Color Me Curious
Sade Olutola
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π©΅ avery cochrane π©΅
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izzy's playlists!
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@immaculatcs
π ππππ π ππ πππππ πππππ ππππ πππ πππ πππππππ πππππππ ππππ πππ ππππ ππππππππ ππππ
INTRODUCTION βｑ°⩠PINTEREST βｑ°⩠PLAYLIST βｑ°⩠BIOGRAPHY
WHO:Β austen & @scrtissues WHAT:Β the only person who would enjoy working nye is austen WHEN:Β nye shindig !
The random names Sloane picked sure didn't feel like random names. What were the odds Austen, known neurotic for keeping the place spic and span, would be tasked with working the night of New Years? The shop already had music bleeding through the floorboards, volume louder than it was allowed to be in the name of a party while the first band were still setting up their equipment.
"Look what the cat dragged in," she said when she finally saw Victor walking in for his shift. There was a part of her that wanted to moan and groan for missing out on the actual festivities, but she let it subside in the name of being the refreshment girl for the night. "There's some streamers that still need to be hung."
She pulled out the box from behind the counter, sequined and shimmering streamers practically blinding through the box. "Divide and conquer? I'm sure there's a step ladder somewhere."
"I don't think anyone would call me normal or emotionally well-adjusted," Spencer has to laugh again, warmth mixed with self-deprecation, probably not the best thing to point out on a first date, "Is anyone really those things in their twenties, though?" Smooth, Spence.
He takes a sip of his drink to shut himself up for a second, hoping that the mug could somehow mask his anxiety. Sometimes he wonders why he can't seem to hold down a relationship, opening his mouth helps it make sense.
"Not uptight, no," his voice softens, his eyes earnest, it's not a line, "Just way out of my league."
Out of my league.
It wasn't the first time someone had mentioned that to her. Austen had a certain way of holding herself; hair never out of place, clothes perfectly ironed, always punctual. She could understand why someone would think that. But, "Leagues are just a social construct," she all but blurted out. "Just like everything else."
Granted, she knew deep down that she cared deeply about appearances but Spencer was, in her eyes, a womanizer and a former hockey God. Surely, if anyone thought they had a shot with her, it would be a former athlete.
Austen shifted in her seat, one leg crossing over the other. "You know, I'm kinda glad I said yes," she admitted, hoping it didn't come across as like she didn't want to be there. "I didn't realize this was how you'd be." Self-deprecating? Brooding? "Color me surprised."
Margot knows the look on Austen's face, as much as she can tell the other woman is trying to hide it. There's the recognition that she so often got with her age group, especially those who were a couple of years her junior. It's almost like she's trying too hard to be chill and normal, which is always a dead giveaway, but if Austen isn't going to mention it, she surely won't be the one to bring it up.
"I couldn't really care less about the technicality," she admits with a chuckle, "I'm more into the lyrics and the... vibe, I guess. I don't know a whole lot about music, which seems to be some sort of crime around here these days. I agree about the drummer though. You don't need to know shit to know it was distracting."
"Margot," she's uncharacteristically warm as she takes Austen's hand, maybe because she wasn't making a huge deal. She pivots away to finish her drink before looking back over, "What are you drinking, Austen?"
"Valid metrics," she said quickly, slightly relieved that Margot wasn't about to start talking about chord progressions. Austen may have worked at a record store and may have knew good music, but she certainly didn't have the science to back up what she was talking about. When Margot actually shook her hand, Austen released her grip before it lingered into something weird, having to remind herself that this was a totally normal human interaction.
"What am I drinking?" Austen parroted. "Um..." God, don't say something stupid. Don't try to impress her. Definitely don't suddenly start pretending you're cooler than you are. "Vodka cranberry. Basic, but dependable. Like a Volvo." She immediately wanted to rip her throat out to prevent her from saying anything else that was stupid.
Now that the initial shock had started to wear off, Austen let herself breathe for a second. Just a person. Margot was just a person. "Are you typically a one drink gal or more of a 'wait and see how bad the band is' and then decide?"
Spencer knows he has a reputation and it's not like it wasn't earned, it just usually wasn't brought up so quickly on a first date. His explanations all feel like a double-edged sword, there really wasn't an explanation for going on a million dates and coming out with no partner on the other side that made him look good.
"It's not like that," he laughs softly, nervous, "I've wanted to ask you out for awhile I just... didn't think you'd actually say yes. I was waiting for the perfect opportunity, I guess." He pauses, taking a sip from his own drink, "Why'd you say yes? Nothing better to do with your day off?"
Austen tilted her head at him, considering his responses. His laugh helped. The nervousness, too. It was disarming in a way she didn't expect, which irritated her just a little bit. She took a sip of her coffee, letting the warmth and sweetness buy her a little bit of time. There were two ways she could go about this. She could decide to just self-sabotage it, chastise him for something or in an unprecedented thought, she could just enjoy herself.
"Contrary to popular belief, I don't just keep my nose stuck in a book when I'm not at work," she said, but there was a faint smile curling at the edge of her lips. She didn't take any actual offense. "Call it morbid curiosity. I figured I should figure out what exactly it is that normal and emotionally well adjusted people my age do." And it didn't help that Moosh had slightly gotten under her skin asking about her love life.
"You didn't think I'd say yes?"' Austen bounced back, her hands releasing from her cup. She wasn't being coy; she knew she had a certain amount of qualities that set her apart from others. Still, it always bewildered her that someone would think she would outright say no. "What? Let me guess. You think I'm too uptight?"
Sloane rolled her eyes - affectionately, of course! But an eyeroll, nonetheless. She grumbled low in her chest, the type of sound that you might expect from, like, some ancient man who had seen the whole world go to shit before his eyes... Instead, there was only-sometimes-wanting Sloane Bender, annoyed again that the universe had dared to let anyone else breathe in her space. "Hello Austen," She pushed in behind the other girl through the entrance to the tavern; home sweet home. "Nice to see you too." She reminded herself to remember that - to ask one of the Stone kids to tack something like that up behind the bar for her own personal use. Sloane had been stuck at the bar with employees she had run away from too many times before... At least Austen didn't totally drive her crazy. "Oh, the great Sloane Bender? I like your brand of flattery." Sloane thought for a second. "I'll take a beer. I know how much I'm paying you, so - I'll keep my hard liquor out of your pockets."
Austen settled on the stool next to Sloane. "Oh, thank God," she said, dryly at the request that the other only wanted a beer. She chose not to say anything about her own family's finances. Sloane didn't pay her well, sure, but it was no secret that Austen only had a job because it was expected of her. The Winslow's didn't come into the middle class with ease and Reggie was always quick to remind Austen of such.
She flagged the nearest bartender down, surprised that she didn't see anyone with the last name Stone behind the bar. Probably too hungover to come in, Austen assumed. "Beer for the tyrant." She threw a playful look in Sloane's direction. "And..." Her eyes scanned the menu behind the counter. "Do you still do those white gummy bear shot things? Yeah? Two of those."
She leaned closer towards Sloane, purposely orbiting in her bubble of space. "You'll love 'em." At least, Austen hoped she would. "Seriously better than that sewer water you're about to pound down."
CLOSED STARTER for @immaculatcs at a christmas cookie walk & bake sale ( idea from here )
"Six dollars a pound isn't bad, but my dentist is really going to hate me when I go in for my cleaning in March."
Zeke isn't one who is much of a sweet tooth as much as he can fall prey to fiending for things coffee flavored and packed with sugar. Besides, the impulse-buying is a real issue with everything looking so cute and festive. His first container is full to the brim, and he is seriously considering grabbing a second one.
"Do you think I have a shot at winning the quilt raffle? I put three tickets in. I don't even really need a quilt, but I want to win it. It would be the first time I ever won anything like that."
Austen eyed the overflowing container in Zeke's hands. She huffed out a laugh and tugged her coat a little tighter around herself. "Six dollars a pound is bad," she corrected, almost immediately. Her eyes flickered to the table, scanning labels. "You're definitely gonna need a second one."
At the mention of the quilt raffle, her attention shifted fully to him. "That quilt was so ugly," she remarked. Not that she was going to rain on his parade or anything. It was definitely endearing to watch him seem so excited over winning something. "Tell you what, if you don't win it, I'll make you one. You can pick your own colors and everything."
Moosh doesn't push his luck when Austen pulls back - just lets his hand slip away. He might be touchy by nature, but he's never forceful about it; he respects Austen - and his friends in general - too much to make them uncomfortable like that. He just leans back up against the stalls and hopes his face doesn't reflect how cute it is when Austen gets all worked up like this.
"You are so icking out," Moosh argues under his breath, suffocating his smile. He does roll his eyes at the concept of Austen pretending this has to be some sort of secret. He's always so open with her about his hook-ups! "Uhh, no, haven't heard of that. Sounds boring. It seems to me like you're not getting laid at all." Moosh brings up his hands in surrender before Austen can snap about that, too. "Which is fine. Just don't know why you feel you gotta' lie about it."
Though Moosh tries not to get a big head about this, his eyes brighten and he takes on the energy of a puppy being called a good boy when Austen confirms her faith in his chances. Her opinion means a lot, and he tries to internalize everything she's saying.
"Right, okay, got it. She does have nice hair." Moosh considers the girl before him too, though, eyes wandering to her own tresses - perfectly controlled, like everything else in her life, it seems. "Though, if we're being real, not as nice as yours."
So, she was icking out. It's not that Austen was particularly against hearing about Moosh's sex life or anyone else's for that matter. All of her coworkers seemed to get a kick out of announcing who or who they weren't doing that particular week. Sometimes she enjoyed that kind of camaraderie, but right now? Not so much when the table was turned on her.
"I'm not... lying about it," she defended, even though that was exactly what she was doing. Once again, having coworkers who were so out in the open about their escapades when she was definitively on the opposite end of that spectrum caused her to be squeamish. "I'm just not giving you the highlight reel. Because there isn't one," she cleared her throat, "Much of one."
In a perfect world, Austen wouldn't mind the idea of dating or even just flirting. The chase, the mind games, it was all up her alley. "Oh my god, you cannot seriously be flirting with me and talking about wanting to get into Jenny's pants at the same time." Still, she couldn't help the tinge of pink that flushed across her cheeks. Maybe Moosh did have a way with words that she wasn't giving him credit for. "We're black, not telepathic."
The day had been pleasant, if aggressively normal, thus far. The Richie customers had all behaved, Bunny had made a few good sales of their own initiative, andβbest of allβwhat theyβd thought would be another difficult shift with Austen had turned outβ¦manageable. (Bunnyβs word for βpretending not to need the stockroom when Austen was right thereβ.)
But the box of cookies placed neatly on the front counterβfollowed by Austen herself initiating conversationβwas a real plot twistβ¦and one that Bunny did not think they could navigate while keeping their trademark cool.
(If, of course, βkeeping their trademark coolβ in the past had included noticeably avoiding Austen at every turn.)
There was no exit. There was only Austen. Bunny pretended that they were not more intimidated by Austen than they had been by any other person on the face of the earth.
βDid I, like, do something to you?β she was saying.
Oh shit.
Had she done something? β¦Technically no. Had she βsaid something stupidβ? Definitely not. The problem with Austen was that those things never could have happened with her. Bunny didnβt dislike herβthey feared her.
The cookies were vanilla. The flavor of classic perfection. β¦This conversation was going to be hell, wasnβt it?
Bunny let out a long breath, half to collect their thoughts and half to fill the space. It had been very obvious, in hindsight, that theyβd been trying not to go near her.
Then Bunny found themself turning to face the wall.
βIβm not avoiding you right now, by the wayβIβm embarrassed as fuck,β they said. βI shouldβve just asked for different shifts.β
They turned back around; their cheeks, they could feel, were pink.
βThis is extremely nice, and I can tell that you put effort into having this conversation right,β said Bunny. βI just hate telling you that itβs something as common as me being intimidated by you. I mean, how many people tell you that on the daily?
βEverything that comes from you is pristine, powerful, perfect.β Bunny leaned their elbows on the counter and placed their head in their hands. βAnd I gotβI getβthrown off. I think I have to keep up. Then I think I canβt.β
Bunny looked up at Austen and added, βAre these honest to God for me?β
It wasn't often someone admitted, out loud and to her face, that they were intimidated by her. It wasn't that Austen didn't know could be... a lot at times. "Bunny..." The name came out gentler than she had meant it to. "You don't have to ask for different shifts. I kind of like having you around, even when you do that Mission Impossible duck-and-dodge thing."
Of course, it should have fed her ego a little bit. To hear someone so outwardly admit that, but seeing Bunny embarrassed and flustered really just made her insides melt a fraction. "And no," she shook her head before continuing, "nobody really tells me that. I get told I'm responsible or focused, but no one ever says I scare them."
"I don't need you to keep up," she said, leaning on the counter. "I'm not like, grading you or anything." Besides, it's not like she was a manager. It's not like she could fire them if they did slack anywhere Austen didn't succeed at. And she knew it was hard to keep up with her, given her trusty little friend named Ritalin.
At Bunny's next question, Austen let out a laugh, the corners of her lips beaming up. "Yes, they're for you," she confirmed, nudging the box toward them. "Nothing says bribery like desserts, right?"
πππππππ π ππ: you. yes, you! ππππ: just an ordinary girl πππππ: mariner's tavern
Margot has been trying to be less of a recluse lately. Trying being the key word. She thought moving back to her hometown would be the safest bet, that the shock and wonder of seeing her face around would fade within a week or two. Boy had she been wrong. It was mostly Richies that seemed to try and align themselves with her. She guessed she was technically one of them now, which could only be so much of a bummer. She'd grown up with no money and, to put it bluntly, having money was much better. It bought more problems, sure, but it also bought her pretty much anything she wanted. That, and the ability to sit in a bar on a Wednesday night and not have to worry about showing up to work hungover in the morning. All of this to say, she was doing whatever she could to bring herself a sense of normalcy.
"You think the band is gonna be good tonight?" she asks the person next to her, not bothering to look up from her menu... baby steps, "The last one sucked."
Austen had promised herself she would play it cool tonight. That promise lasted, generously, fifteen seconds because two stools over at Mariner's was Margot Henderson. Sitting over there like a real person instead of a face plastered on Austen's bedroom wall, right above her desk next to the Harvard pennant Reggie Winslow had made her hang.
She didn't squeal, or even blink weird, a giant attempt at trying not to seem like a total psycho. Instead, she casually shifted a seat closer under the pretense of needing a better view of the Specials board, ignoring the tiny voice reminding her that she was a twenty-something year old and not a twelve year old girl.
When it was Margot that spoke to her, Austen nearly tipped over in her chair. She forced a feature of neutrality; the kind of look she shared with Moosh whenever he would say, well, anything. "Oh, depends on what scale you're grading on. Technical? Probably not. Overall vibe? Still probably not."
She continued, "Can't be any worse than the group from last week. I think their drummer was playing an entirely different song than the rest of the band." Her eyes flicked to the menu Margot was looking at, and then to Margot herself. Always the polite girl, she held a hand out. God, Jenny would geek if Austen told her she got to shake the Margot Henderson's hand. "Austen."
WHO:Β austen & @genuineloner WHAT:Β austen refuses to be ignored :/ WHEN:Β shift at ze bend together !
Austen wasn't watching Bunny. At least, that's what she told her when she caught them doing what could only be described as the world's fastest pivot the moment they noticed her in the stockroom doorway. It had been happening nearly every time they had a shift together. Ducking into aisles, the sudden urgent reorganizing of the CD displays, the way Bunny would glide past her without so much as a head nod.
Austen wasn't used to that. This was an entirely new phenomenon that she had never experienced. So, she did what any reasonable girl with high standards and a mild God complex would do:
Bake.
She found Bunny tucked behind the front counter and she sat the bakery box directly in front of them like an olive branch. "Okay," she said. Her voice was crisp, but not necessarily unkind. She leaned her elbows on the counter, eyes narrowed as she tried to assess if they would try to find a way into beelining it away from her.
"Did I like, do something to you?" Straight to business, always. "I mean, do I smell? Be honest. For real, though, I wanna make sure I didn't say something stupid," she said, letting out a small laugh.
Then, she tapped the container. "Vanilla." Safe choice. "They're not poisoned."
OPEN;
where: mariner's tavern who: sloane & open
"Seriously? I can't escape you people anywhere?" Sloane blew a breath out of her mouth, a sigh that landed somewhere between frustration and defeat. It was one of those days that she afforded herself the opportunity to leave early, left someone else in charge of counting the money, and booked it the hell out of Bend Records... The downfall of slow nights, though, is anyone else getting cut off the schedule too. Atlantic Landing really wasn't big enough for all of them. "Well! Come on," She took a few steps toward the door, swung it open like she owned the place. "And you better buy me a drink - that's your price for entry, and don't think the Stones' won't enforce it."
"Wow," Austen breathed out as she walked closer to the other. "How about a hello Austen, nice to see you too." But, when Sloane opened the door, the younger of the two was quick to take it as an invitation. She slid into the tavern, a place that she never quite cared to come to. Sticky floors? Drunk men? Consider her not over the moon about it, but there were only so many places in Atlantic Landing to spend evenings in.
"If the Stones want to enforce anything, they're going to have to put it in writing. Preferably double spaced, in Times New Roman," she pointed out, just glancing over her shoulder at Sloane as she waited for her to catch up. "But fine." And Sloane should have taken it with great fervor that Austen conceded so fast. Mostly because alcoholic beverages were nothing compared to anything intellectual.
She slid onto a stool, one hand already propped on her chin. "What does the great Sloane Bender drink?"
Moosh stares at her dumbly, as he is wont to do. From the way Austen's standing, though, he can at least tell he's fucked up, bare minimum. It can't be the following her into the bathroom thing - she's already been mad about that. Must be that he mentioned her little habit.
"I'm just asking if you're okay. It's not like anyone else is in here - trust me, I watched."
It's meant to be comforting. Really, it is.
Despite her frustration and clear lack of desire to help Moosh do anything, let alone wingwoman his pursuit of Jenny, Austen does give him some clues; dutiful as ever (a good boy at heart, truly), Moosh perks up and listens, trying his best to take mental notes. Effort, yeah. Lapdog, sure. Austen's staunch rebuking of his intentions give him pause, though, doing nothing but fueling his grin further.
"Dunno' what a mission statement is, but you're wrong. Girls love when you put them first, trust me." As though he might know more about what girls want than, like, you know, a girl. "Like, what're you icking out about? Don't you want to be taken care of when you're sleeping with someone?"
At this, Moosh's brows start to furrow with real concern - he reaches out, a hand cupping gently around the lower part of Austen's bicep. "You are being taken care of. Right?"
Not the point.
"I promise I like more about Jenny than the idea of sleeping with her. I'm not like, totally sex-focused." Just affectionate. And also interested in sex. A fine way to be, he thinks.
"Moosh." The name came out flat and sounded less like a person's name more than it was a warning sign. But, she didn't yank her arm away when his hand cupped lightly around her bicep, but her eyes did flick down to it, as if she were seriously contemplating if this was the moment she would finally die of male-induced fatigue.
"I'm not 'icking out'." She was. "I"m reacting like a normal person whose brain isn't marinating in ganja fumes." Austen slipped her arm back a few inches, gentle but decisive. The touch wasn't unwelcome, but it was decisive from there that she wasn't going to lean into it. Not if Jenny already had dibs.
"And we are so not talking about who is or isn't 'taking care of me', because I very much enjoy keeping what's left of my dignity. Haven't you heard kiss, don't tell?" More like Austen didn't have anything to tell. So, what if she was a total prude?
She crossed her arms, but the softness in it said that maybe there was the tiniest hint of pity behind it. Or hope. Or both. "You could totally bag Jenny. Word of advice? Compliment her hair next time you share a shift. She goes crazy for that." Well, she was pretty sure she did. Guys always came in to compliment Jenny, but Austen always interpreted that she liked the hair comments a little bit more than the pretty face comments.
ππππππ πππππππ π ππ: @immaculatcs ππππ: first (and probably last) date! πππππ: java the hut
Dates were never the most comfortable thing for Spencer, even when his average was significantly higher than it is now. There was a fine balance back then, of being Spencer Beckett: High School Hockey Star and Spencer: Potential Boyfriend Material. For as much of an asshole as he could be, he was never that way with the girls he dated. He leaned closer to who he felt he really was underneath of it all, but showing the most sensitive parts of himself felt so terrifying that it was nearly impossible. Not to mention that most of the girls he went out with expected the former and were quickly let down when his bravado slipped. So, it was no wonder that none of his relationships had ever lasted all that long.
Austen is pretty much exactly his type. Smart and beautiful, sure of herself in a way that he'd only ever pretended to be. He admired how put together she was, the respect she commanded without cruelty, her sometimes blunt honesty. It had taken awhile for him to build up the confidence to ask her out and he'd nearly swallowed his tongue when she actually said yes. Spencer had been sure he was setting himself up for a rejection, so this whole thing was a pleasant surprise.
"Hey," there's a shy smile on his lips when he sees Austen enter the coffee shop and he's instantly on his feet to pull her chair out, "I already ordered. I got you a uh- hot vanilla latte, that's your drink, right?" He'd filed that into his memory the last time he'd run out to grab everyone coffee, but now he's starting to think it was a little presumptuous of him to assume she'd want the same thing every time. "But if you want something different I can go get it. No big deal."
Austen Winslow did not date. Anyone who had ever tried to cross the gates of the Winslow home knew that Reggie Winslow wasn't letting his daughter out unless it was for school or an extracurricular. Dating was for after university. Now that Austen was a graduate? Well, she had decided to make room in her schedule to pencil in just one lucky person.
Enter Spencer Beckett. Everything about him screamed potential partner. And as crazy as Austen knew it was to be thinking that far ahead, she knew what she wanted and dating multiple people to wittle that down? That was not in her playbook. Instead, all potential suitors had to meet Austen Winslow's Hierarchy of Needs.
One, must be handsome in the way that Hugh Grant is. Check.
Two, must have suitable genetic traits to pass down to future lineages. Check. Check.
Three, must be able to to hold a conversation to Austen's own caliber. Ch-
Well, that's what the first date was for.
"Chivalry? In this economy?" Austen teased lightly as she dropped into the seat he held out. "I have to say Beckett, color me impressed." Then she noticed the latte. The latte for her. He remembered something like that?
"Hot vanilla latte," she parroted as she pulled it closer, the steam already warming her fingers. "Yeah, that's... that's totally right." There was a tiny flicker behind her eyes, an involuntary softening that she immediately tried to stuff down. She couldn't let herself be seduced by something as simple as a coffee order, but still? Did many remember such a thing?
Of course, the Winslow girl had an agenda for this date. She knew Spencer went on plenty of dates, that wasn't exactly a secret, but yet she couldn't help but ask, "So, what made it my turn in your little black book? Run out of numbers to call?"
Stella's blushing at this point, though she doesn't really care about the fact that she's most likely tomato red. She'd never gotten this sort of reaction from Austen back in school. Really, she'd never really gotten this sort of reaction at all. Her ex-bandmates had treated her writing as lackluster, despite the fact that they'd taken to performing more than a few of her songs. Taken the credit for them, too.
"Thank you," she slips her hands around her journal, pulling it protectively against her chest, "Hey, Moosh and Rhys are pretty good, you know? Maybe they're right about keeping it to being a two-man sort of thing, but I'd at least like a shot, you know?"
"I'm proud of me, too," she admits, a little sheepishly, "I used to feel like I wasn't really good at anything, especially writing and stuff. Turns out I'm not half bad."
Austen leaned forward, her elbows on the table, the way she used to when she needed Stella to focus and not drift off into whatever daydream she was cultivating that week.
"I mean, look, I'm not saying Moosh and Rhys aren't talented," she added with a dry flick of her hand, "but let's not pretend that they're the sole proprietors of musical genius around here. You wanting a piece of the pie? It's only human." And something bloomed in Austen's chest to think of Stella actually having a goal towards something.
Her fingers drummed against her knee, a habit she had picked up during study halls and SAT prep nights. Something to calm her when she didn't have her handy dandy little pills nearby. "I'm just glad you're finally starting to see what I've been seeing since you were seventeen."
Then, with a small shake of her head, she wiped off whatever little bit of pizza grease was left on her pants. "Speaking of Moosh and Rhys..." she trailed off, already standing up from her spot.
"I might need to go make sure they haven't lit the building on fire yet. They've been too quiet."
Moosh eyes Austen as she breezes by him, the small part of his brain that's able to analyze situations working overtime to figure out why she's being so cagey.
"I didn't stalk you," he denies as he flinches back from the droplets, though he sort of did. "And it's not just about Jenny. I mean, it's mostly about her." Moosh's eyes go a little dreamy then, his mind drifting momentarily before he refocuses. "But also because you've been super tense lately and I was wondering if everything was okay. Like, you know."
Moosh mimes popping a pill.
"Okay okay."
In no life would Moosh be able to keep a houseplant alive but it's an amusing scenario all the same. Are they living together? Does Jenny come over to water it or does Moosh go to her place? Do they make out?
Whoops. He's getting off track again.
"Uh, I dunno. Just like, if you think I have a chance. I mean, I know you're gonna' say I don't have a chance, but like, you'd just be saying that because you don't think I have one. I mean like, do I have a chance, you know?" He eyes Austen, trying to decide if he can get away with lying. Probably not. "My intentions are what they are with everyone I sleep with. Make them cum first."
He grins.
"...You realize you just said that out loud, right?" Austen pushed herself off the counter with her palms, her spine straightening as if bracing herself against the secondhand embarrassment. "Like, with your mouth."
She was just about to give him a talking to about publicly mentioning her little pill problem and about how he totally was stalking her, even if it was under the guise of a different girl. When he mentioned Jenny's name again, Austen knew she was in a world of trouble. He totally wasn't going to give this up.
Austen sighed, long and bordering on theatrical. "You're lucky she finds idiots charming." And probably because they were easy to manipulate.
This wasn't the first time someone had tried to inquire her about Jenny Wiley's love life or how to woo her. Something, something, Austen was always the Madonna and never the whore.
She folded her arms against her chest, but she was less defensive this time. More resigned than anything. "Here's the thing. Jenny likes effort. Someone who will basically be her lapdog. However," she lifted one finger. "You cannot lead with your... mission statement. Just gross." Okay, prude.
Her gaze flicked down to the grin spreading across his face.
"Seriously, nobody ever wants to hear that again. And Jenny's not like, a slut." Well, okay, Austen had heard that term thrown around in Jenny's direction a time or two, but it didn't mean that it was necessarily true. Despite being as squeamish as she was when relations were brought in, Austen was totally hip on the 411 when it came to female empowerment.
"So, if you want my help, maybe focus on things that are not so...? Physically based."
HONESTY HOUR IS OFFICIALLY LIVE!
got a question about your bestie's top six ? did you move down a spot ? move up ? just really curious why certain people made the cut ? now's the time to lock in and ask ! p.s. you can totally use this as another way to harass your co-workers either on or off anon !
members, if you would like to participate in honesty hour, please reblog this on your account(s) ! please be sure that if you reblog to actively be participating and sending asks to other members as well !
