@scrtissues-a - Tumblr Blog

the door’s caught just before it slams shut with victor’s footsteps following after. fallon doesn’t look back. it’s what she’d expected anyway. she’s a woman of very few words and the little she can spare errs on the side of unkind, but even she can acknowledge that he isn’t the worst person to share a shift with. he’s still pretty goddamn annoying though. “wow, that’s good,” she pans with a roll of her eyes before crouching down to start gathering the stock. “make sure to keep that for your stand-up routine.” fallon remembers something then, a note left for her on the coffee pot that morning with lots of smiley faces and hearts: snow this weekend. tell victor please!!! who juno associates herself with is none of fallon’s business, but it’d be less of a nuisance if she didn’t have to constantly play messenger for her or if victor didn’t insist on amish living. unfortunately, her aunt’s not one to turn free labor down. “you really need to get a phone,” she says bluntly, breaking the silence. “juno wants you to come by, before it snows this weekend.”

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victor responds to fallon’s deadpanning with silence. he takes a few strides in front of her and stops short of the scattered vintage vinyls at his feet. rolling his neck, he bends to take hold of one of the sleeves. he turns it over in his hand, inspecting it for damage before nestling it into the crook of his left arm and reaching for the next. while the comment on needing a phone doesn’t phase him, it’s the mention of juno that makes his head lift slightly. the only conversations between them that hold any weight involve her aunt. even then, it’s purely informational and only necessary when the weather or an extra shift he plans on picking up threatens their regular schedule. “i’ll be there,” he nods once in affirmation, his focus remaining on skimming over the vinyls. “tell her i’ll stop by after, too.” gathering the last of the stock, victor braces himself on the solid display shelf as he comes to a stand. “i left a note last time. for the food. she get it?”

#* 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒔 ⤻ victor tazi.#ft. fallon

hayesonthecourt

CLOSED STARTER for @scrtissues at mariner's tavern

The clink of pint glasses is a backdrop to the hum of conversation that fill Mariner’s Tavern, and it’s an easy-Friday night noise wrapping itself around Zeke like a warm jacket. His buzz is the sort that turns his grin loose and lakes the lights look blurry and soft, but through that he can spot that familiar form clad in leather.

He nudges Victor with his elbow, “Hey, Fonz,” he drawls, cutting himself short when the first attempt to sit in the bar stool beside him is a near miss. Zeke steadies himself and plants his ass firm against it this time to be sure he doesn’t fall.

( Getting barred early in the night would be a complete travesty. )

“C’mon, cut a cig with me.” He reaches for the ash tray that already has ashes and a few crumpled butts in the center of it. His eyes glint pleadingly, but there undercutting it is his tipsy mischief. “It would be tragic to make me smoke alone. And it would look cool, like you’re a real greaser or something.”

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mariner’s is becoming too crowded for his liking. every so often there’s a brush against his shoulder, followed by a fellow patron stumbling to the front of the bar, whistling and gesturing to gain a bartender’s attention. he’s nursing a club soda, pushing the lemon around with the stirrer straw, when a nudge causes his shoulders to tense. out of his peripheral vision, victor watches zeke steadying himself on the stool. “easy, van gogh.” he shakes his head once to conceal the small quirk of his lips, his body relaxing. victor sets the glass down, patting at his jacket pockets until he pulls out a carton of marlboros and a lighter. with a quick flick of his thumb, he flips the lid open and pulls one for himself. “take one,” he offers with a shrug, tilting the carton towards zeke. he places the cigarette between his lips, his voice muffled as he continues, “payday. feeling generous.”

#* 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒔 ⤻ victor tazi.#ft. zeke

genuineloner

Bunny watched as the twenty dollar bill fell into the donation jar—and realized that Victor was actually right. Expenses like a broken restroom—that was big money. Putting food on the table? That had been Bunny’s whole world for their whole life…and the irony was that it took less money to do that than to run a record store. One ten dollar bill each for Bunny and Vic could mean one less worry for the week.

But Bunny knew better than that. Everybody counted on this place. As “charitable” as raising money for the girls’ room seemed, strengthening Bend Records was a decision that made sense…and one that paid itself off in full over time.

“Victor, you’re a reasonable dude,” Bunny said as they grabbed the rag they’d been wiping down the counter with before the customer had checked out. “Tell me if this makes any sense.

“We work hard for stuff like this because it’s our job—essentially because it’s our paycheck. But then…aren’t we, like, the backbone of the store?

“Maybe once this restroom gets fixed…we do something as employees to celebrate us. I don’t know what. But I feel like we deserve it.

“Speaking of ‘altruism’...” Bunny finished wiping down the counter and leaned forward. “You ever had somebody be altruistic to you? Just because they could?”

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after dealing with the richies all year and everyone doing their best to keep the landing from turning into something unrecognizable, it’s a reasonable suggestion. “we could, sure.” despite agreeing with bunny, the words feel odd leaving him, almost as if he never meant to say them. the thought of acknowledging the work they’d all put in by deliberately putting himself in close proximity with people was a few too many steps outside of his comfort zone. “someone’ll probably throw something for new years. that’ll be something.” “uh–” he hesitates. victor narrows his eyes, shifting his weight onto the other leg and rolling his shoulders back to straighten his posture. “foggy, maybe. a job was generous. but the store needed hands, i needed money.” gestures without strings or expectations were a foreign concept to him. anything anyone had done for him or he’d done for others was often an exchange. he lets his gaze drift briefly around the quiet store. “i don’t know. is anyone that decent?”

#* 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒔 ⤻ victor tazi.#ft. bunny

merrittstone

closed starter for vic tazi ( @scrtissues ) -> bend records bottom level

The worst part about making art for a small record store is being in charge of displaying said art in said small record store. Now, don't get her wrong - there's nothing Merritt loves more than being in charge - but in this specific case, as she wobbles on the ancient step-stool trying to grab one of the screen-printed trucker hats from the top shelf, she desperately wishes this were a task she could pawn off to one of the Bend staff instead.

With the way her fingers swipe desperately, she may have to.

The only one down here right now is Vic and he's not paying her any attention. His expressionless brooding is aimed at the register, obviously staring into space and thinking about, like, stealing cars or whatever he spends all his time doing.

"Um, Vic?" Merritt catches her breath as she steps back onto the sturdy floor. The step-stool is only a single step, but the adrenaline pulsing through her veins would have someone believing she'd been balancing on a twelve-foot-tall stiletto. "Can you come grab those hats from up there so I don't, like, kill myself in front of you?"

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in hindsight, victor knows he should be doing something remotely productive. there are boxes of new arrivals to stock, an entire display of band tees to refold for the fourth time today, and shelves that could stand to be dusted off. still, he remains behind the register with the daily newspaper unfolded across the counter, open to the crossword section. it’s mostly filled out save for one row. he stares, tapping a pen on the counter as he racks his brain for an answer to seventy-eight across. his attempts to tune out his surroundings have fallen short, especially with the rattling step-stool. just as he’s about to make his way upstairs to see if he can pawn the bottom level register off to someone else, merritt speaks and her voice breaks his concentration entirely. victor blinks once, twice as he looks over to finally acknowledge her presence. “honestly, i was wondering how long it'd take you to ask.” he approaches, coming to a halt in front of the shelving. with ease, he reaches to grab two screen-printed trucker hats. he turns, offering them to merritt. “anything else?”

#* 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒔 ⤻ victor tazi.#ft. merritt

sullngirl-a

𝗪𝗛𝗢. fallon & victor ( @scrtissues ) 𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘. bend records

there’s mutual indifference between fallon and victor. juno’s gripes with him are stale but fallon honors them anyway by ignoring him whenever they’re scheduled for the same shift. neither are known for being companionable so it’s easy enough to stay out of each other’s way. even today, fallon’s got a book cracked open at the register while victor’s off taking a smoke break. the shift had been going well, uneventful— slow even, until a group of richie assholes swarm the store. she hears them before she sees them, impressive with the heavy metal she’s playing on the speakers. they’re never there to actually buy anything, of course. they’ve got a few objectives on their list, all primitive, with the main one being to piss off as many people as possible. she’s supposed to ignore them, to withhold any type of reaction that they might take pleasure in, but they’re messing with the specialty items display and her patience is already running especially thin. “hey,” fallon barks, and the pack of them laugh, knocking everything over. mission accomplished! when they finally empty the store, she sighs, closing her eyes. fallon goes out to the alleyway, holding the door open. “come do your job,” she snaps and turns to go back inside without waiting for a response.

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he's down to the final drag of his cigarette when the quiet is broken up by the sound of quick footsteps and obnoxious laughter. as the suspicious group disappears from view and the door opens, victor closes his eyes and tilts his head against the brick wall. without glancing in fallon's direction, he shrugs at her demand. while he's grateful for juno giving him a second chance, his pressing need to break bread doesn't extend to fallon. his tone is flat as the last of the smoke fills the air. "sure." dropping the cigarette butt, he puts it out by dragging the sole of shoe along the cement. "sure," he mutters once more to himself. with one last tap against the ground for good measure, he follows behind. immediately his eyes squint at the heavy metal playing over the speakers, though he doesn't care enough to comment. instead, he scans the mess that was surely left behind by the richies who cut his break short. "for me?" he places a hand over his heart as he continues walking toward the knocked over display. "i'm touched. you shouldn't have."

#* 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒔 ⤻ victor tazi.#ft. fallon

genuineloner

who: bunny and victor (@scrtissues) where: bend records, bottom level when: just before noon

“You know,” Bunny said to fellow figure of mystery Victor Tazi as they found themselves on the same level of the record store. Bunny had just finished checking out a very one-of-a-kind customer.

Bunny picked up the crisp twenty that they’d been given for the Bend Records bathroom and held it up so Victor could see. “Look at what we’re doing,” Bunny told Victor with a disbelieving chuckle. “Neither of us—well, me by preferred bathroom, you by being a man—actually have any stake in the girls’ bathroom being fixed at all. I mean, does it suck they’re using ours? A little. But…”

Bunny frowned. They put the twenty down on the checkout counter slowly, as if it were something else. “Doesn’t this whole fundraising thing, for people who use the guys’ room, feel…”

They had difficulty getting the word out. “Altruistic?”

The customer Bunny had just been talking to had called Bunny an angel for “helping out their friends like that”.

(They’d also been the biggest fan of local bands that Bunny could possibly imagine, but that was beside the point.)

Bunny rested their forearms on the checkout counter and leaned forward. “Maybe it’s just me that feels weird about that. But I feel like you get it. Tell me something—when’s the last time you put this much effort toward something that…”

Wasn’t about yourself.

“...that had so much to do with other people, and so little to do with you?”

Bunny did have to admit, though. The feeling of being “altruistic” or “selfless” for the women in need was greatly diminished by the accompanying feeling of not doing it, in any way, shape or form, with intent.

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work is almost decent when victor and bunny are working together. most of the time, victor is on his own, mindlessly reorganizing the bottom level of the store. there's less foot traffic on days bands aren't scheduled to play and less of a possibility he has to fight with himself to be friendly, though he doesn't mind when bunny happens to be on the same level. tasks at hand are finished quickly and efficiently, and conversation is optional, or at the very least, low stakes. shuffling from the vhs tapes to the dvd's, victor gives a curt nod to the lone costumer as they retreat before turning his head towards bunny. "altruistic..." he glances at the twenty before turning back to the cases with a low chuckle. "don't think i've ever put this much work into anything. let alone anything for other people." then, returning one last dvd to it's rightful spot, he meanders over to the counter, leaning against it. victor eyes the bill on the counter, reaching out to grab it. "i could get a week's worth of food with that." his brows furrow as he continues to observe, considering pocketing it. as quickly as the thought comes it goes. he scratches the back of his neck with his free hand and drops the bill into the donations jar.

#* 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒔 ⤻ victor tazi.#ft. bunny

𝙬𝙝𝙤— victor & stella ( @ofbratz )

𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚— outside pizzarama

after so many years in one place, victor's fallen into monotonous routine. he goes to work, he keeps his head down, he punches out without a second glance back. rinse and repeat. this means the list of people he engages with on a regular basis consists solely of his coworkers. though civil enough to survive shifts and the occasional work event, he wouldn't call many of them friends. he seldom hangs around long enough to get to know most of them— or let them know him. yet, stella seems to be an exception lately. her presence brings an ease and a silent understanding, especially with both of their reservations when it comes to laying personal grief out on the table. he never feels like she's going to poke and prod him into explaining himself. exiting the front door of pizzarama with a pizza box in his hands, he crosses over to stella before flipping the lid open and extending his arm. "pepperoni." he nods once as if to affirm the decision. he furrows his brows as he continues, "large. comfort after a shitty shift, you know?"

#* 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒔 ⤻ victor tazi.#ft. stella #lmk if you want anything changed!