Harrison Ford on the set of Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark
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@fat-rambo
Harrison Ford on the set of Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark
Who: Hopper & @murraybaumanz
Where: Hop's Cabin
Why: Sad & Old Farts
Jim hopper was a man of action, a man with a plan, a man who could proudly fix his own shit. On any better day an allegedly broken television wouldn't leave him scrambling for the landline, but the alcohol did a number on his ability to mess with the tv's back panel (or even check if it was turned on). He downed a beer with dinner, followed by his collection of bourbon, moving over to the porch afterwards to wash it all down with a few cigarettes. The sobriety required to fix technical issues was long gone by the time he was ready for his late-night surf of the channel guide. That's when he discovered the television wouldn't turn on. After several failed attempts at fixing the goddamn thing, Jim's solution resided in dialing the only number that he could remember off the top of his head. Murray Bauman. That old fucker would know how to fix this problem for sure, regardless of the yapping and theories that it might take for it to happen. In the meantime he grabbed a bag of chips from the kitchen to soak up alcohol swirling in his stomach and got comfortable on the couch, bag tucked under an arm as he munched away.
Jim basically forgot that he called Murray until there was a knock at the door. "Come in," he grumbled , probably too quietly, adding in a louder, "the door's fuckin' open!" He struggled to wedge himself up as Murray let himself in, reaching for the remote again with a pained sigh. His focus doubled down on the issue that brought his friend here, smacking the device against his palm as if it would do anything to fix the problem. "I'm not sure if it's the remote but I swear tv's were better back when shit was black and white."
𝐖𝐇𝐎: max mayfield & @fat-rambo 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓: penpal meet up at the local church!!!! 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄:church parking lot and surrounding woods
max hadn’t kept up with anyone in hawkins, really, she hadn’t. and she didn’t think hopper or herself would consider their casual letter exchange once or twice per year staying in touch. it had all started on max’s 18th birthday actually. she was drunk and alone crying on the beach about…life. mainly el and will and how guilty she still felt for living, then disappearing within a snap of a finger. so max dragged herself home through the rain, sat down in her bed, and wrote a letter for hopper addressed to hawkins p.d. it was simple–
if you get this, guess you haven’t given up being a cop yet. i thought about el today. it was eighty-three degrees out, i don’t miss snow.
- max
but now, after over a decade of lowkey back and forth, max was seeing hopper. she hadn’t gotten a chance to see him at the wake, but he was unmistakable at the funeral, smelling like whiskey when he sat down in the pew in front of her. max was quiet towards the ceremony, and after. when they stepped outside the church, in the midst of everyone choked up as they loaded the casket back into the hearse and the bells hollowly gonged for each year of joyce’s life, max chose to stand by hopper. as the crowd began to disperse, whether to home or the overpass, she lingered by long enough for him to see her gesturing to a path towards the woods, down in the lower parking lot. max walked and was pleased to see hopper following in suit. she stuffed her hands in the pockets of her suit while they walked. after allowing the silence to stick, max sucked in a breath and looked up at the geezer, “you reek, dude.” she shook her head, eyed her moving feet for a moment, then back at hopper, “you still smoke old man? i could use a cigarette.” yikes. was that really the best thing to say given the funeral they just attended? maybe not.
Thank god for sunglasses. It was hard to find a dry eye walking out of that church and Jim Hopper was no exception. He clocked Max gesturing towards the woods and gladly used it as an opportunity to break away from the crowd. He removed his hat for the service but placed it back on his head now, thumbs moving to the front pockets of his slacks. It was hard to believe how many years had piled on since their last in-person encounter. Max obviously looked older, and there was something more serious about the way she carried herself, but the attitude hadn’t gone anywhere. Somewhere deep down he wondered if El would have met a similar fate - bogged down & hardened by life like the rest of the kiddos. Jim figured that his cologne covered the bourbon pretty well. Clearly his nose wasn’t as sharp anymore. “Can’t say you look like sunshine and rainbows either, kid.” He quipped back with the slightest smirk - it didn’t really reach his eyes, but it was present nonetheless.
Jim peeked over at Max at the mention of cigarettes. No doubt the old man still smoked, though he’d been told that it was a social activity the world left behind in the 90s. Smelled like some real bullshit considering all the old rascals seemed to be puffing on something nowadays. Jim reached for the cigarette carton in his breast pocket and plucked one out. “You know this shit will kill you, right?” He held the stick out for her, following it up with a lighter afterwards, eventually pulling one out for himself. The irony of smoking at Joyce’s funeral wasn’t lost on him. She’d lived on an oxygen tank for at least six months prior to them all watching her casket get hauled into a hearse moments before this chat. “Not the kind of way I was hoping we’d catch up ... ” He trailed off, eyes narrowing on the path ahead of them. He’d been a bit spotty with replying to her letters over the last couple of years with everything going on. “Big city treating you well? - or has the lawyer gig beat you down yet.”
@maxmayfieldlaw
From 1986 to 2006
When’s the last time anyone heard anything about [JIM HOPPER]? Old friends remember them as [DRY + CARING] but also [CYNICAL + STUBBORN], no wonder they’re still known as [FAT RAMBO] around town. Today, in 2006, they are [65] and some people say they remind them of [A GREASY AMERICAN BREAKFAST WITH DRIP COFFEE, A WIDE-BRIMMED TAN HAT, MUSTY CABIN WOOD, AND THE DEAFENING CRACK OF A SMITH & WESTON 66].