deal." You kissed again and then saw him out the door before wandering back down toward your room. When you heard music coming from Chrissy's room you gave a knock. "Chris?"

There was movement and whispers. You realized there was someone else in the room and you almost called out, "Nevermind," but the door opened before you could.

Chrissy's face peeked between the door frame and the door that she only opened about four or five inches. "Hey."

"Hey," you smirked. "I'll come back later. I didn't know.." you motioned with your finger toward the door and shrugged, silently asking who the mystery person was that accompanied her.

Chrissy managed to slide out of her room in her sports bra and sleep shorts. Amusement and guilt plagued her expression and she looked away for a second.

"This wasn't planned," she started.

"No judgment," you said, putting your hands up, "And you don't have to say anything if you don't want to. But.." you laughed, "I'm very curious now."

"I don't want you to get mad."

"Mad? Why would I be mad?"

Chrissy sighed. "Like I said, things kind of just happened. It was like this lightbulb went off the night that we were all on the town green with you, and then we bumped into each other and went for coffee twice and then drinks a few times over the last couple of weeks. And then, I don't know. I just.. it's a bad friend move."

"Chrissy! Unless Joel snuck back in your window just now, I won't be mad. What? Tell me." Her lead up was killing you, but you also couldn't stop giggling.

"Fuck." Chrissy took a breath. "I.. I'm really into.. I can't believe I'm saying this because I hate cops sometimes."

"Wait! Steve?"

"Fuck. You hate me. I know you dated-"

"No, it's fine!" You bellowed, laughing out loud. "Are you serious?"

She nodded. "I'm sorry. He was so helpful and kind of really came through for all of us, and you and I just thought it was really brave on his part because he could have gotten into so much trouble for helping us like that. But he did the right thing. And then when he was almost killed I.. felt something."

You pouted your bottom lip and then gave your friend a hug. "I'm happy for you."

"It's not weird?"

"No it's not weird. At all."

"I mean we slept with the same guy-"

"I never slept with him."

"What?"

"Nope." You shook your head. "So you're good. Zero weirdness. We had no connection."

Chrissy let out a sigh of relief. "I'm sorry for keeping it from you."

"Don't be." You nodded toward the door with another smirk. "Enjoy."

...

Joel drove in through the gates of the junk yard. It felt a little surreal after all that had happened - and so recently. Still, he and Ronnie had similar feelings on the matter. Life must go on, and the junk yard was Ronnie's meal ticket. It was his business; how he made a living. Joel was on board with getting back to business.

"Hey kid," his boss greeted with a smile after he parked and exited the vehicle. For the first time ever, the two men greeted one another with a long, meaningful hug.

Joel patted him on the back a few times and he looked at him directly when he pulled away. "I'm sorry for all the trouble, Ronnie."

"You have nothing to be sorry for." He shook his head. "You're the best friend and coworker a guy could ask for. I'm sorry for what's happened to you."

"You saved my life."

"I did what you would have done in the same situation." He waved his hand. "Come here. I have something for you."

"For me?" Joel shook his head, "Ronnie, I owe you my life. You don't have to give me anything."

Ronnie waved his hand again and lead the way down to the last bay. He waited for Joel to be next to him before flinging the door upward.

"Ronnie.." Joel shook his head. "You didn't have to.. what is this? Where did you get this?" He slowly enters the garage and placed his hand on the handlebars of a motorcycle.

"I have lots of fun little projects to be done just waiting in the wings." He wiggled his fingers towards the rows of cars in the distance. "I felt bad about them busting up and ruining your other one."

"You didn't have to do this." Joel shook his head, still in awe over the bike as he ran his fingers over the seat next.

"I had fun fixing this thing up," Ronnie told him. "I'm actually a little sad I finished. Reminded me of building a car with father in my younger years. I could spend weeks or months doing this stuff." He held out a single key. "Besides, Joel. You need a little pick-me-up. And I think you and your girl will have a good time cruising around on this thing."

Joel smiled and accepted the key before giving his friend another hug. "You're a good man, Ron."

"You're a good man, Joel."

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

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