Elastic Heart

Dylan Dillinger. 24. 

[dylan-dillinger-blog]

Dylan Leigh Dillinger I Moodboard

“Body cells replace themselves every month. Even at this very moment. Most everything you think you know about me is nothing more than memories.”

[xjameson--robertsx-deactivated2]

“Look,” she bit her lip, standing in front of the person’s table at the coffee shop. “I know we don’t know each other but it seems like you need a friend. If I’m wrong, you can tell me to fuck off but if not… you just made a new friend.” She smirked. “I’m Maggie by the way.”

[dylan-dillinger-blog]

Dylan looked up from her sketchbook to the stranger, her eyes narrowed. Earlier in the morning she’d bruised her fingers bad in class practicing her latest sculpturing technique. The wrappings and cream she’d put over them did little to soothe the ache. The coffee shop was a place she typically wasn’t bothered at, where she could sit in a corner and marinate. She dropped her pencil. “Sorry I’ve already got one of those. Not looking for new applicants.”

[frodo-sam]

[dylan-dillinger-blog]

Listening intently, Alice crossed her arms and considered the advice. The amount of times she needed that kind of tip, she wished there was an easy way to get it, or they’d advertised it on the side of the coffee grounds, or at least on a poster in the coffee shop. What a brilliant idea? “Huh. And this definitely works?”

She nodded. “Family recipe.” These days she tended to simply banish her coffee stained shirts to the bottom of her closet, but that concoction had saved many an outfit when she was teenager and her grandmother did her laundry.

[dylan-dillinger-blog]

Beckett couldn’t help but laugh, “didn’t get their names but god, I fuckin’ hope so.” He felt his fear ebb away, and was smiling now. “Makes the whole thing seem less scary now that you say that. Hey, maybe I’ll see Caspar one of these days.”

She grinned slightly, glad that the stranger had caught the reference. Most of the circle she worked with tended to look at her like she’d gone a little crooked when she let out little nods like that. “Unlikely. Probably to busy flirting with thirteen year olds.”

[dylan-dillinger-blog]

He grabbed the two coffees as the barista placed them on the counter and slowly walked over to a table. “Yeah? Is that a bad reputation to have?” Cooper sat down and wiped up some coffee rings from the previous people that sat. “Should I start stealing from local corner stores, or dealin’ weed?” He pulled out his flask, filled to the top with whiskey, and added to his coffee. “Want any?”

“Better than some.” Her knee throbbed as she sat, and she massaged it under the table, working out the pain. One pinky ran around the rim off her coffee, the movement familiar. She put her hand up to decline the whiskey. It was definitely to early in the day to start that spiral. “You’d be a horrible thief.”

[certasluas]

[hayleymarshalldaily]

4.08

[dylan-dillinger-blog]

Rhys very nearly laughed at words, because honestly, he supposed that it would do. “Makes sense,” he answered. “Guess you can’t say no to the extra business right?” Although he was sure some could if they were feeling the same way.

“I could. The boss not so much.” She rolled her eyes, trying to convey what a burden the man was on her. Customer service to him required smiling, balance, and speed. Dylan could do only one of those things at a time. Combining any resulted in disaster.

[dylan-dillinger-blog]

He smiled and proceeded to place his coffee order. “Uh, 16-oz…I guess I’ll do a caramel latte, extra whipped cream and whatever she’s having,” motioning to Dylan. “It’s the least I could do, considering you just ate half the floor with that fall. You need a band-aid or anything? I can run across the street and buy some.”

She shook her head, already embarrassed enough with her display. She’d bruise, but she had plenty of ice packs at her apartment. “Coffee,” she told the barista. “Dark roast. Two espresso shots.” She slipped her hands into her pockets as she looked to Cooper. “Keep this up and you’ll get a reputation for being a gentleman, Coop.”

[dylan-dillinger-blog]

The sound of a body hitting the floor drew Milena’s attention from staring at the coffee shop’s menu, her initial reaction to want to offer the girl hand, but as she stood up and quickly joined the line, Mila assumed the purpose was to not draw attention. Stealing a glance back at the woman, the fiction editor couldn’t help but gaze down at the woman’s leg, noticing a red spot was slowly beginning of build on the woman’s jeans. Allowing the person behind her to step in front, Milena now stood next to the girl and gently nudged her arm. “Uh, I don’t mean to alarm you,” she began, pointing towards the other’s knee. “But, I think you’re bleeding.”

“Damn!” Dylan peered down at the blood stain. She was no stranger to skinned knees and bruises. Such was life when you were clinically clumsy. It couldn’t be that bad if she couldn’t feel it trickling down her leg, but grabbed a few napkins from the stand and dabbed at the stain. “Thanks.”

[dylan-dillinger-blog]

Cooper clapped his hands together, walked over to the girl, and looked down. “I don’t know if those boots are…functional enough for every day walking. You good though, Dyl? No broken ankles?”

She shot a glare at Cooper and his clapping, and crossed her arms. Other customers were still shooting her glances. “We both know I don’t need these boots to be a walking disaster,” she told him and then shook her head. “I think I’ll live.”

[marcoxricci]

“So, Blue Monday, you believe in that crap or not? Because the way my day’s been going, I’m starting to think it is actually true…” Rhys commented casually with a laugh, reaching out for the drink in front of him.

[dylan-dillinger-blog]

“Sure.” Dylan dropped a couple of dirty dishes into the sink and wiped down the counter next to the man. She was running on some double shot expresso and coffee considering this was her thirteenth hour on her feet. “Helps with the business.”

[katrina-unger]

Katrina cradled her chin in her palm, glancing around the bar to gauge if anyone else was overhearing the conversation that she was. A couple leaned into each other, limbs tangled and voices a touch above a whisper– I love you snugglekins. You’re my wubby bear– prompting her brows to shoot skyward. Physically turning, Kat found the features of a kindred spirit, mouthing her reaction. “What the fuck?”

[dylan-dillinger-blog]

Break time at the bar usually meant a break around back, maybe sneaking a cigarette and sitting on top of the shipping crates. It was to cold this time of year for that however and she’d snuck herself a table in the corner to work on sketches for her advisor. Somehow that corner table was right next to a couple just oozing out stomach twisting endearments. When the woman caught her eye she bit down on a grin and mouthed back. Kill me.

[dylan-dillinger-blog]

There were two voicemails from her mother cooling in Dylan’s invoice when she stepped out of the music store with fresh strings for her guitar. Between her classes, mentor meetings, and two jobs days off were a rarity in her life. She didn’t have the energy to deal with Becky Dillinger’s drama today. She slipped her phone into her pocket, resigning to call her in the evening or tomorrow morning before class.  She was often downtown working at the local records store, and she turned up and street and straight into her favorite coffee shop.

Just as she was stepping in, her foot caught the ledge and sent her down hard on her knee. The clumsiness was nothing new, she was a walking disaster, but the audience was new. “Shit,” she mumbled. She pulled herself quickly to her feet and got in line hoping her little tumble wouldn’t be noted.

[sanctum-rp-blog1]

“I hate walking past the graveyard,” Beckett muttered as he continually shot glances to where the dead sleep. “I swear to god I’ve seen a ghost here before. Not just one but three. Three fuckin’ ghosts, man!”

[dylan-dillinger-blog]

“Were their names Stretch, Stinky, and Fatso?” Dylan lowered her voice into a comical half-whisper as she adjusted her bag against her shoulder.

[dralicescott-blog]

It had been a long day at the hospital, when she’d left in a hurry; she’d been told that one of her old friends was on television in less than half an hour after the end of her shift, and she’d feel just terrible if she missed it. Yet here she was, stood outside of one of the many clothing stores in Bellevue, with a large coffee stain all the way down the front of her shirt.

“Before you say anything, someone ran into me when they rushed into the hospital with a piping hot cup of coffee, and.. voila. I’m quite capable of drinking one properly. This was one of my favourites.” She muttered the latter.

[dylan-dillinger-blog]

Music still blared out of the earphones wrapped around Dylan’s neck. She propped her foot up against a streetlamp and leaned forward to knot her shoelaces. There were three hours between getting off at Puget Sounds and starting her work at the bar, and she needed to find a way to wind down. With her roommates home, she figured they wouldn’t like her blasting music so she’d gone for a run. She’d noted the coffee stain on the woman’s blouse but thought her eyes had swept past it quickly. She wasn’t one to comment on stains. She’d ruined numerous shirts with coffee, because she was apparently incapable of drinking one properly.

“White vinegar and dishwashing detergent,” she offered. She knew the solution from her grandmother, a woman who always had a remedy up her sleeve.