villca

[villca]

magda.​

Magda turned her head like a deer startling at the snap of a twig – though this wasn’t any normal deer, because it seemed to have made peace with the prospect of an intruder, didn’t otherwise flinch when staring down the barrel of a hunting rifle, only silently observed. She did, however, let out a small laugh. Sometimes he reminded her of the stones in the creek when the current rushed fast. You thought you were looking right at them, but upon reaching beneath the surface, everything was plotted an inch sideways, slightly off kilter. Even if she expected some version of events from him, he’d always make amendments to the script. “Long pause. Suspenseful. Didn’t disappoint, either. You got me,” she enunciated with a subtle widening of her eyes, the kind of expression a parent might adopt when faking enthusiasm for an excessively long game of tag. Magda kept her arms crossed despite the flush of her skin up close, though she was too stubborn to admit defeat, even in the empty room that made her own head – it was always a thorn in her paw, like that, but she’d grown accustomed to trudging on despite the sting, as was the case with most things in her life. Blisters on her heels to prove it. An ache in her bones, deep-set as rot in the planks of a haunted pirate ship. “Right.” Chase. Had Toby mentioned a name like that? Maybe Magda had crashed on her sofa and slipped out before he’d appeared, if it was the same one. Always missing each other in opposite sides of a revolving door. She might’ve even pocketed a crumpled note from a surface as she crept out, which could potentially mean the sum she owed him was a dollar larger. She didn’t disclose that. “Fred. I used to be big on YouTube.” Squinting against the sunlight, she cast her gaze off towards the crowd – it felt too personal, somehow, to be looking at him as she disclosed the next part, not used to telling truths. “I, uh – sing lead in The Midnight Snacks. It’s a band.” Fairly known locally, among the bars, for the shows they’d put on. Nothing major. Magda shrugged, invisible antenna twitching against the glass of a Mason jar, increasingly feeling like a bug held captive – perhaps this was what her father felt like, she realised, when she told him anything personal, some itch to fly elsewhere that he’d passed down genetically. “Landon writes. I help, sometimes.” Pointless details. Rather than dwell, she turned to address him with something different, climbing towards the lid to make her escape. “You got any water?” 

                               his gaze happens upon her by accident, the inside of his cheek snagged between his teeth, caught in the claws of thinking — of what he could have said instead. chase has been preached to, countless times over, that criticism without constructiveness is as futile as planting a tree indoors, that a roof is to a tree is what handcuffs are to man and he doesn’t want to stagnate anyone’s growth. wants her to be taller than she is. even if she doesn’t care. ‘   but you won’t have it forever. hopefully.    ’ given like a reluctant apology mandated by an elder, but it clears his conscience. still, the disjunction in his response to hers is apparent, parallel tracks that never meet so he can’t really get her, but he’s still sticking around. or willingly stuck. ‘   if you were big on youtube you would be rich and would have paid back my money.   ’ people in town lie a lot and truthfully, he doesn’t know the tells, he only knows what he knows, always too focused on what’s said, instead of how, a one trick pony, any takedown the verbal equivalent of brute force. this time, his gaze is purposeful, steady as though making use of the upper-hand he has while she diverts her gaze, but all it does is make him want to look wherever she looks, at whatever she’s looking at. ‘   oh. cool name.    ’ and he does mean it, because it might be the most truthful thing he’s said to her so far, because a band name should be fitting, and he can attest to the fact that she has midnight snacks, he was there. chase attempts to subtly track where she’s looking, following her pupils forward like there’s a guiding dashed line that runs all the way to her target, but he doesn’t see anything interesting. ‘   what genre of music do you make ?   ’ his curiosity is sincere even though he hasn’t found any music that he likes. but midnight snacks could be the first. when she turns back to him, he follows suit but a few seconds after, still certain that she was looking at something and not just looking, but the horizon of milling bodies comes up empty and that could just be another byproduct of the parallel tracks. ‘   no. but i should probably go have some.   ’ already scanning across the length of the park for pop-up bars with short lines, water fountains, or picnic dwellers with more water bottles than they can drink in their red nine quart coolers. 

[villca]

emmett.

a wave of restlessness had washed over emmett, and saturated by that nervous energy he had stolen out into the night, leaving his work behind him. the momentary lapse in productivity might result in him being chewed out, but he’d been chewed out before. the partners all had sticks up their asses and he wasn’t sure it was his job to handle that anymore, least of all in the moment. the season was a hot one but under cover of night an extra layer was necessary, the sort that made him look less like a lawyer and more like he had in his college days. emmett stopped for cigarettes - he didn’t smoke, except when he did - and found an empty piece of the night to sit and stew in. just moments after he found superficial calm, he found he was no longer alone, and blinked lazily at the newcomer. “hi.” @irvingstarters​

                                  there’s an ease to which he wanders about at night, sliding past dim lit store fronts and deserted alleyways, mentally mapping out every inch of town, until unconsciously, his feet start the trek back to wherever he’s staying : mostly toby’s these days since it’s closer, but sometimes he’ll greet the challenge of lilac ridge, it depends. and usually he can push through the pain of a sprained ankle, but maybe city-living’s made him soft, he doesn’t want to walk it off. it hurts. so he approaches the stranger with not only the cautiousness that one does when approaching strangers, but with a stiffness that comes from freshly swallowed pride. ‘   hello.   ’ even a greeting seems like pandering, or delaying the inevitable. he hates asking people for help. ‘   do you have a car ?   ’ 

[villca]

bowie.

♯ 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫  |  cutie pie’s, 2:30 pm.

          slurping noises and belches could be heard from the corner of her booth, receiving disgusted glances from the couple sitting by her. oblivious to her surroundings, soon she was even looking up at the ceiling as if she were praising god for bestowing this delicious piece of meat to her. lifting her gaze from the burger at the sound of someone’s voice, her cheeks full like a hamster’s, she’ll offer them a smile before somewhat reluctantly putting her burger down on the plate before her. gulping down the last of it, she’ll wipe the copious amounts of ketchup smeared all over her face.   ‘ m’sorry, this isn’t your usual spot, is it  ?  i can sit somewhere else if you’d like. ’  /  @irvingstarters​​

                             chase does the same — nine times out of ten, food is just food, but that leaves it being heaven sent one time out of ten. if something’s that good, there’s no reason not to make a spectacle of it. the thing is, cutie pie’s burgers are not heaven sent. which leaves her before him, his own seat, valuables in hand ( the vanilla malt milkshake still three quarters of a way full ), he waits until she’s completely finished swallowing, otherwise her enjoyment will distract her from what he has to say. ‘   no. it looked like you were enjoying that burger. it’s nothing special. compared to the burgers i make.    ’ thinks that his burgers would probably elicit an even bigger reaction from her. he takes a sip of his milkshake, swishing it in his mouth before he swallows. he wouldn’t make one for her for free because that’s just bad business and he doesn’t have the money to spare, but he’ll charge less than cutie pie’s.

[villca]

hunter.

@irvingstarters​

Most of the time, Binks was a good boy. He’s just sit at her feet while she drew in the park or would nicely wait for her to return if she had to run into the store. Hunter didn’t think she had anything to worry about when on a walk with Binks that day, until she looked down at her phone. She rolled her eyes, swiping away the text message from her mother only to look down at see the leash and collar, but no Binks. Hunter’s eyes darted around before settling on him running full speed at a stranger. Following only instinct, she chased after him and called out, “I’m sorry! Just wiggled out of his collar is all.” She could feel the flush on her cheeks slowly extend to her ears. How embarrassing. At least she knew she wasn’t one to stick around. The last thing she wanted was for people to think she was some woman with an unruly dog. “He did bother you or anything?”

                                   his eyes are on the dog before it even escapes the clutches of it’s leash, a cautious smile catapulting into a full-out, all-toothed grin as the dog comes bounding towards him. before it reaches, he crouches onto his knees and his palms clap against the concrete sidewalk with the vigour of a slap, hands — if he cared to look, beating red. the dog halts, but not without their heads colliding. the dog’s tail wags, it’s tongue darting against his face, as chase makes himself comfortable, sitting up only to fall back on his heels, the corners of boutique bags swinging against his shoulder as pedestrian traffic is diverted around him. ‘   you should have it a bit tighter then.    ’ trying to be helpful, but there’s an edge to his tone that always sounds a bit admonishing, like a parent who just wants the best for their child. ‘   even the smartest humans walk into traffic.    ’ which means dogs definitely do. his fingers slowly comb through the length of his coat, residue of a leftover grin lighting again at the excited pants of the dog. he probably doesn’t need to answer the last question but he shakes his head anyways. ‘   he’s a good dog.   ’

[villca]

magda.​

Magda assumed the lie was so ridiculous nobody could possibly think she intended it seriously, so when Chase seemed to sit on the fence she studied him in silence before casting her gaze out, searching the crowd to see if anyone fit the bill of a leather wallet muncher. “Oh, he was willing to compromise. I do declare…” Magda trailed off, not bothering to set a hand to her chest to match her awestruck Southern belle bit. Her eyes returned at snail pace once he made his declaration, drifting over his face as if his features were detachable and she was debating which to pluck and pocket first, trade at a pawn shop for a quick buck or six. “I’m not showing you where I live. Might show up and skin me for a lampshade.” Easier than admitting she didn’t live anywhere. She had this idea in her head of the way his eyebrows might’ve bunched if he realised she often slept on a stripped and abandoned mattress, lumpy springs included – and that was if she was lucky not to crash on a floor or sofa. Besides, she didn’t tell people that sort of thing. Hardly anyone had a distinct idea of the places she spent her time. She liked feeling like some strange embodiment of a missing kid on the back of a milk carton, liked thinking she could leave without a trace and leave no clues. “Besides,” she began, turning to face him fully – it was infuriating, she realised, how short she was by comparison, forced to crane her neck. “I don’t know your name.” Pausing, Magda deliberated saying the next part. Finally, she decided he was harmless enough that it didn’t particularly matter – anyway, he’d find out soon enough. “And I can’t leave. I’m singing later.”

                                    ‘   yeah. as a gesture of good faith.    ’ he explains pointedly, trying to cut through her southern lilt. ‘   but it seems as though,    ’ for once, he knows what he’s going to say before he says it, the pause is not trying to scrape together the last end of the sentence but deciding on whether he should say it. ‘   you have a lot of bad faith.   ’ he conceals the beginnings of a wince with an even tone, like it had hurt him more to say it. and he manages to put himself in a mood, cheeks slack and pokable, unconsciously mimicking the expression his own gaze retreats from, sliding over her blank slate of features. she’s probably never going to have any wrinkles. she’s probably very good at poker. not that he’d ever be first to initiate a game, because so far every conversation has felt like playing catch against a wall, and anyone who’s ever played catch against a wall knows that the wall always wins. it’s still one of his favourite past times, he can play for hours. ‘   i don’t want to know where you live. i want my money.    ’ he sort of wants to know where she lives only so he can brag about where he lives. which right now is a split residence between his grandparent’s place and toby’s with a potential third, that rosie’s looking into for when he has more money, collecting places like lots in a game of monopoly. he’s studied the board but never played. ‘   it’s chase. you ?   ’ the only difference between a stranger and a not-stranger is a name, and it’s harder to be mean to someone you know and he doesn’t want to be mean to her. ‘   what are you singing ?   ’

[villca]

tobi.​

     tobi looked at the guy, confusion plastered on his face. not only was he rather interested in a dirty sandwich, he looked down at his uniform shirt and wondered if he was just oblivious or trying to rope him into a trick question. “that depends … what’s wrong?” tobi asked, half-way trying to joke his way out of how suddenly anxious he felt.  

                                   the abandoned sandwich still sits at the forefront of his mind. it takes several moments to realign his focus, which is further set astray by the stranger’s expression. ‘   nothing’s wrong.    ’ he says confidently, with a tone that almost expects the company of a swinging watch, willing it so. ‘   can i sell sunglasses outside the aquarium ?   ’ permit and permission sound similar which makes him think they’re probably the same thing. 

[villca]

toby.

from where toby’s sat in the corner of her room, hands meticulous as they turn the pages of a novel she devours, there’s a soft undercurrent of chase’s footfalls that leaves her curious. the newfound silence draws her out. there’s order restored to the living room, the dvd player remote she’d resigned to the void where the couch cushion meets the back of it now a prodigal son hailed atop the neatened rugs. “you found it.” she doesn’t thank him even though it’s a given. it’ll show instead in how carefully she keeps it tidy afterward, cleans the dishes when it’s his turn wordlessly. beside him at the counter toby rests on an elbow, hint of a smile. “october. a little while away,” she didn’t care much for the cake. the icing’s a touch too sweet. “it’s from work. someone else’s birthday. i thought it was nice, then. i was greedy.” her thumb gestures to the fridge. “there’s a bit more left, you can have it. where’d you actually find the dvd remote? i looked all over.”

                                       chase can’t claim technical ownership to the place because his name would not be found on any of the legal documents, but he quickly fostered a certain protectiveness over the space, toby too, because she inhabits the place he takes great care to, not so much keep in order, but to keep homely. he allows himself the brag of a single nod, flecks of pride in the pull of his lips, especially because it had been hiding. ‘   but really you can have your birthday any day.    ’ he points out, always a quarter of an octave above the appropriate indoor speaking voice, forgetting he doesn’t have to compete against the noises that come from always being outside. ‘   your birthday could be any time you want cake.    ’ he could try it out at a restaurant and it wouldn’t be lying because birthday’s are kind of made up anyways. ‘   okay. i don’t want it to go off.   ’ like he’s doing her a service by eliminating the potential threat of of old-food-fridge-stench. ‘   it was on the window sill. standing up in the corner. so even when the curtains were open it was still hidden. pesky thing.   ’

[villca]

magda.

Magda crossed her arms to silently impersonate how she imagined his voice would stand, rigid as a conservative mother witnessing a particularly phallic hotdog at a family picnic. “That’s really hurtful,” she stated, oddly amused despite the fact that neither her voice or expression portrayed it, flat as an out of tune guitar. Her eyes only slid over to study his face after a few beats of delay, actually quite intrigued over his stance on the matter. “Stealing implies I took it from your pocket wearing fingerless gloves like an orphan from a British musical. I didn’t do that.” It was picking at hairs, she knew that, a stupid distinction, though she made it nonetheless, wondering if he’d get red in the face when he inevitably objected. “No. Really sad story, actually. Some dude took it off me. Ate it in front of me as I wept. Italian leather, too. It was an heirloom.” Her short black skirt rippled slightly with the breeze though it felt stale, puffed from a shitty Volkswagen’s broken air conditioner, and goosebumps prickled on her skin merely for the fact it’d been blue-balled, hot as ever without any relief. “You know, in a way you got your money’s worth.” Too stubborn to reach up and tuck her hair behind her ear, Magda let it bake on her neck instead, a bull refusing to charge when the heatwave flounced it’s red cape. “I made you a balloon.” 

                                  chase does his best to appear stone-faced, actively pushing his gaze back to her when it threatens to wander, a symptom he’s prone to when piecing together exactly what she’s talking about. his imagination shouldn’t be so hard to rein, he doesn’t even have the pieces to make the picture magical : doesn’t know anything of musicals or what italian leather looks like, but his head cants unconsciously - like his imagination’s been parched, lapping at the remnants of a spilt story, the not truths. ‘   i’d say we could go find him but you’ve already proved yourself to be a liar.   ’ besides, while the cards might be salvageable the cash would be completely destroyed. he mistakes the heat of frustration, the type that warms the cool back of a hand for the hot of the sun, swiping his forearm over his brows, like he could wipe away the warmth, along with the beads of sweat. he doesn’t feel any cooler, she stresses him out. ‘   i did take that into consideration, and was willing to compromise.    ’ he replies, swatting away her objection as mercilessly as he would a fly. ‘   we should go to the bank.   ’ so she can get a new card and withdraw his money. then he realizes he’d misspoken, still under the impression that her wallet had been stolen, part of him still rejecting that she could be liar, is one. ‘   i meant your house. where do you live ?   ’

[villca]

tobias.

     Standing outside the aquarium in the morning with a breakfast sandwich in one hand and black coffee in the other could be considered a morning ritual for Tobi considering how often he did it. Watching as people piled at the front entrance looking to show their kids what a shark looked like up close for the first time, or even being there as a weekly ritual of their own – Tobi felt at peace being here. Holding the breakfast sandwich in his mouth, he grabbed his phone out of his back pocket to try and see if there was anything needing his attention before he went and clocked in. As he was, someone had walked up, blocking the sun out of his eyes. Noticing right off, he looked up – dropping the sandwich onto the ground when he tried to say thanks. “well, shit.” he groaned, rolling his eyes. without making out who it was in front of him, he continued – “can i help you with something?” he asked, picking up the sandwich and tossing it into the trashcan next to him.

@irvingstarters​​

                               chase dons a pair of what he believes is the most commonly misplaced item in irving. he scours the beach once a week and hardly ever comes up empty, last week’s find, a pair of thick, plastic tortoiseshell framed aviators with mirrored lenses perched upon the bridge of his nose. it’s part of a pitch he’s worked up, a stall right outside the aquarium, in order to avoid the competition that comes from the swath of kiosks that dot the boardwalk. his plan’s just to launch straight into it, but his attention immediately deviates at the sight of the fallen sandwich, that’s hurdled straight into the trashcan before he can even get a glimpse at the damage. he rushes over to it, clutching at the steel slats as he peers inside, but it had pulled apart in motion, each piece of the sandwich left splayed again emptied coffee cups and idle receipts. ‘   you had the whole sandwich left. what a waste.   ’ he spins back around, pushing a pout that’s especially unnecessary because he’s already had breakfast, he’s just being greedy. ‘   but yes. you work here right ?   ’

[villca]

magda.

Magda was coasting at a comfortable level, a bird flying right above the water without skimming the surface and wetting it’s feathers, and Hunter wasn’t set to arrive for another few hours. She got into the habit of people watching, at these sorts of things. A little girl with untied laces. Her father lugging her around by the hand like a heavy suitcase in a stuffy airport. Someone was wearing a crocheted two piece the same colour as a stop sign, jostling their hips like they wanted to hear their pocket change jangle by the entrance of the silent disco. Nothing particularly entertaining, as Magda roamed her pinpoint pupils, thin sleet of gold glitter on her face glinting like sweat or perhaps an amalgamation – heat prickled her neck as her sights happened upon Chase, itchy like a nettle rash beneath her loose curls, and the tips of her fingers twitched with the urge to toss her hair up like she always did. She took a sip from her beer, watched him a moment, then decided to walk over. “Is your grandma here?” she opted out of greetings entirely, glancing off around them – it felt like hunting, in her ratty camouflage tank, envisioning antlers cresting a salt and peppered scalp. “I’ve decided I’m stealing her pension.” @villca​

                              he’s taking advantage of one of the few times he feels comfortable enough to sit at the edge of the sidewalk, the road cordoned off so that the only force he could possible encounter against his feet would be the misstep of a toddler, and not the weight of the tire. chase is trying to watch, and half the battle’s resigning to the fact that he can’t watch everyone at once, his gaze latching onto the back of someone with interesting coloured hair, a burr hitched against his mohair cardigan, falling away when his neck can’t crane any further. then he’ll realize that he’s missed a dozen other people in the process, and try to clamour back to a place where everyone’s in view, so he doesn’t miss anything. it doesn’t work, because he doesn’t see her, not until she’s a metre away, which shocks him enough that his immediate response is to give a pleasant nod of acknowledgement and a peeking smile, which is blurred in the motion of him getting up. by the time he stands his lips are settled back into a firm line. ‘   i’m not telling you.   ’ chase had only asked for her number to get his money back, but when met with a voicemail that didn’t belong to her, the lost money felt more like a sideline to the main act of her disappearing, and him being tricked. which, he wouldn’t have minded if he’d known that was the game they were playing, because he loves games — but he didn’t even have a shot at winning, because he didn’t know. ‘   just like you stole my money ? do you have your wallet on you ?   ’  

[villca]

sasha.

       ❝  is  talent  a  requirement  for  this  ??  i  would  hope  so,  but  most  not  good.  slim  pickings,  no  ??  ❞  it’s  a  question  that  sasha  had  been  wondering  since  his  arrival  to  the  festival.  all  bands  sounded  juvenile  and  not  the  least  bit  enjoyable.  though,  he  supposed,  alcohol  would  dilute  that  fact  quickly  for  most.  which  eventually  became  his  plan.  there  was  not  much  alcohol  couldn’t  fix.  so  here  sasha  sat,  sipping  his  warm  beer  he’d  gotten  from  the  garden  that  tasted  like  glorified  piss  water  and  his  lips  in  a  seemingly  permanent  purse.  his  left  leg  was  giving  more  trouble  than  usual  since  the  day  began  and  while  he  normally  would  call  it  an  early  night  as  a  result,  this  festival  seemed  to  be  hyped  up  by  most  of  his  customers  at  the  bar.  so  far  …  not  impressive.  leaning  against  one  of  the  trees  to  take  the  weight  off  his  feet,  he  was  far  enough  from  the  source  of  music  where  he  could  still  hear  the  melody  but  far  enough  to  be  spared.  nimble  fingers  from  his  free  hand  tap  against  the  handle  of  his  cane  while  his  gaze  turns  to  the  person  standing  a  few  feet  away.  ❝  is  it  like  this  every  year  ??  that  would  be  most  unfortunate  if  the  case.  i  would  need  stronger  beer.  ❞              (  @irvingstarters​  )

                                   chase enjoys the sound of silence, the thing itself, not the song with the deceptive title. anything else falls into the large bracket of noise. still, he’ll look to one side, then another, the same way he’d cross a road, taking a mental survey of what people are doing, which will provide conclusive evidence of what he should do. most people are just standing there, bobbing their heads or tapping their foot, wholly amused by the sound booming from the speakers, which sound like a prelude to an earthquake. still, the desire to stave off complete isolation in a crowd of people forces him to swallow down his tells of boredom, the sigh of exasperation that climbs his throat, threatening to make it known that he finds this mind-numbingly boring. that when a question is thrown his way, the sigh of exasperation that was only waiting for the part of lips, is actually one of relief. ‘   i know that’s not how you’re meant to play guitar. it looks like he wants to break the strings.   ’ his thumb’s tripping on each one, like it’s only a matter of time until his thumb gets stuck like a fly in the world’s least convoluted spider’s web. it looks painful. ‘   i don’t know. this is my first time at this event. the tours are quite good though. very informative.   ’

[villca]

cecilia.​

she looked at him, chocolate in hand, and wondered if this town was frozen in time – if not the 60s, then the early 2000s. being here was a test. she was sure of it. life was always serving out divine tests from the gods. cecil had always told her that, and it was a fact she knew to be true. how could she prove she was worthy if there was nothing she had to endure? like everything else in life, she’d face it with the signature rutherford smile. “could you show me the way? i’m not even sure if i can find my own house from here.” soft laughter accompanied the fluttering of her lashes. it was easy to cover her own weakness, cover the pit in her stomach at admitting she didn’t know something. cecilia fell into the role of the damsel easily, using it to mask her cunning eyes as she watched every move he made, ready to memorize every street name and every back alley. “you can even dine with me. a token for your hospitality.” 

                                  his demeanour remains serious, never straying too far from the deep set lines across his forehead, a tally between his brows. like a finger dragged through cement, the lines never disappear completely, even when he nods, pleasant, if not slightly perturbed by her lack of direction. ‘   sure, i’m going there anyway.    ’ he hadn’t planned on it, but lies don’t count if they last less than a second, and he’d decided that he is going to go there now. if he leads the way it’ll feel less like a trap, not that she’s proven at all threatening from the interaction so far. ‘   you should get a map.   ’ the city equivalent of a compass and they’re available on mobile phones now, so she really has no excuse not to have one. ‘   where do you live ?   ’ he could probably find her house from here, a birds eye view of the city committed to memory, it was pretty easy, rectangles and squares, a grid. ‘   are you rich or something ?   ’ chase will never say no to free dinner, but it doesn’t sound like a fair trade-off, unless she is, as asked, really rich.

[villca]

magda.​

“Maybe you just have weird, beady eyes,” Magda left the observation dangling like a spider from a long thread of web, imaginary audience shuffled all the way to the edge of their seats, breath bated – it almost seemed as though she was going to leave it at that, a blunt, impromptu criticism, until she didn’t at the last minute. “My tits are massive, bordering triple F. Once they smothered a village into ruin. Only an aardvark made it out alive,” she dead-panned, briefly stuck imagining two crater sized gapes in the earth, winding sign posted roads all of a sudden leading to nowhere. Reminded her of her family tree, in a way – Magda getting born, all of her mother’s branches shuddering bare. “You’re weird.” Wasn’t sure why she felt the need to claim an eye for an eye, where Abernathy Creek was concerned, but it kicked in like a flinch after a thump in the back of your car seat, deeply programmed. “You have the posture of a wooden ruler and you talk like a badly programmed AI.” She didn’t acknowledge the grandparents suggestion while she was inflating the condom, only once she’d twined a knot and started unravelling the floss around her hand like she was handling a cowboy’s lasso, gearing up to wrangle a wild horse across the rooftops. “Yeah, I’ll meet your grandparents,” she decided after successfully tethering the condom with a long string of floss, letting it drift up into the air on it’s own as she grasped at the end. There was this amusing image in her head of sitting down to drink from chipped China teacups on tapestry upholstered armchairs, doilies adorned in saucer plates. Wasn’t sure why. Magda never met her grandparents, so she didn’t have much to base them off. Fictionalised archetypes only. Rather than oblige to his request, Magda turned to face him and pulled one of his arms closer with no explanation – touching sleeve, not skin – only to loop the floss around his wrist and nimbly double knot. She used to see kids coming out of a restaurant local to the library with balloons tied the same, when she was younger. For some reason, she’d push close to the bricks of a nearby alley, spying around the corner like a private investigator accumulating evidence of a sordid affair, even if there was nothing sordid about a kid leaving family dinner with a jolly red balloon. It felt that way, though. Like something Magda wasn’t meant to see. Once, a father grasped a little gingham clad shoulder and caught their child’s balloon before it could float up and pop on a street lamp. Just like that, Magda knew the world was letting her in on a secret. Oh, she thought at the time, eyes inquisitive as all of their faces lit up, giddy voices bouncing right off of the moon, this is how it’s meant to be. Magda held a condom for him to take between her first two fingers then slipped her hands in her pockets, milling towards the roof’s edge. “What’re your grandparents like? Are we dealing with a GILF situation? I’m legally bound to report them to Sutter Dyer, if so. It’s within my contract,” she spoke out to an abandoned nest the next roof over, blankly surveying a few patters of dry bird shit. “He’s an elderly fucker.”

                                 ‘   who cares what they look like, i have perfect vision.   ’ his measure for vision has always been accuracy, and he has near perfect aim. the next time he goes down to scuba, he’s going to get someone to film him playing darts and then send it to her, now that she’s provided him with her number. besides, beady eyes remind him of owls and he could only dream of having telescope eyes, if he were able to see a mile away he’d always know where he’s going, there’d be no surprises. her egregious lies are more of an affront than her comment on his eyes, his features contorting into a look of disgust, blinking like he’s standing to close to something that’s burning, left to wait for the stench to air out, the image to dissipate. ‘   you’re weird.    ’ chase says this with the certainty of a judge banging the gavel. there’s no question about it. ‘   i don’t know how you came up with that. i would have never thought of something like that.    ’ it’s a far cry from a compliment, and while he doesn’t have much loyalty to normalcy, there’s an irrational but pressing desire to distinguish himself from her, like if she’s weird, then he can’t be. ‘   at least i’m not weird.    ’ the retort feels like swatting at air, her composure unscathed, another reason why she’s weird, but he swallows down the slew of half formed reasons, because they’re wrung with exasperation and he tries not to say anything if he can’t say it with certainty. he makes a mental note to look up what an AI is when he gets back to lilac ridge. chase has to take a moment, his gaze following up the floss to bask in the glow of the balloon, to think : about whether he’s actually bothered by her, or if he’s just found himself encumbered by a mild state of irritation due to slight fatigue and hunger...no, not hunger. ‘   i’m thirsty. my grandparents might not like you. especially if you say some of things you’ve said to me to them.   ’ it holds the implication that he knows his grandparents at all. having never partaken in a conversation that lasts more than the time it takes to eat supper, he doesn’t know that, at the very least, his grandmother would get a real kick out of it. he quells the knee jerk instinct to tear his arm away from her, by holding completely still, not even a peep of a breath from him. thinks it’s a good idea, an s.o.s signal for airborne helicopters if he were to get lost. not that it’s possible within an urban sprawl, so many lights and flashing signs being shoved down his throats, ensuring that he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. ‘   are you going to do one for you now ?   ’ hardly suffices as a thank you but that’s as close as he’ll get. considers it a trade so he doesn’t have to consider it a gift : the balloon for his grandparents. ‘   no. they’re not GILFS.   ’ he’s not familiar with the acronym, but assumes it’s a type of criminal if she has to report them. knows all about having to respect the law. sutton dyer sounds like the particularly cruel strain of cop, if his specific vendetta is the elderly. ‘   so you don’t have to report them. especially not to sutton dyer.   ’

[villca]

rosemary.

rosemary with chase ( @villca​ ):

most people would be nervous , hanging out alone with a virtual stranger with plans specifically to go to a secluded area . but , rosemary koo has never been like most people . ( and really , she’s the one who suggested these plans . ) she hums along to the soft pop music playing through her stereo , fingers tapping against the steering wheel absentmindedly as she takes the last turn towards lilac ridge . she sticks out like a sore thumb in her light blue bmw , a graduation gift from her parents a couple years back that she still relies on no matter how much she thinks she’s achieving some independence . it’s no secret that even as an irving local , she’s most familiar with the places she frequents : the aquila drive neighborhood , downtown , the miles of coast , and around the school . lilac ridge , however , is practically uncharted territory , and it doesn’t occur to her that she’s not sure how to find chase until she approaches the trailers closest to the road . she doesn’t need to worry long , realizing there’s a figure waiting by the road – and as she gets closer , seeing that it’s him . her eyes glance at the clock on her dashboard . a few minutes early and he’s already waiting . rosie slows to a stop in front of him , rolling down the window closest to him and unlocking the doors . “ get in , loser , we’re going shopping , ” she calls out to greet him like an old friend with a congenial laugh that sounds nothing like regina george .

                                   chase can count on one hand the number of times that he’s had fully formed plans. with a date and a time and a spur of excitement that tingles in his belly the night before. he waits close to the entrance, lilac ridge can be hellish to navigate and half their air pollution comes from the slow trawl of idling cars, feet hovering over the brake as kids shoot out from a makeshift alley of two side-by-side trailers. it’s a pretty lawless land. there’s a flash of blue approaching from the horizon, and he throws his hand up in a half wave, an amateur hitchhiker who can’t commit — but it must be her. not because he keeps an active tally of the model and make of cars that frequent here, but because he’s already imbued with an unfailing trust. in her, partially, the part where he’s certain she wouldn’t be late, and a quick glance at his watch comfirms this. it’s predictable, how his features pinch with confusion at her greeting. it took him a while to even understand the concept of knock knock jokes, and this time, there’s no punchline in sight. only her smile and a laugh that makes his lips twitch at the corners. for a moment there he thinks he’s got the joke, but really, his smile’s only the instinctive reaction of seeing her smile. ‘   shopping ?   ’ he asks, needy for clarification as he opens the door, shrugging off his backpack before ducking inside. he keeps the door open as he puts on his seatbelt, because he’s found that a lot of people start driving before everyone’s buckled up, and he’d like to avoid a fate that lands him through the window at the hand of an emergency brake. finally settled, he closes the door. ‘   hey.   ’

[villca]

                     MEET THE NPC: RONNY PETERSEN

1. how old are they and what do they look like? ronny’s in his prime at forty-three years old. as a california import he’s usually rocking the look that’s pictured above ( both pics taken from the meet the team cork-board in the backroom at work ). he doesn’t put much stock into grooming, having only ever gotten haircuts from previous girlfriends. his teeth are impeccably white, and can often be found applying white strips when work is slow. chase has never seen him out of work clothes, due to the fact that the attire is the more or less the same : a solid coloured pastel button-up with a white t-shirt ( winter ) or singlet ( summer ) underneath with a pair of khakis and smart, leather shoes, which he sheds for birkenstocks when his shift is over. rumour has it that he has tiny nipples. 

2. if applicable, where and when did they meet your muse? ronny’s only a sales employee but has all the responsibility of a manager, and was the one to hire him at the mattress store. chase considers this first encounter unmemorable, and more so remembers his first day. chase was standing dumbly by the cash, when ronny walked in, pointed right at him and said boy, do i have a task for you. the task in question was completing a puzzle, face-down, the picture on the box covered with masking tape. thinking this was a work request and not a personal one, chase completed it with unwavering focus, while ronny served the customers perusing the mattresses. it took him until the end of his shift. ‘    right on. wanted to make sure it was actually possible to do face down.   ’ sliding it carefully to the edge, he flips it over to reveal a puzzle picture : it’s a photo, of him, a girl and a cockapoo captioned — layla, will you marry me ? ronny takes several moments to look down on it in awe, before separating each piece and lying it face down in the box. on monday he walks right up to chase and says, ‘   guess who’s getting hitched ?   ’

3. what kind of a presence do they have in your muse’s life? do they have a positive or negative relationship? chase honestly finds him kind of annoying, but ronny’s the person he’s closest to purely out of the routine of how much they see each other. chase only works weekends, but ronny works every weekend and more. chase visits two to three times during the week out of sheer boredom. he secretly enjoys getting roped up into ronny’s post-shift plans, which usually involves walking around until they stumble upon a house party. neither of them are that into partying, but lately, ronny’s been recording open house style tours to send to layla, who always appreciates the ten to twenty minute reprieve, as a phd student in the midst of her thesis project. chase takes it as a chance to rummage around a fridge that isn’t his. ronny has a relentless generosity that makes it hard for him not to be a positive influence on chase, and always shares his lunch with him. chase knows that he doesn’t owe him anything, but nevertheless feeling indebted he shook up about a litres worth of silicone sealant and mineral spirit, so that ronny can waterproof his shoes and the canvas tote bags that layla takes grocery shopping.

4. are they revered in irving? do they have bad blood with anyone? definitely not revered, but if anyone’s ever bought a new mattress, they probably have interacted with him because he works insane hours and is really the only memorable person who works there. the store has a really strict return policy and can’t accept mattresses that have already been opened, hence why ronny makes it a point that the customer gets real cozy on the display mattresses in store, because he’s definitely had some sour interactions with those wanting to return their mattress after a bad night’s sleep. 

[villca]

You know I’ve seen these in pictures but this is an actual gazebo right here in your city square. This is beautiful! You bet. - Twin Peaks Deleted Scenes

[villca]

alexis.

she’s  not  sure  where  she’s  going  —  walking  out  the  door  to  rockin’  and  rollin’,  mostly  blinded  by  the  lights  inside  and  reminded  far  too  much  of  a  life  she  hoped  to  leave  (  mostly  )  behind.  walks  into  step  beside  someone,  as  if  alexis  had  known  them  her  whole  life,  instead  of  being  a  weirdo  that  talks  to  people  like  they’re  friends.  “what’s  fun  to  do  around  here?”  asks  like  a  local  -  she’s  an  actress,  she  knows  how  to  sound  somewhat  genuine.  not  far  off,  even.  “i  feel  like  i’ve  been  everywhere,  and  walkin’  ‘round  in  circles  the  entire  time.”  what  kind  of  fun  is  she  looking  for?  not  even  sure  of  it,  just  something  to  ease  the  anxiety  in  the  pit  of  her  stomach. / @irvingstarters​ .

                                chase, unequivocally aware of his surroundings, doesn’t so much as flinch when the stranger fall into step beside him. his gaze darts over her, a speedy threat assessment that looks more than anything, like he’s checking her out. then his attention’s back to the horizon, trading glances with closing shop windows, mouthing the names to himself. ‘  here, or all of irving ? there’s nothing fun here. just shops. but if you go to the beach, a bit before you reach the cove there’s a tire swing without the tire. it’s connected to a huge driftwood that washed ashore standing up. you can climb the whole thing.   ’ he considers this a prized suggestion since it hasn’t gotten old for him yet and he’s been a few times now.