Echo Records wasn’t typically very busy at this time of night, but it was an understatement to say that Dottie took her job as a clerk very seriously. She thought of herself as a provider and hero of music, whether she was on stage or behind the counter, adjusting her name tag and periodically sneaking her rat ‘Whiskers’ an apple slice through the spaces in his cage–– which was (against her boss’ will) also perched on top of the counter.
“Finally,” she breathed out, mostly to Whiskers as a customer finally entered the store. “If you need any help, let me know!”
Echo Records served as one of the few places in Dingle which Ace regarded a sanctuary. No loud kids, no weird dancing men, and no Ferris Bueller. The comforting smell of old cardboard and vinyl (along with the faint aroma of... was that apple?) hits his olfactory upon stepping through wooden doorway. Perhaps Ace looked as if he’d stepped out of an ominous dream — what with his entirely black ensemble (absolute shocker here), while Doctor Marten-clad feet shuffle towards aisles of LPs that awaited. Hood peels back to expose matted, yet disheveled platinum tufts of hair along with an ever-present scowl that greeted the employee in return.
The blonde’s jovial greeting takes the Mercier by surprise. So much that he’d blinked to himself a couple times to register that it was, in fact, him that she was speaking to. Her offer is nice, too; as any other worker’s would’ve been. However, Ace was the kind who’d much rather step in front of an oncoming vehicle than outwardly ask an employee — or anyone, for that matter — for assistance of any kind. Another second passes as sapphire hues finally drop from the girl to whom he’d previously gathered was her rodent friend. Unconventional, but he couldn’t say he hadn’t seen both of them here before. “No thanks,” a curt, yet quiet dismissal at the help before lanky figure weaves into an adjacent aisle.
liam is engaged in a very important activity : reorganizing his spotify playlists ( by level of anger) he was currently about halfway through one titled: “i’m going to put my fist through a wall and light myself on fire”. his tunes were blaring at a volume much too loud considering his headphones were looped around his neck——– though, it’s not like being a nuisance to the general public is very high on his list of concerns. to drive that point home, his shit is scattered all over the only bus stop booth ( bag, jacket, jumbo-sized bag of chips, notebooks that he’d purchased specifically because they looked ratty and a pack of marlboro reds. ) hearing footsteps, he COULD move his crap and give whoever-the-fuck some space to sit… but he has to decide if rock the casbah should be should be moved down a level, so they can sit on the gravel, for all liam cares.
Ace merely blinks to himself at all the shit strewn across the entirety of the bus bench. Was he serious? A Doctor Marten-clad foot lifts and pushes over just enough things in order to make room for himself. This sends a couple notebooks and even the bassist’s jacket to the floor. Ah. Better.
Drummer plops himself onto the freshly vacated spot — which was mysteriously warm, might he add (thank you, jacket!) — before finally greeting the other with not much more than an unamused brow raise. He would’ve commended Liam for the tasteful song blaring from his headphones, but a far more important concern had arisen. The kudos would just have to wait. “Was there a reason you had to bring your entire fucking house to practice today?”
the pier was one of june’s favorite places on earth, let alone just in dingle, and she went out of her way to enjoy it every once in a while. whether it was walking along the beach with her headphones on in the summers, listening to def leppard loud enough for everyone to hear, or reveling in the festivities of the holiday season in the winters, nothing beat the oceanside vibes.
case in point: an older gentleman was presently dancing by one of the bathrooms and high-fiving the people who approached him, barefoot despite the plummeting temperatures and genuinely busting a move. for several seconds, june had no words for her fascination with the street performer, if that’s what he was, but her look said everything. eventually, she turned to the person next to her.
“honestly, dingle is fucking lit sometimes,” she remarked in her infinite wisdom.
Ace genuinely didn’t understand how this would be a form of entertainment in any sense of the word. Everyone had gathered around to watch as if he was the next Messiah, or something of the sort. It was just a strange man — one with the likes of a wriggling prune that blocked the bathrooms on the pier. Another inconvenience. Long arms hug puffy jacket a little closer to his body, almost feeling the biting breeze vicariously through the boardwalk performer. Honestly, Dingle is fucking lit sometimes. Brows furrow pointedly at the new acquaintance stood beside him.
No, Dingle is fucking stupid.
“He looks like he’s having some sort of seizure,” lackluster tone greets brunette, as nimble fingers go to pick another french fry off paper plate. “Maybe he’s just stepping all over the splinters while everyone thinks he’s doing an interpretive dance.”
Why are people giving him high fives for obstructing the bathroom? Did he just come from there? Did he even wash his hands?
Why did all this make him so confused and angry?
Sarcasm drips from monotone once more as an unamused, yet persistent gaze locks onto the dancer. “Michael Jackson is quaking in his grave.”
Jesus, this stoplight was taking fucking forever. Of course, Peter completely acknowledges his living in the dingier part of town, but one would think that the town would at the very least be aware of its own issues and be on top of their repair.
Heh.. dingier part of town. Dingier part of Dingle. S’funny.
Peter squints up at the dull red still loud and prominent before his face, lips tugged into a deep, deep frown. God, how long had it been by now? Twenty minutes? Thirty? An hour?
How long do stop signs take to turn green?
Ace never has and never will understand small towns. Hailing from the heart of New York, the only street etiquette he’s come to learn was to keep his eyes in front of him and to just keep walking.
To vastly contrast, Dingle wasn’t anything like that. A quiet town, yes, but nonetheless a small town. It still fulfilled the stereotypes any suburb of the sort garnered — a humble abode where everyone knew each other, and also one where word spread fast. Ace wasn’t particularly fond of the latter, for it’d gotten him into a heap of trouble in the past. He didn’t trust people who’d talk; and hell, that meant all of Dingle.
Crystal hues take their time to land on a familiar figure stood tall as if practically cemented into the concrete. Not in front of anything relatively interesting, anyway. Why wasn’t the fucker moving? As Ace nears fellow pedestrian, inquisitive sapphire gaze narrows. How obnoxiously big sideburns.
Oh, wait a second.
Honestly speaking, Ace didn’t stop for Peter initially. He held little regard for those who’d choose to spend their time wasting away in front of street signs. He’d fully intended to cross the street to the local gym for his afternoon reps instead. No more than two steps forward, before a disgruntled sigh emits from pink lips. God, who was he kidding? He couldn’t just leave. It was still Peter.
That fucking idiot.
Nike-clad feet backtrack in a shuffling motion, as platinum blonde lazily makes his way over to his... preoccupied bandmate. He knew Peter to be a man of routine — little did he realize that there was now room in his schedule to stop and stare on the side of the street. “Where are you trying to go?” Inquiry ends on a resigned exhale as Ace now submits his afternoon schedule to making sure new company got to his respective destination in safe hands. A diminuendoed tone rents the air. “Stupid fuck.”
frost on lashes. steely eyes. cold hands. the smell of winter. the howl of the wind. veins mapping porcelain wrists. candy-colored bandaids. bags under eyes. redemption.
bloodied knuckles. stolen signs. a ride’s first drop. seeing red. popping gum. ripped jeans. music at the highest volume. the rush of adrenaline. the loud clap of thunder. vengeance.
This was the third time. And by the third time Isa supposes most would people would have attempted to ask questions. Or at least hinted at them, in concern or maybe some sort of curiosity driven search for answers. Even Aunt Seph had started asking. Apparently, she would have started asking from night one.
Isa wasn’t Aunt Seph though. And she has long since accepted that she wasn’t like most people.
So she doesn’t. Ask, that is.
“This will sting,” Isa murmurs as always as she gently presses the alcohol soaked cotton ball to another one of Ace’s wounds. She dabs the cotton ball along the cut gingerly for a few moments as her eyes remained focus on the injury, her reading glasses slowly slipping down the bridge of her nose before she’s tilting her head back up and moving to dispose of the now pink cotton. She exchanges her tweezers for the package of gauze pads, efficiently opening it and pulling a pad out before moving to press it to Ace’s wound with a low, “hold this.”
Isa lets go of the pad to reach for the roll of gauze pretty much on autopilot, so settled in the routine that she doesn’t even hesitate to gently take Ace’s arm between her cool fingers (although arguably, she didn’t hesitate the first time either) and get to work. Isa wraps the gauze around Ace’s arm, once and then twice before she mumbles, “you can let go now. Tell me if it’s too tight. Are you sleeping here again?”
I don’t need your help. But everything’s already there. I don’t care. But you’re bleeding. So what? I could’ve finished in this time. Do you ever shut up?
There’s a war of thoughts in his head. Why was he even here? Conflicting opinions of succumbing to medical treatment cloud his judgement. Funny, how his nightly regimen allows him little time to ponder over other annoying matters in advance.
This will sting. He takes notice of small frames sliding down her nose bridge and fights the urge to push them back up with his free hand. Not to be nice, of course. Ace just favored everything in its rightful place. She however, seemed far too focused to care. Sapphire hues follow her unwavering gaze down to the injury. With his pale skin and all, it’d looked like a fresh tear upon a porcelain surface. An opening upon what otherwise looked like an impermeable surface. He hated the idea of that. Looking vulnerable.
An all-too-familiar searing pain shoots daggers from dermis into muscle. He reciprocates with nothing more than a jagged exhale at the sensation. Iron and alcohol now infiltrate flared nostrils. It smelled like a fucking hospital. God, did he hate hospitals. Couldn’t recall being to one since New York.
He didn’t need one. He was fine. At least that’s what he told himself, upon scouring innumerable scars across his body due to improper healing. Watercolor splotches of blue and purple littered across an ivory abdomen and right shoulder canvas.
Hold this. Ace finally shifts his gaze from battle wounds, as free hand lifts to comply (surprisingly). There’s no point in pondering over the past now. Piercing blues debrief the room. It was quiet, simple. Modest. He’d might even go to the extent of saying it was like Isa, if he’d allow himself the luxury of forming an opinion on the girl. He didn’t entirely understand her. Not that he cared to, what with her band’s involvement. A Gone Girl is still a Gone Girl, at the end of the day. This causes him to flinch a little when she mindlessly takes his arm. Not out of pain, no. That was familiar. Isa, on the other hand...
Are you sleeping here again? Again? When the fuck did he— oh. Teeth grit at the thought of having done so before. Not entirely out of his own will. The last time he’d recall was that he passed out not long after becoming a mass of flying, protesting limbs upon her unrelenting aid in the alley. He could walk himself home this time. It was just a little scratch. Fine, three.
“Oh, come on, Ace. It’ll be fun!” Tobias tries to plead with his friend. They’d been ‘arguing’ back and forth for the last fifteen minutes over whether or not they were going to sing karaoke at Breeze Block. Or, really, however Tobias was going to get Ace to sing with him. This place was his favorite – The Undrgrnd coming in a close second – and karaoke nights were always fun, he just never had anyone to do duets with usually. Sure, he could have pleaded with his bandmates about the activity, but Ace was already here with him now. The song would only last probably three minutes and then they would be done. That would be much quicker than trying to take the time to set up another date with Dottie or Lisa. “Come on, bro. This’ll only be three minutes of your time. You’ll love it, I swear!”
“How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not going to make a fucking ass of myself in Breeze Block? Forget it.” It was times like these in which Ace wondered how and why he allowed Tobias time in his company. They had absolutely nothing in common, so why did they keep hanging out? Platinum blonde puts out the end of his cigarette on the curb they’ve been bickering on for the last fifteen minutes. Literally right across the street from Breeze Block. This could’ve been all said and done with, had Ace not been the type to go down fighting than ultimately give into others’ wishes. Calloused hands jam themselves into leather jacket pockets. “God. It’s like I’m speaking fucking Mandarin to you or something.”
it’s his cherished break from slaving over endless crusty dishes, and he’s sprawled out across a booth seat like he owns it, half empty chocolate malt in front of him, the jukebox a few feet away on its sixth loop of ‘together forever.’ the song is a lowkey banger, yeah, but he mainly just throws it on to see the gradual annoyance build up among the few scattered patrons munching on their overly-greasy burgers.
he is gnawing at the pen in his hands, occasionally being hit with what he deems a stroke of genius and scribbling wildly in the gnarled notebook in front of him. after a beat, he pops up from his manic work like a meerkat from its burrow, waving the passerby over, presenting the page like a proud artiste.
“whaddya think?” the page begins with scribbled out song lyrics — the words heartbeat and shivers and honey can barely be seen — and instead, he has drawn a rather detailed photo of a man’s face on a cat’s body with, of course, a massive dong. “i happen to think it’s my fuckin’ magnum opus, but i’m willin’ to take constructive criticism.” he isn’t, really, but damn if he doesn’t want that delicious feedback.
Not even a beat passes after Clark finishes talking before Ace inconsiderately cuts him off. “Absolutely not.” Oh, he didn’t even have to look in the other’s direction. He just knew. “I don’t have time for you.” Piercing sapphire hues land themselves on the proximate jukebox. The same one that’d been playing that horrible, horrible song over and fucking over again. It was almost comical how somehow, the music machine was beginning to steal first place for Ace's prime source of annoyance from Clark. Calloused fingertips latch onto the top of the machine, before aggressively rocking it back and forth in place. Anyone who’d seen the patron fidgeting wildly with the jukebox while the song started playing off-tune would perhaps either have a laughing fit or call the police. It was safe to say they wouldn’t have been wrong to do the latter. “The stupid thing is obviously jammed and I swear to fucking god if I hear that shitty song one more time I’m going to fucking chuck this sorry excuse of a contraption into the fucking kitchen.”
‘ do you ever like — think about the snapchat hot dog ? and wonder how that guy’s doing ? i know his glory days are totally over, but i kind of miss him, y’know ? i miss his crazy hot dog backflips, ’ torrance muses, eyes drifting off into the distance almost longingly. there’s a few seconds of peaceful silence, before she locks eyes with the person in front of her, a box of mike & ikes in each hand. ‘ anyway ! as i was saying, we ran out of milk duds, sour patch kids and swedish fish, but i do have a bunch of mike & ikes in stock. does that work or will it like, totally ruin your cinematic experience ? ’
Ace simply blinks at the topic of choice. He would’ve contributed somehow, granted that he had a Snapchat to begin with. However, he refrains from social media as a whole (except Instagram, of course). Mostly for personal reasons, but the idea of not having to interact with people like Torrance was simply an added bonus. He blinks again. “What the fuck are you going on about?” Curiously narrowed eyes under furrowed brows dart between the girl and the two similar boxes of candy she holds up. Almost as if he was weighing out which box to choose. A grimace takes over his features. “It will, actually. No one fucking eats that shit anymore.” Voice trails upon the acknowledgement that it wasn’t her fault that they were out of stock. Misdirected anger, once again. He clears his throat. “It’s fine. Just the soda’s fine.” A low grumble and a slip of a bill concludes their interaction.
—Or so he thought. As if almost on cue, his stomach growls at an embarrassing volume. Had he really forgotten to eat today? He backtracks, before digging through his back pocket and slapping a five down on the counter. “Fu— whatever. Fine. Yeah, I’ll take a box of goddamn Mike and Ikes.”
throwz this post on2 th dash like a shit flingin monkey hENLO i’m lacey bt u may also refer 2 me as? mr steal yo girl cos i will kindly respond 2 both ty
oh and more importantly this here is my trash boy ace. enjoy!!
ok so to put this shortly this post is gna b kinda messy
wwwow that’s what she said
bt yA anyways herez som good stuff b4 we get in2 the nitty gritty
pinterest board in the works woahohohoo [ x ]
shittily written out bio in case you actually feel like Reading [ x ]
a personal playlist, stats page, and wanted connections page [ coming soon! ]
below is a tl;dr of what you probably need to know
ace is:
just always.., grompy h which is y i stuck him in leech fragment yanno?? i think he’s jst a solid candidate 4 tht Angry Drummer persona
provoked easily but i don’t think he should be seen as a? real threat like ya his patience may be minimal bt honestly he’s not like.., a bad kid
for instance his heart is usually in the right place bt also like woW isn’t he jst the perfect embodiment of a VILLAIN
major draco malfoy vibes ja feeeeel
he also acts like he’s got this superiority complex (he’s working on it) which kinda warps how he acts towards others but he still.., means well hhh like he doesn’t really look down on others really but he’s jst.. so used to being praised a lot for his talents that he can’t stand anyone being in his way to the top of what he does (fighting & drumming)
definitely protective of his bandmates?? like he probably bitches at em often bt goD FORBID.., ANYONE ELSE DOES IT
suuuuper duper competitive in nature hahahaa like he will end friendships over monopoly he does.. not take losing well cos he’s not very used to it?? so just. imagine him in this competition yikes
honestly after what went down in his past leech fragment is like his safe haven and the only good thing going on in his life rn so he’ll be Damned if he doesn’t contribute 110% to all practices and shows and like, do his part to put/keep them at the top
some wanted pLots i gUeSs
we stan a good gone girls rivalry!! i wd very much welcome 1 plot where ace has some sort of Tension with one of the members. like they jst CANNOt be in a room together
his closest friend? personality wise i was thinking someone who’s jst the opposite of ace like. a Nice dude who kinda puts up with his shit n treats him like a genuine best friend despite his temper, and kind of dragz him off 2 social events etc. preferably a leech fragment member seeing that he spends a lot of time with them cos he “has” to n thus a beautiful friendship bLooms
definitely a Salt pal
oof ok angst machine bt sometimes ace’ll be gone for several hours n come back with fresh wounds so like pretty please give me the person he turns to who’ll be up late n tend 2 his wounds n not pry about it cos this is one of my all time favorite plots thank u for coming 2 my ted talk
insert immigrant song scream here bcos i cannot think of much else bT I’D LOVE TO INTERACT N PLOT WITH U GUYS SO JST HIT THT ♥ BUTTON OR MESSAGE ME ON D*SC @mr. steal yo girl#2180 AND I’LL COM ATTACC U ( with love of course) WITH A NEW THREAD
pixelskylines
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izzy806
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