get mean

flick of the wrist, he'll eat your heart out. a dig in the ribs and then a kick in the head. he's taken an arm and taken a leg. all this time, honey. baby, you've been had. ariel benoit. singer. veteran. not much else.

[benoitly]

g r a h a m‌

when the other pulled his legs back, he nearly frowned, making a note to keep his hands to himself. his name sounded foreign in the other’s thick accent, making the long name sound even longer than it normally was. not that he minded. maybe he even preferred the way he said it. graham had never been much of a fan of his name, as both of his middle names were just his father’s names–hugh michael ivy the fourth. he was, at least, thankful that his parents had ended up giving him his own name, instead of making him the fifth. still, it felt like they added graham in the beginning as more of an after thought than anything. his name was a constant reminder of where he came from, and who he came from, like his parents never wanted him to forget the legacy (as his father had always referred to the family). something he understood more so now, but still resented. at least, not being from the town, the name ivy meant nothing to ariel. not that it meant anything to most people in town either–something that took him far too many years to learn as well. when he was a young man, he had felt like that name would follow him to the ends of the earth, so he would never be his own man, only ever the ivy boy. “that’s a shame,” he says, tapping his fingers against the stage, “i was hoping something special would come out of it.”

“weird?” he repeats with a laugh. seemed strange, coming from someone who’s name was ariel benoit, with no middle name. but, maybe that was more common from louisiana. graham would have to admit he had no idea, so while it might sound strange to him, he wouldn’t judge the name. he actually does roll his eyes at mr.ivy, though there was still the hint of a smile playing on his lips. it was something he heard, mainly from his sister’s colleagues, businessmen trying to maintain a professional relationship with the family. something he could hardly stand. “most people just stick with graham,” he says, this time leaning in a bit when the other started to. when the notebook fell to the floor, he started to bend down to pick it up for the other, but he was quickly beaten by ariel. now that the boy was no longer on the stage, he could see how small he was. his hand quickly came up to hide the smile that came to his face. graham was used to those shorter than him–he was a rather tall, and found most people were shorter than he was–but he hadn’t expected ariel to be, not with the big personality and all. graham takes a step backwards, still far too close, but giving him a bit more room than before. looking back down at the notebook, he points to it, “that song from before, did you write it?” he asks, not expecting a too straight-forward answer from the other, but he was curious nonetheless.

ariel was used to being shorter than people -- men, anyway. usually it didn’t bother him, he was fully capable of handling himself in any situation, and didn’t often feel threatened or discouraged by the size of another person. sometimes he liked it, sometimes he didn’t think about it at all. he wasn’t sure what to think as he blinked up at graham, gnawing at his lip again as he tried to think of -- what had he asked? “no, it’s--” he stopped, his eyes narrowing at the other as if in both question and as a vague threat. he hadn’t written the song, of course, it was by one of the most famous french singers of all time. he’d heard it enough growing up that he should be able to recite it by heart, but the war did something to his memory. ariel wasn’t one to just give answers, especially not to tall handsome strangers, and this was no exception. he hugged his notebook close to his chest, brows raised just slightly as he looked him over again. “no,” he said again, this time firmly. “if i’d wrote it, i wouldn’t be stuck in this 'lil town, would i?”

[benoitly]

a lot of things distracted ariel. from shiny objects he liked to collect, to people watching on the not-so-exciting streets of redwater, ariel was always doing something and letting something else drag his attention away. which is why it came as no surprise when he found himself talking to someone and not being able to remember how the conversation started. he blinked himself back to the present, re-focusing his gaze on the person in front of him. “neat,” he said without knowing what he was complimenting, a faux smile on his face.

[benoitly]

g r a h a m‌

graham smiles a bit at the comment, adding all the more into his hard to pinpoint attitude, one that he found rather adorable. though he came off as a bit quiet, the boy had a certain energy about him, making him think all the more he didn’t belong in a place like this. redwater had always seemed like a place of retired old men and women, not for anyone so young. though, maybe that was just his own negative opinion of his hometown. this place wasn’t all bad, but he preferred something where more happened. not that he was an exceptionally outgoing person, but he preferred to be in a place with energy, in a place where things actually happened. redwater had never been that for him. not that it was all bad, ultimately. his sister was here, he could relax when he wanted. but, regardless, he thought that this other didn’t belong here just yet. though, if neither of them would’ve come here, this run in wouldn’t have happened. so, it wasn’t all bad. graham watches as the singer comes closer, sitting right next to him now as he teased once again, kicking his leg lightly against his own. it was, again, adorable. “i guess i’m not like most people,” he agrees, licking his lips briefly. 

watching the other, it seemed like he was trying to hide something, ducking his head down quickly. the singer was definitely invested in being a mystery, he thought, looking back up with that same, intense, difficult to read to expression. it was intriguing, keeping him wrapped up in their conversation. again, graham wondered how easy it was for him to do that. “ariel benoit,” he repeats, careful with his pronunciation, not wanting to butcher the name. he raises an eyebrow at that superstition, having never heard anything like that before. “only witches have middle names? what does it mean if you have two middle names?” he asks, tapping ariel’s leg with two fingers. "graham hugh michael ivy,” he tells him, leaning towards him a bit, “do i get extra witch powers, or do they cancel each other out?”

ariel’s expression faltered just briefly at the careful pronunciation of his name. it wasn’t that people didn’t try, he’d had lots of people try after he mentioned it -- but most didn’t make an attempt not to hurt his ears on the first go. the tap at his leg made him shift, pulling both back up into his previous criss-cross position. “graham hugh michael ivy,” he said each name slowly, letting his drawl almost consume them with the drawn out syllables. long names weren’t common back home, he thought for a moment, chewing at his lip as he tried to remember the whole of the superstition. he hadn’t been lying, his mother had told him many stories of witches and magic, of which she wasn’t very fond, and anything else you can imagine -- all of it true, if you asked his mother (and if you asked ariel, because no matter what he might say, he hadn’t left his religion entirely back in new orleans). but there was always that chance she’d just forgotten, after so many children, to give her last son a middle name. he didn’t care enough to ask the others. “don’t work that way,” he started with a small shrug. “two middle names’s just the same as one.”

tilting his head again just a bit, he let his eyes slip closed for a second as if he was trying to think of something very important. when he opened them again, they were back to being a wide and almost too awake. “ivy’s a weird name,” he said, still with a ghost of a smile on his face. “anybody ever call ya’ mr. ivy?" a tease asked with a straight face, he went to lean forward a bit again, but the shift made his notebook slip from his lap and onto the floor of the music hall, his pencil going along with it. he cursed under his breath, some old creole word he didn’t know the english meaning of, and hopped down off the stage to retrieve it -- he had just about enough room to lean over and pick up his belongings, as graham had been standing so close, and when he straightened back up he was faced with -- height. “pardon.”

[benoitly]

a n d y‌

“you’re a strange little man,” andy commented, nearly unprompted other than the fact that she had been watching this guy all night, and she was just, utterly fascinated with him, and she was drunk. she leaned forward, “i like it.” she finished her drink, “do you have a proclivity for mischief. a desire to create general tomfoolery around town, or engage in hooliganism?” she asked, dead serious.

ariel had been trying to throw darts at the back of rory’s head for about fifteen minutes (who’s counting) when he heard a voice pipe up from behind him. he turned slowly, holding a lone dart as if it were a cigarette, and let his gaze rest upon the woman sitting at one of the small tables. she was drunk, most definitely. ariel was not, but then again, he didn’t really need to be. he smiled, just knowingly enough. “je ne sais pas de quoi tu parles.”

[benoitly]

e l i‌

eli sat down at the bar and flagged down a whiskey from rory. it was a long day, and his hand still hurt like hell, but he could ignore that for now. he thanked the irishman as he got his drink and now he took a moment to look at his surroundings and the man sitting closest to him caught his attention. “ariel,” he greeted with a small nod.

did ariel spend a lot of time at this particular bar? yes. was it healthy, the amount of time he spent there? not really, but nothing ariel did would probably be considered healthy. he tore his eyes away from the bartender when he heard his name, making a small displeased face at -- oh, it was just eli. displeasure cancelled. for awhile, anyway. “don’t even get a hello, huh, garçon triste? rude,” he drawled, smiling as he spun slowly to face him.

[benoitly]

g r a h a m‌

graham wasn’t quite sure if the sound was supposed to be a laugh, or a dismissal scoff, though he chose to believe the former. if only so he didn’t feel like this is was a waste, to be talking to this strange little singer in the middle of the empty music hall. but, truly, he didn’t feel like it was a waste, which ever way. this was certainly more interesting than the lone ranger. was this kid squinting? if he was, it didn’t last very long, leaning forward so there wasn’t really much space between them. it was much closer than he was used to, and the man was very aware of the space between them, or lack there of. not that he was going to complain, this gave him a better look at the younger man as well. “well that’s hardly fair. you can’t lead up with all of that, and cut it off before the good part,” he says, though clearly he had done it on purpose. he would play the into the game though. a small smirk coming to him, fingers coming back up to rub against his face, “besides, as a kid sitting here, singing about beating hearts in french, i don’t think you have much room to give anyone hell for sounding romantic,” he teases. not that he was wrong–it had sounded romantic, but he would argue that the other’s french sounded just as romantic, even if it was different. 

that sound was definitely a laugh, he decided, as the singer made the sound again. it was a strange kind of laugh, but graham liked it. the other seemed to mull over the question, before giving the short answer. new orleans. he was certainly a long way from home, and he wondered why he would decide to leave an exciting city like that to live in the far more boring redwater. at his age, graham had run far away, seeking a life of excitement that redwater couldn’t really provide. when the singer leaned in some more, he tilts his head, mimicking the way the other did. there really was an intense look in the other’s eyes, like there were a million things he was thinking about all at once, which was counter to the relaxed attitude he had. maybe that was what gave the other away, he thought, his giant, dark eyes. looking at them, graham felt like he could practically see the thoughts in his head. or maybe that was just because it seemed like he wasn’t trying to hide what he thinking, clearly taking graham in. he wondered what the verdict on him was, but he was sure he would find out one way or another. the question brought a small smile to his face, asked in way that said he might not have a name. “yeah,” he responds dryly, instead of just giving him his name. that wouldn’t be nearly as fun, anyways. “most people do, that’s the rumor i heard at least.”

“i can do whatever i want,” was his simple response, lifting and dropping his shoulders in a small shrug. ariel didn’t have a lot of secrets, despite the mysterious image he tried to keep up around the general public. one thing he did tend to keep to himself was the knowledge of why he moved to redwater in the first place, though not necessarily because he didn’t want to tell anyone. mostly, he just wasn’t exactly sure. maybe so he could do whatever he wanted without the weight of his family name on him, or maybe because he, ironically, secretly liked the rain. the first option was more likely, as he tended to have a bad reaction to water falling from the sky. he leaned back again, making a sort of ‘tsk’ noise as he shifted to sit with his legs hanging off the edge of the small stage -- closer still. “most people don’t bother me while i’m tryin’ to focus,” he drawled, kicking one of his legs to knock against the stranger’s leg. “most people don’t answer me while i’m speakin’ kréyol la lwizyàn,” another kick. “so i don’t know if you’re most people.”

ariel had a way about him that could only be described as somewhere between smug and anxious, if something like that exists. he often went between fidgeting just a bit too much, and being so completely still that someone might wonder if he’d been frozen in place. he was a bit fidgety, as he kept tabs on this man. he seemed calm, much more collected than ariel could ever hope to be, and something about that excited him more than anyone else he’d met in washington. was he from redwater? did he have a family? did he want to know as much as he did? probably not, he thought, and made a little face at his own thoughts. he resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the comment about rumors, ducking his head for a second before looking back up at him, thoughts once again compressed into something unreadable. “i’m called ariel,” he said before he could stop himself, expression back to that cat-like grin. “ariel benoit. no middle name, ‘cause my mama didn’t believe in those. said only witches have ‘em. you a witch?”

[benoitly]

g r a h a m 

after he revealed his lack of fluency in french, the other seemed to relax all together. it was strange, he had met probably only a few people who could switch from one mood to another so quickly. but, he wasn’t complaining. it was much better than the tight ball he had been coming. though, the young man still had the intense look in his eyes. he wondered if that was a constant with him. if ariel was aiming to be a mystery, it was certainly working. he glances at the notebook for a moment, assuming that was where he was writing the song he had been singing. that is if he was writing the song, or if it was just some french song he didn’t know. he made a mental note to find out. he takes a couple of steps closer, leaning against the stage, a bit relaxed himself. though, not nearly enough as the other. at the comment, the corner of his mouth turns up, amused by his playful teasing. though he hadn’t said much at all, this guy certainly had a sort of charm to him. not just in his words, but in his posture, the air around him. he wondered how much of that was intentional, and how much of that was just came naturally to him.

“school?” he repeats, not able to help the low laugh he emits, hand going to cover his mouth as he does so. he hadn’t been in school for the last twenty years, and when he had gone–well, he had never been the scholarly sort. it had always bored him, not that he blamed the other for assuming anything like that. “no, i knew someone once, he had tried to teach me. clearly, it went in one ear and out the other,” he says, gesturing slightly as he speaks, before letting his hand rest on the floor of the stage. it was a fond memory, which was surprising, considering it had happened right after the great war. “you’re a native speaker then,” he says, though it was more of an observation than a question. he didn’t know any americans who were brought up speaking french, and he was sure the other was american at least. the southern accent gave it away, even if he wasn’t quite sure what region it was from.

ariel made a sound that could’ve been a laugh, could’ve been a scoff, or maybe something in between. he leaned forward again, this time to get closer to his intruder -- he deemed a closer inspection necessary to continue the conversation, and without the prescription he refused to wear, he had trouble doing that from any kind of distance. he blamed the war for that annoyance, as well -- he’d been perfectly fine before he left, came back with headaches and everything in between. lucky for him, his concept of personal space had been compromised by being the seventh son in an even bigger family, so getting close to people had never made him uncomfortable. touching, on the other hand, wasn’t something he enjoyed so much. “ya’ knew somebody,” he repeated in his own way, a small smirk playing at his features. “some french boy with his words all proper, i bet. prob’ly real romantic soundin’. back home, we call ‘em --” he paused, clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth and letting his grin spread across his face. “nothin’.”

he didn’t lean back when he was done with his shit-talking, and he made that sound of amused laughter (or whatever) again. native speaker was an interesting concept to him, growing up with three dialects and learning another during his service. he considered asking if he meant of french or english, but decided he didn’t want to know. “n’orleans,” was his only answer to a question that wasn’t asked, and he tilted his head as he leaned ever so slightly closer to the other. more handsome up close, he thought, if you liked that sort of thing -- he thought he looked a lot like the european guys he met while he was in france, if not maybe a bit more tan, as if he spent a lot of time outside. blue eyes. ariel blinked slowly, studying him in a completely obvious way. “got a name?”

[holocrone]

snafu caring about stuff (remake of x)

[benoitly]

g r a c e

Grace hadn’t even been paying attention to the coffee and had, instead, been trying to get some work done on her book – or at least the start of her book. She wasn’t sure if she was actually going to write it in the end,  but it helped her mind just a little to write down all the things she wanted to add into it if she did eventually end up writing it. And it helped, too, to get the words out of her head and onto a page even if she wasn’t going to end up writing it. She looked up at the paper at the sound of a voice, though, and then her eyes went straight to the coffee pot. “Oh, blast it,” she muttered, instantly forgetting about her work and heading over to the coffee to stop it from getting any worse. She glanced back over at the man. “You’re a life saver.”

ariel smiled in that lazy way he always did, eyes tracking the barista as she tried to stop the flow of coffee. “wouldn’t say that, usually stick to considerin’ myself a life taker,” his smile grew as he spoke, half teasing and half being a little too honest, drawl heavy from lack of sleep. “but ya’ could always repay me with another cup, if ya’ want. wouldn’t say no or nothin’.”

[benoitly]

p a t r i c k‌

For most people, Sundays could be somehow a dull day. Not as exciting as Friday and Saturday nor as busy as Monday. Yet, for someone like Patrick Sunday was usually just another day. He didn’t have a real job, which made him feel as if all days were Sunday. And he hated it. That particular Sunday afternoon, however, Patrick had something to look forward to: this was the day his new reader would come. Radio was amazing, and one could feel totally up to date with the news just relying on it. Still, Patrick wanted to be able to read the newspaper. It was the sort of thing he misses, and having someone to come over to help him with that helped added a little glimpse of fullness to his world.

The kettle had just started hissing when there was a knock on the door. He would rush to open it, but he prefers to first get the tea ready. It wouldn't be polite to have someone coming over and not offer anything to drink. So he took an extra minute or two to settle up. Soon, another knock. He left thing as they were and walked to the door, feeling bad to have him waiting.

“Sorry, I was just pouring us some tea. Ariel, right?” he tried his best to look welcoming. Tried a smile and everything. After a second he stepped to the side giving the man space to come in. “Plese, join me.”

going to other people’s houses wasn’t something ariel usually did, if only because there were very few places he actually felt comfortable. those few places were almost never where someone else had created a space for themselves. he tended to not fit, in some way or another. really, the more he thought about it, the worse of an idea this whole volunteer reader thing seemed -- he almost decided to turn back, then the door swung open, and he was faced with a friendly looking man. he cocked an eyebrow at the mention of tea, making somewhat of a face.

“ariel,” he repeated his own name, enunciating the long ‘a’ that most people up north shortened to something harsh. he hesitated just a moment before stepping past him through the threshold of his home, taking another moment to look around just past the entrance. northern homes were so much different than back home, less stuff cluttered everywhere, less... everything, really. he noted the lack of decor and blinked lazily as he turned back around to face his host.

“nice place,” he wasn’t lying, but he also wasn’t exactly being honest. but that was normal for him. "real homey.”

[benoitly]

closed for: @greypatrick

when ariel had answered the ad in the paper for a ‘volunteer reader,’ he hadn’t been expecting much of anything. he’d talked on the phone with a mr. grey (in his best ‘phone voice,’ in his opinion), and still felt as if he wasn’t one hundred percent sure of what he was walking into. but he’d been promised food, and ariel was never one to turn down sustenance of any kind -- especially when money was as tight as it was. he wasn’t sure why he’d felt compelled to answer the short, all too vague ad in the first place. maybe because he wanted company, feeling out of place in a town he still didn’t have a firm grasp on, or maybe he really was just after a snack.

he knocked twice, probably a bit louder than necessary, but he’d been out in the rain for far too long already that day, and he wanted to get inside as soon as possible. he knocked again, just once for good measure, and shifted his weight from foot to foot in an impatient kind of stance.

[mrbarbie]

Snafu being sassy.

[benoitly]

b e t h

beth shrugged, obviously unfazed by his words. “i tend to bring out good moods in people. seems like you’re included,” she teased. it was nice to talk to someone; easy banter was helpful at distracting beth. having forgotten her umbrella at city hall, beth simply adjusted her scarf so that it would cover her hair. she hummed and nodded. “it’s…interestin’,” beth admits, her own voice toned down. “i work for a gentleman by the name of mr. peterson. i organize, file, and get him coffee an’ all that. he’s an…interestin’ fellow, too.” 

ariel watched out of the corner of his eye, unable to hide the obvious amusement he had for her situation. no umbrella, one broken shoe, having to follow around his sorry ass. he shook his head a bit, rainy moisture forming into little drops from his curls. “mr. peterson. interestin’ fellow. an’ what makes mr. peterson more interestin’ than anybody else?” he was mimicking her own style of drawl just a little as he asked, only teasing.

[benoitly]

g r a h a m‌

graham hadn’t intended to catch the man so off guard, and nearly felt bad as he watched him jump. obviously, the singer hadn’t thought he had an audience, or at the very least hadn’t thought he would’ve been interrupted. maybe he shouldn’t just grabbed a seat, and listened to melodic singing. but, that would’ve felt wrong, like he was intruding on a moment he shouldn’t have. though, he supposed he was still a bit of an intruder, at least telling by the intense look in wide, dark eyes. the singer looked like he had been cornered, the way he looked at him, and then away, and then to him again. he thought for a moment that should just apologize for interrupting and leave. but, he was a bit intrigued. all he caught was heart beats until, the rest of it going over his head. you could practically see the gears working in graham’s head as he tried to run over the sentence in his head, wanting to understand what the other said. but, his familiarity with the language was limited, and it was spoken just a little too quickly for him to understand it entirely. it was one of those moments when he became frustrated, mainly with his younger self, who he wished had paid more attention when he was being taught. though, that had been so long ago now, he doubted it would’ve made a difference if he had paid attention then. not when he would’ve been out of practice for so long. 

when the man speaks again, he tilts his head slightly, ear more towards the singer so maybe he would understand a bit better. that, at least, was simple enough for even him to understand. graham scratches against his jaw for a moment, fingers messing with graying facial hair as he thinks. “un petit peu,” he responds, though the the slow and stilted way he spoke proved that he didn’t do it particularly well. graham lets his hand fall back down to his side, “i understand it better than i speak it. though, not by much.”

so it had been a guess, though maybe an educated one. his defensive pose all but melted away when he realized he could go on being mostly a mystery to the stranger in front of him. ariel tilted his head a bit as he released his tight hold on his notebook, letting it fall into his lap as he leaned back on the palms of his hands. his posture tended to either be too tense or too relaxed, almost never anywhere in between. “pas très bien,” he said with a calculated smile, his gaze shifting so completely from surprise to now -- pleased was probably the best word, pleased and cheeky and a little cocky. it was obvious the stranger felt some amount of guilt for startling him, and he almost said something except that then he’d have to acknowledge that he’d actually been startled in the first place, and he’d rather die than do that. easily embarrassed but not so easy to admit it, that was his way. he was more than good at hiding that fact about himself. he wondered what secrets the stranger had. he hadn’t seen him in the music hall before, but that wasn’t saying much. a lot of the time he was either too drunk to remember who he’d seen, or on too high of a rush to pay much attention to anything at all. he’d sing and drink and go home, not necessarily in that order.

ariel didn’t say anything for a moment, simply hummed as he studied the way he touched his face, looked like he was concentrating too hard to continue the conversation any further. the switch to english once again confirmed that theory. going off looks alone, the expression on his face was uncharacteristically cute. ariel grinned. “not by much, huh.“ he lifted one hand to run his fingers through his curls again, leaning his weight to one side slightly. “learn that in school, sugar?”

[benoitly]

n o a h

“there’s plenty of people in this town not trying to escape, must be right for them. besides, ariel, you’re here too, you must like it a bit,” he says. or at least, he hoped. it could be difficult, at times, to tell if the other was being serious or not. he remembered that from when they were younger and he was reminded of that now. it could be frustrating, but noah didn’t dwell on that thought too long. whatever ariel wanted him to know, he would key him in one way or another. he laughs at the small push, tempted to push him yet again, but there was no reason to start that, here in the middle of the street. “i’m not hard to understand! what, should i speak like you? in a low, slow voice, with long drawn out syllables,” he says, imitating the all too unique cajun accent, not quite doing it justice. at the question, a whole new kind of excitement filled his eyes, “i’m a photographer!” he says, messing with the tight curls on his head. a small blush comes across his cheeks for a moment, “or at least, i’m trying to be. business is slowly moving.” feeling like he was talking about himself too much, “what about you? you haven’t mentioned how you ended up here too.”

“s’alright,” he said, a bit quieter than before, and started up on the lip chewing habit again. he decided to leave it at that, not wanting to dwell on his love hate relationship with the town any longer. he perked up again at the imitation of his own accent, which in his opinion, was much worse than the one he’d done of noah’s. worse but much cuter, he thought. however, he took the opportunity to pick up the pace a bit, realizing he probably had settled back into how he talked back home. ariel was nothing if not easily swayed into doing one thing or another. “what’re ya’ tryna say, mister photographer?” he paused, seemingly to think something over for a second, before he went in for another teasing poke. “so, ya’ got a camera and everythin’? when did ya’ decide ta’ go and get all artsy, chiot? if i’d known i woulda’ come up with somethin’ impressive to tell ya’ ‘bout, too.” another pause, this time to shrug and clasp his hands behind his back once again. “just waitin’ tables now. work’s harder ta’ find back home. everybody’s movin’ up north, i heard.”

[benoitly]

closed for: @gracecolliers

one substance ariel loved more than anything else on the planet was coffee. he called it love, anyway, but more likely he was addicted to the caffeine and only pretending to like the taste -- always black, sometimes sugar if he felt especially sweet. sally’s was the best place in town, he thought, even if it wasn’t anywhere close to his favorite spot from back home. he’d plopped himself into one of the seats nearest to the counter, watching the barista with seemingly tired eyes.

“ya’ pot’s overflowin’,” he drawled, slowly and without the urgency one might possess when a pot of coffee somehow had, indeed, managed to spill over the edge of the glass container.

[benoitly]

closed for: @tcmmymonroe

ariel was known for making absolutely shit decisions in life. it usually wasn’t his fault, the cards he’d been dealt had never been exactly ideal, but even on top of that he tended to lean towards being purposefully bad at doing things well. moving to redwater hadn’t been one of those shit decisions, unless he took into account the weather (which he usually did), but leaving new orleans in the first place probably was. that aside, he didn’t really regret it. making no attempt to not sound like an overused phrase, life was too short to dwell on regrets. and he liked his job, for the most part. it kept him out of the rain and sometimes, if he was feeling especially charming, he even got tips, which was a big plus. however, he had to wear a tiny white apron around his waist, and he thought it was probably the worst piece of fabric he’d ever had to put on his body.

the diner was never what anyone would consider busy, and he’d taken the opportunity to step out front for a smoke when he noticed the rain had subsided for the time being. he propped his hip against the brick exterior, cigarette dangling from his lips as he struggled to make a spark with his million and two year old lighter.