Houston went out for a drink as a treat for himself, but soon remembered why he preferred to drink at his place. He found the other patrons to be loud and obnoxious. He stayed out for a second drink before closing his tab. He was putting his debit card back into wallet as he walked through the exit, when he bumped into someone. Out of habit, he looked over at them, about to apologize when she spoke first. “Yeah no, as if it was entirely my fault.”
“are you saying that it wasn’t?” arwen found herself moving out of the way, perhaps being courteous to the comings and goings of others. she wasn’t entirely sure if the dark-haired fellow was trying to offend her or not, and the clear puzzlement decorated over her rosy features. it was chilly that night and her plan to go out for a quick smoke before warming herself back up inside was utterly failing. “i was pretty sure i was being pret-ty careful walking back in.”
“-or you got bones of glass or something,” she retorted quickly, “You’re still standing,” and still mouthing off, she thought but kept that part to herself. Technically she wasn’t supposed to be at the bar at all- in fact, it wasn’t technical issue, it was a legal one. There probably wasn’t a person in town that didn’t know she was underage, it was the curse of living in a place with a population of six and a half, she considered. She cleared her throat, reminded of the power imbalance between them, Arwen could have MJ out on her ass within seconds, even without the collision between them, “Sorry, alright?” it wasn’t particularly sincere but it was something, “Wasn’t paying attention,” she conceded and it was as close to humility as she was going to get, it seemed.
arwen recognized the girl from around town, baby-faced and all, her brows furrowed even further. “what’re you even doing here?” she nodded toward the bar, mj’s apology instantly going out the window. she burrowed her hands deeper in her denim jacket, trying to keep herself warm in the iowa winter. “you look a little young to even be hanging around a bar. what’s your name?”
she knew what other people would say --- she’s just another basic white girl with problems that she can easily solve herself. with a single puff of smoke, arwen stomped the cigarette out before moving to retreat back to finish up the last hour of her shift. heavy thoughts on the mind, she thought she did her best to dodge the individual moving through the entrance - she wasn’t entirely sure if they were going in or out, but arwen ended up crashing in to them anyway. “jeez, you’ve got shoulders made out of steel, dontcha?” she had nearly fallen on her ass, thus giving the other a steely glare. “watch where you’re going.”
it’s just moonie again --- back at it with another muse! this is arwen dylan, who is the baby sister to ethan dylan. like all of my muses, she’s a hot mess --- so i apologize ahead of time for her behavior. again, if you want to plot with me, feel free to give this baby a like or hit me up on discord ( 𝟗𝟎'𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄#8111 )
* MADDIE HASSON + CISFEMALE + SHE/HER —— have you seen ARWEN DYLAN around? they’re a TWENTY-THREE year old BARTENDER known around town as the MAESTRO. not only are they broke af, but they’ve been in town for TWENTY YEARS. they’re ZEALOUS + DIAGNOSTIC, as well as BLAZING + THWARTFUL, but what else would you expect from a ARIES? paint stained hands, cigarettes dangling from pinks lips, and furrowed brows with deep thought and concentration.
full name. arwen elizabeth dylan
aliases. wen, "the maestro."
birthdate. april 13th, 1997
zodiac. aries
sexuality. bisexual
aesthetics. paint caked hands, tangled blonde hair held together with a paint brush, cigarette dangling from pink lips, furrowed brows that are deepened with heavy thoughts, rolled up blunts and white clouds drifting about, loose white shirts and ripped up denim jeans
you were naïve at times and often sought for deeper connections as if you wanted to prove yourself. your parents left you and your siblings. even though your brother worked hard to take care of you, the affection wasn't the same. you longed for the approval of mom and dad - but they left your side and it tore you a part. the only thing you had left from your parents was your name, arwen. she was your mother's favorite character from the lord of the rings.
so you found solace in art. you had your school teacher to thank for this, overjoyed with the different paint mediums and charcoal smudging into your pale skin. the imaginations and beauty of the world distracted you from the darkness that dwindled within it. many recognized your talent to imitate the virtues of the earth, encouraged to put them up for golden medals and awards. you did for awhile during your sophomore year of high school and your ex at the time was your cheerleader.
you were granted the opportunity to win a full ride to one of the top art academies in the country; you just had to send in your portfolio. it wasn't until the rich kids mocked your paintings, sabatoging your chance to escape the god forsaken town, and compared you to a street rat or something of the sort. you hated that words got to you and it ended up causing you to throw hands, which led to the loss of the full ride. your brother was disappointed in you, but more importantly, you were ashamed of yourself. this only proved those rich kids that they were right - you were nothing more than a reveling, street rat who thought she was picasso.
so you gave up art for awhile and were introduced to darker demons instead. you were known the the dramatics, but it felt like the whole world was against you during the last few years of adolescence. your parents were still gone, your academic career was lost to those who had better advantages than you. it took some years then to fight the drugs and alcohol and the fact that you ended up working in an establishment that relied heavily on these materials frightened everyone who knew you.
““Do you think you weren’t loved enough?” “Somewhere between ‘not enough’ and ‘not at all’. I was always hungry for love. Just once, I wanted to know what it was like to get my fill of it - to be fed so much love I couldn’t take any more. Just once. But they never gave that to me. Never, not once.“”
— Haruki Murakami, from Norwegian Wood (Vintage International, 2000)
