#* gideon

[islahvnt]

@drrutherford!/ valentines auction

"Quick, drink this. You're gonna need it." handed over as if all the time in the world had failed them - her own glass quickly becoming empty in an absurdly quick blink of an eye. If there was one thing Isla could do right, it was sink a drink. "Ten bucks and all my pocket lint says you end up with a psycho."

[islahvnt]

@drrutherford location: local pool hall

"You can have like.. two," raising her index and middle finger rather animatedly, Isla indicated the row of shots lined up before them as if it wasn't already obvious that the bright green liquid was something that she ordered for them. "I figured you're still a bit of a pussy so we don't want you having too much fun and hey... two shots for you is two fewer teeth the wanker behind you has to lose." Because she'd absolutely noticed the prying eyes and hands that looked like they wandered a little too far. It was perhaps only the sound of someone calling out the Rutherford name in passing that had quelled his interest even partially.

"Twenty says you run the gauntlet on the next game, and I don't break anyone's jaw tonight." Both were a little farfetched in her mind, but she was nothing if not optimistic - even if sarcasm seemed to lacquer every thought that crossed her mind. Three shots down. "Hurry the fuck up huckleberry."

[goldenmvry]

[sobbing] ❝ I don’t have enough money for chicken nuggets. ❞ -- dorcas, ❝ Hey, turn off the flash you fucking moron! ❞ -- bellatrix, ❝ Honey that’s a flyer for a lawn service . ❞-- frank, ❝ Today my brother pushed me so I’m starting a kickstarter to put him down. Benefits of killing him would be I’d get pushed way less. ❞ -- gideon <3

In utter horror, Mary looks down upon the measly two knuts she’s been able to extract from the depths of her wallet -- with lower lip trembling, her stomach growls. “We’re gonna starve! This isn’t what I meant when I said I needed to diet!” 

“Fu -” she fumbles, face draining of all horror as the flash on her old muggle camera goes off with a crack, thoroughly giving her away, “- fudge. Sorry. Shit. Shoot. Sorry. It’s off, I swear!” 

Were she not so winded from sprinting across the busy street, she might have been able to play it off as a joke - but alas, Mary has never been smooth. “Huh? Oh --” her cheeks flush with heat as her eyes scan the flyer, only to realize that what she’d thought was a 'Lost Labrador’ was, in fact, a ‘Lawn Laborer’. Utterly awkwardly, she gives the flyer upon the post a quick pat. “I -- I knew that.”

“Hah! I’ll contribute. As long as you’re joking -- but hey, who hasn’t engaged in a little friendly attempted fratricide in their life? You are joking, though, right?”