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starlessea · 3 years ago

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𝙎𝙩𝙚𝙥 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙂𝙖𝙨 - Chapter 1. Is It A Bird?

A/N Make sure you read the prologue before, or this chapter might not make sense!

Series Masterlist: Step on the Gas

Summary: A dishonourable discharge from the military results in you being hauled off to live with your grandparents in the boonies, otherwise known as the middle of nowhere Georgia. After running over a nail on the road, and pushing your grandpa's vintage Camaro to the nearest auto-shop, you meet Daryl Dixon - the local mechanic. At some point, the world ends, but that stubborn man never gives you a chance to slow down. His smile gives you whiplash, but he still insists that you to step on the gas.

Words: 4869

Chapter Warnings: Language, Injury

You watched the bird fly from behind the clear glass, level with the top floors of the office building.

You followed it the best you could, walking the stretch of the room alongside it. The window was long and wide, filling the wall entirely. This whole section of the building was made of glass, and stood tall against the skyline — so that you could often see the flocks of birds that flew by.

Though, it wasn’t as tall as the ones closer to the inner city.

No, this was more of a dwarfed skyscraper.

You reached the end of the office, and placed your hands up against the cool glass as the bird continued onwards — leaving you behind. Below, the street seemed desolate, just as the sky now did. There wasn’t a single soul lurking down there — but you didn’t trust your eyes in the slightest. Especially not here.

You needed a better view. You needed a bird’s-eye view.

The fire escape steps were rickety, and metal flakes crumbled beneath your feet. They had rusted from the rain, and you tried not to think about how precariously they squeaked as you made your ascent to the roof. You’d done it before, but every time felt worse than the last.

You just couldn’t shake the feeling that they’d cave beneath you — and laugh their squeaky laughs as they sent you plummeting to the ground.

You reached the top, and felt the breeze on your cheek as you scaled the roof courtyard. Up here, everything seemed untouched. It always had done. This high up, people would look like mere ants — harmless, and far enough away that it didn’t matter if they weren’t.

The wind blew, and you stared out towards the building parallel to the corporate one you were currently standing on. It had been a hotel once. But now its roof held something far more valuable than deckchairs and a cocktail bar.

There she was, you smiled, and what a beauty indeed.

It was an army helicopter, sat perfectly still against the horizon — like a bird nesting. It was a camo green, but it didn’t camouflage against the greyish sky in the slightest. Though, it did seem like it belonged there; it was a hawk after all.

A Sikorsky Hawk, to be more specific.

You’d never flown her type before, but she’d been there ever since you first took refuge in the building, like an abandoned bird in an abandoned city. The army had been the first to flee, after all — or the first to die. Either way, the hawk had sat alone for nearly two months, teasing you.

You should have just stayed in Georgia.

It was only meant to be a weekend trip, but somehow you’d gotten stranded in Atlanta during the end of the world. You would have cursed your luck, but then again you were lucky enough to get stuck on the outskirts — only narrowly missing the bombs as they reigned down upon the city.

It was like a meteor shower. Except, instead of falling stars, it had been napalm.

You could remember it perfectly. First the power had gone out, then the water mains dried up, and finally the food whittled down to nothing. You’d hopped from building to building until you came across this corporate graveyard — which had enough supplies to keep you alive for a few weeks. But you should have just left Atlanta whilst you had the chance.

This tower had lulled you in with the promise of safety, but had kept you trapped there ever since.

Walking closer to the roof’s edge, you glanced along the building in the distance. You’d checked it a dozen times now — mapping out all of its exits to try and find a way inside. You had to be prepared. After all, it wasn’t like you could just wait until you got there. Your boot hit the fencing, and you felt the urge to peer over the railing at the alley below.

Don’t look down, you told yourself — but you always did.

A narrow sidestreet separated the office block from the hotel. There was a fence at one end, secured with a thick padlock, whilst the other was open. That would have been fine on its own; except, the biters had all stumbled into the alley as though it were a cattle cage — and couldn’t figure out how to leave once they were there.

Dumb fucks, you thought, watching them pile up against the gate as though it were a concert barrier.

Almost every day, you’d come to see that helicopter — separated by a channel of the undead, their heads bobbing like ripples on the surface of water — and every day you’d turn around and head back down the fire escape.

Your stomach gurgled, and you let out a sigh. The stale lunchroom cereal had recently run empty. You felt for your pistol in your back pocket — the one you’d managed to get a hold of during the initial outbreak.

Six bullets, you counted, before slipping it back into your jeans.

You smiled at the irony.

“Six!” you yelled at the man, placing your card face-up on the bar. “It’s my lucky number.”

Dixon knocked back his whiskey and grimaced as it went down. Joe’s was practically empty by now, but the man lingered about like the aftertaste of your drink — waiting for your shift to end.

“An’ why’s that?” he asked, not looking up from his own hand.

You smiled — the alcohol making you loose-lipped.

“It was your closing time. Six in the evening,” you explained, waiting for him to lay his last card. “But you still fixed up the Camaro anyway.”

Your fingertips rested along the hem of the jacket, feeling the worn leather. The air was stiflingly warm, but you kept it on. After all, it still smelled faintly of the man who’d given it to you.

Like whiskey and gasoline.

Atlanta had gone still and quiet, leaving you to your thoughts as you stood on that rooftop — trying to be brave. Military training was meant to beat that into a person, but maybe you’d gone soft since then. After all, you always preferred to stay above the action than be in the midst of it.

Six bullets, a Hawk, and a cattle grid filled with biters.

You laughed. Everything interesting always seemed to happen on a Tuesday.

Glancing over your shoulder at the bird once more, you tried to ignore the way your stomach dropped and your palms sweat. It was probably from the heat, you tried to tell yourself, but you knew better than that.

“I guess today’s the day,” you said, to no one in particular.

Then, you began to descend that rickety fire escape once again — because what goes up must always come down.

What you hadn’t realised, is that the same could be said for that Sikorsky Hawk, which spat you out of the sky like you didn’t deserve to be there.

When you finally came back around — after drifting in and out of consciousness for what felt like much too long — all you could smell was burning rubber.

That’s not good, you thought, as you blinked your eyes open.

Black smoke hung thick in the air, melding with the orange flames that flickered in the distance and caught the trees.

Those damn trees.

You hissed curses through your teeth as the pain finally kicked into gear — albeit a bit delayed. In your haziness, you’d barely realised how precarious your situation was. Like a puppet on a string, you dangled from the branches of a tall, leafless tree — caught by your parachute wires.

Your breaths were shallow and strained, and you slowly lifted a hand — the one not tangled in the cords — to feel your stomach.

Blood.

It was shrapnel from the crash. It stung like a bitch, and would probably need stitches. Well, it would if you could get down in the first place.

You glanced up at your other arm, eyes stinging from the brightness of the sky.

That doesn’t look right either, you grimaced.

It had gotten caught during the fall, and had twisted at an unnatural angle which only made you wince as you tried to free it. Like a marionette, if you plucked those wires ever so slightly, your whole body flailed.

The radios whirred below you, letting out a continuous note of high-pitched static as they caught alight. It reminded you of the screeching of wheels as they spun over tarmac — or something like that.

But, then you saw a man.

And the man saw you.

At first, you barely recognised him without his oil-stained work clothes — wrench in hand. But at the same time, he seemed to blend in perfectly with this new world. He had a crossbow slung over his back, and a rope of limp squirrels looped around his shoulder. A natural born hunter, indeed.

With numb toes, and blood rushing to your head, you called out to him hoarsely — hoping that he’d spot you perched among the trees.

“Dixon,” you spoke, and winced straight after.

Your voice didn’t even sound like your own.

Still, the man whipped around, and stared straight through you as though he were looking at a ghost.

“How’s it hanging?” you teased, and recognition flashed on his face.

It had taken him a while to cut you down, untwisting your limbs delicately from the cables. But once you were free, he carried you in his arms — like some trophy game from his hunting trip.

Then, he noticed the wound.

The mechanic looked down at you helplessly. He still hadn’t said a single word, but his eyes told you everything you needed to know. They rested on your hands — which were pressed down firmly to stop the bleeding — before trailing back up to your face.

He looked older than you remembered, and more hardened. And he didn’t view you with the same shy curiosity as before — you had noticed.

No. This was sadness.

You brought a hand up from your stomach and touched it to his cheek. He flinched at the contact, but didn’t pull away.

You could swear he even leaned into it.

His mousy stubble tickled your palm, and only then did you realise the bloody fingerprints you’d left behind on his skin. You let your head flop against the man’s chest, your ear pressed to his pounding heartbeat.

“Today really isn’t my day,” you murmured there, and he started walking.

You watched the sky the whole way back.

It looked so different from the sky in Atlanta. There were no hulking skyscrapers blocking it, nor fast food billboards that had begun to peel away. And there were far more birds flying by — the real kind, not any Sikorsky Hawks.

Dixon remained completely silent, except for when he’d occasionally remind you to keep pressure on that wound. He moved quickly, but he seemed lost in thought — lacking the usual bite you remembered.

He also seemed to have lost his words, you thought.

But then you reached a clearing.

You could hear the commotion before you saw it; there was some rustling behind the trees, accompanied by dry shouts and the clanging of metal. You glanced up at the man carrying you for answers, but he didn’t once look down.

Daryl stepped out into the open air, and squinted from the sunlight. You did the same, turning your head into his chest for some cover from it.

“Ya can drop yer weapons,” you heard him say.

Well, more like felt — since the vibrations rumbled against your cheek.

“Unless yer plannin’ on offing me with tha’ shovel,” he snapped.

There he was, you smiled, that was the Dixon you recognised.

You could feel his heart thumping as he spoke, and you had to coax yourself away to take a look at the scene for yourself.

A group of people holding spades, a bashed-in biter, and a mauled deer.

You laughed. Fucking Tuesdays.

Except, the laugh trailed off into a wheeze as the pain started up, and the blood poured.

Daryl quickly kicked into gear with urgency, and brushed off the group as they tried to ask their questions. “Someone best go get Merle off his lazy ass,” he yelled, “tell him his favourite helicopter pilot jus’ crash landed ‘ere.”

Your head snapped up at his words.

Merle Dixon, too? You weren’t sure you could handle them both.

Except, nobody moved to go and retrieve the older brother. Instead, a small asian man stepped forward — removing his baseball cap and wringing it in his hands.

“I can’t believe it,” he announced, eyes locked on you, “helicopter boy was telling the truth!”

You squinted at his words, trying to make sense of them amidst the heatstroke and blood loss.

But, you didn’t have to try for long. A second man stepped out from behind the frontline of people, also parting with his obnoxiously large hat as he did so. Except, this was no baseball cap; this was a damn country midwestern cowboy hat.

The badge in the centre of it caught the light and beamed it back directly into your eyes, making you cower away. The man shucked his hands into his pockets, and only then did you catch sight of him fully — clad in his King County Sheriff’s Department uniform .

Great, you sighed, letting your head flop back over Daryl’s arm. A fucking cop.

Dixon’s jaw clenched, too. You saw it above you — tensing.

“You come from Atlanta?” the officer questioned, “earlier today?”

That caught your attention. He’d been in Atlanta, too?

You definitely hadn’t seen any survivors on the flight over. But then again, it would’ve been nearly impossible to distinguish the dead from the living at that altitude. You swallowed thickly, and nodded.

“What happened to you?” he pressed.

The group’s chatter had died to a silence, and even Daryl seemed to await your answer.

“Engine failed,” you croaked, parched from a lack of water. “Couldn’t control the descent so I had to jump,” you cursed the last part, “too many trees.”

Then, you pinched Daryl’s arm lightly — feeling woozy from the sun. He nodded, and wordlessly stepped over the rotting corpse near his boot.

“You two know each other?” a voice interrupted, “and you just happened to find her?”

You didn’t like this man’s eyes; you hadn’t since you’d first caught a glimpse of them. He had dark, bouffant hair that seemed far too prim for the end of the world, and was wearing light cargo pants.

Then you noticed the dog tags hanging from his neck, and the combat boots which matched what you knew to be police-issued training gear.

Seriously, you thought, another one?

Daryl didn’t seem particularly fond of the guy, either, because he narrowed his eyes at him in the same way he did the biter at his feet. He looked as though he was considering ignoring him completely. And you couldn’t blame him.

It wasn’t like you were bleeding out, or anything.

“Was trackin’ tha’ deer,” he responded, toeing the dead animal with his boot. “Seen the bird go down an’ followed it.”

Daryl readjusted his grip on you, and you groaned from his heavy-handedness. But you didn’t miss his guilty expression.

After all, he probably tried to be gentle.

“An’ there she was, jus’ swingin’ from tha' tree like a big ol' piñata,” he finished — that southern drawl thick on his tongue.

You watched the other man’s jaw shift as though he were chewing on a bee, and spit at the ground like it had stung his mouth.

“You’re telling me that she crashed a damn helicopter in our backyard?” he barked, narrowing in on you with those sharp, dark eyes. “Drawing walkers from all over?”

Daryl shifted where he stood, making the leather of your jacket squeak as it rubbed together. You were beginning to feel like tinfoil in a microwave — cooking slowly in the sun as you waited for the men to finish brooding.

“Ya hear ‘nything?” the mechanic asked of the group, who turned away from his intense gaze one-by-one. “Din’t think so,” he spat, and you could practically hear his thoughts.

What a bunch of cowards.

“Was in the bow of the woods,” Daryl went on, eyeing the dark-haired man where he stood. “Land dips in at either side, like a noise tunnel.”

He paused, his eyes briefly flicking up to the sky as though seeing the scene once more.

“Only ones hearin’ it were the ones a’ready there.”

Daryl juggled you in his arms again, probably aching from the long trek, and seemed antsy to finally escape those heavy stares. But then, the man shook his head — as though remembering something.

“Now where’s my damn brother?” he growled.

And everyone’s eyes fell straight to the ground, like birds swooping down from the sky.

It would be an understatement to say that Daryl Dixon had exploded at the news.

He went nuclear.

If you hadn’t been in his arms at the time, you were certain that someone would’ve been on the receiving end of Daryl’s right hook. You’d seen it before, after all. That man wasn’t exactly one to pull his punches.

But, luckily, you had been there — crumpled in on yourself as the white hot pain also reached nuclear levels.

And so, you were ushered into a small, greyish tent that smelled faintly of oil and gasoline — and the unfortunate alcoholic stench of Merle Dixon — and stripped out of your jacket by a woman who tried her best to quell the bleeding.

But even then, you could still hear the storm raging outside the thin canvas material — the storm that went by the name of Dixon. He’d never shown that sort of temper around you before, so it came as a shock to see it brewing for yourself.

Yells competed with each other outside the tent walls, as a woman with short, greyish hair politely tended to your wounds — pretending she couldn’t hear anything at all.

But, you heard it and bolted upright, straight as an arrow.

Merle Dixon had been chained to a roof like a dog in Atlanta.

What fucking irony.

The smoking ban had loomed over rural Georgia for a while now, but it fell on the deaf ears of the regulars. They still smoked their thickly rolled cigars, and cheap cartons of cigarettes — clogging up the bar and your lungs every time you took a breath.

Dixon sat on the stool, watching as you wiped down the chestnut oak covered in sticky beer rings, and pulled new drinks for the impatient men twice your age. He was mulling over a particularly hard whiskey that day, but wouldn’t tell you the reason behind it.

So, you continued with your rounds until another man approached you, and took the only free seat beside the mechanic.

Big mistake, you smirked, and awaited his reaction.

Daryl Dixon shared barspace with no one - hence, the free seats on an otherwise crowded Friday night. Except, he did nothing but shoot the stranger a side-eyed glance, before returning to his whiskey that needed a top-up on ice.

The newcomer let his eyes slide down over you, in that sleazy way you’d become familiar with by now. He ran his tongue along the front of his teeth and tilted his head back in an exaggerated display of bravado.

And you snorted; you just couldn’t help it.

He scowled at you in response, as his gaze rested on the bare skin of your neck.

“Military dog,” he spat, despite your lack of tags, “where's yer collar?"

Beside him, the mechanic’s jaw clenched as he looked up from the ice melting in his glass.

You laughed. “Howdy, redneck, where’s your cousin?”

And Daryl choked on that same ice.

Surprisingly, the bitterness all but faded away from the unknown man’s face — as he seemed to take your comment in jest. He smirked, and wacked Daryl on the back forcefully as he hacked up his whiskey — yelling something about it being too damn expensive to go shooting out all over the bar.

You couldn’t understand the situation. You’d never seen Daryl act like that with anyone at Joe’s — let alone this particular breed of asshole.

“Feisty, jus’ how I like ‘em,” the stranger quipped back, sending a wink at you that lingered on your skin.

You pulled a face, and went back to wiping down the bar — careful not to lean over too much.

“Knock it off, Merle would’ya?” Daryl shot back, his voice rising in pitch over the name.

The other man — Merle — grinned, before clapping Daryl over the back once more. “No promises, lil’ brother,” he teased.

Then, he knocked back a drink you were certain he must’ve snuck in — because you sure as hell hadn’t poured it for him — and disappeared into the sea of drunkards playing pool and throwing darts haphazardly.

You froze, glancing over to the mechanic.

“That’s your brother? I’m so sorry-”

“Don’ worry ‘bout it,” he interrupted, before finishing his whiskey and handing you the empty glass. “Asshole deserved it.”

Back then, you saw no resemblance between Daryl and Merle Dixon — but, families always had a strange hold over a person. After all, that was the reason why you’d gotten shipped off to Georgia in the first place; your parents had swept you under the rug like a bad kept secret — simply to try and keep up appearances.

You’d followed your brother into the military, only for it to spit you back out and leave a bad taste in everyone’s mouths afterwards.

The tent door unzipped, and flapped as it caught the evening breeze.

Daryl entered like a hurricane, startling the woman — Carol — as she tended to you. He was followed by an entourage of curious faces who watched as he toed his boots off, and kicked them to the side.

“All of ya best get out,” he grumbled, as he peeled off his leather vest and set it down next to you — his eyes focused on your white shirt that had since been dyed red.

The group seemed to register his words, but no one made the move to leave.

The man let out a frustrated grunt, before fumbling with the small first-aid box near your feet. “Need to give ‘er stitches, an’ I ain’t need no one breathin’ down my neck,” he said, scowling down at the supplies.

You swallowed thickly, that didn’t sound very convincing.

A blonde woman near the tent entrance seemed to think the same, because she chirped up.

“You know how to do that?” she questioned — braver than any of the men who stood in stunned silence.

Daryl’s jaw set. “Y’ain’t believe me?” he bit back. “Think ‘m only good for spittin’ on the ground an’ feedin’ ya damn squirrels?”

The same woman recoiled at his words, and you sighed.

Always had a bark much worse than his bite, that one.

But then the man reached over for the hem of your shirt and you just froze — before slapping his hand away. He also recoiled with the same, exaggerated movements, and scowled at you as though your touch had burnt him.

You wanted to trust him, but part of you just couldn’t.

Daryl must’ve caught the look in your eyes — and recognised it for himself — because he sighed and shook his head, and glanced over at the women nearby.

“Anyone else know how to give stitches ‘round ‘ere?” he demanded, but the majority shook their heads.

All except one.

“I think I-” Carol piped up, before a burly man shot her a look so boldly threatening that it even made you flinch.

The woman paused over her words, before eventually shaking her head.

“I don’t. I’m sorry,” she mumbled, timidly, before that same man slipped his hand in hers and pulled her away.

You recognised that look, too.

And so the rest of the stragglers disappeared from the tent one-by-one, until only you and Daryl remained — deadlocked.

“C’mon, Camaro, quit yer bitchin’,” he coaxed, his voice more soft now that it was just the two of you. “Unless ya wanna bleed out o’er my tent.”

He had the needle and thread all prepared between his fingers, waiting for your permission.

You sighed. “You used to be a lot nicer, you know that?” you remarked, thinking back to the Dixon who shyly smoked cigarettes on that cliff’s edge, watching you like you were brighter than the stars.

You had noticed.

Then, you lifted up your shirt with your trembling hand, as he pressed onto your skin with his steady one.

And so Daryl gave you stitches — filling you up on Merle’s stash of whiskey to dull the pain — and muttering how, despite his work not being pretty, it’d be functional. You didn’t question how he’d come to learn how to sew butterfly stitches in the first place, thinking it best not to ask, nor did you comment on how gentle he wiped away the blood.

Always a man of his word, Daryl Dixon’s stitches were definitely not pretty.

But, to you, they looked like constellations.

He’d made it clear how lucky you’d been that it was only a surface injury; if it were anything deeper, he wouldn’t have been able to patch you up. It was probably thanks to that thick jacket that you’d managed to walk away from the crash mostly unscathed.

You’d seen him eyeing it occasionally as he worked, glancing over at the bloody leather that stained his tent floor.

Like hell would you be giving it back.

After that, he’d also managed to sneak Carol back inside — away from who you could only guess to be her husband. She’d told you that your arm wasn’t broken, but in fact dislocated, and helped set it back into place as your eyes stung with salt tears.

But you couldn’t complain.

After all, they’d tried to put you back together like humpty dumpty after your crash — albeit with staples and scotch tape.

Though, as soon as you were out of the woods and in the clear, Daryl pulled his boots back on and collected his things impatiently — not even sparing you a second glance.

“Where are you going?” you asked quietly, afraid of the answer.

Your words left your mouth a bit slurred from the medical-whiskey concoction, but he only pretended not to hear them.

You asked again, until he finally responded. “‘M goin’ to get my damn brother back, where’d ya think?” he answered, frustration laced in his voice.

He stuffed a few things into his rucksack, before slinging it over his shoulder.

“Careful, Dixon,” you cautioned, “you have a habit of finding yourself in a mess when you let your temper get the best of you.”

The man scoffed, and made a point of looking you up and down — calling you hypocritical with his eyes alone.

“Don’ act like ya know me tha’ well,” he growled, startling you with his tone.

But, you couldn’t blame him for his words.

After all, you’d spent more time apart than you had together.

The man sighed. “Gotta go get Merle,” he reasoned, more carefully this time.

He flickered open the tent, and let in the sky. It was not yet black, but a burnt orange, as though preparing to be set alight with stars. It reminded you of those evenings you’d get to close up early, and walk past a certain auto-shop that still had its amber lights turned on, and its door wide open.

And the former mechanic started walking away, leaving you behind out on the sidewalk.

“Daryl-” you called after him.

The word spilled from your mouth like beer overflowing from a glass — pouring over before you could stop it.

He glanced back immediately.

You never called him that.

Even though you knew his name from other people’s tongues, he’d always been Dixon — ever since the moment you read it on his shoddy name-tag. Not once during the month you’d spent with him had you called him Daryl.

Not until now.

“It’s getting dark out,” you whispered, even though the sky was still clearly orange.

You swallowed the dryness from your throat — and with it, your pride.

“Please stay? Until morning?”

Dixon looked back at you, swaddled in one of his clean shirts that he’d buttoned up himself — making you look so small.

And he sighed. He always was the worst liar of them all.

“Jus’ ‘til mornin’,” he repeated, trudging back to that grey tent.

Then, he took a seat beside you, his knees knocking against yours. But you tried to fight against your smile, and racing heart that pounded deep in your chest.

Because what goes up must always come down.

Feedback is always welcomed; I love hearing what you all think - so feel free to comment, send in an ask, or just message me if you want to chat!

Also, if you enjoy my writing, you might want to buy me a coffee or commission me - tips are always appreciated. Thank you for reading!

A/N Boom. The series has officially been kicked off. Did you like seeing the parallels between Daryl’s POV in the prologue and the reader’s? I really hope you all enjoyed it - please let me know what you think :)

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purplesurveys · 3 years ago

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1213

Have you ever been in weather below 0 Fahrenheit (-17 Celsius)? Nah. The coldest I’ve experienced was probably something like 10 or 11ºC, when I was in Japan. At the time I still didn’t care too much for traveling and ended up being really underdressed for the weather, so I was extremely uncomfortable the whole time we were roaming around the city. Have you ever been caught outdoors away from shelter during a thunderstorm? LOL yes, notably on the last night of my college internship. My car was parked in another building so I had to walk outdoors, when all of a sudden it fucking poured. I ran to the nearest building for shelter but I was still absolutely drenched and ended up having to call my mom (who works in the same city) to ask her to come pick me up.

What’s your favorite macaron flavor? Chocnut or milk chocolate.

How often do you have friends over to your house? Once in a blue moon. I had my ex over all the time but since then I’ve only had one friend - Angela - come over once.

Have you ever had a boss who acted unprofessionally? I mean, we’re very open with each other with regard to our frustrations at work. That could technically count as unprofessional but I’m honestly just glad we don’t have to be fake around one another and pretend like everything’s dandy.

How many times have you stayed at a hotel in the past year, and where? Just once, for my dad’s birthday. We stayed in Tagaytay for a weekend though we Airbnb’d a condo unit and not a hotel.

Have you ever done a flip on a trampoline? Nah. I could try but I’m too afraid of not being able to support myself and accidentally breaking my neck or something.

What about a flip off of a diving board? Nope.

Are you embarrassed by your school yearbook photos? No. I barely look at them and I’m sure people barely look at yearbooks too.

Who taught you to tie your shoelaces? My grandma.

Currently how many pictures are on your cellphone? 8,067. There used to be around 10,000 but I had a ‘huge’ deleting spree that brought it down to around 6,000 – but clearly I’ve brought it back up again lol.

Do you think dimples are cute? Yes, super.

Would you rather chew fruity or minty gum? It’s whatever. They all lost their taste anyway.

The last time you went to the mall, who did you go with? Just me. That’s usually the case nowadays.

What’s something you used to collect when you were younger? Pogs.

Have you watched a movie today? I haven’t watched a movie since like September.

Aside from your own, whose house did you last set foot into? Angela’s, but it was super brief as I only went in to greet her parents.

Do you love soft pretzels? Yep, that’s how I prefer my pretzels as well.

Who was the last person who cried around you? Why did they start crying? Was it unexpected? I really have no clue. I haven’t been around too many people in such a long time, much less people who’ve cried in front of me. I want to say maybe Gabie???? during one of our last meet-ups. The name feels so foreign now.

Are you more likely to like someone before you really know them, or do you feel you like them more after you know a lot about them? After.

Do you buy people cards on special occasions, or do you prefer to make your own? Giving people cards isn’t much of a tradition here. We’d much rather get you a physical gift altogether.

When was the last time you were being hypocritical? I probably do it without realizing, so I can’t say exactly when.

Where on your body was the last cramp you had? Why did you have this cramp? Fortunately I haven’t had one in a while but I usually get cramps on my neck and shoulders after a whole day at work.

What is the weirdest name you’ve ever heard? My sister went to school with this girl whose name was her surname in reverse.

Do you get embarrassed when people hear you sing/compliment you on your singing ability? If so, why is that? Yeah. I’m not confident in my singing, so I never sing around people and it would embarrass me if I was ever caught/heard.

Are you good at comforting people when they’re upset? I try to be. It works for some people.

Do you have any exercises you do everyday? Nah.

Do you own one of those singing fish? Do you think they are silly or funny? I don’t know what this is referring to.

Has anyone ever accused you of being bipolar or any other mental disorder? Do you really have any mental disorders? No one has accused me; at least not to my face. As for the second question, I’m sure I have one or two; I’ve just never gotten myself professionally checked.

Did you buy the last thing you bought with your own money? If not, whose money did you buy it with? Yabu because I was craving; paid with my own money. It actually feels pretty weird because Yabu had been mine and my ex’s thing, and I haven’t had their food since the breakup. I’m looking forward to having it again tonight and finally changing the narrative for it.

Do you like to put your feet up on the dashboards of cars? Do you parents yell at you if you do that in cars? I don’t like to do it but I’ll sometimes do it if I wanna feel relaxed. No, it wouldn’t bother them too much.

Which Beatle is your favorite, or do you love them all equally? I don’t listen to them.

Do you enjoy classic rock? If so, who are some of your favorite classic rock artists? Not really, but I have nothing against it.

Did you ever own a Tamagotchi? Yep.

Are you more of a dog or cat person? Dog.

Have you ever failed math? Just the advanced courses, like calculus, back in high school. I find math pretty fun and easy if I get the topic and know the formulas; but if I find something hard, it’s very difficult for me to keep up. There’s really no in between haha I either pass with flying colors or absolutely flop.

Skittles! What's your favorite color? Whichever’s not too sour. Idk, I never buy Skittles.

Have you ever had a dream of stabbing someone? Nope but I used to have nightmares of watching my loved ones get shot.

What would you want your last words to be if you could choose them? That I had fun.

Can you sleep with the light on? Only if I’m pissed tired. Otherwise bright lights would bother me.

What’s the most bizarre horror movie you’ve ever seen? I know my answer won’t count as it doesn’t technically fall under horror, but Eraserhead was just very bizarre and unsettling. I’ve never seen the whole film without pausing several times.

What band can’t you stand listening to? Again, this probably won’t count as they’re a boy band/group more than anything, but I cannot stand The Vamps.

Would you ever take a lie detector test for your significant other? Yeah, sure, I guess, for fun. I think those are mostly bullshit anyway so I’ll only take a test with bullshit questions as well.

What is your favorite Mystery/Crime/FBI related show? Those genres never really were my cup of tea.

Would you ever have a bird as a pet? We had two lovebirds some years ago. They were lovely, but idk if we’d do it again. No reason, just that we prefer dogs.

How's your relationship between you and your grandparents? It’s great, even with my maternal grandpa who’s already passed. But I’m well aware of the fact that they’re also a bit wary of me since I’m the most vocal and outspoken of all their grandchildren, whereas they’re intensely conservative and traditional. Still, I always feel their love, especially through food and how they always make sure to stuff me whenever I come over haha.

Ever had a forbidden love or lover? In a sense, yeah. I was in a same-sex relationship that I hid from my family for four years.

Have you ever had to speak at a funeral? I’ve never been to a funeral but I doubt I could speak at one without breaking down.

Do you know someone who’s been cremated? Yes, my grandpa was cremated.

What is your current problem? Just some deliverables at work that I would rather not think about now.

Do you like canopy beds? Eh, I don’t mind them.

What is your favorite animated movie? Toy Story.

Would you rather live in a small town or a big city? Big city. I need lots of noise, lots of activity and lights where I live. I’ve lived in suburban neighborhoods all my life and I would love a change in pace.

If you could summon any animal to come to your rescue, what animal would it be and why? Idk.

Have you ever watched The Golden Girls? I’ve watched snippets and it’s HILARIOUS. I’ve always wanted to start the series but never knew where to watch it.

Did you ever like the Ninja Turtles? Was never into it, no.

Last alcoholic drink you had? Peach soju and plum soju that got me absolutely hammered.

What are you known for? These days, probably for doing an extreme 180 and having my life be all about BTS now.

Has anyone ever threatened you? Yes.

Have you ever gone frog hunting? No? Doesn’t sound like my type of activity at all.

Do you ever suffer from dry skin? Yeah my face is a little dry, but I don’t think it’s something I ‘suffer’ from since no issues have come out of it so far. It’s just the way it is.

Do you still sleep with a stuffed animal? Not a stuffed animal but I need to hug a pillow to fall asleep.

What’s the weather like right this moment? It’s weather that says “it’s gonna get really hot in an hour or so” and I’m not enjoying that very much.

Do you bite on straws, lollipop handles, or ice cream sticks? If there’s no trash can around, I tend to.

In what type of area was your first sexual encounter? It was in a hotel.

Where is your mother’s side of the family descended from? Just somewhere in the Philippines.

What do you occupy your time with on flights? I’m honestly really happy with just staring out the window. If not that, I bring something to read or listen to music. I haven’t had a flight that lasted 6+ hours, but I imagine I would also bring my laptop for a series or movies to watch if I find myself in that situation.

Do you dog-ear pages in books? Yup.

What’s a made up word of yours? I don’t think I have any.

Do you use Q-Tips? I do.

Ever gone out with somebody you didn’t like? No. I don’t think I could bring myself to do that.

What hero or heroine do you most relate to in history, fiction, or song? I don’t really like content with a hero/ine plot.

What makes you dizzy? Amusement park rides, car rides, headaches.

Are your parents liberal or conservative? Conservative.

Do you like your teeth? Did you have braces? Not my middle teeth, but in general yeah. I did have braces but I lost my retainers at one point so my teeth just went back to their original position eventually.

Are you happy with your height? It’s fine. I’m small but it’s the average here so I don’t really complain.

#survey #surveys

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surveys4ever · 3 years ago

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26.

Have you ever been in weather below 0 Fahrenheit (-17 Celsius)? ...yes. Literally every year. There’s usually a week or two in January when it gets down to -50 to -75 F.

Have you ever been caught outdoors away from shelter during a thunderstorm? Maybe when I was a teenager? I’ve definitely been caught in the rain, not sure about a thunderstorm tho.

What’s your favorite macaron flavor? I’ve actually never had a macaron! But I don’t like meringue so I don’t think I’d enjoy them.

How often do you have friends over to your house? Literally never.

Have you ever had a boss who acted unprofessionally? YES. The assistant manager at the last job I had was insane. She tried to tell me that I wasn’t allowed to leave town on the weekends in case they needed me. LOL girl bye.

How many times have you stayed at a hotel in the past year, and where? 0, covid.

Have you ever done a flip on a trampoline? Noooo.

What about a flip off of a diving board? I’ve never even been on a diving board.

Are you embarrassed by your school yearbook photos? I believe in the 10th or 11th grade I hated them but I was on the yearbook committee so I finessed some new ones to put in hehehe.

Who taught you to tie your shoelaces? I believe I learned at school.

Currently how many pictures are on your cellphone? 9,008.

Do you think dimples are cute? Oh hell yeah.

Would you rather chew fruity or minty gum? Minty.

The last time you went to the mall, who did you go with? Beebs!

What’s something you used to collect when you were younger? Rocks and lip balm.

Have you watched a movie today? Yes! We went to see Dracula.

Aside from your own, whose house did you last set foot into? We went to an indoor garage sale a couple weeks ago.

Do you love soft pretzels? They’re alright. They smell better than they taste in my opinion.

Who was the last person who cried around you? Why did they start crying? Was it unexpected? Does my dog count? Bc she’s just a drama queen and I wouldn’t expect anything less from her.

Are you more likely to like someone before you really know them, or do you feel you like them more after you know a lot about them? True love is when you like them a ton before you actually really know them and then like them even more after.

Do you buy people cards on special occasions, or do you prefer to make your own? I honestly think cards are a huge waste of money so if I do give one, I made it. But I have a Circuit and I’m pretty creatively inclined so it’s pretty easy.

When was the last time you were being hypocritical? It sounds pompous but I honestly think I'm too self aware to by hypocritical.

Where on your body was the last cramp you had? Why did you have this cramp? My hip, because I was sitting weird.

What is the weirdest name you’ve ever heard? Someone I know named their kid Emanda. Unsure if its pronounced ee-manda or just regular Amanda. Haven’t wanted to ask. Another named their kid Albrea. I just call her Algebra. And another named their kid Annekke, pronounced Anika. She will forever be a-neek-ee to me.

Do you get embarrassed when people hear you sing/compliment you on your singing ability? Bold of you to assume I ever let anybody sing.

Are you good at comforting people when they’re upset? I’m the big sister to like a bajillion children. Yes I’m good at it.

Do you have any exercises you do everyday? Newp.

Do you own one of those singing fish? Do you think they are silly or funny? Hahaha I don’t but I literally just saw a Billy Bass at a thrift store yesterday. They were funny then and they’re funny nostalgic now.

Has anyone ever accused you of being bipolar or any other mental disorder? Do you really have any mental disorders? I have a pretty severe anxiety disorder but no one’s accused me of having it because like...it’s pretty obvious?

Did you buy the last thing you bought with your own money? If not, whose money did you buy it with? Haha yes! We bought movie tickets, a drink, and peanut butter m&ms.

Do you like to put your feet up on the dashboards of cars? Do you parents yell at you if you do that in cars? Our car is too short for that but yeah, my parents always yelled at me for it when I was young.

Which Beatle is your favorite, or do you love them all equally? I wouldn’t say I loved any of them but John Lennon is absolute hot garbage.

Do you enjoy classic rock? If so, who are some of your favorite classic rock artists? Uh...not really?

Did you ever own a Tamagotchi? Yes! They were all the rage in the 6th grade.

Are you more of a dog or cat person?/ Dog, definitely.

Have you ever failed math? I very, VERY narrowly passed the last math course I needed to graduate and I did the math and because of the mark I got on my final, I should have failed by 3% but I got 1% over what I needed to pass. Pretty sure my math teacher just didn’t want to deal with me taking the course over so he passed me BUT my math could have been wrong, haha.

Skittles! What's your favorite color? Lordt. I haven’t purchased skittles in ages. I think I remember red being my favorite?

Have you ever had a dream of stabbing someone? Yeah, actually.

What would you want your last words to be if you could choose them? I would just want my husband to know how much I love him and that I’ll be waiting for him in whatever form of afterlife there is.

Can you sleep with the light on? If I'm dead tired.

What’s the most bizarre horror movie you’ve ever seen? I mean...Dracula is supposed to be a horror movie. The only thing horrific about it was the acting.

What band can’t you stand listening to? I honestly can’t think of one right now.

Would you ever take a lie detector test for your significant other? I mean, if I had to? But we trust each other 100% and I’m brutally honest about everything so he would never require that from me.

What is your favorite Mystery/Crime/FBI related show? Murder, Mystery, & Makeup Mondayssss! Sha na sha sha na sha sha na sha sha sha na shaaaaaaaa!

Would you ever have a bird as a pet? Absolutely not.

How's your relationship between you and your grandparents? I love my mom’s parents to bits. My grandma is one of my absolute favorite people in the world and my grandpa is very quiet but he has a lot of really sweet moments. My dad’s parents are awful fuckin people. My grandfather died like 5 years ago and I really had to try hard to feign sympathy about it to him. My grandmother is still kicking it but we haven’t spoken in over a decade for good reason. She also changed their joint Facebook account to just her Facebook account less than a week after he died loooool. She hated him as much as I did I think. And then my bio dad’s dad is dead but he was also a piece of shit but his mom is a sweetie. We facetime every so often and she holds the phone a grand total of 6 inches away from her face the entire time and tells me the same stories over and over. Bu

Ever had a forbidden love or lover? Newp.

Have you ever had to speak at a funeral? No, thank god.

Do you know someone who’s been cremated? My grandma’s dog.

What is your current problem? My eyes are blurry because I’m tired.

Do you like canopy beds? Tbh, canopy beds are the epitome of glamor in my eyes.

What is your favorite animated movie? Onward.

Would you rather live in a small town or a big city? I like medium cities. You won’t get mugged walking down the street, traffic doesn’t absolutely suck, and you can get clear across town in 15 minutes.

If you could summon any animal to come to your rescue, what animal would it be and why? Uh? Why am I in trouble? Why can’t I call a human? What’s happening here?

Have you ever watched The Golden Girls? I tried watching a couple episodes but it didn’t pique my interest.

Did you ever like the Ninja Turtles? Noooo. Beebs loves them though so he tries to make me love them and it’s just not happenin, buddy.

Last alcoholic drink you had? No idea tbh.

What are you known for? For being talented and having big hair.

Has anyone ever threatened you? Oh yeah. There was this one guy who was constantly sending me really graphic messages about how he wanted to put a gun to my head and kill me or he hoped I would get XYZ and die. I tried to block him but he would immediately make 3 more accounts to send me the same shit.

Have you ever gone frog hunting? Noooo.

Do you ever suffer from dry skin? Yessss. My body is the Sahara.

Do you still sleep with a stuffed animal? No, I sleep with a husband.

What’s the weather like right this moment? It’s rainy!

Do you bite on straws, lollipop handles, or ice cream sticks? Nah.

In what type of area was your first sexual encounter? Beeb’s bedroom. His stepfather interrupted and made him come outside to talk to him for some reason and then very weirdly pointed out his half boner? V. uncomfortable all around.

Where is your mother’s side of the family descended from? Somewhere where white people come from idk.

What do you occupy your time with on flights? iPad games usually.

Do you dog-ear pages in books? No, I’m not a heathen.

What’s a made up word of yours? We call pickles ‘pickies’ and hamburgers ‘borgers’ or ‘borgs’ because we’re gross.

Do you use Q-Tips? In my ears? No. To clean out tight spaces of things I've thrifted? Yes.

Ever gone out with somebody you didn’t like? Noooo.

What hero or heroine do you most relate to in history, fiction, or song? ....No.

What makes you dizzy? Getting up too fast usually.

Are your parents liberal or conservative? Bleh, conservative. If you have liberal parents, consider yourself blessed.

Do you like your teeth? Did you have braces? I got away with having just an appliance/Invisaligns but I still don’t like my teeth. They’re perfectly straight and white enough but I have body dysmorphia and for some reason I think they’re atrocious and I hate them??? I can’t explain it.

Are you happy with your height? I’m 5′11 and I wish I was shorter sometimes. Hugging my husband would be easier.

#survey

0 notes

clove-teasdale · 7 years ago

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tick tock newlyweds

*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧

A/N: not a challenge! NEW YEARS PART 1. FINALLY THE 30th OF DECEMBER ON FIC TIME. End of the year. this is it y’all. get ready for the first part of this three-part fic (or it might be two idk, we shall see tomorrow). Thanks @brooks-schreave for the rp. OKAY, THERE MIGHT BE ERRORS OR TYPOS ON THIS IDK. SORRY. have some fun with awkward crooks conspiring in 3,334 words <3

*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧

Columbia had always been a pretty sight at night, but it was very different from Angeles and it’s lively lights.

The only downside to such an active city was that the light pollution from it made the sky slightly less admirable, making the natural light a little duller. Standing next to Nate’s black Jeep, I watched the city and the sky to compare. This will be the set of stars when the New Year comes. I smiled at the thought but then my mind wondered if Nate’s car would be able to blend in for our purposes. My “date” arrived a few minutes after I’d started to consider how the night would go in general, carrying a bag in his hand and offering a small wave with the other.

“Ready?” I watched as Brooks shoved his things into the trunk. My dress was already on a hook inside the backseat alongside my other stuff.

“Yeah,” I ran a hand through my hair--the feel of it different, but not new. “I straightened it.” It hadn't taken too long with Eloise's help. She'd agreed to cover for us. Mostly me since I'd told Jacinda and the rest of my maids I'd be having a sleepover with her that night.

If anything went wrong, she'd have to handle it and she said she would as long as I explained later what the whole mystery outing was. I loved how she always agreed with my crazy plans without question. She deserved some baby carrots.

Brooks lifted both eyebrows at my new look as if impressed before walking over to open my door. “I like it.”

I smiled, getting in. “I brought a hairbrush for yours.” I would never repeat the hand incident.

Once he'd walked over to his side of the car and sat in the driver's seat, he took a cap from his back pocket and put it on. Some glasses and a grin were added as he said, “No need. I'll be covered.”

I smirked at the absurdity of his disguise, but honestly, there was only so much we could do to hide. “I hope you take it off when we arrive.”

“You don't like it?” His jaw dropped, eyes turning to the mirror as he mumbled, “I think it's cool.”

Laughing was inevitable on my part. “You don't use that for a party.”

“I’ll replace it with a party hat when we get there, promise.”

Silence settled for a while as the drive began. With it, the awkward feeling I’d been having around Brooks the day before returned. Ever since the Christmas Ball incident and our talk about it, my head had been unable to forget. We’d agreed on it being a mistake, and after yesterday at the roof it seemed like we could try going back to normal...but part of me became more and more aware of my wish for the 'mistake' part to be, well, a mistake in itself. I’d even started to ask myself how much I really liked him. Was it one of those simple crushes I got back in high school? Because I had always managed those before.

Brooks, I’d realized, had grown to become more awkward in the years I was gone. It was hard to notice on the first day of my arrival, as arguing was still the first language between us, but it became more and more obvious with time and since the kiss, it showed in volumes.

His hands tapped the steering wheel before he asked, “Music?”

I continued to fidget with the ring on my finger even as I spared him a glance. I hoped spinning the old golden band with a garnet would help release some of the anxiety I felt, but wasn’t too sure it was working. By this point, it was a sort of a personal tradition to wear that ring around this time a year. My dad had passed it down to me as a New Year's gift when I was twelve.

Apparently, it had belonged to my grandmother--her red birthstone encrusted on the old metal as a gift from my grandpa for their 50th wedding anniversary. Their official wedding had been big, a 27th of January once upon a time. It was everything you could dream of, as Twos loved to show off, but my grandparents always took it a step further. They also had a smaller ceremony beforehand. Just family.

According to what they had always retold, they kissed as the clock stroke midnight, commemorating a new year. That was the date they considered their anniversary. My grandparents had loved making things romantic but in the most dramatic of ways...meaning they loved one-upping people that much. The story had been crazy enough that it made me want to wear the ring at midnight every year after that.

Focusing back on the present, I tried offering Brooks a small smile. “Uh, yeah, sure.”

He didn't focus on it much, immediately averted his gaze and reaching to turn on the radio. I looked away as well, but as the first lyrics came out, I couldn’t help and drift my sight back to him to gauge his reaction.

...walls stood tall painted blue But I'll take 'em down, take 'em down and open up the door for you.

Flailing to reach for the button as our duet song rang out, he changed stations quickly.

--we've lost our minds I don't care, I don't care if they call us crazy Runaway to a world that we design.

I wished my seat would swallow me, focusing ahead and pressing my lips together as he changed it again with an “Ugh.” Then screamo music blasted and he just gave up. I did so too, closing my eyes with a sigh and leaning forward to turn it off. “Silence never hurt anyone.”

“Debatable.”

I let Brooks handle the brunette receptionist that welcomed us at the counter of the hotel. “Hello, how may I help you?”

“We need a room, please.”

“Aw, a romantic getaway?” Oh, for the love of...

My “romantic partner” did his best to get over the embarrassment as fast as possible. “Uh, yeah, sure.”

Nothing went past this one though and as she spotted the ring I couldn’t help but fidget with, she asked, “Newlyweds?”

“Yes?” was what Brooks decided to go with, but I could see the alarm written on his face. He was definitely screaming inside as I was.

“Adorable. Last name, please.”

We hadn’t considered what to say. A mistake on our part. Our plan had many flaws, but then again it was planned in one day. My mouth opened to say something, anything, but it became one of those moments when they ask you to say something and you suddenly blank out on the list of those you know. The conversation I’d had with Eloise as she straightened my hair was the only inspiration I could think of.

“Crooks,” I blurted out at the expectant lady. Brooks only gave me a confused look.

“Right. Mr. and Mrs. Crooks.”

This is embarrassing.

"You two are just the cutest. Here's your key.” She handed it over and, thankfully, Brooks took it without any weird looks in my direction. “Breakfast is at 7 to 9. Happy New Year!”

We wouldn't make it to breakfast, but Brooks quickly pushed me towards the elevator. After pressing the floor our card mentioned, he asked, “Crooks?”

I cleared my throat, focusing on the walls around me. “What? We needed a name.”

“Where did that even come from?” The elevator opened and I took my chance to flee.

“Um…” I lowered my voice. “Eloise..”

“Were you discussing criminals with her or something? I thought that was our thing.” His joking was as strained as my laugh when he followed.

“Yeah, obviously." He really didn’t need to worry about me replacing him.

Arriving at the room, he inserted the key and held the door open for me. I turned on the lights and froze at the sight “Shoot..”

He stepped in right after. “Wha-? Oh. Oh.”

We both blinked at the single bed in the room. Newlyweds. “Guess next time we should go with cousins.”

He gave me an alarmed look. It was back to internal screaming it seemed. With a sigh of resignation, he said he would take the floor. “It’s not carpeted,” I mumbled back.

“I'll deal with it.” He ran over to the closet and placed our bags away, taking a look at his watch. “We should change.”

5 hours until midnight.

“Ready?” Brooks called out, knocking on the bathroom door.

I stared at my reflexion in the mirror, the golden embroidery of my dress laughing at me--metaphorically speaking, of course. “Just a sec...”

The zipper was still on my lower back. Another one of the things I hadn’t considered in my hurry was that no matter how much of a pretzel my arms tried to be, I couldn’t reach up high enough to close this dress.

The silence was too long for Brooks. “Clove? I'm sure you look very nice, can you come out now? We've gotta go.”

“Um…” Come on, come on... I let my hands fall to my sides with a sigh. “I should’ve gone for the purple strapless.” He didn’t say anything as I leaned on the door. “I... kind of need some help.”

“Did you fall?”

“What? No.. I need someone to zip up the rest of the dress.”

His pause made me want to stay in the bathroom the rest of the night. “I can help.”

“Okay…” I took a moment as well before reaching for the doorknob and opening the door. “It’s a nice dress, just not the easiest to zip alone.”

He made a spinning motion with his hand, saying, “Turn.”

I did as he asked and felt his hand take on the zipper as he set his other one on my back to pull it up. His voice was quieter as he added, “You're good.”

“Thanks.” I turned around with a quick nod, trying to smile as a sign of gratitude, but I could feel my nerves skyrocketing. “I guess we’re ready then.”

He avoided my gaze and checked his watch again. “Yeah, it's almost time.”

I gave him a once over. Now that his cap was off, I could see his hair was down, sweeping over his forehead. Kind of all over the place, so little messy if you will, yet being a guy that meant... “You look nice.” With the well-fitted maroon suit that had black lapels to match his tie, he was bound to catch some eyes tonight.

An awkward smile was all he offered as he opened the door for me. “Ditto.”

It was pretty early for the party to be that pumped, being only 8 pm, but the more people were excited for the New Year, the less they would care about a prince and a selected strolling next to them.

“Four hours until midnight. Remember, we're looking for Harrison Levi.”

I stepped out of the car with his help. “Excited?”

“No.”

How cheerful, I thought but pressed my lips together to stop myself from saying it out loud. “What do you mean “no”? It’ll be a New Year. Something to look forward to.”

“I don't know if you've noticed, but I've never been more stressed in my life.” He offered his arm and I took it with a nod when he asked, “Shall we?”

As we walked inside, hundreds of people surrounding us, I pointed out, “You seemed excited before.”

He didn’t look in my direction. “Keep walking Clove.”

“Fine.”

Three hours until midnight.

Our game plan ended up being to search for Levi first. Even though we had no idea of how he would be towards us, we hoped we could convince him of helping out in some way. We’d accept anything at this point.

Brooks had gotten a considerably recent picture of him as a reference point, and as we talked he agreed with me that the man was probably pushed to resign when his career was barely starting. That meant his annotations hadn’t been for safekeeping, but for research like ours; not something that would’ve been welcomed on the King’s cabinet.

It had taken us an hour of pacing around the party, pretending to be a couple talking about whatever, before I spotted Levi from afar and nudged Brooks. “Is that him?”

Brooks stopped looking around the room to focus on where I had pointed at, checking his picture for confirmation. “I think so. How do we approach him?”

I considering how the talk could go. “If he never agreed with the fixed raffle and all of that, maybe we’ll be able to ask him about it directly...or is that too risky?”

“How about we just try to make normal, honest conversation with him and then show him the journal to see how he reacts.”

“Fair enough. Do we wait until he’s a bit more caught up with the party or now?”

“No time like the present. Which one of us should go?”

“Shouldn’t we both go?”

“Right. Dynamic Duo.” He reached for my hand and walked us off to the white-haired man standing near the bar, calling out for him over the crowd, “Great party.”

The man took a swig of his beer. “It's alright.”

“Think you’ve done better before?” I grinned.

He shrugged. “It's too happy.”

Brooks spared the lively place a glance. “That's bad?”

“It's fake, son. Parties should be sad.”

What a jolly old man. He’d make a great Santa.

Brooks asked why he thought that only to get an even gloomier response after Levi finished his drink. “Then it would be reality. It's interesting to see people hide behind a holiday.”

I raised eyebrows at his view and exchanged glances with Brooks when he gave me a questioning look. “What a misfortune…” clearing my throat, I shifted, “Though I do agree what brings joy shouldn’t be a holiday, why bother hosting a party for something you consider unsatisfactory?”

“I don't consider it unsatisfactory, per se.”

“What do you consider it?” Brooks asked.

Levi stared at him before grabbing another drink from a tray. “None of your business.”

I tilted my head. “What would make it our business? It is merely the inquiry of an opinion.”

“You speak far too formally, young lady. Lighten up, will you.”

When Brooks laughed, I jabbed my elbow into his side, half-glaring as I muttered, “Sorry, it’s an old habit that comes and goes when I’m around people involved in politics.” It was a stupid habit I’d gotten when younger actually. Being around people that worked with my dad always put me on edge and I made dramatic word choices.

“I'm not in politics,” Levi argued.

Brooks raised an eyebrow. “Weren't you?”

Levi faced him. “Aren't you?”

What? “You think we’re politicians?”

“Not you, dear, but him,” he pointed his glass to Brooks, “Get a better disguise, princeling.”

We watched him walk away without another word.

“Well, I guess that was our mistake. I told you we should’ve waited until later tonight.”

He turned in my direction. “What difference would that have made?”

Ticking off fingers, I listed, “It might've been darker, he could've been more tired, more distracted and maybe even a little drunk.”

“He seemed pretty drunk already. We'll find him again, don't worry.”

I worried anyway. The best way to start the year would be by having another lead. Thankfully, he liked my suggestion of finding his office. We would need to take a look around to find it though.

“Hopefully, it won't be too crowded--” I began to say, eyes skimming over the space as I spoke. His office would be around a closed off area, a hallway further down the house that wouldn’t be too crowded during a party. As I scanned around, I made eye contact with a confused politician watching us with narrowed eyes. Sort of recognizing his face myself, I realized he could recognize us too if he got closer and kept staring, so I changed my sentence midway and pulled Brooks into the group of dancing people, “--on the dance floor!”

“Nice save, darling.”

Turns out you can cringe at yourself. “This was a horrible idea.”

I was not entirely unaware of Brooks’ hand playing with the back of my dress as we danced. Still, I told myself it must be a habit of his. Something he did whenever he danced with someone and didn’t notice. Part of me hoped that wasn’t true, however. “We'll be fine. But only if you let it.”

“I don’t have the best track record with parties…” Punched a guy once. Pushed someone into a plant when I noticed they were about to puke in another. There was also the time I threw a drink at Cooper when he was annoying. Brooks hadn’t been too wrong when he said I was kind of aggressive.

He held me relatively close as we danced, his head next to mine. “It's the afterparties for me.”

I laughed a bit at that, wondering if my breath brushed his ear as his own did mine. “You last all the way to the afterparties, do you?”

“I'm pretty successful at parties. No one bothers me and I can keep to myself. It's after then that things go wrong for me.”

“Hmm, why is that?”

“Don't mess with me.”

I frowned but clenched my jaw when I realized what he was talking about. The kiss had been after a party. “I see you were on a different page than me.” Not meeting his gaze, I found myself feeling upset. “You have no right to be mad at me.”

“I'm not mad at you, Clove.”

“Then?”

He hesitated. “We've already talked about this.”

“We did.” A mistake. I focused on his shoes. “But you're the one who brought it up right now. I thought you were joking.”

“I-I am,” he looked down too, “I always am.”

My voice turned small. “I hope not always.”

The look in his eyes was hard to read. I couldn't place what it was before he replaced the expression with a smile and joked, “Not always. I'm a pretty boring guy.”

I managed to smile back for a brief moment, but everything felt off. We were trying so hard to go back to normal. Time after time, we weren't succeeding... I didn’t plan on giving up if he didn’t either though, so I smiled again. “Hey, you're part of the British Scooby gang. That's worth something.”

“Right. Which part of the Scooby gang are you?”

I only thought about it for a moment, trying to remember the show. “Velma.”

“I'm shocked.”

“I want to be the one who figures out the mystery.” Maybe I will. “That was usually her.”

“No way, it was totally Fred.”

Cocking my head to the side, I considered it. “Well, actually, out of all the group, the two of them were the ones that usually put the clues together.”

“How fitting.”

My head unnecessarily pointed out Fred and Velma were only friends on the show. “Yeah...do you consider yourself to be Fred?”

“I think I'm more a Scrappy Doo,” he admitted with a laugh. “Shouldn't have been there in the first place.”

“How dare you say the talking dog wasn’t essential?” I laughed, rolling my eyes. “Just don’t forget we already established you were needed for this to work, unlike the talking dog. There can’t be a Mrs. Crooks without a Mr…” I trailed off, regretting the sentence with a blush. “Anyway, how long till midnight?”

He checked his watch. “It's almost 10. Wanna try our luck with Levi?”

“Almost two hours away.” I nodded in approval. “Alright. Maybe we should start with showing the journal first this time.”

He nodded back. “Have you seen him?”

I searched the faces in the room. “I bet he’ll be wherever the dark cloud of pessimism is going.”

Brooks made a pretty good guess. “Where's the bar?”

#//fics #//not a challenge #//crooks #//new year's #brooks tag #eloise tag

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hachama · 7 years ago

Text

Making space to feel sadness

I’ve been wanting to write this post since Saturday or Sunday, but haven’t had the time or energy to do it until now. Sometimes I think better when I write, and can better process things that are otherwise difficult to manage. I’m going to put the rest of this under a cut, because I expect it’s going to get long.

Thursday evening I got a message from my brother: “Call me when you get the chance.” Our grandfather was in the hospital, acute renal failure. Our first cousin was already on the way to Mississippi. Grandpa had been in poor health for a while, so no one was expecting him to pull through. We immediately started working out a plan to get to Mississippi as quickly as possible.

Because of the holiday weekend, my brother didn’t have work that Friday. My husband did. My brother and sister-in-law drove from their home in North Carolina to the airport in Birmingham, Alabama, to pick us up. My mother paid for my husband’s and my plane tickets, and our roommate drove us from my husband’s office to the airport.

While we were all still traveling, Grandpa requested that he be discharged from the hospital and referred to home hospice care. Between 8 and 9 Friday night he returned home, with some extra equipment and pain medication.

We arrived in Mississippi at 2 AM Saturday, checked into a hotel (also paid for by my mother), and got some sleep. We had breakfast and contacted the home health aide. She recommended we wait until about 11 AM to come over.

While we were still at the hotel, Grandpa had gotten out of bed, eaten a few bites of breakfast, and gone back to bed. By the time we got to the house, he was delirious. He didn’t recognize me. He looked up at me and said “I’ve lost you.” Mercifully, my grandmother, who has dementia, did recognize me. After lunch, we went back to the hotel for a few hours to wait for our cousin, the oldest of our grandparents’ three grandchildren, to get into town. He had requested that we go with him, as his wife couldn’t make the trip and he didn’t want to be alone.

While at the hotel, we played a card game, a distraction we all needed. My husband took a nap. Our cousin arrived as we were getting started, so we dealt him in. My brother won. I woke my husband and we went back to the house.

Grandpa hadn’t moved in hours. While we were there the hospice nurse arrived. She got authorization from a doctor to increase Grandpa’s pain medication and noticed that he had a fever. She recommended acetaminophen suppositories, since he wasn’t swallowing effectively. My sister-in-law and I went to try to find an open pharmacy that carried them. Small town Mississippi pharmacists done keep long business hours on Saturday evenings. We were advised to bring back ice since the Tylenol wasn’t an option. My brother helped get Grandpa positioned to prevent bed sores and rolled some towels into supports. Grandma said she was tired and went to bed.

My cousin wanted to say Kaddish. I said it was premature and felt wrong. We returned to the hotel and tried to get some sleep.

Sunday morning, our cousin had requested that we coordinate to try to arrive back at the house at the same time. My brother, sister-in-law, husband and I had to start the drive back home. We had obligations on Monday. Our cousin was planning on staying another couple of days.

By the time we got to the house, Grandpa was gone. Grandma had been watching church services in the living room, a live broadcast from their local church. With the door open, I like to think Grandpa could hear the TV. Services were ending when he died.

I noticed that we were all breathing in sighs and long, measured exhalations designed to maintain composure. I got the impression that we were all inhaling each other’s sighs, trying to find ways to offer comfort without endangering the other’s barely maintained composure. When the hospice nurse arrived to confirm that Grandpa was gone and start the paperwork and legal phone calls, she circulated through with quick, sincere, professional “I’m so sorry”s for everyone. Even that was enough to bring tears, both the confirmation of what we already knew and the implied “it’s ok, I know it’s hard” in her words.

Strangers came and went, the machinery of managing death. Grandma asked for some privacy to sit at Grandpa’s bedside, the last time she’d be able to sit with her husband of nearly 70 years. We honored her request. Of course we did.

Then there were questions to be answered, arrangements. The entire time, Grandpa’s dog, Bella, was whining and crying in a closed off back bedroom. Of all of us, the dog was the most free to be honest.

My brother and I retreated to opposite sides of the kitchen. I could hear his breath catching as he kept his sobs private. I think my breathing sounded much the same. We both pretended not to notice.

It was freezing outside. Our cousin, again, wanted to say Kaddish. This time it wasn’t premature, but I couldn’t say it in the room where Grandpa died. I don’t know what makes a person uniquely themself, but whatever it is, Grandpa’s was gone. I didn’t want to see my grandfather empty like that. I couldn’t force myself to see him that way. So we stood in the driveway, the three grandchildren, the two spouses who could make the trip, and three cell phones with the text of the Kaddish displayed in Aramaic and English. Our cousin asked me to lead. Grandma came outside. I chose to say Kaddish in English, to spare my grandmother’s confusion. We left.

As if to confuse my emotional state further, my first cousin on my mother’s side of the family gave birth to her second child, a baby girl, the same morning in Australia.

The entire drive from Mississippi to North Carolina we played Cards Against Humanity with a variation of the rules I dubbed “Cars Against Humanity.” The driver is always the judge. The backseat controls the white card draw and discard piles. The front passenger has the black card draw pile and reads all the cards. It works well, especially if everyone gets a turn as driver and judge. We stopped for lunch at an Israeli restaurant in Birmingham. If you’re ever in Birmingham, and you see a restaurant claiming to be a “Jerusalem Grill”? Trust it.

We stopped in North Carolina for the night, and the next day drove home. I kept dozing off and dreaming that one or both of my grandfathers was alive and well in Australia, and that the car I was still aware of being in was about to drive off a cliff.

When we finally got home, I lay down and cried. My cat bit me for not petting him. My husband held me and got me a cup of tea when I asked for it. My friends, in response to my complaint that the cat bit me while I was crying, said he was trying to distract me.

But I don’t need to be distracted. I need to feel my grief, and process it. It’s not going to go away if I ignore it. My grandfather is not going to be not-dead if I refuse to confront the reality of his death. So this is part of making space to feel grief. I am sad that he is gone because he was a good man who loved his family and treasured his only granddaughter, even though he tried to call me by my aunt’s name at least once in every conversation I ever had with him. It is only right that I be sad, and there is no reason to deny that sadness or limit the space it needs.

I was reminded of something that some adults said when I was 12 and crying at my Zaide’s funeral. They said they envied the lack of inhibition in crying children, that we were free to fully express and inhabit our feelings like that, while adults struggle with it. I think, from the perspective of 23 years later, that it had less to do with a lack of inhibition than they thought. I struggled not to cry while my grandmother was around because she did not need to carry my grief along with her own. She needed to feel free to make space for her own sadness, the same as I did when I finally got home.

#death #grief #mourning #personal #long post is long

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