✹ [cis man & he/him] Welcome to Aurora Bay, MONROE 'MO' GATLIN! I couldn’t help but notice you look an awful lot like MICHAEL PROVOST. You must be the TWENTY-SIX year old FIREMAN. Word is you’re RELAXED but can also be a bit DISCONNECTED and your favorite song is SUN IT RISES BY FLEET FOXES. I also heard you’ll be staying in OCEAN CREST APARTMENTS. I’m sure you’ll love it! @aurorabayaesthetic
— Some of us are just born good, aren't we? After all, there had to be someone to inspire the knight in the tale, or the patient tortoise that would ultimately beat the anxious hare, yes? Those who, instead of giving in halfway through the story, push through to the end, unwavering, heroic, or the friend, the good friend who never leaves our main character's side, no matter the turning of the tide. The best fiction comes from the facts in our lives, they say. They say that what must be written must also exist somewhere, wary of the timeline, as many whimsical and strange timelines do exist. Nevertheless, these people had to have been to become what we know in our fiction. So, my friend, there's some good left in us, after all, right?
BIOGRAPHY
PAST
Born and raised, nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains, Monroe was a gift. Or so his parents would say. Growing up, his two older sisters had other choice words to describe the sunny, yet mischievous young boy, but he grew out of this with age. Sticks, stones, the creek in the woods — these are the places he spent his time throughout his teen years, camping on the weekends and dragging himself back to school on the weekdays. The outdoors was his kingdom. Roughed-up knees, dirty hair, dirt under his nails — his parents scorned his Monday morning casual, but he didn't care. The woods called, and he was home. It came as no surprise that, instead of college, he veered towards the outdoors. Although he completed his four years at his parents' request, studying agriculture, and in particular, the trees. He began then as a wildland firefighter, residing in a fire tower for almost two years, essentially camping, and, of course, keeping watch. He loved it. But something nagged at him to change course after all that time alone in the woods. He wasn't sure what, but his parents' moving to the West Coast set something in motion he wasn't sure he could stop. He followed, as if naturally, the southern-raised boy wanting to stay close to his roots, no matter where they ventured, and he decided to take a chance.
& PRESENT DAY
Aurora Bay placed him close but not on top of his parents — he could be around on the weekends, but on his own elsewhere, and within his own in Aurora Bay. A newcomer, he knows very little of what to do or who to know, but a start at a new job in a new station would be a place to begin.
PERSONALITY
There's a gleam in his eye — boyish and mirthful that can be caught on a good day, and for him, most days are good, because life is good to Monroe. He is someone who can be counted on, if not relied on, when the going gets tough. He's relaxed, feathers never ruffled, never saying much more than he needs to say, he'd rather listen than talk, and listen he does. He works hard, and he likes to play hard. A local athlete, you can find him at the gym or playing intermural sports in his free time, but his free time is not free, it would seem. He enjoys reading, and he enjoys history, and nature. There are many shades to Monroe, like the leaves changing in Autumn, subtle and not all at once, only discernible in the moment, that is, if the moment is ceased.
open starter ( @aurorabaystarter )
-> aurora's candy parlor
With a hand hovering between two chocolate bars, Beej hums quietly to himself, then clicks his tongue against his teeth.
"I can't choose. Peanut Butter Cookie Bark and S'mores bark both sound like they'll smack me directly into my next life. Please don't say to get both - I'm weak-willed enough to listen."
"Oh, dude, peanut butter all the way. I mean, anything 'peanut butter cookie' is a safe bet. There are too many ways it can go wrong with a 's'mores' flavor."
Bonnie smiles alongside the light teasing, though it turns earnest when Monroe lets out a stream of compliments. She knows her baking is good, yet that little pleased feeling she gets when others compliment her is warm every time.
"Me? Oh, jeez, a whole lot of nothing. I'm in a break between clients right now so I've been spending a lot of time on my couch. I did go out for Halloween, though - I think I saw you there. A cowboy, right? It got too overwhelming for me so I left early and blasted through Twitches and Halloweentown. Did you have fun? Any big tricks or treats?"
"As long as they aren't burnt, yeah." His small smile pulled up into a grin, a light laugh leaving him. All in good taste. He knew she wasn't capable of burning a cookie. Rather, he looked exceedingly forward to trying what she'd brought in.
"Oh, yeah, that was me. Boots and all." He responded, giving his head a small shake, "— No big tricks, no big treats. Just a lot of beer and a headache in the morning." Mo faintly sneered at the thought of the hangover he'd procured the next day. "I confess," he began. "I'm much more of a Christmas kind of guy."
Eden knew what was coming but her heart sank anyway. She really liked him and she was stupid enough to think they were official when they apparently werent. She was pretty sure it was obvious to everyone but her, which made her feel worse. So in that moment, Eden did what she always did; she built her walls up and would pretend she didn’t care.
“It’s fine.” She dismissed his apology with a wave of her hand. She was happy again for a while and now she was going to go right back to feeling as lonely as ever. She felt like everyone was leaving her behind; moving on and finding happiness in other things, while she felt totally lost most of the time. She thought she may have been starting to move in the right direction only for her to feel stumped all over again.
“I don’t really do the whole friends-with-your-ex thing well, so— well, guess you’re not really an ex, but I don’t think it would go well either way. I don’t hate you or anything, we can be neighbors. That’s all.” She wasn’t trying to sound cold, but it was either that or cry. She didnt want to cry.
“You really don’t have to do the whole thing where you give me a speech.”
It was hard to read her reaction. Part of it felt indifferent; another part felt like he'd just scratched the surface to something deeper, stirring, though the extent of that was unknown to him. They hadn't talked much about feelings— rather, the scope of their feelings. He'd liked her, he had, but beyond that was a wall he couldn't pervade. However, it became apparent, mostly though intuition and the subtle weight of her micro-expressions, that she'd liked him perhaps a bit more than he'd liked her.
He felt bad. It wasn't 'fine', but it was what it was. His head lowered as she explained that she didn't do 'friends with exes', and he gave a subtle nod in understanding. Her words made her feel much further away than right in front of him. It was comprehensible. She didn't hate him, but she certainly didn't like him now. He couldn't blame her. He hadn't been all that great— he'd be the first to admit it.
"I mean, what was I supposed to do instead?" His brows faintly knotted, "Just not talk to you?" He questioned faintly, finding some friction with her words. 'You really don’t have to do the whole thing where you give me a speech'. The male lightly threw his hands up, "You deserved transparency. And an apology. That's what I came here to give. If it comes across as a speech, so be it."
He sought a conclusion now, moving his hands to his pockets and shrugging, "So, neighbors it is." He stated, glancing down at the ground before looking up at her, "... I'll see you around, then."
Perhaps feeling isolated from his friends and family had changed him, but Felix wasn’t as outgoing anymore. It was certainly the depression he’d felt over the years that changed his interests and motivations, but he wasn’t always looking for friends anymore like he used to be. He’d been hurt many times since then. Maybe all of that was why Felix wondered why the man was speaking to him, but he didn’t want to be rude so he replied, “Hey. Not much, what about you?” He opened his little mailbox with his key and retrieved his mail.
"Work. More work." Monroe responded, tone dry, though that was the intent. He glanced over with a small smile, however, before looking back down at his mail, "I'm looking forward to the holidays, though. It'll be a nice reset." He began shuffling through the envelopes. He had enjoyed getting to know the people who lived in his building. He'd spoken to Felix once before; however, he began to get the sense that the interaction had been forgettable— at least according to the aloof response of the other. Never mind that. It was in Mo's nature to push on with a friendly nature.
Ah, the practically required mention of her first-last alliteration. She'd heard it before and she'd surely hear it again after tonight, but the way Mo had said it made her chuckle nonetheless. Like he already knew what her answer would be and was playing into how she felt about it. Premonicient. "Oh, yeah," Loren nodded, leaving the rest of the story untold in favor of the welcoming interior lights of the food stop.
They filled her vision, eyelids coming to squint as her eyes adjusted, hers and Mo's stances in the doorway going as quickly as they'd come. He, unknowingly, hadn't given her what she'd wanted, but she wouldn't hold it against him. At least, not noticeably. Latter, when she reflected on the whole night, she'd only find the miss-match funny. Maybe a touch cruel, but of her own doing, as it so often went.
Having moved through the moment and into the space with an easiness, Loren watched as he came to a stop. Right, the call. Good of him to remember, as his intention in stepping outside in the first place had entirely slipped her mind. She nodded and took his card, immediately placing it in one hand while the other reached into her bag. Her search for her own wallet was only interrupted by his calling back towards her, to which she gave another nod and a waving motion. Go, she communicated by it, already stepping up towards the counter.
Some minutes later and she was sitting at one of many empty tables, chair pressed up against the wall. In front of her laid her receipt, back side up. In the time since she'd ordered, she'd dug out a pen and began sketching in the blank space. The nearest empty table and set of chairs, the general shape of the wall behind it. Her hair, pulled over one shoulder, blocker her vision otherwise and she only noticed Mo's return when he'd gotten pretty close. When he had come into her sight, she sat back up and gave him her attention. "Should only be a few more minutes," she noted, lifting his card from the table and extending it towards him. "Good call?"
He'd stepped out into the night, under the street light of the parlor. The cool air found his face, and for a moment, he felt like he was somewhere else, that Southern California heat gone with the sun that had long since set. It was nearly the early morning hours for his sister now, but the phone call with her had been charmed. It was somewhere between brief and pleasant, as he was filled in with the details of their night, and more aptly, his nephew's. Likewise, he detailed parts of his own. He made a habit of speaking to his sisters once a week or so. Evidently, the night of Halloween seemed to be a notable thing to talk about. As usual, it was all smiles and some laughs, and of course, his sister asking about their mom and dad. He pocketed his phone and returned to the parlor, seeing Loren, still in his hat, sitting at an empty table adjacent to the counter.
"All good," He took his card from her, and then pulled out the seat across from her, "Sorry. I told her I'd get back to her," Monroe explained, hoping that would suffice — he hadn't wanted to leave his friend, Loren, alone. He smiled, "It was my nephew's first real Halloween this year," He told her, "He's at that age where it's starting to make sense. Evidently, that, unbound post-toddler energy and an endless supply of candy make for a long night."
Mo pulled his phone back out, opening it, quickly finding what he was looking for, and smiling, before turning the screen to face her, "— He was a Power Ranger," He told her, a picture of a small boy, dressed as the blue ranger, posing, on display, "Which, I take full accountability for. Uncle Mo was the one who put him on, for the record. And not just any Power Rangers, but the Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers." The screen of his phone had faded to black, but his merriment remained, clearly very proud of his humble achievement.
"You ever see that movie? The one from the nineties, with Ivan Ooze, I mean." Monroe asked, seamlessly falling back into his chatty, half-drunk behavior; however, this time he seemed to realize what he was doing. At least enough to know he should ask her a question, instead of chattering on. He looked at her then, his elbows on the table, his frame leaning towards her — unintentional on his behalf, but notable to anyone else. His attention was on her.
"I knew I could trust you," she said with a light boop on their nose as they broke away from intertwining their fingers. Savannah usually could tell if people were receptive to her energy. She always learned to be bigger than life, but not too much as to scare people away. To take up space, but never be the dominating force of a conversation, continually. There was always this tightrope balance she learned to emulate since she was a child, and has not seemed to let up, despite her best attempts. "What?" she scoffed with disbelief at his comment of recasting any good catch. "I would never! I take care of the people in my orbit if that's what you're afraid of." After all, she did her best to live by the golden rule. "I won't leave you high and dry."
He was fun, and Mo did not once give her an odd look and played into her banter. The fact that he could keep up was entertaining enough, but a part of her hoped he did genuinely care. She wasn't looking to make a friend simply for the night, but sincerely hoped it could extend far beyond the reaches of the club and its festivities of the night. Plus, he was cute, and that made it all the more fun. Thankfully, he did return with her champagne in tow, and she smiled with delight. "Thank you kindly. So, what's your deal, cowboy?"
He could still feel the light imprint of her finger, just tapping his nose, even as he'd walked away. It had taken him by surprise, the certitude and the spunk of it. Not that he minded confidence or a little moxie in a woman. Perhaps, he actually preferred it. Regardless, it went without saying: it certainly made for a more fun conversation. That's really all he wanted at this point. A fun conversation. To talk to someone new; to learn something new. That was what parties were about, right? Mingling and chattering. As he made his way back, he tried his best to balance the rather full champagne flute. Although upon reaching the general area, his focus was pried from the drink to her. He was glad to see that his new friend, the Goddess of the Sea, still remained.
He noted the charmed look on her face as he approached with a drink, which made him, in turn, smile rather contendingly. Mo handed the glass to her and then settled in by standing next to her. He turned his ear to her, leaning in to hear her speak, "What's my deal?" He repeated, leaning back to look at her, a grin finding him, "I don't know. Cowpoke drifters don't really have deals." Monroe jested, looking over at her with a mirthful look in his eyes, amused, teasing, and he bit down on his bottom lip, before caving and giving his head a small shake.
"But, if you're asking about Monroe…" He folded, switching gears as he looked back over at her, "... Then the deal is that I'm actually pretty green. I just moved here at the end of the summer." He explained, "I'm from Tennessee, originally, Knoxville." The male added, sensing that they had some of that 'fish out of water' sentiment in common, so he divulged, "What about you?" He asked, a smile creeping up onto his lips, "— What's your deal?"
"Oh yeah?" She brightens, watching him, "So you're a history buff firefighter..." Zoe nods slowly as she seems to contemplate this, then shrugs. "You know, that actually works? Like... It seems like it goes together somehow." She takes a little sip of her drink as she watches him.
As he suggests potential victims, that amused expression returns, Zoe's eyes going to Monroe's once more. "I have a feeling if I walk up and just casually bite a random stranger here it could cause some problems..." She says this after casting a glance to maybe one or two of his mentions, then looks back at him. "Just a weird intro overall..."
She groans lightly at his response, shaking her head. "Work was a mess this week. I swear people were just gunning to die ahead of Halloween. So many weird accidents, a few emergency surgeries..." It's all true, of course. Work had been crazy, and her hours had been stacked this past week. Could she have still made more time for him? Maybe... "Anyway, yeah... I, ah... I meant to message more. Just, you know..." A shrug. "Life. But... I was happy to see you here! I was going to ask if you were coming, too... And I've been good. Mostly I just tried to recoup from my shifts."
@monroegatlin
He laughed at her comment, amused. He leaned down again, speaking to her over the music and the noise, his eyes moving along her features, while a smile on his own, "So, what does that make me, then? The pineapple pizza of firemen?" It was a funny line of thinking — as if he were some Frankenstein, existing as both a fireman and a historian. It didn't offend him at all. He could see where she was coming from. He worked a physical job; it would make sense that doing something as delicate as reading might just be the last thing one could imagine someone like him doing.
When she looked at him now, he recognized a truth: it was different than the way she'd looked at him before, a little over a week ago — before they'd been together. He couldn't tell if he was discouraged or curious. There was a fine line, perhaps, although he shrugged, attempting to push the thoughts away, "Not as many problems as you'd think," He shook his head, a smirk finding his lips, "You're forgetting how persuasive a beautiful woman can be." He said plainly, though the small, sincere smile on his lips indicated the intent of a compliment.
'Anyway, yeah… I, ah… I meant to message more. Just, you know' — he instantly felt defeated. Deflated. A little sad, truthfully. And it showed on his face, his features growing dull rather than maintaining their usual contentedness. His easygoing nature had hardened. Maybe she had been busy. But he couldn't help but feel like it was at least partly an excuse. He'd looked down, nodding along to what she was saying, before lifting his head and planting a smile on his own expression, "No, I get it." He told her, "Don't feel like you have to explain anything to me."
He felt somewhat dispassionate about the conversation. It expressed itself with his gaze wandering off from her, and his lips falling into a small frown. He glanced down at his own drink, which was now nearly empty, and saw it as an opportunity to part. Monroe looked over at her, "I think I might go get another drink," He smiled, "But it was good to see you again, Zoe." And though he wasn't sure he believed his next words, he said them anyway, "Maybe I'll see you around."
closed starter for monroe gatlin ( @monroegatlin )
-> the firehouse
"Knock knock! I brought cookies! ...Again!" Bonnie's smile is mega-watt, sweet in the way she can't help but be when she's delivering a gift. The firehouse is one of her favorite stops; everyone's always hungry, and she feels in a sense like she's feeding the true heroes of the town. Anything to help the boys in... brown?
"They're pumpkin and molasses, so sorry to those who can't stand the fall flavors anymore. I promise next week I'll get back to the standard chocolate chunk."
He looked up from the truck with a smile upon hearing the jovial entrance of a beaming voice. He'd been working on the rig, making sure everything was up to par. A visitor was a delight, however, and not for an instant was there a thought to turn them away. As he approached, he realized that it was Bonnie. He'd met her a few weeks ago, whenever she'd brought sweets to the station then, and though it had been the last time he'd seen her, she'd left a warm impression, "Hey, you." The male greeted, walking up to her, wiping his hand on a rag.
"Oh, come on, listen, we're not picky around here. Just grateful. Besides, pumpkin and molasses sound absolutely—and unanimously—out of this world." He took the cookies from her, "I mean, if they're half as good as the last ones were, they'll be gone in a day. Easy."
"— Thank you, Bonnie," He gave her a nod. "What have you been up to? Other than baking up a storm."
"Hey, man," Monroe greeted, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked from the surfboards stacked against the wall, over to the presumed worker, "You don't have any recommendations for a beginner board, do you?" He asked, "I mean, I was reading online that a Wavestorm was a good place to start," He mused aloud, "But, I thought I'd get an expert to weigh in too."
Mireya tried her best to ignore the way her insides fluttered as Monroe's hand tightened over hers, holding her hand securely in his own as he wove them through the throngs of people, costumes and bodies blurring by them as he lead her through the crowd and to the bar and when he pointed out a miraculously empty little spot, she excitedly beelined to it, knowing it wouldn't be there long if they didn't snatch it up quick.
She let out a breath as her fingers connected with the wood of the bar, grinning at the victory of getting a much-sought after spot and she looked up at him as he squeezed in beside her, wasting no time in nodding at him, "I do. I trust you." And if it held more weight to it than just ordering a drink for her, then so be it. "And even if you are rotten, I think I'll still take my chances." She tacked on with a little laugh, playfully nudging her shoulder against his chest before letting him talk over her towards the bartender to order their drinks.
As they waited, Monroe was speaking again and she looked up at him once more as he said her name, those butterflies again taking flight inside of her at they way he looked at her, and as he spoke, they threatened to fly right out of her, taking her breath away with them. "I....I could say the same about you." She breathed, keeping her gaze up on his before just friends began to again tumble in her head. "Even if you are a rotten outlaw."
He'd never felt so much mirth from being called 'rotten' before. Alas, it was her calling him such things, and he was convinced even the sharpest words could leave her and pin him to the wall, and yet, it would still sound like sweet talk. Oh, he was so fucked. Totally smitten. Absolutely beguiled. Whether she'd intended to inflict such magic on him was beyond his comprehension, at least for the time being. However, he could easily discern the pressure of her shoulder against his chest. It was brief, only prodding. He found his gaze to be uncompromising, one intoxicated, not only by what he'd been drinking, but by the feeling that eddied within him while he stood next to her. Her eyes, her mouth — his apogee. The rest of the room faded to black.
'I could say the same about you'. So he wasn't completely imagining things. He smiled, a very characteristic grin finding his expression, as he glanced down at his own chest. Rotten outlaw. There she went with those honeyed words again. He proceeded to take off his hat and place it on her head, his eyes moving from her hair to her profile, then specifically to her lips, "Well," He smirked, "— Looks like I'm not the only rotten outlaw now," Monroe joked dryly, his arm moving around her back as his hand found the bar on the other side of her. His chest moved closer to her shoulder, "I think this is the part where you decide to either run off with me, or turn me in." Mo continued with the small act, and although their drinks had come to them, he hadn't noticed.
