lucky charms & gin.

Samara Amir. 27. Port Elisabeth. Freelance Journalist, Bartender at Alibi, & Aspiring Podcaster

[samara-amir]

ALEX & SAMARA.

FRIDAY, JANUARY 22ND, 2021 —   At the Rockwater Resort - Open Starter 

If they were being honest, the blackout had been the perfect opportunity and excuse to sneak out and away from the party for a bit of alone time. Finding a cloakroom in the vast resort wasn’t hard, but now having to sneak out of it was proving to be a little more difficult. Straightening his tie, Alex snaked a hand through his hair to smooth it out, trying to look as normal as possible. Letting Mina sneak out of the room first, Alex held back for about a minute before clearing his throat and stepping outside of the cloakroom.

Like he had thought, there were beams of torches and phone lights bouncing all over the walls and in his haste to move away from the cloakroom and look as unsuspicious as possible, Alex hurried away from the room and walked straight bang into someone. That would teach him for walking before his eyes had adjusted to the darkness. “Oh shit, I am so sorry, I apparently did not eat enough carrots as a kid because I can’t see in the dark. Are you okay?”

@elisabethstarters·

::

This is her fault. She’d jinxed herself. She was convinced her night couldn’t possibly get any worse. With her nerves hopping around in a jumbled mess of misplaced electricity and the mob of people now swarming the bar, not to mention that stupid mistake she’d made earlier, Samara had been certain this was all the night had to throw at her.

That’s before she crashes into a broad chest. Which would have been fine. Totally fine... If her manager hadn’t sent her across the floor with two drinks in her hands. She gasps, the glasses knocked loose in her hands until there are ice-cold martinis coating her front, shirt and the ends of her hair soaked. “H’oohh...” she gets out first, muscles locking from the icy feeling seeping onto her skin. With a bit of squinting, a bit of nodding, and a deep breath she’s able to compose herself. “Yeah,” she gets out tightly, a frantic sort of laugh jumping loose. “All good— yeah. Carrots, though. Good one. Totally.” After a moment, though, she loses her composure. “Ffffuck, that is cold.”

[samara-amir]

SAMARA & LAURIE.

•

Laurie hadn’t even thought of it that way. She’s looking down at herself now, wondering what exactly constitutes as ‘skinny, but in the cute way.’ Her mother had often said the same thing, only those days Laurie had been bold enough to retort that maybe, just maybe, she was a bag of bones because her ma was busy spending the prize cheques on cigarettes and Valium (which her crusty boyfriend at the time, Keith, had ended up swiping and selling) rather than food. Or maybe she’d been kept skinny by the amount of running and dodging she’d had to do while her mother chased her around their shitty trailer. But that’s all those comments had been: Comments. Once again, Samara’s prying Laurie’s eyes open to peer at the bigger picture, even if most of it she doesn’t fully understand.

She picks a tartlet from the platter and turns it this way and that. A quick sniff makes Laurie think that maybe, just maybe, she won’t like it. It’s the goat’s cheese, that little blob of creamy, squishy paste that’s been dolloped on top of the fruit. It makes the entire thing too sweet. She bites into it all the same, and ends up pulling a face. “Oh, all yours,” Laurie snorts, forcing her half down her throat as she hands over the uneaten one.

“Dude,” she goes on to laugh, though a quick, sharp look from Grant has her ducking her head to hide the rest of her amusement, her hands busy at work stacking bottles into place. “This,” Laurie continues, “is how they stay ‘cute skinny’, see? They’ll, like, starve themselves and then stuff some of this shit into their tiny little stomachs when they feel like they’re gonna pass out.”

::

Laurie’s gone quiet for a moment. Samara’s eyes always tend to find Laurie when Laurie goes quiet, wide but gentle as they study her friend, welcoming her to land back at any time. Whenever she’s ready; she’ll have the warmth of Samara’s eyes to come back to, guide her home and bundle her in where she’s welcome, safe. 

She smiles a little, letting it grow into a breathy laugh when Laurie refuses the tart with a slightly-concealed grimace. “Not all. I think I’d puke after, like, five. These things are rich. Much like the shitty people who eat them. Full circle.” That doesn’t stop her from taking up the rest of the tart from Laurie’s hand and finishing it off with a little suck of her fingers before she makes quick work to wash her hands. Grant’s peered back over at them, after all, and Samara’s not going to be written up for sanitation violations. Her attitude throughout the night, however... Well, with these billionaire bastards, that might be something worth a citation or two.

“And then the rest gets thrown out when it should be going to a homeless shelter or a soup kitchen or something. Wasteful as all hell. Geez, I’m already getting ticked. Is Grant still looking? We can take a shot real quick when he’s not— get us through the night.”

[samara-amir]

MARLEY & SAMARA.

“Now, look, Samara. You are far too pretty to be stuck behind this bar all night.” Marley’s forearms pressed into said bar as she leaned across the counter, head tilted in an almost puppy dog pout as she addressed the woman before her. “One run down the Glow Tube. It’ll be so quick, nobody will even know you were gone.” There was a glint of mischief in her eye, and a smile that threatened to pull at her perfected pout. 

@samara-amir·

::

Marley’s going to get her fired one day... And when that day comes, Samara’s sure it will be well worth it. Besides, a healthy amount of flirting is good for business, and Mr. Gallagher is willing to turn a blind eye in favor of a healthy balance of it.

Though... Mr. Gallagher isn’t technically her boss tonight, which complicates things, sure, but... there’s just no denying that precious little pout of Marley’s. “Marley,” she sighs, rolling her eyes up towards the ceiling to plead with her God for a bit of mercy. 

But when her eyes land back on that pout, Samara knows she’s on her own. “We better be able to defy the laws of physics with how quick this is gonna be.” 

[samara-amir]

date: january 22 time: 12:23 am location: rockwater charity event | rockwater resort status: open ( @elisabethstarters​ )

The event hall looks like a concert with all of the phones out in the crowd, lighting up the space, some swaying, others pointing towards the floor in search of lost jewelry that had fallen free in the stampede to get inside. Samara would likely enjoy the sight of all those dazzling lights... if she wasn’t busy losing her mind.

What started as a steady flow of patrons has now become a mad dash of people mobbing the bar. Unfortunately, the planners have really stocked up, and Samara’s fingers are growing numb from a combination of handling cold bottles and the last of the heat escaping through the poorly insulated doors. She feels like ruining someone’s night, especially when her hair is flying in her face and she’s in a cold sweat, pouring drinks faster than she can think and the bar is getting sticky— her fingers are so cold.

Eventually she throws her hands up, ready to reveal the night’s big secret. “It’s Prosecco!” she shouts, flailing a little before planting the only labeled bottle that had survived the night’s preparation— the only one that’s label no one had managed to scrape off— down on the bar. Hopefully this will ward off some champagne snobs. She leans her hands on the bar, letting out an exasperated sigh before repeating herself a touch more calmly, like she’s finally getting a life-long secret off of her chest, “it’s... just... Prosecco...”

[popchoc]

[samara-amir]

( @laurieontheisle​ )

[samara-amir]

SAMARA & MIA.

Mia had been heading towards the other side of her room to find her mother, as instructed, when she heard someone address her from behind. The voice sounded furious, which made her already roll her eyes as she turned, eyes settling on a small angry person she’d never sen in her life. Still, it all became clear as her deranged ranting continued and a tiny smile was on Amelia’s pink lips in amusement. “Hello, good evening to you too. I’m glad Laurie has a little sidekick who can fill in for her when her backbone is lacking. Which from what I saw I imagine is always, do you find you’ve very busy since taking the job?” Her tone was smooth as she looked at the other with nothing but blank coldness in her eyes.

“Now I don’t know if you’re confused but we happen to be at a public function, and despite your questionable appearance that makes me wonder if you got dressed last minute in the dark at Hot Topic, they apparently let you come in. So I suggest you dig deep down and try to remember how you were taught to behave in public. Your little friend had a job to do, a very simple one at that, but still managed to monumentally fuck it up. It’s almost impressive actually. She ruined a one of a kind dress that cost more than either of you are going to see in a lifetime, so unless you’re planning on become a cam girl to pay Ophelia back for the cost of the damage I don’t think this is something that can be fixed by a PornHub subscription.”

“Now, unless you are planning to invite me outside for a throw down or you have anymore hastily constructed cliche quips in my direction I think I should probably get back to the party. This has been delightful though. Quite entertaining. You’re certainly much more linguistically blessed than you clumsy little friend.” Her smile was nothing short of entirely patronising, not to mention fake.

::

Samara lets out a scoff, her tongue tutting off of the roof of her mouth as her eyes roll. Leave it to the self-proclaimed “prim” and “proper” to be too damn cowardly to speak their minds, hiding behind a smile that did nothing to cover the ugliness in their words. “Look, I get that you’re a changeling or one of Dracula’s offspring or something equally soulless, so you haven’t really figured out human connection just yet, but Laurie’s a friend. I’m no one’s sidekick just because I take issue with the morally bankrupt.

“And Hot Topic? Really?” She peers down at her suit pants and dress shirt for emphasis before continuing. “When was the last time you saw men’s dress attire at a Hot Topic? If you’re going to try to insult me at least be accurate. Or creative— fuck’s sake.” She lets out a sigh, hand fixing over her hip as she cocks her head, a brow arching. She doesn’t have the energy to try and explain to someone who’s never gotten her hands dirty or dealt with a happy hour crowd what an easy job looks like. Mia could find it every day from the comfort of her office staring at a computer screen. “Oh, so you exploit the labor of bartenders and sex workers. Cool, excellent— if you’re so unbelievably wealthy, then I’m sure the dry cleaning bill won’t put you out. Or did your private school educations not explain how simple it is to get a fucking stain out?”

A laugh sputters out of her then, her head shaking in slow sweeps as she works through her amusement. “Hastily constructed? What, was I supposed to practice in the mirror before I— you know what? I don’t even have the time to point out any more logical fallacies. If you feel the need to take this outside, I’ll even out your nose job. Otherwise, I recommend grabbing a Tide-to-Go stick and moving the fuck on with your night. No one’s going to reward your spoiled little girl tantrums here.”

[samara-amir]

date: january 22  time: 9:48 pm location: rockwater charity event | rockwater resort status: closed to @mandyxyoung​

“Hey, hot shot,” Samara greets with a little chuckle, her hands turned towards her, palms clamped down over the edge of bar, elbows locked to keep her perched in her place.

The woman in front of her definitely wasn’t the most sober attendant, granted she likely wasn’t the drunkest, either. Samara had just hardly seen her leave the bar, and if Mandy did leave the bar, she’d been sure to find her way right back. What Samara can say for certain is that she’s hardly seen this woman’s mouth stop moving, and that is likely the cause of the pink gin in their pomegranate martinis loosening her lips.

An assumption, of course, though Samara’s prone to making plenty of them. What she doesn’t know is that Mandy’s a rambler. And Samara will be in for a treat when she comes to find out; birds of a feather flock together, after all.

“Your hair looks amazing; that must have taken forever,” she points out, distracted as her eyes scan over the delicate cascade of curls. She gets right back to business, though, drumming her hands in a little tick-a-tack rhythm against the wood of the bar. “You need some water? Or someone to make sure you drink water? I’m always down for being a hyrdo-homie.”

[samara-amir]

SAMARA & VICTOR.

-

Victor didn’t even know what he was doing there. 

He should’ve been working, but then again, perhaps it was a miracle that he wasn’t. The usual patrons of Alibi were typically kind enough to let his mishaps slide, but an event of this scale? Even Kit had known better than to ask him to work that night, and he couldn’t even blame her. Would the extra money have been nice? Sure, but so was not having to deal with the snootier residents of Elisabeth that their little corner of the Port was more than often spared from.

Maybe that was why he spent most of the night seated in front of Samara. From his position, he was able to keep an eye on her, and Laurie a little further down the bar. Not that he thought either woman couldn’t take care of themselves, but part of him felt guilty that they had to face the brunt of it alone. Besides, it wasn’t like he was immune to the allure of free Champagne. 

“The minute I start acting like one of these elitist assholes, I would let you.” Victor snorted, brushing Samara’s finger away with a wave of his hand and a laugh. Though he hoped the level of his own asshatery had been far below some of that night’s attendees, the person he’d come in New York had not been the same Victor who’d left Elisabeth. Neither felt recognizable to Victor, these days. “It feels like being four glasses of champagne deep, though.” Hoping to make it five, he slid his empty glass in the space between them, lower lip jutting out in a pout.

::

An approving smirk tugs on the ends of Samara’s lips as she lets her hand fall back to her side moments after Vic’s shoved it away. She knows she wouldn’t have to warn him, anyway; Victor doesn’t have an elitist bone in his body.

With the offending scrape of the glass flute’s base along the bar, Samara’s face drops into the most unimpressed expression she can muster, a brow raised and a frown sticking to her lips. She doesn’t break eye contact with Vic as she snags the champagne bottle closest to her and tilts it towards his glass, eyes flashing away for only a moment to avoid overflowing Vic’s glass with bubbly.

“I’m cutting you off later,” she warns, though the threat’s fairly empty. All it really takes is that little pout to sell her on most of Victor’s bargaining. He’s lucky he’s a bit more of a heavyweight or she’d keep a better guard on his drink intake. Maybe she should anyway, purely out of concern for his liver. “And you’re drinking water after that,” she adds, letting the champagne bottle hit the counter beside her with a dull thunk.

[samara-amir]

SAMARA & LAURIE.

•

“You look great in your bowtie,” Laurie returns– her way of agreeing with everything her flatmate’s said. Her own uniform isn’t quite as snazzy, but she’d opted for the tie option, rather than the bowtie: The only flexibility granted when all they were for the evening was a steady fountain of inebriation, to loosen wallets and lower inhibitions. Laurie’s stomach’s churning just from imagining what horrors are to come. It’s something she’d much, much rather avoid.

“Ladies!”

Laurie jumps when their manager for the night, Grant, drops a crowded tray of aperitifs on the bar above them. She cranes her neck enough to peer over the rim; her eyes scour the toppled over tower– now a hill –of cranberry tartlets, then flick up to their boss.

Grant waves a flamboyant hand toward the canapés; through a frazzled breath, he explains, “these won’t do. Which means that they made too many. So… You know, nobody’s here, we might as well enjoy a little. Have you two had dinner? You look skinny– and not, like, cute skinny. Just– just have some, will you. Okay. I’m going to– No! Michelle, do not stack the glasses like that!”

Laurie snorts at the sight of Grant’s flailing arms, panicked and determined all at once, as he tries to get another waitress to keep the champagne flutes from crashing into a mess of fizzy, sticky glass shards.

“Let’s see how the rich eat.”

::

Grant had already managed to squander Samara’s hopes for him within the first thirty seconds of his introduction. While she had thought his flamboyance was a sign of allyship, she was quickly disheartened when his thinly-veiled misogyny rose to the surface just a few moments later. His rant leaves Samara with one brow raised, though she doesn’t bother trying to get a word in until he’s turned away, white suit jacket and gel-slicked hair the only thing Samara gets a good look at while Grant stomps off to aide— or rather steamroll— Michelle.

“Thanks for the casual body shamin’, Grant,” she says in an even tone, her hand coming up to her temple and jumping off of it in a sardonic salute.

“Eh, what the hell,” she agrees, pinching a mini tart between her index finger and thumb, offering Laurie a quick, “cheers,” and bumping the crusted edge against Laurie’s tart before tossing it into her mouth.

“Not bad...” she confirms as her head bobs, hand covering her mouth as she chews. “Not great either.” She swallows, shaking her head. “Why would they make these so tiny? What is with rich people and their tiny food? Aren’t they supposed to be, y’know, ‘feasting like kings’ or whatever? I don’t understand why they try to make it look like they’re rationing.”

[samara-amir]

NAS & SAMARA.

“First of all, back up,  please, ” she said, reaching out to clear some space between herself and the man who had been shooting failed advances at her for the better part of the night. She thought she remembered the guy from high school. She might have been more than friendly with him back them, but at the moment, he was on her last nerve.  “Second, your breath smells like a cross between a fifth of Mad Dog and a pile of steaming shit. Like you bathed in a cess pool or something. Seriously. I’m not impressed,” she said, bringing a hand up to her face to block out the offensive smell. Just then a warm presence filled the space behind and she breathed a sigh of relief as she turned to face whomever it was that had unknowingly come to save her life. “I swear I thought my soul was about to raise up out of my body if I had to smell that dudes breath another second. Thanks to you, I breathe again” she chuckled. “Can I get you a drink or something? To pay back the favor I mean” she said, too unbothered to care if the bothersome man had caught the hint finally. @elisabethstarters·

“Oh, I think I owe you one,” Samara says through a laugh. The last drink has now been swiped off of her tray, giving her the freedom to flip it upside down and tuck the silver underneath her arm. “I think you just became my hero, seriously. Do you take tips?” She flashes a grin, taking one last glance at the now dejected man stomping off, likely to shuffle off to the bathrooms and get a generous helping of the mouthwash this fancy-ass place supplies there.

“You look amazing, by the way,” she adds, eyes scanning over the intricate hairstyle braided along the woman’s head. “Way too amazing to be putting up with assholes like that; you’ve done us a great service.” She waves a hand, gesturing for Nas to follow. “Here, come with me to the bar. We’re supposed to have a limited menu tonight, but after that, I am more than willing to whip you up anything you want. Off the record.”

[samara-amir]

date: january 22 time: 10:32 pm location: rockwater charity event | rockwater resort status: closed to @bexutifullydxmned​

She shouldn’t even be entertaining the idea. But... well, Violeta’s been so determined all night. And Samara, charming and smooth-talking as she can be, hasn’t managed to dazzle anyone within the thirty seconds perimeters she garners in between pouring and serving drinks, at least not enough to be a proper wingwoman to the Vi, as much as she’s tried. As much as Samara has wanted to simply thrust her hands out towards the woman in gesture, point a particularly good-looking patron right at Violeta, the art of flirting should be much more subtle, and there wasn’t much room for subtlety in the far too brief intervals she’d been allotted.

It’s within the next lull in her shift that she wanders back over to Violeta at the bar. Samara’s been compelled to take a few shots with the customers, her inhibitions a little lowered, and it’s certainly not helping her try to keep her eyes off of Vi’s pouty lower lip, jutting out all the more with her obvious disappointment. Damn, she looks cute like that.

“Any luck, dolly?” Samara asks lightly, plucking up Vi’s empty glass. She’s made all too aware of how close her impending break is when Violeta’s eyes finally land on Samara.

[samara-amir]

date: january 22 time: 11:56 pm location: rockwater charity event | rockwater resort status: closed to @miarockefeller​

She’d been happy to grab a couple of bottles for Laurie, insisting the poor girl give herself a rest, numb the sting on her cheek and the heavy burden in her heart with a generous helping of whatever booze presented itself to her. Samara, on the other hand, has a fire in her gut, bringing the acid inside of it to a slow, painful simmer and reaching up high until flames are licking along her ribcage.

When Samara’s finally able to track down that ungrateful peacock Mia Rockefeller, she’s got a fist clutched down at her side. With all the years spent at cotillion or exclusive dinner clubs or wherever the top one percent decided to host their little circle jerks, she would think someone would’ve taught the heinous bitch some fucking manners.

She’s ripped her bowtie free and stuffed it in her pocket, now marching towards Mia in her button-up and suspenders, combat boots clunking heavily against the floor. “Hey, princess!” she hisses, “I don’t know if that pea under your mattress got lodged up your ass or what, but next time gravity fucks up your little buddy’s night, why don’t you take that up with NASA instead of the nearest bartender? If you wanna get off on making others feel like shit, I recommend you get into BDSM or use all that money to buy a PornHub subscription like a normal fucking human being instead of inflating your fragile ego with the people serving your drinks.”

[samara-amir]

date: january 22 time: 7:33 pm location: rockwater charity event | rockwater resort status: closed to @vic-hernandez

It’s still fairly early in the night, meaning most of the crowd is still relatively on their best behavior. There’s been the odd person in need of a cab ride home, those who had downed a few more glasses of Prosecco than their bodies knew how to handle. Samara thinks, in a lot of cases, the cheap stuff can do you dirtier than the real thing. People underestimate its strength and end up diving head-first into glass after glass until they remember it’s even alcoholic in the first place.

The fashionably late crowd still has yet to rear their heads, not daring to show up to a party before the clock strikes 9:00 pm. It makes the workflow tolerable, a lot more manageable and, therefore, all the easier to keep up idle conversation with Victor.

“So, how’s it feel, Vicky boy?” she asks when she has a moment of pause, dragging a wet rag along the countertop to wipe at a stubborn patch of simple syrup. “Being on that side of the bar. You’re not gonna get a big head on me, are you? The minute you start acting like one of these elitist assholes, I’m kicking you out and letting you fall flat on your ass,” she teases, pointing a finger at him for emphasis.

[samara-amir]

SAMARA & VICTOR.

-

From the amount of time he’s spent in various bars over the years, one might assume that Victor would be a better bartender than he was. He was pretty sure it was that assumption that’d gotten him this job in the first place–that, and that Kit had taken pity on him. Something he was sure she was going to regret when the complaints about her newest bartender starting pouring in.  Or when he killed one of her best through alcohol poisoning. 

He groans, head dropping to the top of the bar, not yet sticky with the spilled drinks that were bound to stain in in the upcoming night. It was a mistake to raise his eyes to meet Samara’s, her sympathetic glance doing little to make him feel better. Truthfully, Victor didn’t even know why she was helping him–off the clock, too.

“This is my third Tequila Sunrise, Samara. I thought I had it this time.” His fingers plucked a maraschino cherry from their container, pinching the stem as he sharply bit the fruit from it. “I just don’t get how you keep all the measurements straight.” There were so many drinks to memorize, it made his head hurt. And this one only had three ingredients.

::

Samara offers a sympathetic purse of her lips, arm extending to pat at one of Victor’s shoulder blades when his forehead ends up propped against the bar. She pulls it back when he straightens back up, and she doesn’t quite have the heart to tell him that eating the inventory isn’t exactly permitted the way it is in the movies. She’ll allow him the temporary bliss that comes with chewing on a maraschino cherry; he’s not going to feel anything close to it again until their shift is over.

“It’s okay!” She’s quick to assure, hands popping up. It’s an instinct, really; she’s had to repeat the gesture time and time again when her parents were arguing with her or when her little sister was on the brim of throwing a tantrum or when her brothers were wrestling each other on the kitchen tile. It’s a white flag, a plea for peace. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out. Worst comes to worst, you can just shadow me again this shift.” She’ll have to work the job of two bartenders at once, sure, but at least it’ll spare her the ache in her chest from those damned puppy eyes.

“It’s all about how you angle the bottle.” She gets up from her seat at the bar, swinging her hip around it as she gets back into position behind the counter. She grabs a clean glass, flipping it upright and setting it down, free hand grabbing for a bottle and plugging up the top with her thumb. “So you hold it like this,” she reinforces before dragging her thumb away from the nozzle, tequila pouring freely. “One... two... three... four.” With a flick of her wrist, the bottle’s back down against the counter. “Alright, grab a glass and you try.”

[samara-amir]

date: january 22 time: 3:15 p.m. location: rockwater charity event | rockwater resort status: closed to @laurieontheisle​

She’s doing her best to avoid complaining. The begrudging looks she and Laurie have worn ever since dressing themselves, finishing off their makeup, and driving to the resort have said far more than Samara could think to, and she doesn’t want to make matters worse by verbalizing their misery. The empty venue offers a calm before the storm as the women organize the bottles they’ll be flipping and pouring at lightening speed as the night progresses, what Samara’s sure will be a crescendoing descent into madness. Especially as patrons flail their bills around, promising a tip before only laying half of it on the bar; the bartenders would simply take too long, some might claim... despite the obvious swarm of people in front of the less forgiving partygoers.

Her suit jacket is already starting to feel a bit stiff. She’s sure by the end of the night, she’ll abandon it on a rack, leaving only her dress shirt, bowtie, and suspenders on display. She should have pulled her hair up, too. With how many people will be flooding in through the doors, she’s sure she’ll be covered in sweat in a couple of hours, tops. At least there are cocktail weenies. Beef rather than pork, sure, but cocktail weenies all the same.

She can at least find the humor in it all, turning to her roommate, co-worker, friend, and confidant to say, “Y’know... as a little girl, I always wanted a good look at the high life... But this isn’t exactly what I had in mind. Plus, now I’ve been radicalized and found out the ‘high life’ is just an oppressive, capitalist scam, so. Can’t say joining the bourgeoisie sounds too great either. ‘Least I look good in a bowtie.”

[samara-amir]

❝ Ah, fuck, we’re sponsoring this year? This was supposed to be my day off, man! ❞

@elisabethguide

[samara-amir]

ARCHIE & SAMARA.

date: 11/01 time: 10:00 am location: samara & laurie’s place status: closed for @samara-amir·

He can still hear Samara’s pained groans after he’d very firmly asserted that he would be coming over for ‘a giggly time’ at exactly 10:00 am. And while, in the background of that long, long phone call, Archie had heard Laurie ask if he was cool with driving from Fremont to Port Elisabeth with weed in his pocket, Archie’s drive was pleasant enough. His trust in the universe, should one only have faith in it, is something he’s brought up around the pair of friends time and time again.

There’d been a handful of good omens along the way: Two magpies– meaning imminent joy –and an empty parking space mere feet from Samara and Laurie’s apartment, not to mention the perfectly ripe state of the avocado Archie had cut open for breakfast, earlier this morning.

Come 10:00 am, when he’s buzzing his friends’ intercom for them to let him inside, Archie’s smile is as wide as ever.

“He-llo!” he sing-songs when he hears Samara’s voice, gruff with sleep, crackle from the speaker, “‘tis I, your favourite Aquarius.”

::

“My favorite Aquarius is awfully perky this morning.” Which is redundant to say. Archie seems awfully perky every morning.

Samara’s nursing a Beaver Buzz Energy can against her chest when she opens the door. She’s only taken a few sips out of it thus far, hence the bags clinging firmly to her under eyes and the sulk clinging firmly to her face, her lower lip just barely jutting out.

Still, she’s not one to resist the magnetic pull that draws her in close; he is her favorite Aquarius, after all. She takes a step towards Archie, bending down so her head can press against his chest and he can pull her into it, her arms wrapping firmly around his waist. 

Samara lets out a slow and sleepy, snuffling sort of breath before she pulls back and lifts her drink to her lips, sucks down another gulp of the green tea-flavored heart attack in a can.

She turns away from him and takes a few steps back into the apartment, trusting Archie to find their way in and close the door behind them. “D’you wanna use the bong? I feel like we’ve been using the pipe too much. Kush Cobain is starting to feel a little neglected.”