bloodbuzz.

julia 'jules' stanton i still owe money to the money to the money i owe i never thought about love when I thought about home the floors are falling out from everybody i know

[julesstantcn]

CHARACTER INFORMATION:

FULL NAME: Julia ‘Jules’ Stanton

PRONOUNS AND GENDER: Cis woman, she/her

SEXUALITY: Bisexual

OCCUPATION: High school custodian

TL;DR:

trigger warnings: death

roswell native

her dad was a middle school principal, and her mom ran this little apothecary shop downtown, which is where Julia spent every second of every day she was allowed to

Shortly after they settled in, her mom started to act?? strange?? She was erratic and forgetful. No one thought too much of it until she accidentally burned down the apothecary shop and couldn't explain what had happened. They took her to the doctor to find out that at the age of 32 she had early onset dementia. Deterioration was pretty fast after that – by the time she died six years later, she had stopped remembering the strangers in her house.

jules took it super hard and spent a lot of time blaming her dad even though there was literally nothing that man could've done. she started acting out, and he kind of just thought she would grow out of it.

she did not – current miscreant and a MENACE but she’s Trying

former gifted kid burnout n now she is a high school custodian bc life comes at you fast

very much a ‘just go with it’ kind of person, even if ‘just going with it’ kind of makes her the architect of her own destruction? big fan of blaming the universe for her problems, even if it’s almost always a three-step trace back to ‘the consequences of her own actions.’

FUN DUMB STATS:

Birthday: January 27th, 1988

Zodiac Sign: Aquarius ☉ | Taurus ☽ | Sagittarius➶  

MBTI: ENFP  

Enneagram: Type 7w8

Temperament: Melancholic

Moral Alignment: Chaotic neutral

Element: Earth

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

my life for a ride or die friendship

neighbors at tripp’s

drinking buddies

former coworkers (she has worked? kind of everywhere and was equally terrible at them all)

ESTABLISHED CONNECTIONS:

tbd

VIBES:

pinterest | playlist

[pcrasitic]

being raised in a tin can , three boys all on top of each other for well over a decade didn’t have him standing a chance when it came to manners . forgoing every please and thank you for pissing contest after pissing contest and raising each other belches so loud they shook the window panes . it carries over in clear fashion , the way his gob smacks around the burger . he shrug’s jules’ sentiment off . if he didn’t mean it , he wasn’t going to fake it . the glass bottle toss is one that catches him off guard , fumbling to land his burger safely back on the plate, and barely catch the thing the before it hits the ground and they’ve got a bigger mess on their hands . “ i make no promises . “ what he means is thank you . “ if i’m honest , i’d kinda like ta see that . hey , while we’re at it - ya got any mustard over there, stanton ?? “

[julesstantcn]

she rewards froggy's lack of promises with the eyeroll she decides it deserves, even if the sincerity is marred by her lingering grin. there is, she think, ketchup in her hair, but that's a problem for a julia who is going to wake up far earlier than she means to in recompense for the last beer. the beer that always feels like a good idea and negates the sting of the tab, but comes to collect at dawn. she makes her best attempt with a single-ply napkin, which may as well have been no attempt at all. with a shrug, she balls it up, and pegs it in his direction for good measure. predictably, it misses, and she pulls a face as it lofts uselessly onto the bench beside him. "depends. you got fries? we operate on the barter system, cannon, and you've already used your free pass," she says.

without waiting for a proper answer, she picks up the mustard bottle and her own plate with what was left of her own fries. jules settles in across from him as though she were properly invited, nudging the mustard over to froggy's side without extracting her toll. "you ever been hit with a bottle? shit hurts. i had seizures for like, three weeks. i don't know if i'm even technically legally allowed to drive in the good state of new mexico anymore."

[julesstantcn]

strikercannon​:

a sharp snort of laughter shot from striker’s wide nostrils . “ there ain’t no way i can drop twenty bucks on a new tire . what do you think i am , made of money ?? “ striker was perpetually in a bad spot — his wages were all but guzzled up a minute after they were handed to him thanks to booze , gas , repairs on the trailer and the occasional box of condoms . the expense may have seemed frivolous , but you’ve seen him ; the money dropped on contraception was a gift to the entire population , keeping the curse of any more cannons away from spoiling what little allure roswell clung onto . 

he had attempted other jobs when the brothers first left tennessee . initially he had tried to work at a laundromat , but all those new-fangled machines baffled his little brain . then he had tried to be a general handyman , but working for himself was a recipe for disaster — he would sleep through any and all alarms , misplace his logbooks , and his itchy fingers made it impossible not to rush out of a client’s home with heavy pockets filled with small , valuable belongings . the ranch was where he was most comfortable , and guillermo at least understood him — striker was a strange thing , and having that element of grace had been enough for him to maintain his position at puhlman’s for the last decade . at the scar his lips tightened , and as though they were at some show and tell he tugged down the collar of his shirt , revealing the top of a mass of scars that largely remained hidden beneath the cotton of his shirt . “ humans . “ he responded , deadpan , before responding , “ i guess there are shitty types of all creatures , hm ?? but i can promise you that my bertha ain’t gonna go bitin’ you or stormin’ you . she’s a sweetheart . she only nibbles , and that’s if she really wants an apple , “ a small glance at his scars was enough to plunge him into silence for a moment . not many people had ever glanced upon them , hidden beneath his rotation of plaid shirts , refusing to swim with friends or fully undress in the arms of a woman to keep them shrouded . potato was shoved in his mouth to excuse the quiet until he was choked with a beat of laughter , covering his lips with a splayed hand . “ yeah , i use a lasso . used t’ ride bulls down at the rodeo , too . john wayne is a softie compared to some of the people i used t’ run with . cotton-eye randy would’ve had the guy shakin’ in his cuban heels , “ 

.

she let out a huff of laughter, shaking her head. "if you're that hard up cannon, all ya gotta do is ask. not me, but someone will like, definitely help you out," she said, teasing lilt to her voice. sometimes looking at striker was like looking into a funhouse mirror. julia was notorious for borrowing money that the lender would never see again – admittedly, her list of donors had vastly whittled down in the last decade. the difference was, she thought, that she asked. shamelessly and often, she asked. wasn't hard to see where her money went – her seat at the wild pony was hers for a reason.

her eyes flickered to the scars marring his chest. "worst beast of 'em all," she grumbled. "got one on the back of my skull. this woman in carlsbad cracked me over the head with a beer bottle when i was nineteen. bitch of it all was i'm the one who ended up on probation because i was underage in a bar. two years washing police cruisers with dawn dish soap, and as far as i know, she didn’t have to deal with a goddamn thing." it was a bad quality, she thought – the way she was always quick to counter something heavy with a something light. not that the incident had been one of levity at the time – but she delivered it like was, because that's what she always did. julia stanton wasn't good at carrying heavy things, even if it was a dumb attempt to balance the scales, just a little. but that wasn't how balance worked – one side would always sink when the other was delivered with a 'no big deal, it never is' tone. so when striker's eyes were cast down and the lebaron went quiet, she let it. she didn't ask hard (important) questions – she rarely did. maybe it was because of her own unwillingness to provide answers about things that felt dark – but maybe that was too generous a reason.

the laugh that bubbled out of julia at the revelation surprised even her, nearly dropping her own fries in the process. the lebaron floor claimed a few, and she would mourn their loss in three to six months when she found them again. "fuck off, you don't actually know someone named cotton-eye randy," she said through small peels of laughter that indicated he absolutely knew a cotton-eye randy. "show me. not randy – the lasso thing. fuck, maybe randy – i still have questions about that. how to use a lasso or whatever. never know when the janitor things is gonna break bad and i’ll need a new gig."

[pcrasitic]

location: crashdown cafe open:to all

the sight’s less than ideal for anyone trying to enjoy a meal . froggy hunched in a booth quasimodo style , jaw unhinged around a burger .  the bun’s squished in order to get at least half of it in his gob in one single bite . you’d swear he was starved , and truthfully he probably was . manners cease to exist in his world , and certainly so at three in the morning after a shift . distracted by the particular dryness of the patty , he hastily reaches for the bottle of ketchup . god this place was stingy — the glass bottle nearly on empty . it takes a few hard thwacks against the back of his palm and ketchup as it covers his plate and more than a few globs of the condiment fly over his table and across to the one in front of him . a nonchalant “ oops , “ slips out between chews . hardly sounding the least bit apologetic as the back of his hand mops a dribble of grease from his chin .

[julesstantcn]

it was the sort of chain of events that would've led julia's father to ask the very pointed question of 'were you raised in a barn.' while she had prominently inherited his lack of tact, she was fresh out of the bar, and had a lack of sobriety to show for it. a mercy, as it turned out, because as her eyes traced the ketchup trail like she were tracking the footprints of a scooby-doo villain, she landed on a cannon. which meant the answer to the question her father would have asked would've been closer to a yes than a no. "oops," she repeated, brows furrowed as she picked up a french fry that had, only moments ago, not been covered in ketchup and popped it into her mouth. she hadn't escaped the fallout personally either, the offending red blending too easily into her black shirt for her to make it a thing. "least sound like you mean it," she grumbled. "heads up," she said, gracelessly lofting her slightly more full ketchup bottle in his direction. if he didn't catch it, she'd consider them even. if he did – well, she wasn't renowned for her propensity for taking the high road. "any of that ends up over here, i'm breaking it over your head. quit bein' so messy," she warned, though there was a total lack of any kind of conviction in it –especially because her fries he had kind of improved the situation of her meal in the process.

[ofturmoil]

where: an elevator, anywhere you want when: around 10 a.m. on monday with: open

He is not sure what possessed him to pick up a call from his uncle, especially at ten in the morning — it could be sleep deprivation or the fact that he believed he’d blocked this exact number — yet it becomes clear that he hadn’t as soon as he picks up the phone. 

Gabriel sighs the moment he puts his ear to the cell, and his mind begins running: twelve, four, six… It’s 3 a.m. in Sydney right now. It’s not surprising, of course, he has a talent of hearing the hours in his voice. “I told you to leave me alone,” there’s no anger or infuriantion in his voice – only disappointment and weariness. He receives these phone calls every six months, regular as clockwork – he should’ve expected it. “You need to call someone else. I can’t help you,” Gabriel doesn’t allow for a pause to hear the answer before he ends the conversation.

For a short moment, he had forgotten he’s not alone. He throws them a pointed look at the person next to him and raises his eyebrows, as if asking a silent question of “Why are you staring?”. At the exact moment, just because it was the luckiest day of all, he hears the elevator creak and stop. He attentively looks at the buttons, now all unlit, as if there’s a chance he could fix it. “You must be fucking kidding me,” he whispers to himself.

[julesstantcn]

as a practice, julia doesn't fuck with elevators. she would happily hike up a dozen flights before she willingly committed herself to the tiny mechanical box – but sometimes the stars align to say 'face your fears,' and she'll spend the entire time with her hand on the rail and her knees locked in preparation for a freefall. in a way, she's grateful for the conversation taking place inches away from her – her own little in flight entertainment, and a welcome distraction. but then he gives her a look, and the thing that only seconds ago felt like respite is suddenly grating. one more point in the 'elevators are her personal hell' column.

when he speaks, her features land at the intersection of annoyed and amused. "you're –" she starts, ready to tell him he's the one having a private conversation in a public space, then they're stopped. as quickly as it arrived, her irritation dissipates. her breath catches, and her eyes instinctively drift back to the 'last inspected' sticker. last year, but she doesn't know if that's out of date or protocol for what she's now forever decided is a death trap. "fuck, fuck, fuck," she whispers, as though it's suddenly the only word she knows. "fuck. that's not suppose to happen, right? is there a fucking... i don't know, a call button or something?" she asks, unwilling to abandon the corner that she's deemed safe to join him in leering at the unlit numbers.

[julesstantcn]

DIARIES OF DIRTBAG | JULIA STANTON PLAYLIST

google your own leaked nudes

nothing good ever happens at the goddamn thirsty crow - father john misty

julia - yellow ostrich

we begged 2 explode - jeff rosenstock

die hippie die - no parents

dickhead blues - kara jackson

love is a black hole ! - martin luke brown

only nice when i'm high - lauren morrow

google your own leaked nudes - clowncore

the night josh tillman came to our apt. - father john misty

i slept with all your mothers - harriet

south park waltz - natural rat

bloodbuzz - the national

debaser - pixies

[julesstantcn]

strikercannon​:

hands raised in surrender . as much as striker exercised a gentle hand , a softness that was often overlooked within most cowboys , there was a part of him that was incapable of lying about anything worth lying about . “ alright , missy , i’ll keep it cold , hard and truthful when speakin’ with you . my tires are on their last legs as is , “ with the car door open the male swung up into the passenger seat . it was a whole lot fancier than his ford pickup , a car older than him and spluttering on its last choking gasoline breaths . whenever he took a seat on his own front bench there was the strange lingering scent of chinese takeout , manure and grot , punctuated by a collection of month-old parking fines and paperwork that he would look at soon , if you just stopped mithering him about it !! 

“ yeah , i like it , “ striker responded , open mouthed , as his tongue was loaded with a mash of half-chewed potato , spewing out across his jeans and the dashboard that was now home to his shredded workboots , “ it’s the only thing i’m any good at for a start , an’ i love cows . i could tell you anythin’ you wanted about them . this right here is country boy heaven , “ without an education it seemed manual labour was all striker could busy his time doing . what else would he do , now that he was on the wrong side of forty without a qualification to his name , with a roof over his head that shuddered in strong wind and , every few months , required a tarp or a bucket to catch leaking rainwater . “ an’ they ain’t so bad . i guess they look like brutes from the outside but they’re gentle , they’re like big dogs , and i’ve existed more or less in one piece since i started workin’ at puhlman’s . my boss looks after me , “ and striker was sure that , if it was possible , guillermo would pay him more , but with a struggling ranch on his hands he couldn’t blame the owner for handing out paychecks that barely covered gas . with another flurry of chip salt like a grease-scented first snowfall , he mumbled : “ i wish i could look out fer you half as much as you look out for me . “

.

“you better,” she cautioned, though her smile lingered. “hard no bullshit policy in the stanton household, for better or worse. did notice your front passenger tire’s lookin’ a little fucky – place just outside of town sells used tires for like, twenty bucks. they’re shit, but they’ll do it if you’re in a bad spot. if you need a ride, i need to replace the spare on the old girl, anyway. think i’m one pothole away from fucking up the ecosystem or whatever.” the tires were the least of the lebaron’s problems, but they were, if she played her cards right, the cheapest. 

she understood the sentiment – it didn’t seem like there was a place in roswell where she hadn’t worked, at least for a little while. waitressing, bartending, secretary, custodian. she hadn’t been particularly great at any of them – jules thought it had been a long, long time since she was great at anything. so she worked jobs so few wanted to do, because at least there was some security in just being there. she felt a smile threatening the corners of her lips, watching striker settle in in his element. only when he mentioned ‘big dogs’ did she chuckle, gripping her burger with one hand to free the other as she rolled up the leg of her jeans and awkwardly positioning herself to show the jagged scar on her calf. “that’s from a doberman,” she said, still half-chewing as she pointed to it. truly, it would’ve healed a lot better if she hadn’t tried to superglue it and waited for hours before accepting it wasn’t going to stop bleeding, and she found herself at roswell general with two dozen stitches. “dogs are brutes. but i’m trusting your judgment. kind of.” her conclusion was half-hearted, more to prove her earlier point.  “you ever have to use a lasso? or is that full on john wayne bullshit and just a movie thing?” she tucked her leg underneath her, carefully the most burned french fry from the cup. his quiet sentiment threw her again, and julia had to find a way to stop letting sincerity surprise her. if asked, she would’ve quickly said she doesn’t do shit for anybody, life’s a whole lot easier that way. she didn’t have time to unpack anything to the contrary. “giving me too much credit and you’re not giving yourself enough. you do just fine.” 

[lyranelson]

Closed Starter; @julesstantcn​​. Closed Location; don’t ask, don’t tell. 

Despite the sizes too large shirt currently adorning her frame, the rise and fall of Lyra’s chest was hard to miss, even if the deep breaths bordered on silent. Her back is pressed flush against the cold brick of whatever building they’d thankfully come across, boots clasped within her left hand while the right rested just over her heart, as if it could soothe the pounding taking place there. It wasn’t the first time she had run like this and not just from the cops, but it was something she had been unprepared for the terrain had surely damaged her feet in a way that would leave them matching her hands by the time she had finished cleaning herself up. “You so owe me a foot massage after this.” Her voice is low as she finally turns her face and attention to her companion, hoping to avoid catching the attention of anyone else who may still be lingering nearby but unable to resist taunting the other. “You could have at least warned a girl to wear some more sensible shoes.” As if she owned any. 

[julesstantcn]

This was when she realized it had been a winter of complacency. Whole months where Julia hadn't had to run like her life depended on it, because no one in the state of New Mexico would be as disappointed to hear from her as her former parole officer would have been. She pressed her back to the wall beside Lyra, finally giving herself the chance to catch her breath – though she'd positioned herself between the other and whoever happened to pass by. Worse came to worse, at least she had proper shoes on, which made her look a whole lot less suspicious. And, she'd had to begrudging note, Lyra was faster. No sense in both of them going down when one (with a very long, well documented history of trespassing) would suffice. Julia was by no means a martyr, but she was, in her way, practical. She let out an breath of laughter at Lyra's insistence, paired with the eye roll she decided it deserved. "What did you think we were doing? Mimosa brunch?" She asked, brow raised in pointed question as her grin curved her lips. "When the fuck did they install alarms?" There was genuine incredulity in her voice as she shook her head, examining her own boots as though it were a choice, and not her being half-bent over from exertion. "Fuck. I need a drink. You need a drink?"

[julesstantcn]

strikercannon​:

like an obedient puppy striker followed alongside jules . the promise of food drowned out anything else — the splinters in his fingertips, the distant mooing of cows within the barn , the wind whipping his cheeks red — like a stray without the promise of its next meal . living with barely enough to tuck a dollar inside his boot for safekeeping meant that he was dictated by the kindness of others , mostly strangers ; often his rugged appearance meant that generosity was a virtue and , more often than not , he was left trawling through garbage for fresh-ish produce . “ fries too ?? what’d i do to deserve all this ?? “ today , it seemed , was his lucky day , his good deed of the day ( preventing jules from the fate of thundering hooves ) had been immediately payed off with the waft on the wind of some damn good food . 

“ i ain’t no liar !! my mama told me never to lie unless i’m savin’ somebody’s feelings . “ and he lived his life by the values his mother taught him . a real , true , southern gentleman ; sure , that meant that some of his actions — shrugging off his shirt to cover a puddle to ensure a lady’s feet didn’t get wet — were a little outdated , but he tried to be as good a man as he possibly could with the resources handed to him . as they approached the vehicle his footsteps picked up to double-speed . “ jus’ the same old shit , yeah . it’s kind of an all-weather job . can’t jus’ shy away from shearin’ the sheep ‘cus of a little bit of wind . “ that explained the watercolor wash of unexplained bruises constantly mudding his complexion . “ you picked a mighty day t’ become a food delivery service . “ 

.

she never knew how to answer those kind of questions, even it they were rhetorical. the thought ‘just wanted to do something nice’ rang insincere, even if it were true. something about that kind of sentiment sounded wrong coming from julia – like bait that should have a hook just a little further up the line. instead, she shrugged. “strays gotta look out for each other,” she said, giving him a smile that was almost warm, if not a little too wide. jules was glad for the seemingly merciless wind and it giving her hair a partially face-obscuring life of its own, despite her best (useless) attempts to sweep it to the side.

she chuckled, shaking her head as she tugged open the lebaron door, trying to keep the goddamn thing from swinging off against the elements. “if you ever lie to spare my feelings, i’m putting a knife in your tire,” she threatened, idly. though she’d never been the type of person that anyone really tried to spare. she supposed it was a consequence of a lifetime of taking no shit and giving a ton. it seemed fair, and she was too old to kick up a fuss over it. thirty-four wasn’t the age to start demanding to be treated with kid gloves. she climbed in, carefully leaning over the takeout bag to pop the lock on the passenger door. “tell me about it,” she grumbled as she rifled through the bag to separate the orders. “hope you’re planning a decent tip.” she was kidding – but her delivery fell deadpan as she focused on the task at hand. with as much subtlety as julia was capable of, she dumped half her own cup of fries into the bottom of the bag before she handed it over to striker. she couldn’t help it – he seemed too goddamn touched by the gesture for her to do anything else. she turned in her seat, pulling her knees to her chest as she made careful work of unwrapping her own burger. “you like it? the whole ranch hand thing? seems fuckin’ masochistic, if you ask me. putting your life in the hands of a buncha cattle, all that.” 

[natehackett]

"i like to think i'm enemy-free, but i think teenagers just have it out for anyone who isn't within their little friend group," nate shuddered when he remembered just how awful the incident was. "i'm surprised i didn't quit the second that went down. i am pretty sure i lost the last bit of my dignity that day, though." he laughed as soon as she had said that janitorial work was the life that every little girl dreamed of. the same could be said about working at a laundromat: how luxurious and glamorous a life it was... not. "how'd you land the gig? as soon as i rolled into roswell i looked for every 'help wanted' sign placed in shop windows. i knew the laundromat was the one after i had seen the attendant who preceded me just reading behind the desk. when i realized i could get some comic reading in, while getting paid, i decided to go ahead and take the offer. stupid teens and all."

usually nate would have looked down upon such behavior, but when it was framed in a vigilante narrative he couldn't help but admire the woman. "how strange... i've heard there's been an outbreak of flat tires in the city," he shrugged, "maybe they all just happened to run over the same pothole on their way to school." if it had been up to nate, he would have hidden a fish in each of their trunks to exact revenge in an eye-for-an-eye fashion. "are they still trying to find the phantom tire-slasher, or has the crisis been averted?" it was no surprise nate was a sucker for a good story-line. that's why he got hooked to reading comics in the first place. he had to know what happened in the next issue, and the next one, and the next one, and... rinse and repeat until he had a collection of comics large enough to fill out his parent's garage. "or, will i have to wait to find out what happens to our vigilante hero?"

he waved one hand in the air, his head shaking profusely, "ah, shucks, i'm no hero. just your average laundromat attendant." nate finished filling the clear bag, and walked back towards the customer to hand it to her. "here you go, this should keep your laundry clean for the next few weeks," there were at least thirty pods in the bag; it gave nate a sense of relief knowing the teens had wasted their money without the return of ruining one of the washers. "me? this is the first laundromat i've worked in, but i was a hardcore lawn mower back in reno, nevada. then, in albuquerque, i was moonlighting as an appliance repairman. now, i'm here."

[julesstantcn]

her eyebrows inched up in genuine surprise. "no one, and i mean absolutely no one is enemy-free, my new friend. at this very moment there's a dude sitting in his house wishing terrible things on you for cutting him off in traffic or buying the last case of the beer he'd been looking forward to for his entire day," she said, surprise lingering in her features, even if a smile curved her lips. so maybe it wasn't true – maybe julia was just someone who made enemies and considered her experience to be universal. equally likely a possibility, she thought. she chuckled, shaking her head. "god, i miss self-respect. it's like, you feel it when the last bit leaves your body," she lamented. "nah. you're stronger than them. if you quit, they win. least that is what i tell myself for ten months of the year, five days a week ." there was a teasing lilt to her voice as she lifted her shoulders in a shrug.

then, she pulled a face, wincing as though she was looking straight into the sun. "oh god, i can't believe i'm saying this four minutes into our newfound friendship, but it was..." she paused, hanging her head in exaggerated shame and taking a breath. "a nepo hire. the worst, i know. my dad's the principal over at the middle school – nightmare – but after losing a few dozen jobs around town, he pulled some strings. truly my greatest shame, and i have a lot to be ashamed of," she said. "that was my moment – the last bit of self respect just... turning to mist and abandoning me forever." she grinned, leaning against the machine. "you into that? comics? went on this miles morales spider-man kick for like, three weeks because this kid kept leaving them on his desk at the school. then he finally sorted his shit out and got a backpack or whatever, and now i'll never know what happens after issue, like, six."

julia chuckled, nodding in easy agreement to his 'theory.' "now that you mention it, there is practically a crater just down the road from the high school," she hummed. she raised her hands in a gesture that landed somewhere between a shrug and a surrender. "never apprehended. as far as we know, they're still out there, screwdriver still in hand – not that they used a screwdriver. just guessing. but uh, if anyone comes sniffing around, i'll pass along your pothole theory."

she wrinkled her nose, letting out another breath of laughter. "maybe. but isn't that how the whole hero thing works? laundry attendant by day, saving the city at night? anyone who says they're a hero out loud is just an asshole.," she mused, extending a hand and accepting the bag with a mouthed 'thank you.' "reno, huh? what brings you to our sleepy little alien hamlet or whatever?"

[julesstantcn]

strikercannon​:

jules’ claim was right — by some miracle all three cannon brothers had made it to adulthood , by hell or high water . striker had run out of digits to count his broken bones by the age of fourteen and now , decades later , still returned home with questionable lumps , bumps and bruises , unable to recall their origin no matter how hard he stretched his brain . at least one of them should have been six feet deep a long time ago , and yet the trio continued to terrorise their little stretch of new mexico , whipping up innocent bystanders in the carnage . “ i ain’t gonna let ‘em stampede you !! “ was his foolproof response , as though he was some kind of pied piper when it came to cows and farmyard creatures , “ you tellin’ me you don’t trust me ?? “ the question hung in the wild air before his nose scrunched and he silently acknowledged that her lack of trust was probably right after all . 

with the strength of a ranch hand who slung foals into barns and hay bales over his shoulder , striker slammed against the rickety door with full force . a rusty squeak , a cloud of straw and dust ; in a spiral of sand and dirt flying up nostrils and into airways the door was well and truly wedged shut . with large hands , dirt settled into cracks and hairlines , the oldest cannon shackled shut the lock , allowing himself to slide down the door until his body collided with the ground . “ phew !! couldn’t have done that without you . “ his gratitude was genuine , a dimple twisting into his cheek following the gesture , “ now , what was that ‘bout a burger ?? “

.

jules rewarded his assurance with the eyeroll she thought it deserved. his comment got a good-natured scoff – though, she realized, she did trust striker. in the same sort of way she trusted anything, really – mostly, and right up until the moment she didn’t. this, she thought, was a good test of her often misplaced and misguided judgment. “course not,” she said, though her lingering expression said the exact opposite, right until she grinned. “i’d never tell you that.”

she let out an audible sigh of relief that she had not, indeed, been trampled to death or been swept up in whatever nightmare windstorm had been sent down to specifically punish her for wanting to do something nice. still, she stepped away for the door too quickly, as though they were about to deal with cows suddenly fast and desperate enough to come charging through the door. it had never been more apparent that while julia didn’t mind getting her hands dirty, she didn’t do farms. “liar,” she said, teasing lilt to her voice as she dusted her hands off on her jeans. “c’mon, it’s in the lebaron. got you fries and everything. don’t say i never gave you nothing.” her smile lingered, despite the hair flying into her face and the dirt kicking up all around them. “the hell you doing out in this anyway? or is this some typical day in the life of a ranch hand shit?”

[natehackett]

he gave her a smirk that was just as conspiratorial as her whisper. "how do i know that i'm not giving YOU any ideas?" nate's eyebrows raised up, however, his voice had returned to a normal level with the troublemakers out of sight. "let's just say it involved a dryer, a plastic bag full of dog shit, and high heat," he almost gagged at the thought. nate had been the attendant that day, but he shouldn't have been. he'd taken over one of his coworkers shifts when they called in sick; so much for being a good coworker. if he had known he'd spend three hours disassembling the drum of a dryer just to clean shit out of it, he would have just stayed home. "a custodian? we must share some of the same glamorous responsibilities, then," he could empathize with her: knowing just how hard it was to clean up after adults, he couldn't imagine how hard it was to pick up after children. "where did they even get the funds to buy whole tunas? the whole situation is fishy," he couldn't hold back a laugh at his own joke, it spilled out. "for real, though, that's commitment to the bit. did the school ever root out the culprits? your hazard pay should come directly from their wallets."

nate half-walked half-waddled back to the attendant's desk, keeping all the pods from spilling from his shirt. "we absolutely couldn't have you trying to carry all these bad boys home and your laundry, too," he kept his shirt extended with one hand and used his other hand to grab one of their clear, plastic bags that were used to return dry cleaned items to customers. he shoveled the pods in handful by handful as he continued to chat, "are you from roswell, or have you cleaned tuna from vents in other desert towns?"

[julesstantcn]

her eyes widened, the almost theatrical 'no' that passed her lips completely genuine. "jesus, it would be kinder to just put a hit out and be done with it," she started. "do you have enemies? is it safe to be here, or are those kids about to come back with reinforcements?" she cast a feigned weary glance to the door, her performance marred by the grin that settled at the corners of her lips. "oh, very glamorous. it's the life every little girl dreams of," she hummed. she was briefly stalled between laughing and rolling her eyes at what was, quite possibly, one of the worst puns she'd ever heard. at that reluctant intersection, she let out a breath of laughter and a half-hearted eye roll – but her smile lingered. "the school didn't, but i did. it's the weirdest thing," she started, clicking his tongue. "all six kids ended up with a flat tire, even though they weren't parked anywhere near each other. no one could figure it out. she lifted her shoulders in a 'what can you do' shrug. maybe it was too much – but the smell had been, truly, her version of hell. the principal had been talking suspensions and keeping them from walking at graduation if he caught the culprits – that seemed worse. but jules was not a bygones be bygones kind of girl – so ruining a few days felt like recompense enough. if karma was real, she could decide how to deal with julia stanton accordingly.

"think you're my hero," she said, half-watching him maneuver with a shirt loaded with laundry pods as she finally started shoving her own clothes into the machine. she closed the washing machine with more care than she usually exhibited – it seemed fair, both with an audience and the thing already having suffered a fair bit of abuse today. "roswell exclusive," she said, taking a tiny bow as though it truly were the greatest honor to have offered her custodial services to one town and one town only. "how about you? you saving laundry mats all over the country from a bunch of miscreants?"

[julesstantcn]

scth-cartcr​:

Seth isn’t going to question what this person has decided to do with the remainder of the drink that the drunk left behind. While it was free, he’s definitely not going to be surprised if it already had roofies or something more devious in it. Some eye drops in it, maybe. Or maybe that’s just the way that Seth’s mind works. Maybe normal people weren’t always assuming the worse about others or assuming that there’s always something behind a kind word. Seth’s hesitant to trust his own family, employees– the person didn’t matter. But add in the character of that drunk he’d kicked out and Seth’s not going near it. “If it’s paid for, I don’t give a shit what you do. But if you spill it, you’re cleanin’ it up,” he replies with a shrug. Seth’s general demeanor is why he’s not normally behind the bar. Instead, sitting in front of it, sometimes people forget that he’s the owner at all or never knew. “That’s your type, huh? Seems like you could do a bit better for yourself than that piece of shit. Unless you’ve got a concussion from him pushin’ you over or something. And if you did, don’t drink that. I’m not pickin’ your ass up off my floor and that shit’s dirty.”

.

She pulls a face of indignation – falling just short of a proper sneer – at the notion of leaving behind an entire day of cleaning just to find herself doing it again at her place of solace. “Lofty accusations you’re throwing around. A lady doesn’t spill,” she says, half-heartedly. For good measure, she neatly positioned the ill-begotten napkin over the tiny water ring her bottle left on the bar top. That one wasn’t her fault, anyway. She looks toward the door, face shifting into feigned wistfulness. “Kind of miss him already,” she laments, though the sentiment is marred by the involuntary eye roll. Jules chuckles, taking a sip from the glass to see exactly what it was she’d taken in recompense for having to listen to drunken ramblings of a stranger. As she suspected, it was standard bottom shelf, ‘barely not gasoline’ fumes fare. Her brows inch up, though she does glance at the floor to double-check his claim before look back at him. She clicks her tongue, wry grin curving her lips. “And who said chivalry was dead?” She hums. Julia shakes her head, hint of a smile lingering as she returns to the relative safety of her Shiner. “Oh no, my type is almost exclusively pieces of shit. It’s kind of an art. I don’t even think that one hit on me – any other day, my feelings would be hurt. But somewhere between telling me about how ex-wife left him over a gambling addiction and a potential alien invasion, he said something that may have been a compliment, so I’m letting it go. May have also been an insult, but that’s not my business.” She took a sip from her bottle, tilting her head. “So why did you toss him? General ‘on my nerves’ bullshit, or was he actually saying something coherent at the end there?”

[beneathoaktrees]

open starter @ the wild pony

Outside the Wild Pony, Seth’s working on a cigarette, his eyes glazing over as he thinks of all the shit he needs to get done tonight. He’s asked for the bar staff to do inventory at the end of the night, he’s got to order some new shit, and then there’s the fact that he’s gotta get end of month finances done before too long. Seth took business classes while he’d been in jail and while he was better known as a murderer back then, he’d picked up plenty to keep the Wild Pony afloat. It’d been years since he started owning the bar and things were going well for the most part.

What Seth hadn’t planned on his list was that as he walked in, there’s a drunkard getting a little too loud for Seth’s liking. Between the bartenders looking at him and the patrons of the bar turning their attention, the drunk is causing a scene. Seth grabs the man by the neck, pulling him off the barstool with all the force he can without him hitting the ground. He’s stumbling beside Seth, whining about the grip Seth’s tattooed hands have on him. And after sending him flying out the door, a grumble of, ‘get the fuck out,’ Seth’s now the center of attention a smirk on his face. It’s his favorite part of the job– kicking people out. “Need somethin’?” he asks, pausing to raise an eyebrow at the closest person. “Or was he not botherin’ you? Because he was botherin’ me.”

[julesstantcn]

She’s never considered the Wild Pony to be a place of peace. A place to unwind, maybe, but that isn’t the same, and the incomprehensible rambling to her right only reaffirms it. Jules considers making quick work of her Shiner before she says something that starts shit she doesn’t want to finish, but it’s mostly full, and the idea of slamming a perfectly good drink for the sake of avoiding confrontation makes her feel more like being confrontational. She turns, scanning the bar for the next best open seat, even though this one is her favorite – close enough to the door, and still well within the bartender’s easy eyeline. Pulling a face as she comes up empty and taking a dejected drink, her pouting is interrupted. It’s like the bar gods have heard her silent conundrum, and the man is out of her peripheral. For a second, she thinks he’s finally taken the fall from the stool he’s been threatening for the last fifteen minutes. When that’s not the case, she almost feels a bit of relief – her first aid skills are painfully limited to whatever has been earned from an entire adolescence of being an idiot without health insurance. 

The bar gods turn out to be less a deity, and more a dude, and that's kind of disappointing. Her hands go up in soft surrender at his question. "Not a thing," she says, hint of a smile curving her lips. Even if she did, the person who had just hefted a grown man up and out of the place wasn't going to be her first ask. She chuckles, raising her shoulders in a shrug. "Wasn't bothering me. But I'm not easily bothered." An easy lie, one that's entirely too transparent to anyone who saw the straight set of her spine, the too tight grin on the neck of her bottle, and the desperate gaze she'd thrown around for any excuse to be anywhere else. But her problem was removed, and she's almost immediately relaxed. Her eyes light up when she realizes that the man's most recent drink, seemingly untouched, survived with little damage. She leans unceremoniously to it, dragging the makeshift napkin coaster over with her index finger, drink in tow. She's sure it's going to be terrible – but she's equally sure she's order much worse deliberately, and on her own dime. "What? He bought it for me. Said as much before you graciously tossed him out." Another lie, this even less convincing than the first, but she delivers it with a grin that says as much.

[julesstantcn]

strikercannon​:

although the cannon boys didn’t expect charity , they sure as hell needed it . the most nutrition the eldest of the three was allowed was whatever roswell’s food establishments were tossing in the garbage after a long day ; if he was lucky , nebula eatery would have discarded a whole tray of organic , gluten-free pizza slices , and if he wasn’t ?? well , it was either a rumbling belly or a too-far-gone apple core for dinner . it was thanks to their extensive network of friends , colleagues and acquaintances keeping an eye out for the boys that he was even able to remain upright at all . meals from the crashdown — although far from fancy dining by any means — was a once-in-a-blue-moon occurrence ; how he’d dreamed of those dripping burgers , those grease-laden fries , the cardboard-encased meals that came with inch tall toys that he’d swear were just for children .

“ well , who else’s gon’ make sure the cows are safe ?! “ countered striker , the reference falling on deaf — and windswept — ears . growing up , the television screen ( which was no larger than the window of a microwave ) was firmly off-limits and , on the off-chance the three boys were granted a glimpse of the flickering images , pixels were formed of old westerns or daytime television . it was likely that striker cannon was the only man on the planet not familiar with the wizard of oz , despite wishing himself to be whisked away on the wind , swirling within hurricanes with his only company being that of black-and-white spotted bovine . “ you ain’t gonna get stampeded !! they’s just big puppies . i been whipped by ‘em a dozen times an’ look at me , i’m in one piece , “ although multiple concussions had undeniably taken their toll on his memory retention . his ranch-roughened palms flattened against his allocated door , the muscles of his biceps veined and flexed , “ we goin’ on three or after three ?? “

.

"you hear how that's not comforting, right? whipped by a dozen of them?" jules asked, eyes narrowed as she looked over it him, glance all but shouting her skepticism. "no, no, no – you're only in one piece because whatever fucked up force is responsible for human life has a huge blindspot where the cannons should be. it's very important to me that you know that. the rest of us have to live in the open, where we can very much be stampeded. especially because i'm here to bring you a burger, and they can probably sense it. so i mean it. work on the eulogy," jules said, though she very clearly did not mean it. if the cows came running, jules was hauling ass until she hit the arizona border – striker could fend for himself.

"on three," she said, confidently – then had a second to think about it. was it on three? "no, after. fuck. on. on three. one, two, three –" she said, before she could further back herself into the corner of logistics. she pushed with every bit of strength someone who hadn't voluntarily lifted more than twenty pounds in the past decade could, feeling a bit of satisfaction as the old wooden door shifted. admittedly, striker was probably doing the brunt of the work – but, she justified, he was the one being paid to do it anyway. no good deed goes unpunished and all that.

[patrick-cromwell]

Location: Frazier Woods 🍂 Status: open to everyone!

“Yes, mom - I did have breakfast. No, it wasn’t just a coffee, I’m fine! I told you.”

There was an agitation to Patrick’s tone, one that seemed almost permanently attached at this point whenever his mother started asking questions he was slowly but surely getting sick of. Some of them being “Are you taking care of yourself?” or “Are you doing okay?” The real answer was always no but Patrick knew what she wanted to hear and maybe, in a way, he needed to say it more in order to start believing it himself. Yet, it was tiring and Patrick was always tired anyways so this didn’t exactly help his case. He lowered his phone and let out a sigh before putting it back up against his ear, a fake smile spreading across his lips so it’d register on the other end of the line. “What about you?” He asked, trying to somehow coordinate holding a phone, a leash that had two dogs attached and a cup of coffee when suddenly a squirrel ran across their path. “Oh shit,” Patrick breathed. “No, not you - I - yeah, mom? I gotta go.”

That was all he managed to choke out before his day turned into one that seemed like it was taken right out of some over the top romcom if you took away both, the romance and the comedy - at least for the protagonist. One of his dogs had spotted the squirrel and before he could say anything, Meadow, his usually rather calm Samoyed, gave her leash a good tug that had Patrick stumbling forward, causing him to drop his phone along with his coffee in the process. The sound was enough for his dogs to focus back on him but the damage was done and he could feel at least one pair of eyes on him in a way that caused a flush to creep up his neck. “Well…that was embarrassing,” he said to the person the coffee had splashed in front of and he was quick to reach down to retrieve his phone. “I’m so sorry about that. Is everything okay?” And now, on top of everything, he sounded exactly like his mother.

[julesstantcn]

If there were ever a warning Jules would listen to immediately, it was an 'oh shit' just ahead of her. She didn't usually fear dogs, even if a jagged scar on her calf said she probably should be. But the incident had distinctly been the fault of a seventeen year old fence-hopping, trespassing Julia. She hadn't known that anyone actually said 'sick 'em,' and she especially hadn't known that she could not outrun a Doberman. Twenty-two stitches later and a lesson learned. So when this dog, who was big and almost loose, took off at a clip, she froze. Her own phone, screen shattered to the extent of nearly being unusable, clattered out of her hand as she put them up in a soft sort of surrender. It took about the duration of the thing falling to the concrete for her to realize the dog was bounding after a squirrel and she wasn't about to be mauled in the woods in the middle of the day. This, she thought, was why people didn't fuck with nature.

For a second, her smile was relieved. It shifted to something more genuine as she registered their little tableau, the two of them looking like they had just been told to drop their shit, put the money in the bag or whatever. She let out a chuckle, brow inching upward as she (slowly) bent down to retrieve her own phone. "You do it on purpose?" She asked, half-smile lingering as she inspected the damage. There didn't seem to be any – not that she could tell. "If you didn't, don't worry about it. Don't apologize for shit you didn't do on purpose." It was meant to be comforting, but Jules was much better at commiseration than she was at comfort. she let out a small laugh, taking a half-second to survey herself before she offered him an overly assuring nod. "No permanent damage. How about you? Sprained wrist, caffeine deficiency? Overbearing someone waiting for you at home?" She asked, flashing an almost grin. "I'd love to pretend I wasn't eavesdropping but no one else is out here and my headphones died fifteen minutes ago. So uh, sorry about that. See, that's an apology, because I did do that on purpose. And, full disclosure, I already regret confessing."

[natehackett]

nate had to stifle a laugh to keep the less-than-convincing menacing look on his face as he made good on his promise to tap the sign. he cleared his throat instead, hoping the sound was close enough to a growl that could scare off the neighborhood menaces rather than invite them to make more mayhem at the little laundromat. as soon as they scampered off, he was able to finally able to let out the laugh. "those were definitely desperate times," he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"please don't give them any ideas," he lowered his voice to a whisper, implying she should do the same, to avoid the bat-like hearing of the teens as they made their way to the exit. "i think i have had a LIFETIME'S WORTH of cleaning up the aftermath of various pranks. it would be nice for a washer to be used as, well, a washer for once." nate picked up the last of the pods with a shake of his head. he had made a small pouch of his shirt by holding it out in front of him, the handfuls of pods cradled inside. "be my guest, we already got paid for 'em and it would just be a waste if i threw them out," nate nodded. "let me get you a bag to carry them all in, though. unless you also plan on making a bag out of one of your shirts."

[julesstantcn]

she looked back at the door, pulling a face that conveyed an almost apology. almost. it was quickly replaced by a grin, eyes narrowing. "what's the worst you've got?" she asked, this time in a proper whisper, something almost conspiratorial. at risk of sounding like she were about to terrorize the place herself, she pressed on. "i work over at the high school. very classy, very dignified job, best not to ask," she started, then gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "okay fine, i'll tell you, custodian. but whatever, not the point. the point is, everyone who falls in the age bracket of 14 to 18 is a goddamn gremlin who doesn't deserve rights. you know what the class of '19 did? they put tuna in the air ducts. not the canned stuff, actual whole, solid tuna. four of them. you know how long it took the administration to figure that out? three weeks. three weeks, in may, in the goddamn desert. school had to be canceled while they tried to root out the smell. should have gotten hazard pay for cleaning that up, and i'm blaming all of new mexico when i die of some weird cancer because of it."

she flashed a grin at not having to resort to any sort of convincing to not spend a dollar more than she has to. "my hero," she said, flashing him a grin and making a silent resolution to not do a quick round before she left to see if there were any abandoned quarters in any of the slots. life was about compromise. "i'll take the bag, if you've got it. all good if you don't – shirt thing totally never would've occurred me and i would've kind of just tried to balance them and there's absolutely no dignity in that, so your idea works too."