He regrets talking as soon as he sees who it is. As soon as he realizes it’s Mars Park standing there and not someone else. Anyone else. He half hopes she just pretends not to hear him. Goes back to doing whatever it was she was doing and they both go on with their evenings like nothing happened. He’s never that lucky though. Hasn’t been that lucky when it comes to Mars in months. She’s like a fly that won’t go away. Her anger startles him, for a moment. It’s her next words that stir something up in him that lights his own fire. How dare she. He grips the can of soda so hard it dimples the edges. He pushes it away before it can overflow onto his hand.
“I wasn’t trying to drag anyone into anything, Mars.” He crosses his arms, keeping his fingers firmly trapped at his sides. “I’m not even sure how you got all that out of me saying I used to come here and that the bartender knew my drink order.” He’s pretty sure if he thinks about it for a moment he’ll find the connection but the last thing he wants to do is sit there and think about something while Mars is right there. Her nasty tone and vendetta just waiting for him to slip up. Try to find that chink in his armor like last time. He won’t let her.
He can’t.
He doesn’t look at her as he talks, his eyes locked on the far wall just over her shoulder. He’s half afraid if he looks at her he’ll lose what little steel is in his spine again. And here. Now. Would be the worst place to lose it. He got lucky the last time. He wouldn’t get lucky here. “Careful, Mars. You’re in my court now. Wouldn’t want the wrong thing to get out.” His eyes flicker to the unmistakable face of his old co-star Trevor. Trevor waves, Akira nods. It’s the closest to a threat he’ll ever get most likely, it doesn’t sit well with him, but he doesn’t regret saying it either. “I hear Instagram followers are a fickle beast.”
He’s got to be scary enough to get her away from him. Get her as far away from him as possible before she ends up finding the right buttons to press and he ends up a mess all over again. He’ll pay for it later, he’s almost positive, but that’s later. Back in Palmetto where the press aren’t dogging his heels at every corner. Back where it’s safer to fall apart.
Mars laughs. It’s a bitter, angry thing. This is classic Akira Sato, whining about his fame one moment and trying to weaponized it the next. This is what she hates most about him. He can never commit to anything. He complains constantly about the cost of being a celebrity but that doesn’t mean he won’t use it to threaten her when he wants to. He tries to pretend he’s happily sober but take him to a party and he’s wandering around half-heartedly attempting to get people to buy him a drink. Pathetic.
She smiles. From an outside perspective it probably just looks like she’s just grinning at Akira after he said something funny. In reality, she’s baring her teeth.
“A career alcoholic trying to strike up a conversation about his favorite drink at a party with a bar, wow Akira, you’re right, what an innocent thing to do.” She glances at Trevor and winks at him. There’s no way he can hear them over the din of the party. All he sees is Mars, leaning in close to speak directly into Akira’s ear. “Tell me Akira, with the confidence that we both know you don’t have. If I were a stranger who offered to buy you that drink would you have taken it? Tell me you weren’t searching for a fucking enabler.”
Olivia didn’t frequent the Vixen Den all the often, not that she had anything against the Vixen, some of them were slowly starting to become friends with her and she appreciated cheerleaders all her life. But there was no real reason for her to lounge around here and hang out, and the reason she was walking through the door right now was just to drop something off from a class one of them missed. Simple as that, and she was just planning on leaving it outside of their door and retreating back into her dorm whenever she heard music coming from the common area.
Curiosity got the best of her, and she made her way to the source, feet softly padding across the floor before she paused whenever Mars confronted her about the way she was lingering. Instantly she felt her cheeks heat up with a blush, Mars was intimidating to a girl like Olivia. She was everything Olivia wasn’t, confident, beautiful, outspoken. It was admirable, and so every time she was around Mars, she panicked. The last times they saw each other, Olivia certainly wasn’t in the best spirits, and letting her see that vulnerable side was a bit scary.
But she felt better now, a lot better.
“Sorry, er, I was just trying to figure out what game this is.” She probably stuck her foot in her mouth, but Olivia never played a video game in her life, her father deemed it a distraction and forbid them in his home. And considering he never let her leave the house, that meant no video games for young Olivia. “i didn’t mean to bother you, I promise.” Her eyes now trailed up to what looked like smoke and she knit her brows together as she looked around, only to come up short with a scrunch of her nose.
Oh, well that’s not bad then. Mars likes Olivia well enough. She’s a pretty girl. She’s nice enough if occasionally a little sad and dowdy. Most importantly, every time they’ve met so far she’s let Mars do whatever the hell she wants. That kind of permissiveness is something Mars values in a gal pal.
“Nah,” she drawls, her tone shifting to something warmer, more welcoming. “If it’s you then it’s fine hun I just didn’t know if you were like, someone cool or some mouth breather dickhead.”
She turns to smile at Olivia.“What brings you out here to our neck of the woods?”
And she is honestly curious about that because with Championships going on every other Fox she knows has been nothing but a boring ball of anxiety, concerned with practice schedules and team stats and 8 billion other Exy related things that Mars could give less than two shits about. It’s honestly kind of refreshing to see one out of uniform and not looking like she’s about to run off and start practicing again any time soon.
“This is Kingdom Hearts by the way,” she adds upon hearing Olivia’s question. “It’s like this super old cheesy video game that I always wanted to play as a kid.” That had been out of the question when she was with her mother and frankly ludicrous when she was living in her group home. It’s only now that she’s living on her own and supporting herself that she’s able to buy these kinds of things for herself and maybe she feels a little proud of that. She’s earned everything else in her life on her own, why not a little bit of her childhood too?
Vivian’s evening had mostly been free and that was odd enough for the girl, she had a pathological urge to keep moving and keep going - sitting still felt like an insult.
She’d tried to occupy herself in her usual way, scrolling through Netflix to try and find something - didn’t she always have shows to catch up on? Even still, nothing caught Vivian’s interest and she made a non committal noise of disgust at the latest rom com that had erupted onto the platform. She didn’t need to go on twitter and see everyone squeeing otp about some heterosexuals again. Even her usual brand of true crime didn’t seem to capture her attention today.
Vivian let out an irritated noise, flopping back on her bed - she felt itchy somehow, like she just had to keep going and she couldn’t explain it. After a minute of staring up at the ceiling, the brunette made another irritated noise before giving up and heading downstairs, for a ‘glass of water’ or literally something, anything at all to keep her occupied. The sound of some janky pop blasting from the common area, caught her attention and she poked her head in - out of a bored interest.
Eyebrow raise as she caught sight of Mars on the PS4 but she dropped her ass down on the couch next to her, glancing up at the screen.
“Why are you playing Island Survivor or whatever the fuck?”
Mars isn’t sure if she likes Vivian Brookes, but she knows at the very least she respects her. She is always hustling for something, even if it’s something that Mars doesn’t care about, like say, the overall reputation of the Vixens and the shitty stickball team they’re attached to.
Still, her position as Captain gives her a fraction of authority over Mars. That grates at her like nothing else. She hates when anyone has any kind of power over her. But Mars isn’t stupid. Vivian is one step closer to Coach Corey than Mars is and her scholarship relies on her position in the Vixens. For a cheap college diploma Mars is willing to do worse than bite back her pride. She’ll make nice with the top bitch of the Vixens as long as it serves her, and when it stops serving her she’ll act however the fuck she wants.
“This my dear captain is Kingdom Hearts,” she says with a grand sweep of her hand. “And I’m playing it cuz it’s fun and it gets real gay right around game 2.”
Grant doesn’t spend much time in the Den. He should be better about it, frankly. The Foxes and Vixens may be different teams, but they’re intertwined—and when he looks out an a sea of opposing colors on rough games, it’s more soothing than expected to see the Vixens in all their orange. But Grant’s primary concern is his team, and how they play, and he doesn’t spend time worrying about the cheerleaders. Vivian, no doubt, has that handled.
Even today, he’s only stopping by. They’ve got an away game next week, and there’s no guarantee Coach Corey got the schedule right for their travel plans. She’s shockingly absent, especially when Grant compares her with Wymack—although, to be fair, most coaches fall short when compared to Wymack. It’s micromanaging, but he’s got a few minutes free. Making sure everything is perfect for their upcoming trip to LA is as good a way as any to spend an evening, especially when that trip—and more importantly that game—is the only thing he can think about anyway.
The living room smells saccharine, fake in the worst of ways, and he glances towards Mars and the haze of vapor above her as he passes. It’s not his home, so he can’t ask her to step outside, but Grant’s expression flat-lines into a frown.
And that’s all before she opens her mouth.
“Excuse me?” Grant says. Mars hasn’t even looked at him, but he can only assume her comment’s directed at him. The pet name makes his skin crawl. It’s demeaning, especially from someone whose apparent plan for the evening is getting high to video games. Grant isn’t technically an authority figure here—the Den is Vivian’s territory—but even still, it’s common courtesy. Grant’s fought for years just to be respected: as a player, as a captain, and as a person. He’d never let a Fox call him something absurd and diminutive, so why should Mars be able to? “I don’t know why you thought that was acceptable, but don’t call me that again.”
“I’d call you by your name if I knew hun. But I don’t fucking know you and you don’t fucking live here, so I don’t and I wont,” Mars says without even glancing behind her. It’s a lie of course. She does know who he is. Who doesn’t know about Grant Rollins? He’s the poster-boy for Palmetto’s fucked up Exy team, complete with required the stickball obsession and the very messy and highly public backstory. He’s the pinnacle of what a Fox is.
And also apparently a dick, or at least a big fan of swinging his around for no reason.
“While we’re on the subject of acceptable sweetpea lets talk about this whole situation you’ve got going on back there.” She wiggles her fingers behind her in a vague gesture at where he’s standing. “Creeping into the place where I live, walking around behind a girl you don’t know and acting like a giant fucking asshole when I try to get you out from behind me. Do you see where that might not be so acceptable either or is your Exy racquet shoved so far up your own ass it’s hitting your brain and affecting your ability to think like an actual human instead of a jackass?”
Now she turns and there’s no disguising the pure ire there. She’s not one of his Foxes. He doesn’t get to treat her like she is. Like she’s got to fall in line for him and what makes him comfortable.
“TLDR; If you want someone to cradle your fragile little ego keep fucking walking because I don’t care about what you find acceptable, stickdick.”
Location: L.A. Night Club
Date: February 15
Time: 11:39 p.m.
(OPEN)
There were memories almost everywhere Akira looked. He recognized buildings and cars. Street signs and trees. From the moment their plane had started its descent Akira felt like he was taking a step back in time. He hadn’t been back to L.A. since his parents spirited him away to rehab two years ago. He never wanted to come back, if he was being honest. But coming back to play for the Foxes seemed like a good enough reason. At least until Akira walked out into the airport and was hit by it all. The noises, the people, the smell. All of it. He ended up coming to an abrupt halt in the middle of the walkway trying to take it all in. Trying to calm his nerves.
It’s Wymack’s hand on his shoulder that shakes Akira out of his spiral of thoughts and feelings. Most of the Foxes and Vixens had already left him behind, not that he could blame them for it. “Good?” Wymack’s voice is low but there’s no denying the genuine concern in it. It takes Akira a long minute to find his words.
“Y-Yeah.” His voice cracks. “I’m good.” He swallows hard and starts forward. Wymack follows, keeping in line with him. Akira finds a deep sense of solace in it, uses it as a reminder of who is his now. He’s more grateful for the fact the Foxes and Vixens allow him to hide in the middle of them when they make the short commute to the bus and then the hotel. Everyone knows he’s a Fox. Knows the Foxes are coming to L.A. for this game. He’s not the least bit surprised by the hounds lying in wait for him.
What he is surprised by though are the familiar faces in the crowd when he heads out to the court for warm ups. So unexpected, and entirely unwanted, that Akira runs head on into the person in front of him in a desperate bid to escape them. It’s sad, but seeing them sends such a complicated mix of emotions through him his only course of action is to bolt. He doesn’t even apologize before he’s darting to the doors, pausing just outside them. He’s engulfed in the shame of it and he stews in it. These people were his friends…had been his friends. He should find it heart warming they’d want to be here for him, wearing orange and cheering him on. But it’s a hard emotion to feel through the unbridled anger. They’d gotten him into that damn mess. Hadn’t bothered to fish him out.
It’s the loud rap of someone’s knuckles on the plexi-glass that shakes Akira out of his head. The guilt comes back when he sees it’s Wymack. Nothing happens. And then Akira takes a deep breath and heads back into the fray. Fuck them. Fuck this. He’s going to show them just how much he doesn’t regret leaving them behind.
And he does. And the Foxes win.
The Foxes win.
Akira’s so ecstatic about the win that he all but forgets about Trevor and Morgan and everyone else in the stands. Even the fight doesn’t deter his mood much. He’s in a fantastic mood up until Trevor and company bust into the locker room. They’ve clearly used their fame as leverage or something to get in. All he feels is dread. They make a beeline for him, Trevor pulling him into a headlock and messing up his hair, crowing loudly about how that game was fantastic and how celebrations are in order. They’ve rented a club. Put together a party. For the Foxes. It sends Akira’s emotions into another wayward spiral. He doesn’t know what to say and the words that come out feel fake and hollow. But he agrees to come. How could he not? The press would never let him live it down.
And of course it’s a familiar club, the place they’d often come as a cast to get drunk and high. The old booth Akira used to strike the deals is still there, the lights still flash to the beat as the music pounds through the speakers. He’s on edge the second he walks inside, his mouth bone dry and hands shaky. This was a bad idea. A terrible idea. He doesn’t want to be here and yet…can’t be anywhere else.
The press always watching.
He feels like a caged animal, trapped, chained. It’s suffocating. And he tries to hide it as best he can, hanging out with the cast and telling tales. Even getting out onto the dance floor for a while. Smiling and nodding at all the right moments. At some point someone got him a can of soda, his usual party drink of choice these days. It helps to have something to hold but it makes him feel so other among people holding familiar bottles and glasses of alcohol. When he’s finally able to slip away from the crowd he holes himself up in a corner booth. Willing everyone to not see him. Praying the party dies down quickly so he can leave and not get called out on it in the tabloids in the morning.
He takes a drink and grimaces. It’s warm. It’s beyond warm, it’s almost hot. God knows how long he’s been simply holding onto it. He pushes it away from himself, looking out over the crowd in a poor attempt at looking engaged and excited. He spots someone nearby and shoots them what he hopes is a smile and not a grimace. “You having fun? Me and the cast used to come here all the time back when I was on On the Line. The bartender used to…” He pauses to gather himself again, steel himself for the admission. “Used to know my order by heart. I’ll bet he probably still does.”
The town where she grew up is an hour away from here; the apartment where her mother watched as the police took her away, the group home where she beat another girl senseless for talking shit about her to the RA, the library she used to hide in on days when going home wasn't an option. They are too close for comfort and that proximity grates at Mars like a bad hangnail.
Someday she’ll own this city but today she doesn’t. Today she’s just like any other Hollywood hopeful, clamoring for a place a little closer to the spotlight.
It’s easy enough to get invited to some fancy LA club. Mars is pretty and she knows it. It's easy enough to find a boy and trick him into thinking that shell let him fuck her if he gets her inside. She disappears on him a second later, melting into the crush of people on the dance floor without a word.
She dances for a while because the music is good and there's enough hot people on the floor that she doesn't mind them brushing up against her. They look great in the footage she takes for her Instagram story. There's a couple of weed gummies in her purse that she popped on the way over and the high carries her gently through the night.
By the time she wriggles her way to the side, breathless and pleased, she's certain nothing can happen to bring her down tonight. She's just about to try and flirt with whatever idiot is next to her when she realizes just who that idiot is.
Akira Sato spends most of his time looking like shit but tonight he looks especially shitty. There's an anxious energy that hovers so thick about him that it seems to shimmer in the air and he's gripping at a Coke can like it's a lifeline. It’s always pathetic watching Akira at a party. Even when they were friends she’d hated partying with him. He always looks like he’s a push away from falling off the wagon. Like he knows that’s the case and he’s equal parts scared that he will and hoping someone will give him that final nudge.
And here he is, sitting beside Mars and smiling at her like he didn’t try to ruin her life a year ago, practically begging for her to try and push him over the edge.
Fucking pathetic.
Rage comes to her easily, especially when it comes to sops like Akira who get everything in the world handed to them on a silver platter and still insist on completely fucking it up.
"Cut the crap Akira," Mars snaps over the music, eyes rolling upward. “Either go get a drink or keeping sipping on your soda but don’t try and drag people into your addict bullshit.” Because that’s what this isn’t isn’t it? Him trying to fake casual to get her to enable him. That way when he looks back at tonight, at how he broke and how the media ate it right up, he can have someone other than himself to blame.
“You wanna get drunk, fine, fucking do it but remember that you did it your fucking self, not me, not the fucking bartender, you.”
Marissa is six years old and eating a bowl of fruity pebbles. Her daddy is leaving.
She stays focused on the cereal and doesn’t watch him slink out the door with his tail between his legs. Her mother rants and raves as he does. She throws something and it shatters against the far wall. Marissa gnaws at her lip.
Later, when she picks through their torn-apart home she will find that only a toothbrush, a pair of socks, and a little bit of money have gone missing. The rest he will have left behind because he never needed it. He will have taken nothing to remember her by. She will find a picture of her father and her, together at the park. It will be stuck to the fridge, left behind. She will stare at it for a long, hard moment and then she will take it down and throw it away.
For now, though, Marissa pinches the pink pebbles out of the milk first and eats them while they’re still a little crunchy. She doesn’t flinch when the door slams but she does when her mother begins to scream at the sound of a car starting. They only have one car and without it, her mother will have to sit for an hour and a half on the bus both ways to get to work and back. Marissa has no idea how they will get groceries either.
Her mother runs out the door to chase after it. Marissa stays where she is. Somewhere outside, tires shriek against the pavement and their noise and the sound of the engine grow further away. There is no chance that her mother will get the car back, Marissa knows that already. She knows too that when her mother returns she will be livid.
Marissa drinks all of her remaining cereal and milk in six massive gulps, she leaves the bowl in the sink.
Her father is driving away in their car to somewhere far from their little shoebox apartment and he’s leaving her mother here, with her. She does not hate either of them yet. She will eventually but right now she’s very young and she’s very small and she only really knows how to be afraid.
At the very least, she's a practical girl. She doesn’t entertain the notion that her presence will fix anything. She cannot calm her mother or even bring her comfort. Her rage is a hurricane and Marissa is a girl who is smart enough to get out of the way.
She’s got her library card in her back pocket and that’s all she needs. She might have to wait for a bus or two but eventually one of them will take a look at her and her dirty hair and her scraped knees and they will let her ride for free.
She takes the back door out and she runs and runs.
She goes to the library and she hides in the stacks and she reads manga until they close. In her memory, it will be this, the plush carpet of the children’s area and volumes three through eight of Fruits Basket, glossy covers, soft paper. Today will be the day she spent her whole afternoon at the library reading and lounging in the cool, conditioned air. She won’t let herself remember it as the day that her daddy left and never came back.
----
She is 10 when she finds an old CR TV on the side of the road. It’s boxy and heavy but small enough that she can lug it up the stairs one step at a time, and shuffle it into her room before her mother gets home. There’s a horizontal strip running along the bottom fifth of the screen that is all static and pixels. The audio is grainy. But it works. They don’t have cable but there’s a combo VHS and DVD player built into the bottom of it.
The library has almost all of Sailor Moon on DVD. She checks them out by the dozen and stuffs them into her backpack, clinging to them like a liferaft as she takes the bus home.
She has to watch them with the volume down. Her mommy doesn't like noise and that's trained Marissa to drift through her home like a ghost, silent and invisible, barely there at all.
She loves them a lot, those cartoons. The girls in it are pretty. They’re strong. They’re all friends. They beat evil every time and nobody important ever dies for real. Even in the darkest moments, a happy ending feels inevitable.
She likes Rei the best. She’s brave and she’s firey and she’s got the same long dark hair that Marissa does.
Sailor Mars. She thinks in her head. She says the name out loud, testing the way it feels on her tongue. “Sailor Mars. Mars.”
----
She learns how to do makeup first out of necessity. Her life is cracked and ugly but there's nothing that a few layers of concealer can't spruce up. She's not the girl with the bruise on her cheek or the cut on her lip when she wears makeup. She's pretty. Painted. Desirable.
Sometimes when her mother is asleep Mars will take her jewelry and her clothes. She straightens her hair and puts on her face and stands in front of the mirror with her chest stuck out and her head held high. She looks into the mirror and sees someone else reflected back. A girl with a better life and a billion more opportunities than she’ll ever hope to have. She wants to reach through the glass and strangle her. She wants to take her place.
----
Her transformation is slow. There is no brightly colored costume change and she never shouts a magical incantation. She just grows up. The little girl falls away and leaves someone new behind. Someone who is bigger and stronger, and meaner than before. Someone who doesn't want to be a ghost anymore.
She learns that she likes being angry. She is good at it. Being angry is so much better than being scared. Being angry at least, feels good. Fighting back feels better.
She isn’t a monster yet, but she’s got a blueprint for how to be one. She has her mother to thank for that. Emily Park shows her all the best and softest places to sink her claws into a person to make them bleed. Mars never thanks her for that lesson.
Sometimes it feels as if it will be her life forever, her and her mother circling around each other like sharks, biting chunks out of each other until there’s nothing left of either of them. It makes her skin crawl. Late at night, she toys with the idea of escape. But Mars has always been a practical girl. The world is not kind to unwanted teenage runaways. It will not make an exception for her. Running from her mother only to find herself worse off feels to Mars like losing. More than she ever wants to run Mars wants to win.
----
She and her mother fight often. It’s really all they do when they are around each other now that Mars is big enough to fight back. This time though, her mother is standing by the sink and she gets it into her stupid, pin-shaped head that their only dinner plates are better off as weapons than they are as dishware.
When the police arrive and there is no hiding her mother’s bloody nose or the steadily purpling bruise on Mars’s cheek or the disaster area they’ve turned their crappy apartment into.
They take her away. Her last memory of her childhood home is the floor of her living room covered in glimmering shards of glass, her mother standing in the doorway and looking triumphant even as blood oozes over her mouth and drips from her chin.
Mars glares at her through the window of the police car and thinks to herself. I’ll fucking show you.
----
Her mother does not want her back and Mars is not surprised. She is angry though. She loves her anger now. It stays with her, even when people don’t.
The emergency group home they dump her in is exactly the place Mars never wanted to end up. It is a hot, awful building. It stinks as if the sweat and misery are baked into the walls. They are crammed four, angry, desperate girls to room and somehow, the staff expect them not to fight.
Mars does not wait for the other girls to test her limits. She is a girl who takes the initiative. On the second night that she is there she catches another girl looking through her bag. Mars rips her earrings out. There's blood everywhere and a lot of screaming and there is Mars, standing at the center of it with the girl at her feet feeling for the first time like she's fully in control.
It almost gets her sent to juvie but it’s worth it. The message is clear. Mars keeps the bloody gold hoops like a trophy. She wears them with her head held high and her glossy lip curled in an expert sneer. No one touches her stuff after that.
On the second floor of the Vixen Den, Cade slides along to the top of the stairs. There’s music playing from his airpods, a new album he’s been listening to on repeat blasting away as he takes the stairs two at a time. For majority of the day, Cade has been keeping to himself and getting his schoolwork done. He has a double shift coming up at the shelter and if he doesn’t get his school work done now, he knows he’ll end up behind. With everything he has going on, he can’t afford it right now. Closing himself off in the room all day is only healthy for some long and he needs a break.
He sneaks his way into the kitchen and roots around for the box of Cheez-its. By no means is he out here to look his best or be his best. Cade’s wearing an old pair of dark gray joggers, a maroon long sleeve shirt, and his hair is still looking like he just came straight out of bed. Eating straight out of a box of Cheez-its is only adding to his lazy day vibes.
On his way back upstairs, he spots someone in the living room of the Den and he walks over purely out of curiosity. When he notices that it’s Mars, he’s tempted to turn right back around and head upstairs but instead he’s watching the game and popping the occasional Cheez-it in. Mars’ voice distracts him from the game and he looks down at her on the couch. “Sorry, game looked interested and I don’t see you down here much,” Cade says as he walks over and sits down on the couch, offering the box over to Mars. Blink-182 is still playing softly in his ears but low enough he can still hear Mars. “I didn’t know you were into video games,” he nodded toward the screen.
Ah and there’s Cade Mitchell with his gangly body and his bland teen movie charm and his cheez-its. Mars moves to make room for him on the couch but not much. He’s connected enough to people that she actually likes that being friendly to him is the only option she’s got until he does something to justify her treating him like shit. Still, Mars isn’t looking to be overly friendly to Cade. He’s uninteresting to her beyond his connection to Cloudy and Alanna and is overall popularity among the Vixens and uninteresting for Mars is only a few steps up from being openly disliked.
“I try to stay out of the main area unless there’s a party,” Mars hums, stealing a Cheez-it from Cade without asking because no one really sits down holding a whole-ass box of Cheez-its without expecting to have to share.
“Too many randos farting around usually, but there’s a playstation down here sooo…” She purposefully lets herself trail off, lifting and dropping her shoulders in a shrug. She pushes Sora into the next area so that he can hit a cutscene while she moves to steal even more snacks from Cade.
“Only the good ones. You’ve never played KH before?” She asks, chewing with her mouth open as she watches events play out on screen. “You seem like the type.”
The past couple of months had been incredibly intense. There were so many highs and lows, that Patch had trouble sorting through everything that he was actually feeling. He had lost Rosie, it felt like, and he didn’t know how to process or even work to gain her back. But on the other hand, he had Caleb, perhaps not in the way he wanted, but closer than before. And it had been fun. If sometimes emotionally draining to be around someone who didn’t feel the same.
His attendance at school had been spotty, and he had disappeared often into the city to paint his thoughts and feelings. He had started hiding out in the shelters, spending a couple of nights there at a time just to get away from the campus. Away from all of the drama of it. Being around the homeless helped him realize that there was more to worry about than campus drama.
But that didn’t mean he didn’t miss Mars. Being out all the time hadn’t given him much time to talk about all that had happened with Rosie, and he had a sinking suspicion that perhaps if he even spoke up to her, she’d smack him down before he could even get a word out. But at this point, he’d rather get it over with than continue to wait for the other foot to drop.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to stare, but you are radiant as always, oh dearest roommate of mine,” he said, trying for casual, testing out how peeved she actually would be at him. He knew she had a bit of a soft spot for Rosie, and pissing off Mars was something he had always wanted to avoid.
For the most part, Mars likes Patch. He’s down to smash. He lets her smoke weed in the room and half the time he’s off doing his weird, mysterious hobo thing in the city so Mars has got the room to herself.
Unfortunately, he’s also got pretty shit taste in men. She was right in assuming that Caleb Fournier’s poisonous stink would spread from his shambling zombie corpse of a body to the rest of Patch’s life and by extension, Mars’. It’s already ruined his relationship with Rosie. Which means that Mars has to shelve her plans for the ultimate friendly threeway. She’s only mildly resentful about that, not enough to ax their relationship just yet.
His approach is only two steps shy of groveling. It’s clear that Patch is trying for casual but it’s obvious that he’s trying. The way he layers on compliment after compliment lets her know that he’s scared. Good.
She’d never planned on trying to carefully navigate through this social minefield. Mars isn’t gentle or subtle and Caleb Fournier isn’t a good enough reason for her to start trying.
“Three things,” she says, not even bothering to look away from what she’s doing onscreen. “One, I think you fucked up with Rosie. Two, I don’t fuckin like Caleb Fournier and I never will and if you try that “oh he’s not so bad” shit with me I will piss on your bed like a dog. Three, I do like you. If that’s chill you can sit and enjoy some weed. If not then keep walking.”
Songs 4 My Himbos
an incredibly NSFW Mars Park playlist
Cash Shit - Megan Three Stallion (ft. Da Baby) [EXPLICIT]
“I don't be trusting these tricks 'cause they tricky. Send him a pic of somebody else titties.”
Juice - Lizzo [EXPLICIT]
“No, I'm not a snack at all. Look, baby, I'm the whole damn meal”
Hang With Me - Robyn
“Just don't fall recklessly, headlessly in love with me. Cause it's gonna be all heartbreak blissfully painful insanity.”
My Type (Remix) - Saweetie (ft. City Girls & Jhene Aiko) [EXPLICIT]
“Yeah, I like the type to eat the p**** until I levitate.”
Werkin’ Girls - Angel Haze [EXPLICIT]
“ My tongue is the fucking rapture, bitch. I be at my peak, I am not the one to be mastered.”
Masseduction - St. Vincent
“I can’t turn off what turns me on. I hold you like a weapon.”
212 - Azealia Banks (ft. Lazy Jay) [EXPLICIT]
“Now she wanna lick my plum in the evenin'. And fit that ton-tongue d-deep in.”
Cocky Af - Megan Three Stallion [EXPLICIT]
“Hey, Cocky as fuck, everything 'bout me poppin’. Got face, I got body, you name it, I got it.”
Get On Your Knees - Nicki Minaj, Ariana Grande [EXPLICIT]
“Yo, I'll be back at 11, you just act like a peasant. Got a bow on my panties, because my ass is a present.”
Needed Me - Rihanna [EXPLICIT]
“Didn't they tell you that I was a savage? Fuck your white horse and a carriage “
Date: February 8
Time: 7:00 PM
Location Vixen Den, main room
Status: OPEN
Mars’s career isn’t the most lucrative (yet) but it’s managed to make her enough money to keep herself comfortable. She’s got her car and her weed and her laptop of course, all necessary and important, but she hasn’t yet been able to justify buying herself a console. It’s fun, but essentially frivolous unless she wants to foray into streaming.
Thankfully, some generous Vixen has stuck their PS4 in the common area and offered it up as a communal device as long as everybody makes sure to charge the controllers. Mars tends to avoid the central area of the Vixen Den. She’s got her own room where she can curate the company and keep the sheets clean and smelling of Downy Unstoppable Spring 2.0.
But she’s got a sudden and pressing urge to play Kingdom Hearts and nowhere to do it but here, on this lumpy couch, tolerating the annoying presence of people she doesn’t necessarily care about or like.
Still, Mars has never been shy and she’s certainly never felt the urge to diminish her own presence to make room for other people. She spreads across the couch, puffs openly on her pen blowing clouds of scented vapor towards the ceiling, and bounces her head along with the first cords of Simple and Clean as it blasts from the tv speakers.
It’s only when she’s halfway through Destiny Island that she notices someone else is in the room and watching.
“Don’t make it weird,” Mars says idly without looking away from the screen. “Either pop a squat or move along honey.”
Basil doesn’t really know what to do without anger. He’s been angry for so long that without that emotion he’d feel lost. It’s kept him from making real connections. He doesn’t understand what he’d done to have this life. Why had Anthony even taken him in the first place when he clearly wasn’t capable of raising a child? There were so many questions that Basil had and probably would never know the answers to. Somehow his anger is the only thing that’s gotten him through all of this—and he feels the emotion slipping away with every moment he spends with the Foxes.
He’s accepted his fate of being a Fox. Maybe he does belong here with these people. He doesn’t want to belong or know them or talk to them about his own problems. But he’s accepted that he’s like them. That he’s just as broken as the rest of them. While he’s starting to believe that, it’s his anger that’s continuing to keep him from getting close to the Foxes still. He might belong, but he doesn’t want to belong and he sure as hell is not going to drag them into his own problems. He’ll keep them all at arm’s length, even Noah. No one else needs to be involved with his dad.
Talking cars is the only thing that might get him out of his shell, even a little bit. He’d talk about cars all day. The car his mother gave him might not be the car of his dreams, however it was something. Anything that could make him feel like he wasn’t trapped in Palmetto was good enough for him. There were days when he just needed an escape and his only escape now was walking, which never got him far enough. Maybe being excited and showing a little emotion—other than anger—was a little unusual for him. He wasn’t thinking about that.
“I wouldn’t exactly call it a family heirloom. It’s just from the 60s,” he said, as if that wasn’t a very old car—because it wasn’t. He knew that there were people that didn’t appreciate old cars. Mars was probably one of those people. Basil wouldn’t complain. “Don’t know. She never said what she did with it,” Basil explained, and then turned his attention to Mars rather than the car.
“And what exactly is old to you honey? A horse-drawn carriage?” Mars asks with the barest hint of a smile, her eyebrow rising at a sharp angle. That confirms it. Basil Walcott comes from money. Old money. The type of money that cares about the vintage pedigree of a product and doesn’t see 60 years as significant.
She just barely manages to avoid rolling her eyes at him. There’s nothing she finds more boring than antiquing. Her world revolves around the new. The newest trends in fashion, the newest make up products. She doesn’t have time to care about the dusty old history of a car or some rich boy’s family.
Unless of course, it can make her some coin.
She looks Basil up and down again and wonders if there’s a way she can twist him into knots. She’s wrapped hotter guys than him around her finger before but she’s not sure if she’s ever bagged richer. It’d be a shitty thing to do to Noah maybe, but Mars has always put business before friendships and Basil Walcott could be good business if she learns just where to press him to make the money come out.
She supposes that the bright and bubbly route is viable. It’s certainly seemed to work for Noah, though he has the advantage and curse of being a genuinely sweet little cinnamon roll. Mars can’t relate but she’s a good actress, she knows how to pretend to be someone else long enough to get what she wants from somebody.
She smiles a little brighter and pretends to be looking at his car with interest.
“I can think of a couple things I’d do with a fancy car from my grandpa,” she says, side-eyeing Basil to see if he catches the insinuation she’s making.
Akira is just getting back from one of his nowhere driving sessions when he spots a car with its hood up in the Vixen Den parking lot. It’s a terribly cold day for January and Akira can’t fathom that any of the Vixens know how to fix a car. Granted, his experience is limited at best but he’s more than willing to give them a warm place to sit while he calls for an actual mechanic to come out and look at it. He’s acts without thinking, pulling into the parking lot and pulling up next tot he car. He’s already outside his car and in the cold when he figures out the Vixen in distress is Mars.
His knee jerk reaction is to turn around and leave. To run away. Akira’s done a fine job of avoiding her since their last confrontation in Fox Tower. He’s got no reason to talk to her, none at all. It’s probably best if they avoided each other if Akira is being honest with himself. Mars isn’t one to mince words or cover up her opinion of someone in lieu of protecting their feelings. She’s mean. And despite all appearances Akira knows he’s nothing more than a house of cards still. But Bee has been telling him for weeks that avoiding her won’t solve any of his problems and the thought of running away from Mars makes his stomach curdle. He’s better than that. And he’s heard worse from online magazines and gossip mongers anyways. Mars Park’s opinion of him doesn’t matter.
At least. It shouldn’t.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and swallows hard past the enormous lump in his throat. He can do this. It’s just a phone call. Just him offering to help. He’s the bigger person here. “I can call a mechanic if you’d like.”
At the reedy, mosquito-like sound of Akira’s voice, Mars’s lip is curling up into a sneer. She isn’t sure what’s worse. Akira seeing her like this, dirty and wet and kneeling by her tire, or that he’s got the balls to pity her. She imagines him behind her, rubbing nervously at his arms like he always does when he’s uncomfortable, standing next to his pristine, luxury car. He’d probably call the most expensive mechanic in town without even thinking about it. He’d probably pat himself on the back for doing her a favor.
“Do us both a favor Akira. Save the white knight routine for someone who cares,” she says, finally rising and turning to face him. There’s oily dirt on her hands and it’s staining her coat. The waterproofing of her makeup is being put to the test by the weather. But Mars doesn’t let that make her feel or act any less fierce, any less ready to draw blood if she needs to.
“Does it look like I have it handled? Was I asking for help? Are there any cameras around to catch you being such a nice all American boy? Yes, no and no, so how about you stop bothering me and go?”
He hadn’t cared about his reputation in so long that he didn’t even think about what kind the majority of the people at Palmetto even thought about him. Hopefully, if he’d got his way, they didn’t think about him at all and just left him alone. There are people that didn’t actually realize that he wanted to be left alone and somehow he had to be okay with that. For the most part, Basil just wanted people to leave him alone because getting to know someone just meant he had another vulnerability that he didn’t want to admit he had. The Foxes and Vixens could think whatever they wanted about him: that he thought he was better than them or that he was clearly fucked up just as much as the rest of them. What they thought didn’t matter because it only mattered what he thought. the rest of the Foxes might have wanted to get to know him, except he just wasn’t ready for that yet. Not when there wasn’t anything keeping him here—or nothing he wanted to admit. So he let people think what they wanted about him because he’d long since learned that he couldn’t stop them from thinking what they wanted anyway.
And like the rest of his teammates and the cheerleading squad, Basil didn’t pay much mind to them either. Maybe deep down, there was a part of him that wanted to give in to the whole bonding thing and become close with everyone, but there was also a part of him that was too scared of doing that. He’d already been rejected by most of the people in his life. His family, Anthony, and his friends. Basil knew he couldn’t afford to lose another person he cared about. He’d keep everyone at arm’s length, including his mother, for the time being until he absolutely couldn’t keep them away anymore. Thus far, there had only been one person that fit that bill and even Basil was resisting that friendship. He wasn’t ready to even admit he liked Noah, though the two of them clearly spent time together.
In England, Basil had gotten to know his mother at least a little. Her brief romance with Anthony had always seemed like it had broken Anthony more than it had his mother. But her side of the story painted a different picture. She could have chased after Basil and he still didn’t understand why she didn’t, except he knew his own family and knew what they would have done. They could have destroyed her without blinking an eye. Basil had dealt with their manipulation growing up and knew she’d made the right choice, even if it meant giving him up. England was an eye opener for him—and a chance to make strides to getting to know someone that he needed to know and wanted the chance to do so. He hadn’t even cared that much about the car at the time. His mother had given it to him because she could use it anymore, and of course he wouldn’t have said no to it.
He was delighted when it showed up. At least he didn’t feel trapped in Palmetto anymore. Whenever he needed a break, he could leave. He wished his life wasn’t the way it was and that he could have grown up with a happy family, instead of the one so careful about their own appearances. Basil hadn’t gotten that luxury, though now it seemed like he was getting a chance to finally breathe on his own and for once start making choices that he could live with, no matter what Anthony thought about them. He didn’t even care who he was talking to. “Sort of. My mother said it was her father’s and when she graduated college, all he gave her was the car and a couple hundred dollars. She said the car was the only thing she had, but she could never sell it and when I went to visit her, she told me I could have it since she can’t really drive it anymore.”
In her sappier moments, Mars likes to watch those before and after videos of abused cats and dogs getting rescued and sent to good foster homes. There is some part of her that is fundamentally gooey with a soft nougaty center, and it melts whenever she sees an angry, scared animal come out of a foster home looking happy and bright and brand new.
Watching Basil Walcott talk now is kind of like watching the middle portion of one of those videos. She can imagine him as a dog, some hoity upscale breed with stubby little legs and a face like a pancake, slowly creeping out from beneath the couch for his first pet in years. And if he were a dog, even an ugly inbred one, Mars would totally melt at this moment.
But Basil Walcott isn’t a dog. He isn’t even cute. So mostly Mars just feels kind of taken aback. This is a big change from the unhappy gremlin who skulked around the Vixen Den waiting for Noah. He’s like, nice now, friendly even, and Mars has heard him speak more in the past few minutes than she has in the whole year.
It’s kind of...unsettling really. Mars wonders how long he can stay this happy before the other shoe drops and he regresses right back to tired stick-in-the-mud she remembers.
But that’s not something you say to a rich boy with an expensive car, at least not until you make sure that you can’t wring any money out of him, so Mars just smiles and nods and does her best to look interested in the family history of an ugly car that she will never drive. “Ah, well, that explains how it looks,” she says through a wooden smile, glancing again at the car. “Kinda cool that you got the family heirloom on wheels. What’d your mom end up doing with the money?”
Date: Saturday, Feb 2
Time: 3:00 PM
Location: Fox Tower
Status: CLOSED (@berettalepore)
Spencer Lepore is one of Mars's favorite people in the world. He's pretty. He's rich. And he likes to buy her things, especially when she sends him nudes. As an additional bonus Beretta finds their little friendship completely hateful. Watching her lose it whenever she tells her about pegging Spencer is half the fun of pegging Spencer.
That's why Mars decides to kill two Lepores with one stone when she takes a few dozen naughty pictures in a new set of lingerie. She got them for a sponsored GRWM video: dick appointment edition, and she's itching to show them off.
Spencer has been a good boy, texting her nice things and buying her nicer things. It's about time he got a reward. And she hasn't seen Berreta in ages.
She takes her pics, then takes some nudes for good measure, then changes into something more comfortable, and then saunters over to the fox tower. When she's close enough to Beretta’s room to hear her freak out she sends her a mass text of over 50 photos and a follow-up text of: "Which ones do you think Spency will like best?"
Date: Thursday, Jan. 31
Time: 3:00 PM
Location: Vixen Den Parking Lot
Status: CLOSED (@akira-sxto)
Mars likes nice things. She likes the extravagance and excess that influences are famous for. Over the years she’s trained herself to present it in photos and videos and snapchat lives. She’s so good at what she does that sometimes she almost believes that it’s real.
But the fact of the matter is that she lives payday to payday and one bad hit could put her under. She’s got to scrounge and save wherever she can and that includes mechanic fees for jobs she can learn to do herself. This is how she ends up outside patching her own tire in the most bullshit blustery January weather she’s had the displeasure of experiencing since coming to Palmetto. It’s almost enough to make her miss the heat and sweat of Whittier, almost.
She’s just gotten to her least favorite part, trying to stick a tube of soft rubber into the hole in her tie, when she notices that she’s got company.
Mars sneers. She hates being caught off guard. Hates being seen doing something that alludes to her working-class status. Hates Akira especially.
“Shoo,” she says finally, flicking her hand at him like she’s trying to get rid of an offending insect. So what if Akira could destroy her following with a single tweet. She’s not about to let him know how much that terrifies her. The more she acts like Akira is a bug beneath her heel, the sooner he will be.
Date: Monday, Jan 28
Time: 9:00 PM
Location: Fox Tower
Status: Closed @cotesmeredith
It took her an hour to get her hair and make up just right today. Her crease is cut to perfection, her hair has just enough lift and frames her face perfectly. She wants to keep it as pristine as possible for as long as she possible. She’s already bared her hook up from touching her head for the entirety of their dick appointment, she’s not about to step outside and let something as mundane as the rain mess up her look. Mars would rather wait it out in one a painfully prolonged walk of shame. She rarely ever feels ashamed anyway.
She sets up shop on the couch in one of the public lounge areas, bare feet kicked up on the coffee table and phone in hand. It’s the height of the Championships so she doesn’t expect to be bothered by anybody. Most of the Foxes live part-time in the stadium now, which means the Fox Tower halls are quiet, even in the middle of the day.
Unfortunately quiet doesn’t mean completely abandoned. Mars isn’t exactly in the mood for company but she’s not about to broadcast that to a pretty girl, even one who as reserved and out of Mars’s usual lane as Meredith Cotes.
She smiles a tight, polite smile and wiggles her fingers in a slight wave at Meredith. “Hey, got stuck in here because of the rain.” She explains, motioning towards the window. “Got an umbrella?”
LOCATION: Fox Tower Parking Lot
DATE: January 27th
TIME: 3:05 PM
OPEN
For once, Basil was glad to be back on Palmetto’s soil. Coming back to South Carolina as part of the only champions left, felt oddly satisfying. He knew that he wasn’t the only reason the Foxes made it to where they did in the Championships, but he knew that he played a small part in it. Basil didn’t know how to feel about the Foxes anymore. There was a small part of him that wanted the Foxes to win, not just because he was part of them but because it was what all of them deserved. Though there was still a disconnect from the team, his unwillingness—or maybe it was his inability—to be close to them. He didn’t want to be the reason the Foxes lost because he didn’t think he could take that kind of blow to his ego. He knew that no matter what he did, there was no changing the past. He couldn’t reverse time, as much as he wanted to. But then again… maybe he didn’t want to reverse time. Basil grew up believing that his father did care about him. Anthony just had a weird way of showing his love for Basil; now that he knew it wasn’t true, he was almost glad the man was out of his life. It had led him to something that wasn’t perfect, but it was worth it. He wasn’t ready to say how much the Foxes were beginning to mean to him. Basil wasn’t ready to admit that he cared to anyone yet. He just couldn’t deny that the Foxes had led him to his mother and to an actual friend.
He hadn’t slept in this morning, despite getting back to campus late. Basil had woken up early enough to get a run in before running some drills on court. He figured the usual people were awake when he was—and it was true. Some of the Foxes were more dedicated than others. Not that he cared what other people did in their spare time, but Basil was in the same camp as the Foxes that spent any spare time on court practicing. He still had a lot to learn and he wanted to learn from the fifth years before they graduated. The freshman was about to head back to his dorm to start on any last-minute homework that he put off because he hated doing homework when his phone rang. Usually, Basil didn’t carry his cell phone around, or if he did it wasn’t charged, but since he met his mother over break, he’d been bringing it along in case she called and needed something. Basil didn’t recognize the number, though he picked it up anyway. After a quick conversation, his pace quickened to Fox Tower’s parking lot. He might not show much emotion, but he was smiling now. There in the parking lot was his Christmas present from his mother—and it was beautiful. He stopped at the car, signing for it, and jumped as his phone rang again.
“Mother, hello! Mind if I call you back later?” he asked and listened as she spoke for about a minute before saying her goodbye. “Alright, goodbye.” Grinning, he turned to the nearest person in the parking lot. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
Basic Walnut gives off a strange energy. It’s in the way he dresses like a prep school wannabe. It’s in the way skulks around campus and avoids people that aren’t Noah Nakamura like the plague. He’s rich, clearly. His whole vibe screams “generational wealth”, like his daddy grew up rich and his daddy before him grew up rich and on and on until they forgot that money was ever anything to really worry about. But even with all that wealth and power behind him he always seems well, afraid, like he’s waiting for the world to swallow him whole.
Mars doesn’t know what to do with that. She can’t have fun with him. She doesn’t see a way she can use him. She certainly doesn’t want to fuck him. So, for the most part, she just ignores him. There’s plenty of wealthy idiots around Palmetto that she can hit up when she wants to who aren’t ready to bolt the moment someone tries to talk to them.
But right now Basil Walcott doesn’t seem guarded or suspicious or generally unhappy to be in the company of other human beings. He’s smiling as he practically skips through the parking lot. Mars watches from the sidewalk as he saunters up to some big, old-looking car, his ear glued to his phone. She hears snatches of his conversation as he walks by. Funny. She always pegged him as more of an “I hate my daddy” boy more than a straight-up mama’s boy but she guesses the two aren’t mutually exclusive.
There’s a hot spike of jealousy threatening to pierce her between the ribs. The car is fugly but it’s fugly in the way expensive stuff is when it costs so much money it doesn’t matter how it looks anymore. How is it, Mars wonders, that even with a mother who clearly dotes on him and a family that has enough money to keep him comfortable his entire life Basil Walcott still manages to spend most of his time acting like a soggy paper towel.
She doesn’t have enough time to really think on that before he’s turning to her with that rare smile of his, clearly begging for her to compliment his ugly, overpriced box of a car.
Mars tamps down all the ugliness, the jealousy, and the rising anger. She smiles wide and pushes her hip to one side and glances over the car, looking as appreciative as she can manage. “Well she’s certainly something,” Mars says. “Christmas gift?”
