tanny.

dependent blog for bleedingheartsfm.

[moonlitmontana]

bio / wanted connections / face

[brightreddays]

miles: yes, like that when I arrived to open miles: exactly what I thought as well miles: but he seemed to genuinely have no idea what I was talking about miles: and (for once, this time) I bel miles: ohhh wait miles: so that's how it is is it? gang up on the old man? miles: lovely. very funny. fucking hilarious

[moonlitmontana]

tanny: he definitely snuck in this morning. he had to

tanny: who?

tanny: miles

tanny: i know u did not just call urself the old man when u have 20 years on me tops

tanny: i promise it wasn’t me! u know my style.

tanny: the door was locked right? tell me i didn’t forget that at least

tanny: texted hiro. will let u know if he fesses up

[brightreddays]

miles: 🧐 miles: wait what? miles: not concerned about the cuppa and no need to replace the tin but miles: was this not your doing? <photo attached>

[moonlitmontana]

tanny: oh good Lord

tanny: what the

tanny: this screams Hiro

tanny: it was like that when u came in 2day?

tanny: i don’t even use sugar

[moonlitmontana]

[one image attached a.k.a. a grainy tanny selfie with the dolls]

tanny: LOL look. triplets

tanny: i like them. we’re getting on as miles would say

tanny: abigail says u stink

tanny: we could scare the life out of frankie with these

[wldngmn]

hiro: aww look at that adorabel. hiro: abigail is a liar i do not stink. hiro: oh frankie would never recover tfrom a scare like that. hiro: id have to gvie him a cuddle jsut so he could sleep again. hiro: ...lets do it.

[moonlitmontana]

tanny: when do u close next

tanny: sunday or tues?

tanny: we could have him come to the shop & everything

tanny: also why did u dump all that tea and sugar out. waste of earl grey

tanny: miles thinks it wasn’t u

[brightreddays]

miles: montana darling miles: hiro and I both agree that the murder dolls tea party is adorable miles: albeit in a rather perverse way miles: but would you mind in future forewarning me if you're going to empty out the tea tin miles: ? thx luv @moonlitmontana

[moonlitmontana]

tanny: morning miles!

tanny: wait there was a tea party

tanny: and they didn’t invite me? have they seen my spoons

tanny: JK lol i did have a cuppa last night when i closed. and i did pose the ladies w/ mini teacups so they did not feel left out. sorry 2 scare u hahah

tanny: it was half full when i left it in the cupboard. maybe hiro chugged some this AM

tanny: not 2 point fingers…

tanny: i’ll bring a new tin in 2night. i probably finished it without realizing.

tanny: so sorry!

[moonlitmontana]

tanny: aww im ur friend

tanny: maybe one day u will b mine

tanny: ok freak i will

tanny: im always nice. always

[three hours later]

tanny: ok just met the ladies.

tanny: u are so ridiculous

[wldngmn]

hiro: hah. hiro: so u like them? hiro: arent they nightmare fuel? lol.

[moonlitmontana]

[one image attached a.k.a. a grainy tanny selfie with the dolls]

tanny: LOL look. triplets

tanny: i like them. we’re getting on as miles would say

tanny: abigail says u stink

tanny: we could scare the life out of frankie with these

[moonlitmontana]

tanny: u know i can’t do mornings

tanny: i hate this.

tanny: why do they want to meet me?? WHO ARETHEY

tanny: r we gonna share straws

tanny: gross

[wldngmn]

hiro: they wan to meet u cuz ur my friend and I talk about u obv. hiro: mb they a lil jealous. hard to tell tbh. hiro: u will c them at work later so tell them i said hey. hiro: Miles met them already. he was there when I met them. so u can ask him to point them out. hiro: and be nice.

[moonlitmontana]

tanny: aww im ur friend

tanny: maybe one day u will b mine

tanny: ok freak i will

tanny: im always nice. always

[three hours later]

tanny: ok just met the ladies.

tanny: u are so ridiculous

[wildmead]

What Laurie lacks in social awareness, he makes up for in situational awareness. While alone in the woods, any rustle in the bushes or notable shift in the weather could mark impending danger. And although the throngs of people filling the square hinder this awareness (too much noise, both visual and auditory), and although he’s not looking directly at her, eyes darting here there and everywhere but her face, he still catches when Tanny stops mid-thought, bright blue eyes momentarily stormy, aiming right past the horses.

There’s a brief moment of concern—Is it something I said?—before he follows where her gaze is pointed, catches the distant figures of Josie and Hiro locked in a passionate embrace he was most certainly not meant to see.

Really, the only feeling here is disappointment.

Tanny moves on quickly, although as her eyes shift back to warmth and move to meet his, her fingers press down ever so slightly into his forearm. He figures he shouldn’t be surprised that Josie’s best friend would also be unhappy with this development, unless there’s some other element here he’s missing.

…He did hear Josie going on and on about the Journal, about some piece of unfounded gossip regarding Tanny and Hiro… but there’s no way he’s read all these signs that incorrectly, right? He’s bad with this kind of stuff, but not that bad.

No. She’s here next to him, all light and laughter, arm looped through his, and they are going to enjoy this time together. He’s going to enjoy this time with her.

And with Pandora, of course.

“She’s smart, huh.” He reaches out a slow, measured hand, letting her get a good look at it first. “Better than me, at least. I forget faces all the time.” After he feels a sense of horse approval, he settles in for a few soft nose rubs.

“I do remember her, though. I've taken pictures when she’s out in the pasture.” He turns to Tanny then, eyes a bit wide. “I shoulda given those ones to you. They’re buried in a drawer, so no surprise you didn’t see ‘em. You’ll have to come by again.” This time, the invite warrants no embarrassment. "Maybe later today. Don't wanna forget."

And then he's unlooping his arm from hers, preparing to board their noble steed, who is standing still and patient. But he's mostly just standing, unsure what to do with himself.

[moonlitmontana]

“Not the important ones,” Tanny replies softly, watching as Laurie interacts with the animal. And Lord, if she doesn’t nearly melt into a puddle right there beside him. Without even trying, he’s gentle, patient, thoughtful, and—

Those few sips of mead must really be getting to her in this heat.

When he mentions the pictures, she turns to him, eyes wide and mirroring his as she taps his arm quickly in agreement. “You gotta show me,” she insists with a bouncy blonde nod. There’s still a little pink in her cheeks, but there’s no hesitation when she says “Perfect. I’ll walk ‘ya home,” with a cheeky little smile.

And then she realizes that he’s just standing there, likely looking for some sort of direction. “Oh,” she mutters, squeezing Laurie’s arm one more time before she lets go to approach Pandora. Best to lead by example, she figures. In a far-too-practiced movement, making it look easy, she steps up into the stirrup and swings her right leg over, settling herself into the seat.

With a puff of air through her lips, she shifts back, beaming down at Laurie. “Come on up,” she invites with a little pat to the seat of the saddle. “Grab onto that – that’s the horn. ‘N just use your momentum t’get over.” Once she’s out of the way, butt firmly planted on the skirt of the saddle and feet clear of the stirrups, she points to where his hands and feet should go. “Don’t worry about kickin’ me, neither.”

“There y’go,” she says with a little laugh once he’s done it, adjusting to make sure he’s comfortable. She reaches down to tweak the position of his legs, as if they’re about to rope calves rather than do a snail-paced lap around the square. And then she winds her arms around him, guiding his hands to the reins, her own fingers resting gently atop.

Maybe those heads of brown and black hair turn to look, or even a pair of watery Buchanan blue eyes. If they do, Tanny doesn’t notice. She doesn’t care – how could she, laughing and resting her chin on Laurie’s shoulder as they saunter through the town?

[veticent]

“There was an educational event a few years back at the botanical gardens.” While her focus is trained on Clem, the words spill out more easily. “It was put on by this bat conservation group, who'd prepare a little crash course on bats before taking folks outside to look for bats. That's where I picked up that specific tidbit,” she explains as she stretches out the cat's limbs, making sure there aren't any joint or muscular issues. Pressing on the pads, Val checks her paws and claws during this process.

The sputtering laugh catches her by surprise, hands stilling over Clementine as she looks up at Tanny. “Oh,” she smiles at the explanation. It's an amusing and inconsequential mistake, but there's still this immediate feeling of foolishness. “My mistake.” Valerie makes a mental reminder to check the file later, but her attention is still mostly with Clementine, who does seem to be in fine health. She'd been keeping a watchful eye on the cat since they'd entered the exam room, and she hadn't noticed anything outwardly abnormal or anything off in the cat's movements. Nor had she felt anything strange during the physical examination.

“Noted.” She might take the girl up on the offer sometime, though it was likely a much better offer for someone who lived in the town.

The whole process is a breeze in comparison to dealing with big cats and other large animals. She has scars to prove it, too, though mostly the big one. But patients like Clementine make it even easier. Her response is slightly delayed as Val takes a moment to listen to her heart and lungs. “She's looking great,” she nods, looping her stethoscope back around her neck. “Let me just weigh her, and I'll let you two get back home.”

[moonlitmontana]

This woman doesn’t seem to be giving Tanny much – and normally she wouldn’t mind, if she didn’t see the tiniest hint of herself reflected in the veterinarian. Or, a self that could’ve been.

She doesn’t mind. Just an itch she can’t scratch, really.

Part of her can’t help but feel like the exam is for her rather than Clementine – that Val is judging her health as a reflection of Tanny. And while her claws are in perfect manicured condition, her fur is dandruff-free, and her teeth are pearly white, what kind of pet parent lets their cat munch on a flower?

By the time the exam starts to wrap up, Clementine is wriggling like a worm to try and get attention from Val, having warmed up plenty and then some. She manages to stay still long enough for her to press the stethoscope to her fur. “Sorry,” Tanny says under her breath, even though her cat is probably far from the worst patient Val’s ever cared for.

“Thanks again,” she adds. “For seein’ us so quick – I feel a lot better.” Her head nods, blonde humidity-frizzed waved bouncing with the movement. Crisis averted, and only a few tears shed in the process. She’ll leave that part out when she recounts the story to her brothers later.

[wldngmn]

hiro: lame. hiro: miles giving us opposing schesuldes on purpose. bet. hiro: how dare u call my gfs animals. hiro: i will not say its animals cuz i'm dating them both. they want to meet u. let's all go out for milkshake at granny's aftr ur shift.

[moonlitmontana]

tanny: u know i can’t do mornings

tanny: i hate this.

tanny: why do they want to meet me?? WHO ARETHEY

tanny: r we gonna share straws

tanny: gross

[vespcrtines]

Maybe there was time for him to answer the Cap’n. Maybe time for a look, a half-grin, some gruff remark to poke at him with, to let the man know he didn't forget his name. But nothing tugs at Huck Buchanan’s attention harder than his own people, and sure enough, his eyes break from Miles' to instead follow Tweedy's crown of blonde hair as she ducks past them into the house, the porch creaking soft beneath her steps.

He jerks his chin toward the man before him, a wordless gesture that says come on, then, and falls in behind her. The beer bottle’s cold in his hand, condensation slick against his palm, and Biscuit, the oversized, under-brained fool, wedges his big square head up under Huck’s free hand with a needy little whine that’s too soft for a dog his size. Damn beast never could stand being left out. Huck huffs out through his nose, dragging his palm down over the dog’s skull. "Christ almighty, you’re worse than the kid," he mutters.

“Hm? Naw,” he answers without looking when Tanny calls out, already crossing the living room. “He’s pickin’ lemons off the Conways’ tree,” The bottle clinks gently against the coaster he drops it on. Ma might be upstairs, but he can still hear her voice clear as a bell in the back of his head about water rings on her good table. His curls bounce as he jerks his head toward the hallway, where the light’s gone thin and the house settles quietly. "Logan’s with Ma. Think they’re both sawin’ logs, if you’re fixin’ to wake 'em. Careful though, Tweed; Bozo’s makin’ a beeline for your knees."

His shoulder finds the wall, settling there easy as you please, easy as anything, one boot crossing over the other. His gaze flicks to his sister just in time to catch her hop aside from the dog’s insistent shoves, then slides back to Miles still out in the doorway. Sure enough, man looks about as steady as a fencepost in a storm, and it stirs up a slow itch in Huck’s chest, left over from the bar, from the ease of that night, from stories and lighters and shared beers.

Yeah. Tanny sure as shit didn’t tell Miles exactly whose porch he was walkin’ up on. She’d told Huck, though. Names just didn’t stick worth a damn.

“Met down at the Stag, actually,” Huck drawls, slow and steady, with all the time in the world. His gaze catches on Miles’, the glint in his own steady, even if no grin comes with it. The corner of his mouth twitches, though. Just a little.

“You’re welcome to sit wherever suits ya, Mr. Briggs-Bennett.”

[brightreddays]

The first response that pops into Miles' head is both ridiculous and wildly inappropriate. He coughs quietly, stifling the urge to chuckle. And hides what's trying to be a smirk behind the beer Tanny's given him -- leaning in the doorway, eyes briefly connecting with Huck's watery blues over the upturned amber bottle.

"Appreciate it," he tells Huck instead. A tiny flicker of merriment -- impossible to completely suppress -- lifts one end of his neatly-trimmed mustache. He takes a chair, then tips his bottle at Huck, a salute and a thanks rolled into one. And then Tanny slides past, and an enormous dog butts its square head into Huck's palm, and brother and sister begin talking.

And the odd little fizzing of I-know-you-know-I know tension dissolves, at least for the moment. Which, Miles decides, is probably a good thing, all things considered. This is, after all, Montana's night; she's been scheming to have Miles over for dinner with the family for weeks now. Tanny has become impossibly dear to Miles, although he's never said so aloud, and he's not about to tarnish her carefully-planned evening.

The dog -- the one Huck calls Bozo -- is enormous. Nearly as big as Jeeves, possibly bigger. And apparently sweet as pie, and an attention hog. Miles, predictably, is instantly besotted. As Tanny crow-hops out of its way, narrowly avoiding being knocked over, Miles drops to a crouch, ignoring the twinge in his bum knee. He beckons the big furry beast over with a flutter of inked fingers "Please," he tells Huck, one brow quirked. "It's Miles; Mr. Briggs-Bennett is..." He waves the end of the cliched phrase aside; the less said about the not-so-dearly-departed Briggs-Bennett Sr., the better.

And turns his attention to the dog. "Who is this big handsome boy?" he asks, putting on a gruffly silly voice rich with affection. "Bozo," he scoffs, scratching the big blocky head and dodging an attempted nose kiss, nearing upending himself in the process. "Terrible," he play-tutts, with a quick sidewise glance up at Tanny, blue-grey eyes twinkling. "Impossible. You're clearly an genius among dogs," he tells the beast, who pants, happy. "I can sense these things, you know."

The bottle of wine and the paper cone of fresh flowers -- a warm-hued mix of sunflowers, delphinium, apricot-orange roses, stock and irises -- sit on the kitchen counter. The bouquet catches Miles' eye, reminds him of what he'd meant to say before Huck's offhand invitation diverted his attention. "I'd love to meet your mum,' he tells both Huck and Tanny. "Hand-deliver those. Although if she's not up to receiving visitors, I understand." Tanny's mentioned, vaguely, a handful of times, that Mother Buchanan is ailing. Miles doesn't know what the nature of her illness is, and is far too polite to ask; he has, however, gathered it's something that keeps her abed at least part of the time.

@moonlitmontana

[moonlitmontana]

“Shit,” Tanny whispers before scooting out of the way of The Largest Dog Who Ever Lived. A dribble of beer nearly sloshes over the neck of the bottle, but she saves it with her bottom lip and an upturned palm. She adores Biscuit, but he has the tendency to see himself as about the size of a chihuahua, and often (always) forgets that he can knock Montana clean on her ass.

“Hey, be careful,” she says to the dog, landing a quick pet on the head before he’s entirely distracted by Miles. She practically winces, bracing for impact (he isn't exactly the most graceful animal around), but what else did she expect from a man with three dogs? “That’s Biscuit,” she explains, taking a sip from her bottle to avoid any additional potential spilling accidents. “He’s Frankie’s second horse.”

The Stag? Tanny will have to unpack that later, maybe after a couple more beers or a glass of wine. She can practically picture it now – Huck, jaw set, back against the wall, and Miles, all unassuming pleasantries. They probably said two sentences to each other, but this is going well enough that she can’t even let herself care. And maybe they’ve only said two more sentences to each other so far tonight, but from what she can tell, they both like each other!

Right?

There’s no time for her to overanalyze. Miles is asking to meet their mother, and her back stiffens a little bit, in the way it does when she remembers she’s meant to be proper. Her eyes flick to Huck’s – a mixture of don’t worry, I didn’t say anything I shouldn't and I’ll handle it – watery blue staring into itself.

“Sure,” she answers with a tiny smile, sparing a glance at the bouquet. “I’ll, uh–” She’s already starting toward the stairs, blonde waves bouncing with her hurried movements. If Ma wakes up now, maybe Frankie’ll be back by the time Tanny can wrangle Logan downstairs. “I’ll see how she’s feelin’.” In a flash, she turns to go up the steps, disappearing from view.

But then she runs back down a couple steps, peeking around to smile at Miles. She can’t forget her manners, even on such an important (and energy-consuming) night. “We’re real glad you’re here,” she says, beaming like a ray of sunshine, before focusing back on the task at hand: checking on her mother and nephew. Her footsteps creak slightly on the stairs as she ascends.

And with that, she leaves them alone for a few moments in the living room, beers in hand.

@vespcrtines @brightreddays

[spanglehoney]

There's a few seconds too long before Tanny speaks again, and that's just long enough for Ken to steal a look at her expression of pure, unadulterated shock. Oh, no. They've said something they shouldn't have, that much is apparent. There's no way she doesn't know Frankie smokes by now, right? His two best friends are the biggest skunks in town, not to mention it's so very obvious when he's too stoned off his gourd to do anything besides jam out and smile his stupid smile. And yet, everything about her reaction says otherwise.

And they're thankful they clocked it, too, because now Tanny's expression is melting into something more smirky as she attempts to sneak past it. A little too pleased with herself— meanwhile Ken is mentally kicking themself, taking note that they'll have to call him up as soon as she heads out with a fair warning. Hey, so, uh, I accidentally told your sister you roll a real crappy joint. Please say no biggie.

Whatever; they're all adults. And honestly, she should've known by now. Inconspicuous is not a word they'd choose to describe their beloved Frankfurt. "Not very well," they note with a smirk of their own, knowing they won't be able to stop it from morphing into a grimace the longer they think about it. They sigh, canoe be gone, and take a long drag, free hand rubbing one of their eyes. "Shit." Voice tight with a held inhale, they pass it back, flopping back against the couch cushions as the smoke puffs out of them. "Don't think I was supposed to say that, was I?"

[moonlitmontana]

Tanny isn’t sure what she’s more impressed by – the fact that Frankie can roll a joint, or the fact that he smokes in the first place. Well, if they ever need to prove they’re related in a pinch, they can both roll and compare twin canoes, she guesses.

She nearly snorts at their response. Her body is starting to get to the point where her shoulders feel loose and her eyelids feel heavy. But even in her elevated state, she knows she needs to sit on this tidbit of information before disclosing it to Frankie. What’s she going to do – confront him, then have to explain how she went to Ken to ask them all about pot when it just slipped out?

“I won’t if you won’t,” she responds, feeling like the statement is missing a few words the moment it leaves her mouth. Still, she hopes Ken gets what she’s trying to say. She takes a long exhale of the joint and holds it in her mouth as she passes it back over to them. “Thanks for being cool about this,” she adds, half-lidded smile thrown their way.

[ofmourningdoves]

He doesn't mean the words to be cruel.

Of course he doesn't -- Frankie tries to find the best way to word every single phrase he's uttered, lest he upset someone. But, still, his words carry a certain kind of weight that hangs heavy in the air. What we wanted, as if he's had a conversation with Huck or his Mama about Tanny leaving school. He hasn't, but some things go unspoken but are ever present, like the way he had to unceremoniously take down her acceptance letters from the fridge before she arrived back home, in a flurry between accepting casserole dishes from their neighbors and fielding calls from the funeral home. They're tucked neatly away in one of the family scrapbooks, which seemingly ends up in a different spot each time Frankie finds it -- a ghost of something that could have been haunting the family.

She came back because she needed to. Is that the truth Frankie isn't entirely sure. Maybe Tanny needed to come back for a little bit, attend the funeral, say her goodbyes to their father, may he rest in peace. But...she didn't have to stay. She could have gone back to college, defer for a year before coming back to that full ride. But, maybe that's a little streak of jealousy in him rearing its ugly head.

"...I know you did, Tan. You don't have to tell me that."

Lord knows Frankie applied to more colleges than he could count, but the partial scholarships he got weren't enough. Some higher power deigned him to stay in the Springs, become a lifelong learner at the library until he's in their family's plot behind Eternal Rest. Maybe he'll always be a little upset with her because he would have gone about it differently.

Not that he'd ever say this out loud. That's a weight for him to carry until it grows lighter.

He hums at that, soft, his hand dropping as his gaze falls back to the painting in front of the pair. "...I think that would be good for you," he starts after a beat, glancing over to her with a little, near shy grin. "Got any ideas on what you'd wanna study? Dream scenario."

[moonlitmontana]

He’s right. Lord, he’s always right. She doesn’t have to defend herself to him. She doesn’t have to defend herself to anybody, even though she sure knows how. Maybe everyone’s accepted that Montana Buchanan is fated to live in Bleeding Hearts Springs for the rest of her life. It wouldn’t be so bad, right?

But maybe she isn’t.

The painting still needs a moment to dry on its newest layer, so she waves a hand in front of it absentmindedly as she thinks. “Dream scenario?” she echoes, not knowing where to begin. There’s the dream where she finished her intended degree – but there’s no use telling Frankie about that when it’ll never happen.

“Maybe archaeology,” she says, with a little giggle escaping her lips and shaking her shoulders. She can still remember learning the word in secondary school and being fascinated by a career of exploring all day.“Don’t laugh.” A hand reaches out to gently smack Frankie’s arm. “I’d never run outta things t’paint.”

Maybe there’s a Tanny who studied archaeology, and a Tanny who studied art, and a Tanny who studied mathematics or even a writer. She remembers reading a poem or a story about that once – something about all the possible lives in front of you and a fig tree.

None of those Tannys are sitting on the porch of the Buchanan house tonight, talking about make-believe futures with her brother. The Tanny here had a dream scenario, one that could’ve changed all of their lives.

“What about you?” she asks, dipping the brush into the wetted color Frankie had chosen before. Her hand swipes and drags the color across the paper with a practiced ease, leaving slight shimmer on the petals.

[calicoegg]

Freddie is also, predictably, sweaty as shit. The tight lycra of her sunflower costume feels nearly plastered onto her skin, and her forehead is dotted with moisture. But she's sweaty a lot, and usually for much less fun reasons, so she's not letting it get her down.

"Shit, thanks, Tan!" She returns the exaggerated bow, yellow foam petals bobbing with the movement. "Pulled this one out from the archives. Think I last wore it... damn, probably when I was, like, sixteen?" God, that makes her feel old. OK, less focus on the process of aging, more enjoying the final hurrahs of youth. She sticks her arm out for her festival companion. "Now let's get goin' before the kids scoop up all the good prizes."

After a quick romp over to the games—although the festival feels endless, the town square really isn't all that big—she's posting them both up in position to scope all the available games (and, most importantly, all the available prizes).

"Which one is callin' to you?" There are stuffed animals of nearly every variety. "You pick it, we will win it."

[moonlitmontana]

Tanny loops her arm through Freddie’s, and hey, at least they’re both dripping in sweat. While she normally gives any prize won (that is, if she plays any games in the first place) to her beloved nephew, family members, or best friend, she does allow herself to look for her own sake. Only for things that catch her eye, of course.

But what’s catching her eye right now would not be for her – oh no. She points, like Babe Ruth at the 1932 World Series, into the distance, at a decently sized stuffed clownfish. Its eyes are entirely too un-fish-like, and Tanny’s never seen one in person, but she’s pretty sure something about the coloring is off.

“That one, Fred,” she says, decided. It hangs tauntingly over a booth lined with stacks of tin cans and balls waiting to be lobbed at them. “It’s perfect.”

[wldngmn]

hiro: ha. ha. ha. hiro: man whatever thats the same thing. hiro: tomorrow yea in the am. do u? hiro: did u meet abigial and annabelle?

[moonlitmontana]

tanny: whatever u say

tanny: i’m closing. shit

tanny: ??? no

tanny: who are they

tanny: your gfs?

tanny: kidding. PLZ say it’s animals

[wildmead]

Laurie loves bugs. Really, he does—he can point at any old bug hanging out on a rotten stump or underneath a overturned stone and rattle off facts for days. And so he loves working at the apiary, surrounded by the comforting buzz of honeybees.

But, secretly? He's always wished his family also had some of the more traditional farm animals. Cows, chickens, pigs... oft the subject of his photography, and also the subject of much fondness. But of course, the stars in his heart are the horses—as a kid, fantasy nerd that he was, he'd always longed for his own Shadowfax.

He follows her gaze toward the horse rides, where children and only children are currently gathered, waiting in line for their turn to amble around town square. The click of hooves against cobblestone can be heard even from the Healing Hive booth, and he spots Pandora among the lineup, a multicolored crown of seasonal flowers standing stark against her black and white coat.

There's a brief moment of hesitation—he doesn't even really partake in the festival games, believing the prizes should be left to the kids. But there's no harm in a grown man taking a ride on a horse, right?

The rides are advertised for couples too, after all.

Is that what they are? ...Is that why she suggested it? With a playful little bump of the hip, no less.

His cheeks flush—easy enough to blame on the heat, but still obvious. He takes a quick sip of his fresh cup of mead; he's not usually one to rely on liquid courage, but he's also never been in the company of someone he liked quite this much. And then he offers his arm to her, trying to keep it as nonchalant as possible. (It's not.) "Yeah, let's do it."

And then they're walking toward the horses, getting in position behind the lineup of overeager, sugar-filled children. Her arm is still linked with his, hand resting on his bare skin. He's trying not to think about it too hard.

"So, uh... tell me more. About Pandora, I mean." He's back to struggling with the eye contact, looking at a lollipop that has tragically fallen into the dirt in front of them. "I always wanted a horse when I was a kid."

[moonlitmontana]

For a brief moment in time, she’s looking up at him, crease between her brows as she watches him gulp down a few swigs of his mead, and she’s fourteen again. All Ken, did I offend Laurie? and them laughing right in her face. Dude, he doesn’t mind.

Maybe he doesn’t mind. But he does care – and thank the Lord, because Tanny was just starting to regret her little innocent hip-bump. And then his arm is out for her to take, but not in the safety of the forest, hidden behind the thick of the trees and under warmth of sleeping bags.

This is for everyone to see.

“Let’s!” she echoes, stupid grin plastered across her face. She doesn’t hesitate to loop her arm in his, wrist curled around his bicep and fingertips resting gently on his arm.

“I did, too,” she admits, watching her brother’s horse loop back through the square, polite and diligent even with a squirming child on her back. “She’s real sweet, and wicked fast when she wants t’be. Huck used t’–”

Her breath escapes her in a sharp exhale as she looks just beyond Pandora into the crowd, catching a twirl of familiar reddish-brown and another of black, together and – kissing?

No. There’s just no way in hell Josie is kissing Hiro, and there is no fucking way she just looked right at Tanny.

She doesn’t let herself check if she’s right. Instead, she looks at Laurie, who is right next to her and warm and offered his arm (even after watching her choke on the Mead of Doom). And past him, where Pandora is sauntering up, passenger-free and headed straight to nudge Tanny’s shoulder.

“Manners,” she whispers with a breathy laugh, redirecting her head so they can both pet her. “Say hi to Laur,” she urges, like a firm direction given to a shy sibling. It’s just dawned on her that Laurie has spent very little time around the farm itself – she’ll have to do something about that. Though he’s definitely seen the animals before, she doesn’t know how much of a first-name basis he’s on. “She never forgets a face,” she explains, patting Pandora’s back.

[vespcrtines]

Lord, was she really ready for this? Was she ready to step out of the train for the first time that she could remember, and enter a world untouched by one Josie Sutton? Like, actually untouched. No Mrs. Donovan waving from her porch swing, no Laurie five steps behind making sure she didn’t fall into a ditch, no Miss Patty from school hollering “That skirt’s a sin, sweetheart!” Well, she’s plum out of chances to back out now, and the cold night air slaps and kisses her all at once—crisp and sharp against her cheeks, catching in the spaces behind her ears and down the slope of her shoulders. She tucks herself in tighter against Tanny’s side, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, and her heart, damn, her heart can’t stop p-p-p-pounding in her chest.

It’s a different kind of sound out here than the hush of the Springs, where nights settle soft and the loudest thing’s crickets or the clink of glass bottles getting hauled inside for the night. But here? Here there’s life. Actual, breathing, electric life. The air hums with it. Little scraps of laughter and conversation float down the street like fireflies, lights from storefronts and bars glow warm and gold and pink, stringing together a path ahead. And Josie? Well, Josie feels something in her stomach flip right over.

Okay. Okay, if Paris Hilton could do this, so could she. Wait—bad example. Paris was practically born with a VIP wristband on. Didn’t she have some article in CosmoGirl! about surviving your first club night? Josie could see the glossy page in her head: something about waterproof mascara, never letting your drink outta sight, pepper spray in your purse—

Pepper spray.

Shit.

Her hand dives for her glittery purse, rummaging through lip gloss tubes and a crumpled five-dollar bill, panic prickling up the back of her neck at the very obvious, terrible, betraying lack of said pepper spray. Man. And that was, like, one of the main rules of the Sutton household, too. Self-defense, when they were a lot that made beds out in the forest more than their own sheets. Ken’s gonna murder her dead if she gets kidnapped just ‘cause she was too busy matching her lip liner to her boots to remember basic survival essentials.

The spiral’s already halfway around the drain when Tanny’s voice cuts through the panic, and it’s like a rope tossed out over wild water. Josie snaps her head over, and Lord, if her best girl doesn’t look cool as a cucumber on ice. Chic, unbothered, like this whole new world was made for her. Was she nervous? Did it feel this big and bright and too-much to her, too? If it did, Lord, she hid it better than Josie ever could.

Josie takes a deep, steadying breath. In for five, out for seven. Or, well, close enough. Her palm presses right up against her chest to feel the wild drum of her heart. The moments pass them by, and it doesn't take too long before the pounding calms a touch. Enough to manage a grin.

“I’m good,” she answers, voice a touch too high, too breathy, desperate to hide the panic that rocks her veins. “Legs’re workin’. Brain’s… debatable.” She lets out a soft, choked little laugh that’s more nerves than humor and casts her eyes around the street again, soaking it all in. The night stretches out ahead of them, endless and glittering and a little bit wicked in the way only new places can be. Josie hears it before she sees it—the low, steady thump of bass bleeding out from somewhere up ahead, distant but steady, a heartbeat buried under layers of brick and asphalt. It’s muffled by the space between them and the club’s door, but it finds its way to her anyway, rolling in under her skin, rattling around somewhere deep in her chest.

And damn if it doesn’t make her stomach flip again.

She squeezes Tanny’s hand, tighter than before, as her boots start moving, carrying her down unfamiliar streets bathed in neon pinks and soft purples, past windows lit up with people laughing over sloshing glasses, and signs advertising two-for-one well drinks and karaoke Mondays. The world’s so loud, even when it’s quiet, and she swears the air itself hums, thick with stories she hasn’t heard yet.

Josie gives a shaky grin to the dark sky above, lets the bass pulse through her bones, and mutters mostly to herself, “Well… here goes everythin',” as they follow the music toward the glow.

[moonlitmontana]

Tanny’s heart skips a beat as Josie fumbles for her purse, half of her thinking she’s going fishing for the note sticking out of her own wallet – Laurie’s neat Heart Day lettering all folded and tucked between fives and singles. “Whatcha need?” she asks as she watches her best friend, pulse slowing back to normal as she realizes she’s forgotten something.

I’m good, Josie says, though she can tell in a second that she’s trying with every little bone in her body to keep cool. Tanny is too; it’s been a good couple years since she’s been in a crowd so big, so new, so unfamiliar. Already, she can taste the burn of liquor on her tongue, feel the tickle of sweat dripping down her neck. It’s exciting and terrifying, threatening to crawl from her stomach up her throat.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Her hand squeezes Josie’s with just as much pressure, full of desperation and nerves under tinted sunscreen and lipgloss. There’s nothing in particular she can pinpoint being worried about – like standing on the edge of a murky, bottomless lake. Full of unknowns. How long they’ll stay, who they’ll meet, what’ll happen when she walks through the front door.

Thank the Lord above that Josie starts moving, because Tanny was beginning to think her legs might be permanently cemented into the earth beneath them. She follows, like they always do when the other moves, jogging a couple steps so they’re side by side, stride in sync with hers.

Left, right. Please don’t let Huck be up late. Left, right, left, right. Remember to drink as much water as alcohol. Left, ri—

Nearly tripping on a sidewalk crack, she watches her feet carefully for a moment, breaths measured and steady. “Here,” she says softly, reaching over to stick a hand in Josie’s purse as they continue their pace. The thump-thump of the music is getting louder with every step, and Tanny swears she can feel it in her toes. Her fingers close around her ID, and she retrieves it from the bag, holding it in between their teeth.

Like a light shining down from heaven, the building beckons to them, sending pulses of pink and red and purple and white streaking through the evening sky. She zips Josie’s purse up quickly after getting her ID card out, handing it over to her between two fingers.

Brain, Tanny. Body, Josie. Somehow, they’ll make it through this night, no hiccups or weirdos or spilled drinks or tearful confessions of anxiety about the future, as big and wide and booming as the night looming ahead of them. Her boots manage to move alongside Josie’s as they join the short line (of exactly three people) waiting to get inside the bar. Tanny sneaks a peek inside the establishment, which is decidedly dive-y and likely unassuming in the daylight.

“First round’s on me,” she says, switching from holding her hand to looping their arms together so they can handle their IDs. After a quick shot, she’ll be better – the music will be less intrusive and more inspiring, the people less unknown and more undiscovered.

And then they’re stepping up, and she’s presenting the little plastic rectangle to the mustached man sitting on a wooden barstool under the lamplight, shifting a little closer to Josie.