#brent:open

[reeses-pieces-w]

just run - open

WHO → Open

WHERE → Campus, late at night

NOTES → I just had the muse

Pulling herself out of bed, Reese had only one thought on her mind. Get wasted. With shaking hands, she groped around all the usual places she usually stashed drink. Empty. Everything was all just fucking empty! Letting out a slight growl of desperation, The blonde tugged an oversized sweater on over her underwear, and slipped her feet into whatever shoes were close by. She didn’t care that it was late, or that it was cold out. She just knew she had to find somewhere open to buy a drink or ten. “Fuck.” She mumbled as she found her wallet and her keys. The tightness in her chest intensified, like someone was squeezing her in a tight fist. She wasn’t even thinking straight- she couldn’t think through the pain. Stumbling her way out of the dorm, she didn’t pause before making her way out of the building and into the startling cold.

Her legs started to shiver, so she sped up her pace, starting to run. Running would keep her warm. That was all the thought process she could handle with the vice on her chest, and the cold stinging tears in her eyes. Run. Run from it all. Just run. 

[shrader-gallagher]

Simple [Shrader/Open]

S: She had just gotten done giving the math test answers to Terry by the time it turned darker, colder, and she started to mount her bike beside the diner. She thought about going inside to see if Billy was working, but decided it might be better for him to be able to concentrate at work for once. He already had a lot on his plate. Likewise, she had a lot on her mind. She replayed last night over and over again in her head: her father breaking a glass against the wall and taking a swing at her face when she tried to steer him away from the girls, her mother bringing a fat john into the bedroom, Duval throwing his hands up her shirt and tugging on her hair while he kissed her, going to bed with one sister tucked under each arm, waking up with them practically laying on top of her and snuggled up tight. It was fine. They got through it. Now it was time to go back, make sure the girls were all right, and then ride across town to campus so she could make her morning class tomorrow. As she mounted the bike, a voice made her stop and pick her head up.

[shrader-gallagher]

Casual Affair [Shrader/Open]

Shrader: The little bud of purpling skin just to the side of her left eye didn't look as bad as it felt. That was how she wanted it. A little makeup--courtesy of Janette, when she saw--and it was just about invisible. Nothing wrong, nothing doing. Almost as if it hadn't happened at all. Duval had apologized, called her "baby girl," kissed her. It was all okay. It had been a mistake. A mishit, a stray swing. She didn't blame him, not at all. After all, she had gotten in the way. And he repaid her with kisses. Lovely, to her. Shrader tugged the too-big hoodie closer around her body--Billy's hoodie, the one he told her to hang onto after their last drive--buckling down against the biting cold. Campus was quiet this early. But she still prayed to see a friendly face.

[shrader-gallagher]

Take God With You

WHO → Open

WHERE → "Card House" (Shrader's house, South Side Brent)

NOTES → Enter at ya own risk, y'all.

It was bad again tonight. Brown bottles, crystal bottles, crystal powder, powder nose, nosy children, children out of bed, fuck. Shrader closed the door to the girls' bedroom for a second time, careful to barricade it before slipping through to the crammed hallway of the already-narrow house. She was immediately pressed into bodies, all of which were sweaty and intoxicated or well on their way. She knew to keep her head down. Eyes on the ground. Move slowly, don't cause any alarm. Grab a swig of whiskey on her way out.

She was nearly to the kitchen when a big-fingered black man grabbed hold of her arm. Her eyes darted to him with habituated disinterest. "Where you gon, girl?" he grumbled. I ain't never seen this one before, she thought to herself as she scanned him, his pot belly sticking out through his too-big suit jacket. He probably won't kill me.

She sighed. Ain't happened yet, anyways.

"I gotta game," she fibbed.

He furrowed his brows. "Whatchu doin' at th' card house, baby girl?"

Her gaze hardened, jaw tightened. "I live here."

He let go in blanketed astonishment. He nodded. "Go on play ball, girl."

Shrader didn't think twice about it. She was used to it. Her house--her parents' house--filled to the brim with strangers. Boozing, smoking, gambling, snorting, shooting. It was all part of the game. The great, big cosmic game God was playing on her. She caught her father out of the corner of her eye as she went to the door. He had her mother on his lap, biting her neck. He'd be slamming her into a wall with his fist by midnight, she knew, and reasoned herself to be back before then. To step in, as she always did. So long as he didn't touch the girls.

She stepped out into the chilling autumn night, pulling her sleeves over her hands and starting down the barren outskirt.

[shrader-gallagher]

On Point [Open]

The referee blew the whistle, signaling the stoppage of play. The ladies pulled to slow stops, catching their breaths. On the opposite end of the court, the visiting team crowded around their downed player, who was holding her ankle on the ground. Above, like a beacon of light from heaven, the scoreboard bred the timer stopped at 00:02:45.

HOME 63 - VISITOR 74.

The indoor sport venue was lined with bleachers on both sides, the fans having shed their coats from the cooling weather. The men’s team was sitting together on the home side, cheering on their female counterparts. Shrader tuned them out, immune to their shouts and cheers and come-on's, though she didn't necessarily find them hard to listen to. Every time she saw their pairs of eyes in the stands, she remembered the headlines LAST year: S. GALLAGHER, BU FRESHMAN FRONTRUNNER IN BASKETBALL CHAMPIONSHIPS AND POTENTIAL MVP. It was a nice gesture, she supposed. But her heart was on the court, not the media.

The home team, dressed in powerhouse red, shuffled to the sidelines to grab drinks from their benched players. They did not step outside the boundary lines, pouring cups of water over their faces and squirting Gatorade into their mouths. Shrader’s golden tresses hung in her eyes, sweat dripping down her face peppered in freckles. The black lines decorating under the eyes of her and her teammates were smeared with sweat. Her cheeks flushed pink.

The recommencement whistle blew, and she trotted back out onto the court. Time to pull another miracle.

[fayquirke]

Tumble Dry

WHO →  Open 

WHERE → Laundromat by Wilson Park

NOTES → I think normal people things are the best, n'est ce pas? Despite that, it's a little shoddy, but here. 

As Don Draper lit another cigarette, the minute oscillations of the machine below her lulled to a stop. Pausing the stream, she pushed the laptop aside, pulling down her earphones, a little unaccustommed to the simultaneous buzzing of fifteen machines, to transfer her whites to the dryer and her darks to the vacant machine, fumbling in the pocket of her sweatpants for a spare quarter to start the cold water cycle and another for the tumble dry of her whites. 

[fayquirke]

Glare

WHO → open

WHERE → the park

WHEN → midday, thursday 27 june

NOTES → this is a bit shit, title and all, but indulge me?

Today was a day of leisure. It was long since she'd spent time in the city, away from the Brent campus and the libraries. She drove from her mother's house at the far end of Brent, in a tiny battered Volkswagen Beetle, air conditioning splaying gratefully as she minded the streets around her through her tinted windows. They were drenched in sweat, the air thick with humidity, languid from the dwindled population since the summer term had began. 

Parking at a street corner, dressed in clothes she very rarely broke out to run, she left the car, struck by an inexcusable heat and the glare from the sun she hadn't seen in so long. Shielding her eyes she headed towards Wilson Park, planning just to jog the trails until she tired out, maybe planning to stop for a lunch at Shake-n-Pop's. (She might even humor herself and watch a film at East Street tonight.) 

Fay almost instantly regretted the decision to go for a run, as opposed to shop, or go ice skating in the next town, but she stuck to it, keeping on the trail as the sun beat down, squinting from the glare. But as any runner would, she tired out, her feet sore, throat scorched desperately grabbing her water bottle, taking respite at the nearest park bench under the shade of an towering tree.

Catching her breath, she closed her eyes, leaning her head back as she caught the slightest of breezes on the trail. 

[reeses-pieces-w]

choke

WHO → open

WHERE → the park

NOTES → I just have reese angst feels ok? and this post is a bit shit

Not even the too hot water of the shower she'd just taken could scrub her mind clear of those dangerous thoughts. She had to get out of the house before she chocked on the stagnant air. Barely dressed, she left her ratty town house on the 'bad side' of Brent (which was a step away from the good side), with only her keys in hand. The night air stung her raw skin, but she didn't care. The pain was good. With no where to go, she just walked. Working her muscles was something to focus on. It was a really good thing to focus in. Picking up her pace, she broke into a sprint. Ignoring the harsh textures beneath her bare feat. Pushing her body to it's limits. Letting her muscles and lungs scream at her. It drowned out everything else.

She ran until she couldn't. Until her legs just wouldn't. Until she was gasping for breath. Stumbling, she let herself fall. Feeling grass beneath her, she guessed she was at the park, but didn't bother to check. She lived close to the park, so it made sense. Pulling herself up onto her hands and knees, she gave into the clenching feeling in her stomach, and let dry sobs shake her entire body. Distraction could only work for so long when you were running from yourself.