play the whole world in mono

monochromctic is a dependent blog for pinehavenfm. mun: angie (29, she/her)

[monochromctic]

muse list

total: 07

alexandra park (intro)

connor jiang (intro)

faith michaels (intro)

harun youssef (intro)

joshua steele (intro)

penelope sinclair (intro)

'night' rungthip wongsawat (intro)

connections credits

[arabesq]

through   the   years   :   night   &   day   &   the   teacup   ride   εїз ft. @monochromctic

[btwnthepines]

dante merely chuckled, a smooth vibration that slid effortlessly under the thumping baseline of the venue. he tilted his head, fingers casually tracing the heavy metal links of his collar as he looked down at her with a look of supreme amusement. "please. i am the executive producer of your social life, baby girl, everyone else is just a background actor," he shot back, his dimples cutting through the strobing neon as a lazy grin spread across his face. he didn't buy the bravado for a second, though a tiny spark of satisfaction warmed his chest at her unspoken acknowledgment. he knew his place in her circle was entirely secure; he was the only one crazy enough to match her stubbornness dollar for dollar, and he wore that endurance like a badge of honor.

but the playful mockery evaporated from his eyes when that deeper, fragile question slipped past her lips. and when you’re not there? the words hung in the space between them, a bare glimpse beneath the armor that dante caught instantly. he didn't tease her for it. instead, his posture softened, his gaze turning steady and fiercely protective despite the swirling madness of the dance floor around them. "then i'm a terrible manager," he murmured, in a gentle and steady tone that didn't need to compete with the thumping speakers to be felt. "but lucky for you, i don't miss a performance. you're stuck with me on the clock, pookie."

the moment of sincerity was brief, however, because her next little jab had his eyes rolling so hard he practically saw the back of his own skull. he crossed his arms, his necklaces jingling in protest as he leaned back against the metallic pillar, a wicked, absolutely delighted smirk returning to his lips. "as if I you would ever find me on the sidelines of anything. if someone actually manages to sweep you off your feet tonight, i'll be at the head of the bed taking notes and grading their performance on a curve," dante cackled, his shoulders shaking with genuine mirth as he leaned back in to prod at her defensive shell once more.

"my critique would be invaluable, and you know it. but fine, if you're too terrified to mingle, we compromise. you don't have to say a single word to a soul. just sit tight, let me handle the entire script, and watch the master set the stage. all you have to do is show up for the final act."

[monochromctic]

It stung -- just a bit -- to hear Dante's rebuttal. While it was true that Night could count the number of people on her hand the number of people who became close friends with it, there were people she was close with before Dante came into her life. Her eyes drifted down to the table. The words finally escaped Night's mouth. "You don't believe me?"

All of her reaction felt a little silly. Night could tell that Dante was just teasing her, but it still just struck something in her. And, of course, she knew what their connection meant to him. While she was used to being the protector of those she cared about, to have someone fight for her just as hard as she fought for others was something unique to Dante.

There was already a fundamental flaw to her meeting anyone at a bar: Night hated this lifestyle. She hated parties, and loud music, and she despised the after effects of alcohol. There was a disconnect between her and the other person before they even started talking. Granted, there was probably other things she could connect with the person about, but the was still a falsehood present.

"I don't really want someone who needs me to follow some script," Night continued to argue. Though, she was certain that nothing was going to deter Dante from forcibly making her speak to someone at the bar. There was no guarantee that the conversation with a stranger would yield any positive outcome.

A script, as Night mentioned, meant that she had to hide some aspect of herself in order to be presentable to this stranger. After speaking at the bar with her, they person would expect someone else and not the true woman Night was and had always been. Difficult and moody. "You're going to sell them something that just isn't true," Night protested. "It's not going to make them blind when I eventually say or do something stupid."

[btwnthepines]

ginger let out a sudden, rough snort at the absurdity of his expression, the sound cutting right through the warm crackle of the turntable. the front man’s features had contorted into such a grand temple of woe that she simply lost all restraint. shedding her lazy slouch, she invaded his perimeter with a swift glide, her palm launching forward to trap his jawline. her fingers clamped down on his cheekbones, compressing his face until his mouth ballooned into a ridiculous, puckered fish face. "behold the masterpiece," ginger crooned, her vocal cords vibrating with affectionate mockery as she wobbled his head back and forth, instantly dismantling his efforts to project a mysterious aura. "you're a walking gallery of sorrow, harun. if i squeezed any harder, you might actually start weeping poetry. truly, the local coffee shop open mic scene is trembling."

she released her grip with a low giggle, her arm swinging back down as she propped her pelvis against the timber of the stereo cabinet, drinking in his offended glower with a broad smirk. reaching across the short distance, she jabbed a single finger against his folded sleeve. "if the mood is busted, we just play filthy. if the atmosphere won't cooperate, we drag it down to our level. you think the legends sat around waiting for an immaculate vibe or flawless conditions before hitting the record button?"

she gave her head a slow shake, her messy fringe swaying across her forehead. she wasn't about to coddle his bruised ego, but she had no intention of leaving him stranded in his own internal swamp either. "stop fighting the slump, harun. let the irritation cook. maybe the friction is the vibe, use it, throw it at the microphone," she suggested, her thumb drifting up to nudge the little metal circle in her lip as her eyes gleamed with genuine anticipation.

[monochromctic]

Harun's eyes glistened as he turned to look at Ginger. His lip protruded out as his cheeks puffed pathetically. At the bridge of his nose, his brows knotted. When Ginger cupped his cheeks in her hand, whatever little air that was trapped pushed out into a sad little wheeze of a raspberry. A sorry site to see, but Ginger was true. He was a masterpiece of sorrow and anguish. Harun could accept this description and closed his eyes to accept his expected coddling.

But then ginger had to remind him of the very thing that was causing him this anguish. He took her wrists in his hands and removed her palms from his cheeks. Harun kept his eyes shut, but held them so tight that his lashline began to wrinkle.

"That's the problem, Ginger!" Harun bemoaned. He let out a loud groan and he tossed his head back. His curls bounced with the exaggeration of his movement. "I can't weep or write or say or do anything poetry when the vibes are off!"

And then, as if anything of this couldn't get any worse, Ginger suggested that maybe this frustration that he was feeling was the vibe he desperately needed. What an impossible -- and offensive -- suggestion! Harun did not deal in frustrations of his own woes. Pitiful songs were not what he wanted to write. He was a real artist and one that didn't need the sympathy of the public.

He looked to his bandmate and returned the pout to his lips. "But..." Harun wallowed. "No one wants to hear a song about this."

[btwnthepines]

zara locked her arms across her chest, panning her gaze slowly around the sticky fallout zone. a sluggish, bubblegum pink magma crept from the undersides of the cabinetry, hugging the lip of the prep station before cascading down the front of the stainless steel fridge like a sugary, slow motion landslide. "oh, is that how it went down?" she drawled, her tone melting into a playful, honeyed tease. she tiptoed further into the epicenter, eyes squinting as they locked onto the mixer's dashboard. the speed dial was still pegged at its absolute redline. with the tip of a stray plastic pen she’d swiped from the counter, she poked a sticky wedge of pink sludge off the throttle notch.

"so the machine just...gained sentience and cranked its own throttle to overdrive? a total system hijack?" she pivoted to face him, resting a hip against a pristine patch of the steel table. her silver grill flashed under the lights as a highly satisfied, incredibly smug grin split her face. "jay, my guy. my brilliant, hardheaded barista wizard. you put a mixture in there that had the viscosity of quicksand, didn't you? and when the paddle struggled, your genius solution was to force it through?"

she clicked her tongue, shaking her head in mock disappointment while her eyes sparkled with amusement. "you can't bs a coder about system stress, bubs. i know a forced overclock when it's staring me in the face. you basically tried to run a high specs on integrated graphics and now we're looking at the blue screen of death in pastry form. you tried to flex on the dough, and the dough won."

[monochromctic]

Joshua nodded at Zara's question. Yes. Of course. That is exactly how it went down. He wasn't lying about the entire thing. There was nothing anyone ever needed to worry about when it came to Joshua. He was independent, self-resilient, and completely competent. There was no need for the help of others since Joshua was completely able to help himself. But of course Joshua knew better than to verbalize such a statement. There was a reason why he never got any leads in the school plays he auditioned for and there was a reason why he was always part of the chorus instead of a speaking role in the musicals he was apart of.

As Zara went further into LG Bean + Tea, Joshua continued to waddle after her. His clothing had become hardened by the dough drying into the fabric. Perhaps that was the worst part of this: he ruined one of his favorite sweaters. Now he was going to have to find a replacement for this specific color and pattern. The second worst part, was that his mixer was completely shot after his careless behavior. He was going to have to fix it and he was going to be able to do it on his own.

"I mean. I can just fix it later," Joshua mumbled. "I got the tools and everything for it. I just, you know, need to brush up on my skills." He still refused to confirm or deny what he did to that poor mixture. It didn't matter, anyways. Zara had already discovered his lie. It was his pride on the line and his pride could never let him admit such a failure.

[btwnthepines]

watching the rotating cotton cocoon, esme had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing out loud. he had rolled himself into such a taut, seamless cylinder that he looked precisely like a highly offended, petulant egg nesting in the middle of the mattress. it was a classic retreat, the universal sign of a performer realizing his big finale had been utterly canceled. she knew his type too well; he wanted a tempest to feed his notebook, and she had given him a sunny afternoon instead. when a muffled grumble finally vibrated through the sheets, some sullen directive to hunt down her own stray garments, she didn't take the bait. instead, she drifted closer, sinking into a limber squat right beside his buried head. tilting her chin, she peered into the dark, tiny crevice where his nose was likely hiding, her eyes alive with sparkling mischief.

"oh, don't be like that, darling," she cooed, sliding her voice down into a husky stage whisper that she funneled straight into his defensive linen fortress. "look, if it’ll help the muse, i can easily fake a breakdown. do you want me to play devastated? i did a stint doing clown work for my troupe, you know. i can pull off a tragic, tear stained mime routine that would absolutely bring down the house. i can weep directly into your laundry basket if it'll give you a decent bridge."

she reached out, lightly tapping the top of his fabric dome with one finger. "i can even do the classic walking against the wind sob. just say the word, maestro, and i’ll paint a big blue teardrop on my cheek." to illustrate the point, she passed a flat palm slowly down over her features. in one smooth, sweeping motion. she wiped the bright amusement completely from her face, leaving her lips pulled downward into a drastically exaggerated, trembling frown; a flawless caricature of tragic, theatrical misery offered right to his fabric wrapped silhouette.

[monochromctic]

This was the struggle of an artist. Harun knew the life he was getting into when he signed up to be the vocalist of Afterglow. He knew the agony he was going to have to endure in order to construct the most perfect poetic lyrics for their songs. Yet, he was not prepared for the muse to simply refuse to spark. And, to rub salt into his wound, seem to find glee in his torment.

As it was natural for a man like Harun to become an egg in protest. He just listened to Esme talk and felt his body stew with annoyance. How insulting? To pity him with a pathetic performance instead of acknowledging how inconvenient all of this was for him? It was cruel. It was barbaric. And Harun wasn't going to give such behavior attention. The last thing he wanted was to encourage Esme's display of pure selfishness.

Harun peered through the little hole in his blanket-egg. His eyes glared directly at Esme. He disapproved of this entire conversation and she didn't even seem to care. As soon as he saw her face suddenly go from happy to sad, Harun just couldn't handle it anymore.

He tossed off his blanket and crossed his arm over his chest. His head spun on his neck to where his nose was high in the air. "Don't patronize me," he whined. "You just have to bend backwards for a living, I need to construct art."

[pasdedeuxs]

deep in the stacks, charlotte was sitting on the floor with about ten books open around her as she furiously scribbled in her notebook. she was immersed in research for her upcoming novel. the books ranged from psychology and nonfiction books about cold cases to korean shaminism and ghosts. naturally, her phone was on do not disturb on the floor face down, so she had not even thought to look at the time.

at faith's prompting, she jolted towards her phone to see that she would barely have enough time to put the books away. she was going to have to check them all out which wouldn't usually be a problem if she wasn't already at the max she could have checked out. this was really distressing her, how was she to choose? they all had their own purpose. a million emotions flashed on her face all at once from distress to resignation, as she finally replied, "oh- i'm so sorry, i got so lost in my work i didn't even notice." charlie's voice came out in a low, panicked tone. her thin fingers reached to start closing her pile of books. "i'll get this picked up now." the majority of these books were thick, and charlotte was a slim girl. her attempt to grab the majority of them and stand up was not really working out. "um, actually, would you mind helping me? i would just check all of these out, but i just hit my checkout limit last week." the author admitted with a sheepish look on her face.

[monochromctic]

It was a pity to see someone so engross in their books run through the stages of grief when they realize they needed to part with them. Faith had been there countless times during her undergraduate years and during her master program. Of course, such desires to be lost in research, in footnotes, never truly left her and it was a desire she could indulge when she wanted to feel nostalgic. But some people thrived in such meditation. A soft smile appeared on her lips when she noticed Charlotte's distress seep into her features.

Faith found it hard to enforce the check out limit. Books were meant to be enjoyed and cherished. Though, the statistics needed to keep a library floating necessitated that books be checked out and returned on a consistent basis. Libraries were living things and the books were their blood. Constant circulation of books signified that a library was not only alive, but thriving. But, just as any living thing, sometimes it was okay to engage in things that were deemed unhealthy. "It depends," Faith replied. "But I can check your account and see what I can do."

[btwnthepines]

dante let out a sigh that practically deserved its own production, resting his forearms against the plastic handlebar of the shopping cart as if the heft of her exhaustion was personally draining him. "i was explaining the absolute tragedy of my stylist trying to convince me that copper blonde is my color," he drawled, tossing his head back so his hair, restored to its natural shade now that the blonde dye was finally washed out, caught the harsh fluorescent glare of the grocery store ceiling. he looked at her with a blend of exaggerated pity and genuine sibling concern. "but clearly, my audience has departed the building. honestly, al, you look like you're auditioning for a zombie extra role, and you're standing here holding a silent vigil over...what even is this? cardboard dust?"

with a flick of his wrist, he snatched the container of grains from her hand, barely glancing at the label before tossing it back onto the shelf with a look of supreme disgust. he stepped closer, rings clinking as he wrapped a hand around her arm to gently steer her away from the towering wall of breakfast fiber. "we are staging an emergency intervention," dante declared, his tone shifting into one of breezy authority as he began pushing the cart down the aisle. "no more synthetic heart attacks in silver cans, and absolutely no sad mush that tastes like wet paper. if you are insistently choosing to burn yourself out for your clients, the least you can do is let me curate your recovery. we are heading straight to the gourmet deli, and i am ordering you actual sustenance."

[monochromctic]

"You have a stylist?" Alex asked. Such a waste of money was enough to snap her back into the conversation with her brother. Maybe it was because her line of work required to to have clothing she didn't mind ruining, but to have a whole stylist seemed a little ridiculous. Dante had always had an ego. Still didn't make him someone who required a stylist to assemble a wardrobe for him. "It's that, like, the opposite of fashion? Fashion is someone's person style coming together and their choices? Unless you're like fashion-maxxing or whatever stupid shit men your age call looking good now."

Alex kept her mouth closed. The best thing she could do is let Dante think that he was winning the argument, winning in getting her to cut caffeine, and as long as Dante thought he was winning, she was going to have a peaceful life. The synthetic heart attacks in silver cans is what she lived for. Alex had no plans on switching, but she could pretend to cut back if it meant giving Dante the illusion of a victory. "Have you eaten wet sandpaper?" Alex asked. It was an opportunity to latch onto a different subject than her addiction to peach Red Bulls. Alex made no comment as she followed Dante. He had the cart; that gave him authority on where they were going. "What do they even put on sandwiches here? That's just a salad on bread at that point."

[btwnthepines]

the afternoon heat was settling into the pine needles, cooking a rich, resinous incense that rose from the damp earth. felicity was leaning against the peeling trunk of a birch tree, her boots sank slightly into the mossy edge of the trail. she had spent the last hour observing the unchecked, messy geometry of the wilderness, a wild sprawl of cedar and fern that seemed to defy any sense of human arrangement. when the voice broke through the low hum of the canopy, she did not startle. instead, she turned her head with a slow, curious tilt, her gaze tracing the line of the woman's profile against the green backdrop.

"it is a spectacular sort of chaos," felicity replied, her voice sliding easily into the warm space between them. "almost offensive in how effortlessly it constructs itself. just roots fighting over dirt and looking beautiful while doing it." she took a step away from the birch, closing the small distance between them. there was a languid air about her, the posture of someone who had long forgotten what a deadline felt like and had decided, for the moment, that time was a theoretical concept best ignored.

"you have the look of someone who is intentionally taking the longest possible route to get absolutely nowhere," she observed, a light, teasing slant to her mouth as her eyes scanned the woman's relaxed stance. "which, in a town that seems to run on a very predictable clock, is highly commendable."

[monochromctic]

"I assume the groundkeeper has some credit in the beauty," Penelope laughed. It was hard not to be amused at the other woman's statements. Penelope hadn't heard something like it since her time in art school. While she did her best to support the art community when Temperance dragged her to Pinehaven, Penelope's job made it a little difficult to be as active as she wanted to be. It was still nostalgic enough for such conversation.

"Summers are a lot slower for me. Though, I do have a destination to get to, but she won't be on her lunch break for about an hour." Penelope replied. Though she did twist to wrist to glance at her watch. While Penelope was usually good at maintaining her schedule, when she didn't have the pressure of board meetings looming over her head Penelope found it a little harder to keep track of time.

After confirming that she was correct about the time, Penelope turned her attention back to the other woman. She knew the look in the woman's eyes. The study of nature was something Penelope did many, many years ago. Take in the beauty of nature, try to figure out how things organically create art. Try to replicate it herself. It was hard work. On somedays, she missed being able to create art. But the envy she had for the world around her was something she did not miss. "I have theories as what occupation someone who is jealous of the beauty of nature might be, but I don't want to ask."

[btwnthepines]

saffron’s eyes drifted over the cardboard box, one brow raising just enough to signal they were paying attention. it was a trip, honestly; watching someone who looked like they should be flitting through some ancient forest dancing in a fairy ring, diving arm first into a giant metal bin of trash. but connor didn't seem to care about looking proper. she just looked incredibly pleased with herself, like she’d uncovered some ultra rare, unreleased b side that the rest of the world was too blind to notice. saffron stepped closer, hands shoved deep into their pockets, looking down at the bizarre little collection of salvaged junk. there was a cracked ceramic planter, a stack of soggy magazines, and a brass alarm clock that looked like it had survived a minor war. they reached into the crate, their fingers brushing past a tangle of copper wire to pick up the clock. they wound the brass key on the back, waiting for the dead machine to speak.

the sound hit their processor not as a warm, analog pulse, but as a dry, metallic rattle. the mechanical scrape of the gears translating into a series of synthetic, bit crushed clicks. but there was still a strange, electric charm to how the signal crackled behind their ear, bringing the discarded relic back into the present. "well, babes," saffron murmured, their voice keeping to that low register. they looked up, ignoring the smudge of black soot on her cheek that they had a sudden, stupid urge to wipe away with their thumb. "most people are totally blind. they throw out the good stuff because it’s not shiny anymore. the system is completely broken if this passes for garbage." they gave the clock a little shake, letting the digital clicks play out against the stillness of the alley. "you're a menace, connor. what’s the tax on this clock, or am i just supposed to stand here and marvel at the loot?"

[monochromctic]

A menace, maybe. It coming from Saffron was enough to make Connor smile. Others had a habit of judging her eccentricities or objectifying a girl like her. Saffron -- as it was their nature to do -- took her seriously. And a menace was something Connor might be. There was a certain level of chaos that was needed to thinking dumpster diving was a good idea and there was a level of crazy to find beauty in things that are discarded. But Connor found it absolutely impossible not to marvel at it all the same. It tickled the back of her mind; it made her curious to know the history of these objects; it made her wonder who were the owners of such things; and she could create stories as to why these objects were no longer wanted. To Connor, that was beautiful and worth preserving.

A small smile formed on Connor's lips as she observed Saffron interacting with the clock. She should have assumed that her friend interest in a broken clock that failed to secure a beat. An off-tempo anomaly and a curiosity to those who pay attention to music or sound. Though, her head did tilt to the side when Saffron asked if there was a tax for the clock. It was a silly question. "Why would I have a price for something that is free?" Connor asked. "If it is something that you like or want, then you can take it, Saffy."

[moonhxven]

"Brother, metaphorically dropped them," Kekoa said, clapping his hands between each syllable of metaphorically. "Like, okay, when's the last time you were, like, truly vibing? Like you thought to yourself god damn, the vibes are the vibiest they've ever been!" He tried to think back to the last time he and Harun had had a similar conversation about vibes. It was a pretty typical type of conversation they had. They'd had rehearsals the other day and things had gone fine. They'd all figured out their set for an upcoming gig, and were in the process of working out any kinks before show night. Was there something else that could have thrown off the vibes... "Oh, shit, bruv, was it with the bendy girl?" Kick's eyes went wide and he grimaced. "Did she steal the vibes? Say it ain't so..."

[monochromctic]

Harun crossed his arms. Perhaps Kekoa was a little correct. After Esme destroyed his chance of constructing good and proper art, Harun had had some trouble coming up with any inspiration for new lyrics. The vibes, as Kekoa rightfully pointed out, just haven't been the same since Harun and Esme stopped their fling. But Harun was emotionally strong -- at least, according to himself -- and he wasn't going to let that bendy girl bother him. Still, he looked over to Kekoa when he mentioned her and pout. "I don't want to talk about her," Harun whined. "She wasn't even a vibe to begin with. How could someone who doesn't know how to vibe even steal vibes? That doesn't make any sense, Kick."

[moonhxven]

"The only oats I know anything about come in bags and just need a little bit of hot water..." Ebon had grown up on Quaker Oats instant oatmeal and only knew enough to know that prepping steel-cut oats was different. Glancing over at the woman, he had half a mind to ask what Tiktok was, but he remembered at the last second that it was an app he wasn't interested in. Esme had sent him videos that he couldn't watch without signing up and then proceeded to call him old when he told her that. Deciding that it was doing too much to put this much thought into oats, Ebon grabbed one off the shelf and dropped it into his basket. "That one seems as good as any."

"Hm, mine wasn't too bad." Ebon shrugged one shoulder. The store had been steady, Ada hadn't gotten herself into too many structural pickles, and Esme was still in town... so he really couldn't complain. "What do you do for work?"

[monochromctic]

There was a surge of jealousy that washed over Alex. The man placed a bag of oats in his basket without a care; and she wished that she could make a decision that easily. But what if she picked one out that tasted like paste? Or did it matter that much if she put enough maple syrup and berries into the oats? Would chocolate offset the nasty texture or only make it worse? Maybe she should have actually paid attention to those videos instead of being mindlessly influenced to try out a new diet. But, Alex followed suit. She grabbed one bag, one that was going to shape her opinion on this over-night oat trend, and plopped it into her own basket.

"Therapist with animals. It's draining, but worth it. As lame as it sounds, hugging cows really does help when life gets stressful," Alex replied. She always felt the need to justify her work and, also, inform that she wasn't someone who worked with the typical animals. Most would ask if she own any pets or if they could meet her non-existent therapy dog. "What do you do, if you don't mind me asking?"

[pasdedeuxs]

"oh, well, you see, i like to live on the edge a bit. everything's a bit more fun when there's a bit of a chase." their grin never left their face as they raised their eyebrows and took a drink of their tea. "cheesecake bites, really?" he leaned over the table a bit to get a better look at the dessert. "see now, i've never had those before." as casual as breathing, they reached their hand across and grabbed a bite from night's plate. their eyes narrowed, seemingly inspecting the morsel before popping it into their mouth.

almost immediately, they were chewing with their mouth half open and speaking again. "oh wow. that's cold." the sudden temperature change caused their eye to wince a bit. "it's good, though. however, it does seem that they are also an endangered species. one of them managed to escape."

[monochromctic]

It was amusing to watch the person reach over and examine her plate. Night could protest the fact that the person had stolen one of her snacks, but it was ultimately not worth the hassle. If anything, Night could respect the audacity it takes to steal something off of a stranger's plate. A scoff rose out of her, "I'm happy you liked it."

And it wasn't like she could be far as steal anything from the stranger's plate. They already did a fantastic job of inhaling their food. Night had only seen such impressive eating at the strawberry festival's shortcake eating contest. Or, perhaps, it was as impressive as a "Is stealing food from unsuspecting customers your hobby or occupation?"

[btwnthepines]

anthony leaned against the lip of the laminated table between them, a slow, indulgent smile spreading across his face as he watched his brother agonizing over the glossy wrappers. the room was a haven of stacked cardboard, filled with the clatter of rolling dice, the sliding of heavy wooden chairs, and the ambient hum of people huddled over sprawling maps and miniature figurines. anthony crossed his arms, biceps straining the fabric of his t shirt as he looked down at the array of cartoon monsters being presented to him. "man, you puttin' a whole lot of heavy expectation on my shoulders this afternoon, beb," anthony chuckled, voice full of affection. "my luck is usually built for the gridiron, not for pullin' shiny cardboard out of a magic sack. besides, back when i was a shorty, things was simple. you had a yellow mouse, a little fire lizard, and you was good to go."

he reached out a calloused hand, his blunt fingers hovering over the options before tapping the middle wrapper; the one featuring a round, bubbly creature with giant eyes that looked entirely useless in any kind of physical altercation. it was exactly the kind of endearingly ridiculous thing joshua would hoard. "go with that one right there," anthony decided, his grin spreading into a wide, flashing display of white teeth. "and don't you go puttin' that hex on me about no big, ugly brutes. if you end up openin' a pack full of meatheads, that’s just the universe tellin' you that you need to spend less time inside with your paper friends and more time liftin' iron with your big brother."

[monochromctic]

Joshua put the other pack back into the box. He handed the cashier the needed cash and turned his attention back to his brother. As Anthony kept talking, Joshua rolled his eyes. Just because they were grown adults didn't mean they couldn't have a little bit of fun. Besides, who forgets the name of Pikachu and calls the most iconic character to come out of Japan (other than Hello Kitty) just a yellow mouse. That yellow mouse created an entire franchise just by being fat and cute.

"This is serious, Anthony!" Joshua argued. To him, it was serious. His one joy in life was spending money on these cute little pieces of cardboard. He knew it was essentially a scratch ticket to open a pack of cards. He was better off simply buying the Jigglypuff cards, but there was a bit of extra joy in pulling it from a pack. There were probably some commons he could use for his deck tucked into the pack, so it wasn't completely useless. It just wouldn't be as sweet as opening his coveted cute Jigglypuff. "Or, maybe, you should try out this game because it's good for your brain to do math."

[btwnthepines]

the distaste that pinched night's features at the architectural metaphor did not escape juniper’s notice. she watched her nose scrunch with an almost feral aversion to the subtext, a physical rejection of the poetic license juniper so naturally claimed. it was an intriguing display of resistance, particularly as night immediately pivoted, attempting to mirror juniper's own theatrical superiority back at her. labeling the writer’s speculation as beautifully arrogant, the comment struck the trunk of the oak like a small, blunt stone. juniper didn't flinch. she merely allowed her eyelids to droop halfway, absorbing night's lecture on self reflection and the comparison to the anonymous carnival blunderer. the accusation that juniper was simply looking into a mirror of her own presumptive flaws was a bold maneuver, a piece of psychological counter insurgency that made the writer’s chest swell with a dangerous, pleased amusement.

"arrogance, my dear wildflower, is merely the armor worn by those who happen to be correct more often than is socially convenient," juniper countered, her vocal texture smoothing out into a dry, aristocratic purr that completely bypassed the jab. "though i will grant you that drawing parallels between myself and a clumsy festival patron is a rather creative insult. offensive? hardly. it is almost...refreshing." she remained nestled against the rough bark, her dark eyes tracking night's transition from a kneel to a full, towering stance. the revelation that the unnamed boy was not, and had never been, a romantic fixture settled into the grass between them. night’s subsequent offer, a casual invitation to return to the porch and the discarded porcelain cups, hung in the air like a prompt at the end of a scene.

juniper looked down at the pale linen of her skirts, then back up at the shadow standing over her. the lingering paralysis of her earlier panic had fully retreated, replaced by that stubborn, elitist curiosity that always demanded she finish the chapter. she had no intention of being left behind at the base of a tree while the mystery walked back to her terrace. with a grand, unhurried sweep of her limbs, juniper gathered the volume of her dress into her hands. she rose from the dirt, avoiding the tree for support, and restored her spine to its habitual, statuesque height. she shook out the crumpled fabric with a flick of her wrists, her rings glinting in the dark before she gestured toward the path leading out of the foliage.

"leave you to navigate my terrace unsupervised with a piece of debris? absolutely not," juniper murmured, her delivery regaining its full, melodious pacing as she stepped into stride beside the woman. "you would undoubtedly find a way to incinerate the saucers out of some sudden, unprovoked principle. come along, then. since you have dismissed my cartography, you owe me an explanation of what this legendary offender actually managed to break, if it wasn't a heart."

[monochromctic]

The grimace on Night's face folded further. She turned her attention fully to Juniper. The edges of her nose crinkled as her brow contorted towards the bridge.

It was the gall that Juniper had to look Night in the eyes and say she had anything social, let alone something that was socially convenient. If Juniper needed to place herself above Jay, then Night felt that it was only fair to bring Night wasn't someone to press on issues a person didn't want to talk about.

But Night was also not stupid. It was only moments before that Juniper was frantic and denouncing her therapist for suggesting exposure therapy. This was couple with some information Night was given their her previous conversation with Juniper: Night was an exception because Juniper had little tolerance for the mundane peasants of Pinehaven. It didn't take a lot of deep thought for Night to place that Juniper hadn't been in enough social situations to warrant the armor of arrogance. Yet, Juniper found it appropriate to attempt such an argument in order to put down Jay.

So Night countered, "Social?"

Though the grimace on Night's face did not last long. She did try to stop her lips from forming a small smile and she did try to keep her brows held in position. But Night hadn't expected Juniper to immediately get up and position herself next to her; how eager Juniper seemed to accompany Night in discarding her cigarette filter. Nor did Night expect Juniper to construct some long-winded (though that part was expected) excuse as to why she needed to accompany Night into the garden.

Once more, it perplexed Night. Hadn't Night visited (or trespassed) in the garden many times before? Had she left any destruction to warrant Juniper's supervision? And what did Juniper even mean by 'cartography?'

There was an idea that sparked behind Night's eyes. The constricted smile soon formed into a smirk. When Night turned to walk towards the garden she was careful to keep her pace just a little faster than what would be deemed acceptable when walking with someone else. A part of her was curious to see how Juniper would react; if that same eagerness was going to carry over.

"You're going to have to choose a new question because I'm not answering anything about him anymore," Night laughed. Why would she provide Juniper with any more ammunition to insult Jay's character?

It was a convenient excuse, as well. Night didn't want to divulge her childhood of social isolation due to her behavioral issues not did she want to talk about how said social isolation continued after Jay moved on from their friendship -- though, that isolation was half self-imposed.

"You can ask me anything else. Just nothing about him."

[moonhxven]

Zach was at the library, poring over a few of their botany books, and trying to figure out what was going on with his eggplants. He'd gotten so caught up in taking notes that he'd lost track of time completely until the soft voice came from behind him. He looked up, blinking to clear his head. "Oh shoot," Zach murmured, look over the many books spread before him. "Sorry, Faith, I lost track of time." He made quick work of packing up the things the belonged to him and standing up from the table. "Can I help reshelve these? I think I remember where I got them all from." He put the books into a neat stack, hauling them into his arms.

[monochromctic]

"Even if they are wrong, Temperance will sense the disturbance in the morning and put them straight," she offered. Faith placed her hands on the top book. While she did not initially take it from Zach, she did an alternative to simply reshelving the books. Most patrons felt that it was helpful, but -- in most instances -- they failed to properly put books back. It wasn't their fault and, when she wasn't a librarian, Faith had had her fair share of sorting her books back into the shelves to help. But, the intricacies of sorting systems are often lost on anyone who doesn't actively curate the collection. Faith added, "I can always put them away or check them out for you, if that's something you want."

[btwnthepines]

𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐; @monochromctic