𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃𝚈 𝙿𝙾𝙸𝚂𝙾𝙽.

MAGDALENE ' MJ ' JEPPSEN. THIRTY-THREE | BEST-SELLING AUTHOR | ENGLETON ' ... one day the evil realities of this place hit you sqaure between the eyes like a perfectly aimed bullet. if this were a movie, i would ride off in some blood red sunset down a stretch of desert road into the wasteland that keeps us captive here... but this isn't a movie, these are the badlands... '

[magdalenejeppsen]

RAQUELLE EVANGELISTA.

“You fuck off, you fucking psycho.” snapped Raquelle back on cue. There was no holding back when it came to these two women, especially when they’re already invested in their banter. From a third person perspective, they would have chosen to be worried, maybe intervened to stop the ladies from taking it further. However, it was a little too late for that, especially when Magdalene was cussing off an elderly woman like it was just another fucking day in the neighbourhood. “You’re asking for too much.” she blatantly said to her as she remained unfazed by the whole scene. “By gratitude, you mean dollar bills—then in this caseI would have allowed you to ask. Look, I love to give to the poor. I try to do one good deed a day, my Little Shakespeare.” She was over exaggerating MJ’s profession of an author, but hey this is what you get when you associate yourself with heiress. 

Raquelle tried not to react to the interaction seeing as the general public would just love to see her blow up at some point. She was trying to refrain from damaging her image any further and so she waited in vain for the two to hash things out. “MJ, uptight looks good on you.” she teased as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Like I said, I like to do my good deeds here and there and wow! I didn’t know you were also a doctor.” Sighing, Raquelle ignored the claim and kept walking away, keeping some distance between them just in case her friend had another outburst. “You’re just quite the attention whore today aren’t ya? So fucking loud…”

Of course there’d be excitement. Who wouldn’t want to burnshit with the Raquelle Evangelista? Then again, who would have thought she’d excel in the basics of pyrotechnics…Well, they’re about to find out. Continuing to put the rest of her items in her trunk, she rolled her eyes at MJ’s antics and blurted out, “—Oh shut the fuck up!!!” Watching the other go at a mile per minute by leaving all their stuff on the ground and taking the cart of magazines elsewhere, Raquelle’s jaw dropped as she stood there helpless having to load all of their things into her car. “And people say I’m a fucking pain in the ass.” she muttered while finishing up and shutting the trunk close. 

Heels hitting the concrete, Raquelle furrowed her brows as she followed MJ’s trail towards the back alley. This was not her scene. “Are you trying to murder me?” she suddenly blurted out as she caught up to MJ. “Is this some sort of fucking inspo for your next novel? Oh my God, no! WAIT! It just fucking clicked. We’re gonna commit arson aren’t we? You dragged me here to commit fucking arson with my face?!”

“Wow, relax, Peruvian Barbie. If anything, seeing how people are talking about you right now, I just gave you a fucking compliment.” MJ didn’t know why Raquelle decided to sick around. Because, that’s exactly what had happened. They stuck to each other. They weren’t exactly friends, but they weren’t enemies, either. And they bickered like an old married couple, - but worse. They were like old married couple that should have divorced twelve years ago. Or shouldn’t have married in the first place, but they got incredibly hammered in Vegas and deicded on a whim to elope, naivly thinking it was a match made in heaven. “It’s my right as an American to ask for too much.”

The blonde huffs with satire in her voice. Raquelle really did know her very well. Because yes, MJ was talking about money. The woman runs her tongue over her top teeth while rocking into the heels of her feet before asking, “Yeah, so if I asked for money, you’d give it to me? I’m poor, help me, damn it.” Her eyes narrow with offence, which is followed by a loud scoff and the disapproving shake of her head, “Little Shakespeare? - We both know that Shakespeare has got nothing on me, alright? That bitch can roll around in his grave as I say this, I don’t give a shit.”

MJ looks to Raquelle before looking over her own shoulder and down at her butt. “You think so? Does the look make me look skinnier?” She asks flattening out her stomach as a jest. “When you’re an author, you become a master of all, Raquelle, it’s just a fact.” MJ says casually, as if she truly meant her words. “Research, research, research. It’s basically all an author does. Espically when you end up writing a script or two for a television show based on doctors. Oh, hell yeah, I’m that good.” The blonde rolls her eyes and leans her head back to look at the sky as they walk. “And you’re not being an attention whore enough!” She jogs up beside Raquelle, then turns around to walk backwards, “I know you wanna lay low. I realize that you’re already getting burned, but girl, that’s exactly it - you’re already getting burned! You know what I’m saying? -- ” With a hefty sigh, MJ continues with, “People are gonna talk more shit whether you lay low or not. So, while they’re talking shit, you may as well have fun, right? - Let me help you have fun!”

When Raquelle accepted the invintation to burn the load of magazines, MJ let out a whoop of excitment and didn’t waste anytime and getting things ready. She had already started ripping up the papers to the magazine and putting them in a pile. Slowly, MJ looks at Raquelle with features reading both: ‘ are you dumb? ’ and ‘ are you kidding me right now? ’ --- “No, I’m not gonna murder you, God. Here I thought you knew me. If I were going to murder you, I wouldn’t fucking do it here. And I would legit tell you if I was gonna murder you. I’d like to think it would give you a small feeling of anticipation. Fun, right!?”

Then, out of the blue, Raquelle started to panic and MJ had to look on with a bored, placid look upon her face and wait until Raquelle stopped talking. Checking the time on her watch that was not on her wrist, MJ asks, “Are you done? Can I talk now?” MJ didn’t give Raquelle a beat to answer. “Great, thanks. God, rich people are so needy and over-the-top. And Raquelle had the nerve to call me Little Shakespear. Bitch, please.” MJ was one hundred percent talking to herself up untul this poing where she was now fully addressing Raquelle. “It’s not arson when it’s your property,” She sates with the heavy roll of her eyes. Lifting up a magazine cover that shows the heiress’ perfect features. She wiggles it violently. “You paid for this. You get to do whatever the hell you want with it. And I didn’t drag you anywhere, you came with me on your own accord, but, if that’s what you wanna tell the cops if they show up, that’s fine by me. I at least got street smarts to get out of trouble.” Clearly tired with waiting, the author puts one hand on her hip and gestures to the small pile of magazines, then, puts a hand into the pocket of her jean jacket to pull out a lighter and hand it over to Raquelle. "Don't dick-out on me, okay? Just pussy-up and do the fucking honours."

[feastofsnakes]

Why must my feelings be "rational"? Is it not enough to sit quietly in my hawaiian shirt, deranged?

[sassydw]

[magdalenejeppsen]

RIVA  FITZPATRICK.

The blonde had been sitting at the only table with an available seat, engrossed in skimming back through her emails on her laptop, while she nursed a peach and mango tea, coupled with a slice of a lemon meringue pie when she happened to catch the eye of the customer beside her, just as she forked the biggest bite of pie into her mouth and had let out an exasperated huff at everything she would need to deal with, come Monday at school. Riva took a few moments to almost dry swallow the chunk of pie down, then for good measure, added a, “What a week, huh? Definitely not been one of my favorites. You look like you could do with some pie or a cake…” She offered, sliding the menu across the gap between the tables, to the younger woman. ( @magdalenejeppsen​ )

Fuck, fuck, fuck, "Fuck!" The author yells into her journal that she was suppose to be writing in and getting the foundation of her fourth and perhaps final book together if she didn't fucking off herself by the end of it. Groaning, MJ leans her forhead against the pages and closes her eyes in the hopes that would ease the headache that throbbed against her temples. This was suppose to be a good and creative day. Instead, it was useless. She had gotten nowhere in the four hours of sitting in this godforsaken diner. "This session is horseshit," MJ whines with a small sound that's a mixture of a chuckle and a cry. If the woman hadn't lost her own damn mind a long time ago already, it would be gone NOW. Why couldn't she write? Why couldn't she come up with on damn sentence? What the hell was going on? - Arms out streched across the table, finger tips tapped against the top in a indistinguishable rhythm. She had yet to have anything to drink other than the three shots of gin earlier this morning for funsies. Maybe, just maybe, MJ needed to be a pick me up. The author wasn't sure when the woman had sat down at the table or even began having a conversation with MJ, but peaking up at the blonde, MJ blinked at her for a moment before straightening up quickly. “Shut the front fucking door,” She exclaims after a moment. “Are you serious right now? - Like, you're paying?” There's an excited shine in her electric hues as they then turned downward to the menu. "Um, - um... What do you have?" MJ turns her attention to whatever is on the other woman's plate. "I'll take anything as long as it has, like... A while can of whipped cream on it, to be dead serious..."

[magdalenejeppsen]

HENRY ARNAULT.

Henry knew that snark comment was supposed to mean exactly what she wanted, and he knew why she went that way. It wasn’t her fault, there was just too much on the plate with everything that happened, and he had been at fault with MJ since Aubrey passed and now, it was probably too late to try and fix his mistakes. Henry knew MJ had a lot of issues, a lot of doubts about everything and her life hadn’t been the easiest one. The Arnault family clearly didn’t help in that department and he knew he could’ve done better, but even with the way things were he never expected her to become who she did, or for it all to have such a bad impact on her while growing up. “There is always two side of everything, you should know, you seem to be someone that understand how stories works. — And that, is a conversation for another time and place,” he said, as he opened his arms, trying to show her that a family discussion at a bar wouldn’t be that great of an idea. Henry had no doubt MJ knew a thing or two about what went on with the Arnault clan and why Aubrey had left it all behind, but he doubt she knew the real reasons. “Okay, so you heard things,” he said, turning to look at her, chin resting on his hand as he didn’t let her expressions knock him off. “And yes, I won’t disagree about that house being extremely toxic, we all came out fucked up because of that, true. And if you wanna hear it, your mother was the cleverest one between the two of us. But don’t try to assume a few things based on some things you’ve heard. It is not all black and white.” It was a secret to anyone that the Arnaults had some serious problems they needed to learn how to work on, so anything MJ would fire his way, didn’t affect him at all. And based on MJ’s life choices, he could guess she was just as fucked up as the rest of them all. Henry knew she would caught him on the lie, simply as that, but should he share the truth with the last person he expected to do so before he even had the chance to tell his own children about? “I left Boston behind. Have yet to tell your cousins about it.” He shrugged, not really wanting to get into more details hoping she would get the meaning behind his words and understand what he was truly trying to say.

All MJ wanted was for the Arnault family to admit they were wrong. MJ knew she was wrong. In the mind, in the head, in the soul. All wrong. Her uncle and his family had abandoned her in a point in time where she needed them the most and she has yet to recieve a simply fucking sorry. Did she have to apologize first? Was that what was suppose to happen right now? But, what did she have to be sorry for? “Oh, my God, fuck you,” MJ groans out of the blue - not actually speaking to Henry, but it was a heavy response to to her own thought, because as of right now she was speaking to all of these goddamn thoughts spinning around like thick cob webs in her mind. “I don’t give a shit about your side or my mom’s side or your childen’s side or my father’s side. I don’t care what you went through when you lost your fucking sister, because I get it, Henry. I not only lost my mother, I lost my whole family. This doesn’t have to be another conversation that we need to have. After this, we can be on our own merry way, just like old times.” Clearly, MJ didn’t give a shit that they were at a bar with complete strangers hearing the pair, mostly MJ, dishout their dirty laundry. She had no shame and she has a lot to say. It was a dangerous combination. Mostly for Henry.

Her uncle turns to look at her and it was the first time in the conversation that MJ decided to seriously looking at Henry to show that she was paying attention. Roughly, dark brows furrow with both confusion and frustration. One, it was nice to hear that MJ just wasn’t crazy and did overhear how her own mother hated living in the house with her own family and needed to escape. It gave her some peace of mind because she felt the same exact way, it made her feel contected to Aubrey. Two, assuming? “ -- Then put some fucking colour into it!” MJ exlaims as she practically shouts to the bar ceiling with clawed fingers.  Taking a deep breathe, the woman rubs her hands over her face tiredly before taking a large drink from her glass and quickly orders another one from the bartender who was watching the pair and their odd and clearly tense interaction. “Why does this have to be so fucking weird and secretive and difficult!? What am I missing for me to change my mind about your and your family, huh? I deserve to know, I want to know and I deserve and want to know now.”

... Wait, wait, wait... MJ heard that correctly, right? Henry is in Devinstone and his own kids didn’t even know? Slowly, a chuckle emitts from her lips, then it quickly bursts into rambunctious laughter. “You left Boston? Like - for good? And your own children don’t even know about it?” It was obvious she didn’t pick up on the clue that Henry didn’t wanna talk about it. That... Or she didn’t give a shit. Lifting a hand, she orders another drink for Henry because she does understand the intensity between family members. Cleary, he didn’t tell his own kids for a reason. “Alright, old man. Why did you leave Boston? What’s going on?” She asks while getting comfy in her bar stool. Resting her chin into the palm of her hand as she stares at her uncle, it was clear that he was the only one he could talk to and... Well... MJ wasn’t going anywhere.  

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

“Maybe my mother had been like that, I thought: feral.”

— Margaret Atwood, from “The Testaments,” released c. September 2019

[magdalenejeppsen]

GEORGINA WALLACE.

Georgie honestly didn’t want to, but the girl couldn’t help but be amused by the whole scene displaying in front of her. She had been doing rants like those more times she would like to admit, so in a way she understood where the other was coming from, even if she would like to pretend that she not. She honestly didn’t know what this was all about, or even if she was okay, but boy, whatever it is that was going on, certainly had been bothering the woman for quite a long time by now. Not really knowing for how long the woman had been going on her rant, Georgie waited in line, stepping forward when the other woman seemed to have given up on her order. 

“I don’t think there is a way to fuck a coffee order, though,” Georgie said with a small chuckle, agreeing to do what the other requested. “Okay, not a problem at all. Do you have any specification about its size or, the more coffee the better?”

"Oh, baby girl," MJ coo's at the brunette with her voice groggy and thick with slumber she still hasn't push herself out of, "You sweet summer child." This poor girl has no idea what she's getting herself into. What a soul. A sweet, sweet soul. At least MJ realizes the bullshit she has to deal with herself the moment she wakes up. The brunette beside her doesn't have a clue. “Trust me, there’s a way I can fuck up my own coffee order." Slowly, the blonde straightens up from her stop with a dramatic and rather intense sigh that catches the attention of other people in the space. "I don’t know what it is or how I could create such an accomplishment for myself, but it’s one I’m not willing to make right now.” MJ looks at the brunette with raised brows and a serious look, "It would be catastrophic for everyone."  It really couldn't be. It would just be a lot of whining on MJ's end that she didn't like her coffee order. "Size wise, just, --" The author let out a huff of air and began to give a rather large, yet unknown coffee size that she would like... If Georgie was able to take away anything from the motions and gestures, it would be that MJ would want anything that holds the most coffee. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. The more the better, the more the better!" She claps excitedly. "God, I don't even know your name and you're already taking such good care of me." Reaching out, MJ sluggishly strokes the side of Georgie's head.

[eggcup-deactivated20180129]

[aidashakur]

I think a tattoo would make me feel better

[magdalenejeppsen]

GABRIEL KINGSTON.

                    Cookie Crumble — a place where Gabriel had gotten himself into trouble plenty of times, needlessly buying pastries in the morning just before he heads home after making it back from Boston. He wasn’t one that had much of a sweet tooth. A hint of it was fine but his preference had always been tart, tangy, and fruity. Not that his favorite dessert, cherry pie, wasn’t full of sugar, it also came with the other two things he enjoyed most — tart and crust. Crumbles and flaky pastry were also near the top of the list too but as he wandered in today, what caught his eye was the lemon tart. It was bright and fresh looking, teasing him as the perfect treat after a day of running those necessary errands around town. “Woah,” he said, shocked. Who even slapped a hand anymore? Not that it made him move, instead it only further insisted he keep his hand in a protective hovering position over the last lemon bar. What Gabriel hadn’t been expecting to see when raising two blue eyes to catch a glimpse of the offender was a young woman that couldn’t have been any older than he was. A pretty blonde, as a matter of fact, and not an old lady. “How in the hell do you figure that?” His eyes narrowed a little, challenging the woman as gentlemanly behavior had it’s limits and well — she had already hit him. “You literally just walked in. And breathing a bit heavy might I add.” Still, he wouldn’t budge. That hand remained in a guarding stance. “Maybe you need to back away from your addiction.”

Normally, when MJ shows her crazy - which is frequently - people tend to back off. The reaction she gets is either scared or confused and shocked. Either way, people tended to take a few steps back because they didn’t want to deal with this woman and her bullshit. This guy though decided to talk back, and even go as far as keeping a protective guard over the last lemon square. Oh. Oh-ho-ho, what a mistake that was. He didn’t budge. No even a little bit. MJ couldn’t be positive if she were more annoyed or turned on right now. Her own energized hues narrow towards the stranger as she leaned forward a bit with a frown deepening at his question, challenging her.  The poor soul didn't know what he was getting himself into...

“It’s what I deserve, bud. That’s how I figure,” MJ answers without skipping a beat. At the mention of ' breathing a bit heavily', MJ, with her mouth agape slightly, takes in an offended gasp through parted lips. “ -- - Are you saying that I’m fat!?” She exclaims just loudly enough for a few other people in the shop to hear. The author knows that isn’t what he meant. Truth be told, even if he did mean it that way, MJ wouldn’t give a shit. But, if there was a way, any way, to get this lemon square - even if she had to guilt trip a dude, she was gonna take that fucking chance.“Yeah, of course I’m out of breath! I ran five fucking blocks to get a lemon square,” She flails her hands towards the display dramatically, the coffee in the cup she hold sloshes around. Then, she huffs with annoyance. 

‘ whoa, whoa, hey ! no need to start a brawl, guys. there’s no shortage of goods, believe me. we have a fresh batch of lemon squares coming right up...’

Before she could make a snap reply about how she should get her addiction into check, a baker - possibly the owner? Came into sight, clearly trying to difuse the situation that was happening in his store. MJ sticks her tongue out at the man childishly as if to say she had won.

[bangurz]

[magdalenejeppsen]

ft. RAQUELLE EVANGELISTA.

[magdalenejeppsen]

if your muse were in the hunger games, what would be their weapon of choice? / what color do you associate your muse with? is it the same as their favorite color? / if your muse could ask their future self one thing, what would it be?

IF YOUR MUSE WERE IN THE HUNGER GAMES, WHAT WOULD BE THEIR WEAPON OF CHOICE?

I’m pretty sure MJ wouldn't survive the first five minutes of the Hunger Games, if I’m going to be honest. She has bad luck and she’s way too spastic? She’d step off the pedestal and step on a fucking landmine and get blown up. If she happens to survive planting both feet on the ground, then she’s most definitly dies in that spot where everyone get their weapons and shit... I mean, the girl is watching her back even in the real world, she'd be backed up against a wall where she can see everyone and no one could sneak up on her... But she'd also get an arrow through the heart, so... If by some miraculous turn of events she survives that, then she’d probaby go for a basball bat or a sword which, in her mind, are somewhat easier to use than bow and arrows or a spear or a knife... She's not getting up close and personal, fuck that. She'd hiding in a God damn tree. She also just picked the sword because it looks fucking cool. It's heavy and she can barley lift it, but at least she'll die looking like a bad ass.

WHAT COLOUR DO YOU ASSOCIATE YOUR MUSE WITH? IS IT THE SAME AS THEIR FAVOURITE COLOUR?

Answered.

IF YOUR MUSE COULD ASK THEIR FUTURE SELF ONE THING, WHAT WOULD IT BE?

Answered.

[kiwipeel]

why they gotta play abba in grocery stores………………. what kind of cruel torment is that…………. you can’t just put me, a gay, in a public area where literally every single human has to visit … and play voulez-vous.. what am i meant to do?? NOT go berserk?? NOT give in to the most primal desires to dance and sing etched into my gay ass bones?? YOU EXPECT ME to sit here and browse tinned peaches with fucking ABBA playing through shitty tinny ass public speakers?? 

[magdalenejeppsen]

RAQUELLE EVANGELISTA.

The heiress stared at the packaged gum and mints before her. An internal debate to save herself from secondhand embarrassment or social suicide on the whole. Eventually her gaze landed on some chocolate bars. Should she indulge out of spite? Or should she take the simpler route of eating gum or sucking on a mint? Decisions…Decisions…God, she should have done self checkout, but nooo she chose to buy more items than she should. The curse of being a shopaholic was real.

Raquelle was completely oblivious to her surroundings per se. In fact, she wasn’t paying attention to the woman who purposely reached out for her own magazine. It wasn’t until the heiress looked over that she caught sight of it and stared blankly as she remained observant. What the actual fuck? Then she finally realized it was Magdalene who was simply pushing her buttons for the sake of doing so. “Out of all people in this Target, it just had to be you.” she muttered under her breath as she picked a pack of gum and tossing it onto the conveyor belt. Unpacking her items from the cart, she then waited as the cashier scanned and continued on her conversation with the other woman. “Hmmm…” she hums as she crossed arms and forced out a thin smile. “You do know that’s bad for the environment right?” 

She did care about world issues, after all it was not only part of her image to be a philanthropist, but she invests in some than others. Glancing back at the magazine rack, Raquelle sighed and picked up all the copies containing her face into her purchases. “We’re all gonna die at this point.” The ‘Ah fuck it’ mentality. Slipping out the black sleek credit card of hers, she paid for her items before storing the bags in her cart and began wheeling it out towards the exit and into the parking lot. “You know MJ, during my time here there’s just people and then there’s people. You are the latter and the shit that goes in your mind is beyond me. I need to put these items in my car, except for the magazines—which back alley are we doing this bitch?” 

Hearing the comment that Raquelle uttered, MJ rolls her eyes heavily and lifts her weight to one side, popping her hip as if she were getting ready to unleash some attitude in the woman’s direction… Which, yes, that’s exactly what MJ was getting ready for. “Fuck off with that snobby attitude, Raquelle,” She begins, gesturing a hand towards the woman with furrowed brows and an overall look of ‘ c’mon, be grateful! ’ – MJ was a reactive person. It’s why some people loved her, but also why most people hated being around her. Frankly, she doesn’t blame them, but she also won’t change herself for those people, either. “I’m your knight in shining in armour right now, alright? The least you can do is who at least an ounce of gratitude.” Feeling a pair of eyes on her, MJ looks to her left to see an elderly woman looking at her with disdain in her  cataract-ridden orbs.

“Christ. Why is everyone so Goddamn uptight in this town?” She asks Raquelle without looking at her, but continuing to stare at the old lady who was giving her the creeps with those large, cloudy eyes. “Stop looking at me, Oracle! I feel like you’re gonna tell me I’m gonna get hit by a bus today. Which you probably cast upon me, didn’t you?” The old lady doesn’t say anything which causes MJ to narrow her eyes challangingly. Though, the staring contest is quickly broken when the author rolls her eyes and sets them back upon Raquelle and remembers the matter at hand. “Right,” She drawls, narrowing her eyes at the woman, “As if you’re the biggest fucking philanthropist to walk amongst us. --- Ah, shit. Wait, you are aren’t you? You now what? I don’t give a shit. And for once, neither should you. It would do wonders for the anxiety you probably have. You know that taking Xanax on the regular isn’t healthy for you, right?” Despite talking with complete confidence, MJ was just pulling this out of her ass. It was casual stab in the dark for her about someone elses’ life that she should probably not poke at.

‘ We’re all gonna die at this point, ’

“That’s the spirit!” MJ claps with excitement. With a skip in her step, the author follows beside the heiress with a large grin on her lips. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and she was about to set shit on fire with an old acquaintance. Could this day get any better? MJ thinks not. --- That was until Raquelle had to go and compliment her. At the trunk of Raquelle's vehicle, MJ stars deeply into the eyes of the woman, while nodding her head slowly, quickly growing misty-eyed. "I think thats... I really think that's the nicest thing anyone has every said to me... Sorry, I just... Need a moment." MJ turns her back on Raquelle, pinching the bridge of her nose. She truly did find the womans words to be weirdly heartwarming, being dramatic about it all what all part of the fun. Wiping away the tears that had formed and accidentally smudging her mascara while doing so, MJ turns back to Raquelle with the shake of her shoulders. "Okay, great! Now that's done and over with we can move on!" Taking Raquelle's items out of the cart, she places them on the ground, along with her own grocery bag for Raquelle to take. Meanwhile, MJ takes charge of the cart filled with magazines. "I'll meet ya over at that alleyway!" She says, gesturing over to the back of the store ( the gesture wasn't exactly helpfully, honestly. mj didn't even know where she was going... ) while happily walking away from her companion.

[magdalenejeppsen]

ERIK APSLEY.

Do you think we’re in fucking college, Apsley?

Well shit, he wished. At least the alcohol he was throwing back would be cheaper.

The woman was testing him; perhaps, had his week been less of a shit show, he wouldn’t have caved in so fucking easily. Even though his attention had been firmly on the two grown men who seemed ready to throw down in the corner of the room, it hadn’t slipped his notice that she’d already been going pretty hard on the tequila shots. And she had the cheek to lecture him about acting like they were in college? Erik rolled his eyes playfully.

“I’ll buy the drinks if you stop embarrassing me by chasing your tequila shots,” he shot back, mirroring the same grin she’d worn prior. “You like cognac?”

Oh, MJ knew where she stood in this situation. MJ knew where she stood in most, if not all situations. She was always the one to egg people on. She couldn’t help it! It’s not that she wanted to drag people down to her level... Well, maybe, sometimes she did. It was lonely down at the bottom of no inhibitions, alright? There's little rhyme or reason to MJ’s actions or her moods, which makes her impossible to predict which she liked. MJ hated the fact that people just... Knew she existed. But above all, MJ simply strives to enjoy life. But, also, it was fun to see how far she could push someone and get a reaction out of them. Tonight, unfortunatly for him, was her fellow author. "Listen, Macho Man, I was minding my own business while you decided to watch the two gorilla's fight," She gestures towards the two men were still going at it, but stop as look towards the small blonde when she insulted them a bit too loudly. Peering over at them and looking into their clearly humiliated eyes, MJ can't help but take it one steo further to ball up her fists and beat her knuckles against her chest. Ouf. They did not like that. Chuckle slightly, MJ turns back with the flip of her hair to put her attention back on Erik. "Ew. Gross. No, I don't," She answers with the quick shake of her head, "Cognac taste like... The old lady perfume that mall kiosks force on you... But, if you're buying, I have no problem with getting whatever you want." She pats him on the shoulder. See? MJ can be reasonable. With that, MJ finishes off her last tequila shot, and of course, not without cheers to the two men, furthur insulting their tiny, drunk egos. At least they stopped fighting each other, right?

[magdalenejeppsen]

BRANDON WALLACE.

Brandon lifts his brows as his lips fall into a frown. Who exactly was this woman he was being set up with. He hadn’t expected her to laugh at his words about being told good things about her, but as she sits down, Brandon finds his lips coming back into a smile. “Well,” he chuckled lowly before clearing his throat, “if I have to be punk’d at least it’s not by one of my officers. Those guys can be ruthless.” He shook his head, though the smile remained on his lips. Or maybe this was them setting him up and Carol was the one to truly talk him into it. “Wait, they didn’t set me up, did they?” His brows raised as the thought crossed his mind for a moment. He wouldn’t entirely put it past some of them. 

“I used to be an officer but I took a detective position a few years back.” Ideally that would have put him in the perfect position to start to raise a family. The steady hours and the risk association with the job was considerably better than when he was an officer and yet, he remained alone in that house of his. Before he continue on, the waitress appeared at their table. His eyes met the waitress, flickering back to MJ as she ordered her drink. Brandon raised his brows in surprise to her order. Most dates he had been on at least started with water but he wasn’t at all turned off by the change of pace. “I’ll have a Two Hearted if you got it.” The ale was one of his typical beer orders. Brandon was a laid back person for the most part - at least when it came to drinking. The man had hardly participated in shots since what his father would consider his rebellious college years. It was during college that Brandon got to branch out from the religious upbringing he had been raised under. “And I’ll take a shot of that tequila too.” Why the hell not. He hadn’t been on a date in quite some time and MJ seemed like the type of person that could spice up his life - and in what way, he wasn’t too sure of. 

The waitress left with their drink orders, promising her return with their drinks shortly. “Did you grow up around here?” His raised his brows with his question. She seemed to be a few years younger than him but the older he got, the less his memory seemed to recall about the people in this town at a younger age. 

Maybe they were both being Punk’d. MJ hasn’t been in this guys presences for five minutes and she can already see that her date is way too nice for her. It was almost a sad thought, really. - When one didn’t believe they deserved nice things or nice people in their lives. But, that’s how it goes, sometimes. “Oh, trust me, I know.” She drawls with the roll of her eyes. Yes, she knows all about the officers at the local station. Okay, and yes, it was mostly MJ putting herself there... But, it wasn’t as if she was being destructive to property or anybody else. She was destructive to herself. She feels like that doesn’t warrant a night behind bars in order to ‘ get her act straight ’ - She thinks that the officers just use her to get their stats up. MJ raises her hands to show her innocence. “At this point, I really don’t know. But, if you are, don’t worry,” She tells him leaning forward giving Brandon a wink, “I’ll make it wroth your while.” Is she coming on strong? Yes. Do you think she cares? Ha!

A detective. Carol set her up with a fucking detectice. A smile wiggled on her lips as she tries to hide her the humour she found in this situation. Maybe, just maybe. This was Carol’s way in passively telling MJ to get her shit together? Go on a date with a well-rounded guy, see the stability in his life and, who knows? Maybe be attracted to that? Ugh, Carol. You don’t know me at all, do you? The author thinks to herself. It’s upsetting, really. In some aspects, MJ wishes she could see a future with someone who had their life together. But, MJ, well... She liked the more nitty-gritty kinds of people. Birds of a feather flock together, kind of shit. The author could ruin Brandon’s life and his career in a second. She leans back in her chair comfortably to put space between them, as if that will help in not somehow tainting this pure soul of Brandon’s.

PS. Am I maybe judging him too early? There are such things as dirty cops. Dirty detectives. Bending the law, vigilante kinda people in the force, right? -- - MJ, no. Get it together. This isn’t a fucking Marvel comic, alright? Jesus.

The author had no idea what a Two Hearted was, but it sounded cool, so she approved. Then, Brandon just had to go and surprise MJ by ordering a tequila shot for himself, too. She eyes him for a moment with interest. Perhaphs, going on a date with a detective wouldn’t be as boring as she thought it was going to be. “I was born in Chicago,” She tells him and with ease leaves out the bit about her family being here in town... Also, keep out the fact that you’re here for counselling, MJ. “I got an internship right out of school though, in New York. When I moved there, I never looked back.” She has memories in Chicago. Mostly of her mother, but other than that, Chicago held nothing for her. In her mind, New York was her home. “What about you? Born and raised her? Transferred for work?”

[thestarswerealigned]