βΈ» timothee chalamet, 26, cismale, he/him; ] β¦ the photo on the missing poster is of CHASE FLANNERY. they are TWENTY-SIX, and have been missing for SEVEN MONTHS. when the sun rises, they work as ENTERTAINER. rumors in town say they can be NONSENSICAL and SCRAPPY. they chose to live in THE COMMON HOUSE, and have an uncanny resemblance to SCHMIDT (New Girl), SALEM (Sabrina the Teenage Witch), DENNIS REYNOLDS (Itβs Always Sunny in Philadelphia), ALEX RUSSO (Wizards of Waverly Place), OLIVER PUTNAM (Only Murders in the Building). can they survive another night ?
BIO - STATS - MIRROR - PINTEREST
*// A E S T H E T I C S
scraped knees against concrete, a lonely piano in a dimly lit theater, shaky tv static from an unknown channel, sharpie stains on fingertips that bleed onto everything you own, the fizzing of an energy drink can popping open, the thrum in your chest from loudspeakers on a stage, novelty trucker hats with inappropriate phrases, howling winds outside the window, the burning smell of microwaved gummy bears, kissing your reflection in the mirror, the fast heart beat in the aftermath of too much caffeine, neon fluorescents and the shadows they cast over your face, the aching silence of home after a long day.
*// I N Q U I R I E S
How did your muse spend their first night in Arcadia, and where?
His car had stalled out in the middle of the main road right after the sun went down. A few straggling townsfolk were dashing around for safety, but to Chase, they were just weirdos afraid of the dark. He had gotten out of his car and it took a little bit too long for him to realize that there wereβ¦ not people, but somethings stalking over from the forest where he came from. One got close enough to him for Chase to see the entrails stuck to the sharpest teeth heβd ever seen. One horrified scream and a kind townsperson had him sprinting into the Common house. He shook like a leaf, terrified and in complete denial at what he just saw. Some weirdβ¦ no, there were all sorts of odd wives tales in the middle of the forests, and Chase always had something of an overactive imagination. How come he hadnβt seen them before? Itβs like they were calling his name all night, urging him outside. He didnβt sleep all night, and didnβt sleep the next two nights after that. How would he ever sleep again?
Why did your muse choose to live where they do?
The Common House is what gave him his first refuge and after his first night, he didnβt leave the building for three days. He was starving and sleep deprived despite taking the least stained mattress he could see in the corner of the second floor. On the fourth day, he managed to get all of his stuff out of his car before the gas was siphoned from it, and he stayed put at the Common House, crawling up to the attic and calling it home inβ¦ well, not no time, but soon enough.
What was your muse doing when they came across the tree?
Panicking about getting lost. Chase isnβt the type that was super into the woods, or hiking, or any place that civilization didnβt breach. The band he and his friends started had a gig further up state, in a more off-the-beaten-path area, a small music festival that had an open slot. It was great to be wanted, to know they were good enough for thatβ¦ but he had just been cast in a brand new, Off Broadway show that was already garnering a lot of interest, and rehearsals hadnβt even started yet.
It was a crossroads that he didnβt know how to solve. His original dreams of musical theater were so close in his grasp, yet at the same timeβ¦ he loved the band with his friends. He knew he had to commit to one. Chase drove all night to get to the small town and that tree, that stupid fallen hunk of wood made him take such a detour that caused the GPS in his cell phone to bug out, which was not an opportune time to get lost.
Has your muse left anything behind that they are desperately trying to return to or escape?
Chase is very much in denial about being here in the first place, still holding on to some sort of maddening hope that he would get out of here and continue his life. He was facing a lot of really good news - he got cast in a new show that had so much potential, and the band he and his friends started in college was starting to gain some basic notoriety. He had a lot planned, and lots to prove, in his eyes. How was he supposed to break the news to his bandmates, who all clearly worked so much harder at this than he did? Would he be able to balance both?
That didnβt matter much anymore, did it? That stupid tree made the decisions for him.
βΒ Yeah, no. Sorry, dude. Definitely not me.Β β he said, offering a shrug instead of an explanation becauseβ¦ well, it was more fun this way. He and Dayn had been around a few weeks by this point, if not months - time seemed to go by so fast when there was nothing much to do - Joel figured more people would be aware of the pair. Then again, they all had their own world of worries and struggles to deal with in Arcadia. Some more than others. βΒ You, however, may have seen me coming in and out of the diner. If you frequent there.Β β Joel couldnβt remember if he had seen him before or not, but he found ways to stay fully distracted for the majority of his shift. From messing with the others helping there, or making pictures out of the food they served.Β
Taking up a βjobβ at the diner wasnβt something that Joel would have done back home. He enjoyed cooking, mostly learned as a way to stop asking his mother for attention and later on in life to impress a girl or two, but being in the town they were in. In thisβ¦ whatever the hell this place was, it seemed like the only useful thing he could contribute. The only thing worthwhile as they all attempted to get through the next day or two.Β
Joel shifted position, following the man with his gaze and raised a brow. There was more than enough room for the pair to spread out, but he didnβt question it. He wondered what Chase had taken. If he was still somehow under the influence of whatever drug had turned his night so bright and if Joel would be able to get his hands on some of it. Not for immediate use, but he was curious. βΒ Joel.Β β he offered in response, finding no need for last names in a place like this, βΒ You know, I had heard of these drugged out sex parties you guys be having here, but I didnβt think Iβd walk into one if Iβm being honest. Yβall just swap spit with anyone, orβ¦ ? Seems like a perfect excuse to find new bed mates is all, seeing how easily one could get bored of the same bodies back to back. Β β
Chase shrugged. βWell, it was a fifty-fifty gamble.β Twins, huh? Chase couldnβt imagine two of him, but man, that wouldβve been a hoot. His parents and siblings probably would have argued that one was just plenty.
βI would imagine so, how else would you eat?β he said, dully, before he couldnβt control himself and a laugh bubbled out of him. God, he was funny - that wasnβt even a joke. He took another sip from his cup, clearly the biggest factor in his lighter emotional state. Itβs why he came to the Settlement as often as he did - it was a nice reprieve to let go of inhibitions. He hadnβt gotten too out of sorts here, maybe on accident once or twice, his sober thoughts being too scared of deciding to go for some midnight jog outside and running into those things just outside of the door. Usually, he was occupied enough with a person - or people - to quell those drunken thoughts of fleeing.
Like now.
ββYou guysβ, he says - I donβt actually live here, Iβve just cashed in a lot of frequent flyer mileage out here,β Chase said, taking another sip and then tipping it on Joelβs direction, offering him a taste if he wanted. βIβm at the Common House, but I guess thereβs a good chunk of people that go in and out of there a lot, depending on how long they actually make it. I live up in the attic, like some sequestered imaginary friend. But hereβs not too bad.β He looked around, then his eyes lit up in Joelβs direction. βThat sounds like some healthy curiosity to me.β
βIt happened!β Chase squealed with delight the second he raced into Ryleeβs home. He knew where heβd find her, downstairs with their makeshift plant nursery and while she was doing most of the work, he was the happy testing dummy (though with the absence of electricity, there wasnβt much testing to do). Sheβd make him tea and they talked about anything that came to mind, just about - Arcadia was usually off limits, as they lived with that horror every day and it was nice to have a moment or two where it wasnβt on the forefront of their minds.Β
Movies, music, shows, funny stories they could remember, plots of books, things about family members just to keep the memory alive - and he liked listening to what she had to say, the life she lived. It was nice to live vicariously, someone who experienced more than he had outside of here.Β
βThe lightsβ the electricββ He panted - boy, he was out of shape. When he caught his breath he started over. βI had texts and missed calls! I tried to text my dad, but I donβt know if it went through or not before it died again. Did you see it?β *// @ryleecarnegie
rylee had been certain. cemented to her words spoken. unflinching, the woman eased her smile faintly. how different chase and his siblings had been raised in comparison to how rylee shaped her own daughters. there wasn't a firm judgment other than dampering the young man's dreams. discouragment dimmed light. "ye just aren't aware of thee skills ye already have. they're in there somewhere." positivity had been confident.
"now c'mon. got to get ye away from these plants before you start talking nonesense about not having any skills or something." she humored, a gentle hand resting to his shoulder. "i'll put a kettle on. we can chat over a cup o' tea upstairs. alright ?" rylee kept the emotional door open of creating a safe space for chase to feel welcome in. if he needed someone to talk to β she'd be there.
Chase smiled at Rylee, and liked that he could be a little more vulnerable with the woman. He had his own problems and things he had to get over, things that he inherited from a childhood of feeling inadequate to the others around him. But it was nice to not have to worry about that in Hell Town, in a weird way. Nobody knew what he was before.Β
He played along, raising his hands and shrinking his head down in a play surrender, unable to help the laughter that escaped. Chase always felt it was important to not spiral into total upset while in Arcadia, making it a point to stay positive. Sometimes it was an uphill battle, but it was nice to know that there were others who agreed with his sentiments. Chase nodded, and shuffled up the stairs to leave her be for a bit, and heβd even wait patiently for her too.Β
Chase didnβt even like tea, but if it was always going to be like this, he was sure heβd acquire a taste for it.
Maverick was as diligent as he could be, steadfast focused on the work in his hand and less on the person that the work was being done to. It wasn't that he disliked Chase, most days Maverick was too preoccupied with his existence in this place then to catalogue the people that lived here into categories of whether he liked them or not, but there was a constant annoyance that arose whenever he was around the younger man. Chase was very much like a horse fly that Mav couldn't swat away. He must have had an infinite amount of time on his hands to go around bothering people the way he did. But maybe it was because Chase was about as useful as a steering wheel on a mule when it came to contributing to the wellbeing of this town.
"Ya reckon yerself mighty important to meh or somethin'?" he said as he gently (read: withholding much of his strength) rubbed at Chase's wound. The cut wasn't very deep, and he doubted that it would require stitches. A bit of a glue would do the boy just fine. "It's bleedin' so..." He shrugged, "yer gonna have to get real comfortable with it real quick." He slapped a gauze back on the boy's head over the wound. Mav might have been concerned about a potential head injury but he was of the opinion that any injury would better the intelligence of the nuisance sitting in front of him. "Hold that," he muttered as he got up to go look for some skin glue in one of the supply drawers.
Glue acquired, he sat back down and applied pressure to the wound again. First they would need to wait for it to stop bleeding, then he would glue it shut and could go back to getting some sleep. There was a pause, a silence that Maverick usually found comfortable, still, he filled it. "There are reason ya think ahh don't like ya?"
βI think I hold a bit of significance to everyone I come across,β Chase said, spoken as if he was a stifling professor correcting a student, taking inspiration from when he was on the other side of that argument (with a hearty fuck you to Professor Aster, in his head). He made a face at the idea of seeing more blood and he kept his eyes downward, Maverickβs chest being ninety percent of his field of vision.
He did as he was told and held the gauze up, arms feeling tired and lazy but making the effort anyway. Chase didnβt know much about first aid and felt lucky that the biggest medical problems in his life were easy fixes. He broke his arm when he first learned how to skateboard and loved the attention he got from a cast so much that he pouted about it coming off for a week after. And one time his sister accidentally slammed two of his fingers in a car door, and as spiteful and annoyed as he wanted to be, he knew it was an accident, so that one was hard to milk. He was more upset that he couldn't play the piano as much as he wanted to.
βOh, you know, just that thing called your face,β he stated, casually. βIβm not like, offended or anything by it. Itβs just a familiar face that people get when they talk to me.β He leaned in slightly, for dramatic effect. βBut I canβt decide if I want to try and make it better, or up the ante on my lovely personality in your presence.β He was only being as quiet as he was because Shaw was so nice, and suddenly felt really annoyed he didnβt have a harmonica on hand when he vanished into Arcadia. That wouldβve been a hoot.
His shoulder blades must embed now, Β tenderly, Β into the weakening mud floor. Β Β The foot-prints would melt together into a single groove, Β to be re-named simply: Β back-prints of pain. Β Β An outline of yours, Β for once, Β not coated in blood. Β Β And yet, Β he persists. Β Β Again. Β Β This pain is not enough. Β Β Paltry.Β Β There must be more, Β the itch says, Β like the fine, Β bone-skin of a hangnail. Β Β It yearns for a long pull, Β down to the knuckle but far above bone. Β Β That would be too intimate. Β Β In an earlier year, Β you wouldβve called this boy, Β Luis, Β and it wouldβve been your father hovering over him like this. Β Β Papa. Β Β Ah, Β Chase does nothing in halves. Β Β You become angular, Β discarding the board for a cleaner hand. Β Β Your foot drags along his shoulder, Β collecting fabric, Β until you pin his shirt to the ground, Β so you can root your kneel into this makeshift slab. Β Β A deepened voice. Β Β β Β If you were on your knees, Β at my door, Β begging, Β I wouldnβt save you. Β β Β Β A hand placed squarely on his chest, Β holding a lower fraction of your weight, Β while the other loops around his elbow. Β Β Your eyes darken, Β somehow. Β Β β Β You need me to teach you some manners, Β is that it? Β Β A bit of discipline, Β to colour your day. Β β
It felt like Chase struck a nerve, but it was so hard to tell with Nick sometimes. As irritating as the other man could be with some things, like when he removed the ladder to get up to Chase's room and Chase had to sleep in the room with the guy who never showered (who was killed about a week after that, anyway), he did enjoy the back-and-forth of their dynamic. It brought a little bit of color into his own life and he wondered if it ever did for the older man. The color was probably red, and he probably saw it consistently in Chaseβs presence, but was it better than the depressing black and white this place often seemed to be? βI didnβt know you wanted me begging on my knees, I would have done that much earlier,β he noted, blinking a few times with an oh-so innocent smile on his face, before his eyes darted over to the way he was holding his arm. It was impossible to try and move his back or shoulders to try and get more comfortable, with the boot over his body, but he was sure making an attempt. βNeed? Well, I donβt know about need, that might be a strong assumptionββ
Irritation. The keenest of all sentiment. A grimace brief but instant, flickered before complete disregard. Nothing held long or deeply. The figure hollow and leaden. More stony in this light. βNever say that again.β Flat, spilled out into the cold. A narrowly missed roll of the eyes. That would be too juvenile. βWeβre not even cousins.β There was nothing left to sharpen the edge against, the nights had been too longβtorn and frayed.Β
βJesus Christ.β Riddle. Of course. After all hell had cultivated it would not be fanciful. A creatureβs hunger not slaked by the spill of blood or bent-kneed begging. Starved still, some other horror to invent. How Jude had sighed, abraded again by the very insistence of it. Her motherβs visit, some ghost she had willed to forget with each of her left days. Haunted still. She laughed when goaded, let the stitched-together notion of her mother become enraged and spiteful. Two strangers born wrong without redemption. She had not come to save, their time so scarcely taken from death. Jude had turned away then. The words were too late, uninvited. Even the bruises had been neglected, doomed to fade without recourse.Β
There was an answer somewhere in the two things split apart. It murmured now, in air and against skull thick with sleeplessness. Jude focused then, if only to find the end. It would have been so easy to accept exit before. Once. Now she stayed to remember what had been given her with grave importance. βI reach but I never grab. I bark but I never bite. You use my body at the cost of my life.β Not her own voice even as it left her mouth. Anotherβs voice, suddenly granted with more perspicuity than had ever been known. She shrugged. βSomething like that anyway.β
An exhale through the nose at that metaphorical slap on the wrist. Never say that again, she said, and Chase figured he couldnβt win over everyone. He was an acquired taste.
Even then, there was an intrigue now, an interest that no matter how much she tried to dissuade him from being in her vicinity, would not go away. And though she had tried to brush it away at first, he could tell that her interest was piqued as well. It was this shared psychosis they all seemed to share here, each only given a small piece of the puzzle. Well, at least Hell Town wanted them all to work together before killing them all slowly; how sweet.Β
Chase could nearly see the cogs turning in her head and he waited there. As fidgety as he was before, he was perfectly still - even his breathing stilled, the smallest bits of air to keep him alive as he waited to hear what she had to say. And as she spoke, nothing clicked in Chaseβs head past fear at the words. For some reason, this was so important that they all had to know about it. It had to have had something to do with why he was so hurt, because he couldnβt figure out what his mother was trying to say.
He scoffed and threw his hands up in frustration, before they came back down in a frustrated slap against his thighs. βWell, what am I, fucking Tolkein, I donβt know riddles!β he said, not to her or anyone, really - just an exclamation of irritation at this place - one more thing to add to the list of grievances. βOh, something like thatβ please, youβre a natural. But I donβt know what that means, I hear barking and biting and I think of dogs and that canβt be right, itβs too ridiculous.β
"don't like being laughed at ? funny β you carry yourself like a town jester...ya know.." she sighed, stretching out the words she spoke. "like a brooding creature wandering about. serving some purpose to bring light, or whatever to the hell we're all enduring." lips pursed, cara paused in wonder if this was why she gravitated towards chase in the house. a small light in the chaos. no expectation held. cara couldn't allow her mind to think about it too long. there was no satisfaction in digging deep. only uncomfortability. clearing her throat, "guess town troubadour works too. all you need is a leotard."
"....yeah, so." upon hearing the notes played. cara's fingers rubbed her temples, lips stumbling. "remember how seconds ago i was just comparing you to light ? that is actually bullshit as it turns out, because you're playing the most nightmarish song to ever enter my ears." lips wanted to stretch, smile, but cara was stubborn and sarcastically dramatic. "god, couldn't go a five minutes without hearing that goddamn song." if she wanted to admit, she would appreciate it in some small form β but cara just couldn't. "might change my mind if you sing gaga's part though. might also need a snack to witness that."
fingers slid through silk locks that cara kept just above her shoulders. dull scissors. another nightmare. "tell me about it... haven't taken my heels off even in the snow. they'd have to be pried out of my dead cold hands for a pair of someones ratty boots." that fact kept cara inside for the most part. waiting for the season to pass. whatever it all meant, she wasn't made for this living. β were any of them ? "mm, sort of just prowl around the house." truly. "just listening to others when they think no one is listening. sometimes its embarrassing to witness, sometimes its boring, ...on the rare occasion, its exciting."
Town jester was pretty accurate, that much heβd have to concede. At least, Chase thought he was hilarious, so it was more likely jester to him and βtown nuisanceβ to those who still had their sanity. It did help that there was so many that were beyond any sort of comical relief, those who were just so enveloped in their own misfortune and craze that Chase ended up being the best hope for a laugh. It was a strange mix of a superiority complex and a crushing imposter syndrome, all wrapped up into one semi-malnourished twenty-something year old.
βWhy do you hate it so much?β he asked, unable to help the chuckle. βIs it because it was playing everywhere for awhile?β Chase never had to work retail, but he knew of some friends he met at college who waited tables or worked in coffee shops or thrift stores, hearing the same hearty pop everywhere they went, at all times. He always figured it wouldβve been easy to tune something like that out, but maybe if it caught you on a bad day or something, it was more likely the equivalent of taking a cheese grater to the brain.Β
Still, he started strumming something else, something he could barely trace back from years ago, maybe something his parents would put on the refurbished record player they had in the sitting room. Something that was familiar enough to trace, but never thoroughly flesh out in all its colors. βYou should definitely take your heels off, because thatβs just ridiculous,β he said. βJust wash some shoes or something, if you get, like, bunions or something from high heels around here thereβs nothing anyone can do about that. Like, really nothing.β That would be bad; cursed to Hell wasnβt ideal, but cursed to Hell with feet problems would have really sent him over the edge. βWhat parts are exciting?β Chase perked up at that, a never totally dormant part of him extremely nosy, too much for his own good sometimes. βOr even embarrassing - I miss gossiping.β
"I'm just being honest!" It was up to them whether or not to laugh. A fair assumption, though, as many things that came out of Chase's mouth were edged with sarcasm or something noting that he wasn't taking this seriously. The point in his back was serious enough for him, because he couldn't see what it was and his imagination was in danger of running away from him.
"Whatβ" was all Chase managed to say when there was a blooming pain in the back of his skull, enough to make him keel over at the waist and raise his hand to the wound. But he was too off guard, and soon blows were raining over his head and he didn't have the wherewithal to stay standing. He hit the floor, as spots danced in his vision, the blurred image of a person with dark hair over him as he lost consciousness.
He sat up quick when he was brought back to life, so much so that his head immediately swam and he curled back down, clutching the back of his head. That voice... it was the same one as before. "Are you insane?" Chase groaned, taking his time sitting up. He'd had a concussion before, and he wasn't sure if it was that, or if they hit the right spot on his head to make him go. Was that actually a thing, or was that just something people did in movies? "What was that for?" Chase could admit he could be a glutton for punishment under the right circumstances, but this was a bit extreme.
Juno rolled their eyes, turning from the male without another word uttered in his direction. He should be happy enough to have survived, a little concussion was certain to be present, but Juno could have easily gotten rid of his body and not have a single person to answer to. Before anyone noticed he was gone, Juno would have chopped him up and fed him to their plants. Strengthen their structure with the iron and zinc of his blood. Moisten the soil with his very life force. They couldnβt be bothered to entertain no townie. Much less one as clueless and naive as he. Their greenhouse was not some stop and shop he and the rest of them could enter at their hearts delight.Β
β Β Thereβs about thirty to forty minutes of daylight left, in case you still think thereβs time for chatter.Β β Juno said, though they continued clearing up the last few items on their desk. They had no plans of leaving anytime soon, but their work day was done. Now they would focus on their pottery and wedging the next batch of clay.
Eyes peering down at his drink, Joel thought for a moment before giving into an easy smile and responding, βΒ The blood of my victims, or some shit like so.Β β He hadnβt the first clue what the hell the settlement people put into the drinks, all he knew was that he needed to take it easy if he planned on being alert for most of the night. Joel didnβt normally babysit drinks, but with more than enough rumors to make Jeffrey Dahmer keep a good distance - he felt he should probably not indulge so easily. The male beside him seemed to not have gotten the same stories that Joel did, or perhaps he was one of the cult followers. He wasnβt entirely sure, but he extended his drink out either way. βΒ Far as Iβm concerned it tastes like some really old jungle juice, but instead of vodka, infused with gasoline. If thatβs appetizing enough for you.Β β
Β βΒ Iβm not sure chugging on this devil tar is the right decision, but have at it. Thereβs more over in the kitchen. I tried to stay in there but after one too many encounters with hungry eyes I had to make a speedy get away. Didnβt want to be the next meal, or whatever. Β β Joel paused, taking a better look at the male, who he was sure heβd seen around the town or at the diner, but whoβs name easily evaded his mind. He wasnβt sure just how many people he had met in the past month or two, but he stopped counting after learning just how quick they disappeared after. Coaxed outside by the creatures in the night like a moth attracted to the flame. βΒ Youβre looking kind of rough there, dude. Escaped from a dungeon, did ya?Β β
βI donβt think anyone drinks this stuff because itβs appetizing,β he exaggerated, sitting up and moving right beside Joel, thigh to thigh, not realizing how much of an uncomfortable closeness it could potentially be within the haze of the afterglow ofβ¦ well, the substance, the sex - heβd had a fun night so far. Inhibitions had been peeled away a bit, layer by layer as the night had gone on. βDonβt I know you from the bar? Iβm the one you threatened after I asked for a mimosa to take to the diner.β
The cup Chase had been nursing was on the floor by the couch they sat on, and to his luck it had remained unspilled and still half full of its contents, a murky dark red. He didnβt know what it was made of, and he didnβt want to ask - he figured it was some kind of wine-mixed-with-liquor type of thing, because thatβs what he always tastedβ¦ but maybe the man beside him had a point. It could have very well been blood of the enemies. As soon as that thought entered his mind, he brushed it off with the slightest breath of a chuckle, thinking that would have been a little too crazy. The settlement crew could get a little crazy, sure, but he didnβt buy into a lot of the rumors. Heβd walked in and out of these halls many times with everything still intact, and he was fine.
βDungeon?β he repeated, a grin blooming on his face. He turned more towards Joel, knee coming up on the couch and leaning an elbow on the back of the couch with a hand propping up his cheek. βYou say that like itβs a bad thing, I had a blast.β He cleared his throat a little, and drank the liquor. Chase was well aware of his own limits, and the little bits of that βsubstanceβ was wearing off, ready to be replaced by liquor. βChase Flannery. At your service.β
Chase was no stranger to the settlement, not even a little bit. His curiosity had won him over almost immediately and he didnβt have anyone necessarily tell him not to go, having not really known anyone just yet to point him in the right direction. Then again, even if someone had, the odds Chase would have listened to them were abysmally low. They had given him something that resembled a joint, and Chase didnβt question it. When his pupils took over about half of his eye and he could practically feel the hairs on head growing was when it hit him that it probably was something stronger than he had anticipated, but nevertheless enjoyed. The physicality of the evening was also welcomed with open arms, but that was a different beast.
It was an indulgence he didnβt want to partake in all the time, unsure how tree fungus would be in terms of tolerance, but this was a special time - he wasn't going to turn down a party where townsfolk were welcomed in with open arms. What else was he going to do?
He was laying upside down, on a comfortable couch. There was something sticky in his hair, and somehow he just knew it was tree sap. He was only wearing a pair of pants - and he was positive it wasnβt the one he had on when he came in here. The blood rushing to his head felt loud and like a cool white noise sort of thing, and heβs sit up every few minutes to start the process over again. Chase knew he was coming down from the high at this point, and would need to go searching for something fresher soon.
"Hey, man, where'd you get that?" he asked, turning upright over to a man who just sat on a chair close to him. Chase pointed to the drink in his hand, eyes peering in at its contents. "Whatcha got in there?" *// @wickedsurrender
"Hello," Frankie whispered to the flittering butterfly caressing their index finger. A haze had settled over the sky threatening looming nightfall - but there was no rush in their movements. Cross-legged and strewn leisurely amongst the flora of the common house garden, Frankie hadn't remembered wandering in its direction, but they regularly never questioned how they got from Point A to Point B. They used to joke it was a party trick, but it wasn't exactly fun anymore. Hearing the creak of someone approaching the back porch, Frankie turned their gaze upon - a resident, they could only assume. It mustn't have been too odd of a sight, seeing a stranger making themselves at home in their backyard, considering their reality. Still, Frankie could recognise they were in someone else's home, mustering up enough manners to give him a wave. "I've gotten myself into, uh. A bit of a pickle." Wiping dirt from their hands onto their pants, Frankie eventually clambered to a stand - they looked about as comfortable in their body as a puppet waiting to be controlled. "I'm a bit - turned around? Where... are we, exactly?"
Chase was the completely willing, guinea pig/test pilot to the little weedy project he and Rylee had been coming up with. There was something to be said about the effects of those wily little mushrooms that those at the Settlement had access to, but he had to be in the right frame of mind for that. Besides, the Settlement had its own baggage that some around the town would probably beβ¦ not big fans of. It had been a month or so now of growing, of watching plants grow like one would little children - Rylee had done all the work, but Chase was the last piece of the puzzle.Β
If anyone was familiar with the irritation that came with shitty weed, it was him.
He didnβt think there was really such a thing as property around Arcadia, or if there was, he couldnβt understand why that would be the case. They all kind of had to share everything in one big community bubble. Sometimes it was townies against settlementers, or it felt like it, but this wasnβt really something he was totally ready to share. There was a space akin to a backyard behind the common house, some attempts at reviving flowers in a garden, but it ended up amounting to rusted lawn furniture in a patch of dead grass with a fence that had long since had its foundational structures torn down.Β
And he wasnβt ready to share this new product, but was still startled by the voice stumbling onto the houseβs property line. Chase was almost down to the bottom, a roach all that was left from the carefully rolled joint. And for whatever reason, his first instinct was to hide it, like one would to strict parents, popping it in his mouth and attempting to swallow - except it burned, he had never done it before, and he immediately coughed it back up. βOh my god, what are you Michael Myers?β he chastised, coughing some more and looking wildly around until he caught sight of the other.
β Β Do you hear yourself when you speak? Β β Β Β Your gaze rolls heavenward, Β nearly humming a prayer-tune for a divine being that listens more than its flock. Β Β And he must be of their flock: Β yours would spit a finer bait. Β Β Coral thin tongue, Β not this grin-bitten imitation of it. Β Β The buds would grey, Β un-pinched, Β and so the meet of you and him is inevitable. Β Β Deliberate. Β Β A chorus for none to hear over a vulpine screech. Β Β Within your swallowing canine-grip. Β Β β Β You never learned show, Β donβt tell, Β no? Β Β I can tell. Β Β Here, Β Iβll demonstrate. Β β Β Β You click your tongue once, Β saddling his attention, Β then pour him from your back to the dry ground below. Β Β For good measure, Β his boot digs into the protrude of Chaseβs shoulder. Β Β The hinge and its gaps for such a masticated leap. Β Β Weak-knuckled grasp. Β Β Fogged breath on your neck. Β Β Pain taken, Β and pain given. Β Β Heavy lids and levelled nose. Β Β Parallel to the boyβs form, Β Nick slowly presses the heels of his palm into the board, Β like cracking a round apple in half. Β Β It should be with his arm. Β Β But you reciprocate before you listen, Β and he barely heeds nightβs mangled warning, Β let alone your heat-dark glare. Β Β Another thick-booted impress. Β Β β Β Listen. Β Β See what happens when you act like a maggot? Β β
βYeah, but sometimes itβs on a delay.β What came out of his mouth is what happened first, and the comprehension either came later, or not at all. Rarely was it that Chase ever thought through his words, took the time to speak on things. This was obviously not one of those occasions.Β
The wind was knocked out of him when he landed on the ground below and he was fortunate that he prepared a bit so that his head didnβt smack so hard against the pavement, but he did let out an - admittedly - somewhat pathetic noise at the heel of the boot digging into that space between bones in his shoulder. Turning over wouldnβt work, and he wasnβt strong enough to hit hard enough for him to let go. βWaitwaitwaitβ cβmon, you said youβd let me choose and I did,β he said, the words getting quieter when he realized he was essentially begging the man to break his arm. βYou know what, papa, your life would be so boring without me, admit it.β
" wellβ you've got a very bold point there." as cara could agree with her full chest. the last sound her ears wanted to pick up when she was in any sort of agony was some cheaply sang cover of a song overplayed on the radio. a tarnished playlist by a tormented artists. "can't actually tell if that would piss me off to the point of throwing everything in sight...or bring out that anger that just turns into manic laughter." fingers splayed over the folded blanket beneath her. a subtle thought if chase slept under one blanket or under the thicker. the thought didn't make itself a home in her mind. she couldn't really be bothered with such observances to the point of deep care. mental notes came with a journalistic trained mind. a muscle she wasn't flexing in a place like this. curiosity teetered way too close to death in arcadia. "would 'iris' be the worst ? seeβ for me, i think, it would be 'shallow' that cooper and gaga song. it would probably make me see red." a faint laugh slipped.
"oh yeah ?" familiarity spiked with the plucked strings. "where about upstate ?" the possibility of walking the same grounds had made cara's chest slightly tighten. a mark of the outside. what it once was. once had been. all nothing but memory. places her feet weren't able to carry her any longer. "cold isn't really my thing." not when she could be tucked in what warmth the common house provided. cara didn't contribute in the actions of seeking food, and supplies. she helped out by dropping sarcastic encouragment, the warmth of intimacy, and whatever other company could be kept to keep the mind distracted from insanity. "eh, don't really see the point in freezing my ass off."
βAnd I donβt think Iβd want anyone laughing at me in a situation like that,β he said. Chase idly strummed, his fingers doing something unconnected to his mind, entertainment that had no meaning or bearing. He supposed that if she was here, she was looking for some kind of conversation and heβd have to be a total dick to just go on playing as if she wasnβt there - that sort of connection was both easy and difficult to find in this place. And Cara had been here longer than he had, and was nicer than him, so heβd play along.
Chase grinned, his directionless playing suddenly very fully and confidently the opening notes of Shallow, just to see her reaction. βI like that one, itβs in my vocal range,β he says. βBoth of them are, actually, even if I have to strain a bit on Gagaβs part.β His feet stretched out as he listened and played, stopping abruptly then. βItβs not mine either!β Finally, someone to complain to. βI donβt know what pocket of universe weβre tucked into, and does it feel like a place that would have snow? Yeah, probably. But does it also feel like some boonies type place where itβs sticky and normal? Yes. And thatβs what bothers me the most - I came in the summer, I was not prepared to be freezing my ass off. Almost every shirt I have has the sleeves cut off.β He shook his head, as if that was the most disappointing thing about being in Arcadia. βSo then what do you do in the meantime, cause I kinda just do this all day.β
