#f2f: 002.

[dancerclarington]

f2f 002 ⇆ may 11th.

Considering the fact that Hunter worked at a club for a living, most of his days off consisted of him being anywhere but a club though, every so often, he liked to dance in a setting that wasn’t him stripping. Also, unlike most people with a job, he rarely liked hooking up with, and definitely never dated, a coworker, so if he was looking for something casual, a gay nightclub was the best place for that. He wasn’t really interested in anything serious and as much as he enjoyed what he did for a living, he could never predict how men would react to him telling them that he was a stripper so he reserved that part of his life to himself until he got to know someone better. Which, honestly, was very, incredibly rare. Despite how open he was when it came to his body, the same couldn’t be said for his mind, as it took quite a lot for Hunter to trust someone, even just as a friend. That was one thing that didn’t change from when he was younger, and he doubt it would ever in the near future.

But, having one or a few fun nights with someone was never off the table for Hunter. It was usually what he preferred, anyways. After dancing with a guy that wasn’t too terrible to look at for a couple of songs, Hunter headed to the bar to get his third drink of the night. Once he ordered a whiskey on the rocks, he turned his head to the left side of the bar to see if any men that he hadn’t seen yet would catch his eye and to his, pleasant, surprise he saw his boss, Sebastian Smythe, ordering a drink of his own. This would be the first-time Hunter has seen him outside of work, and he wasn’t sure if his boss looked better all polished in a suit, or in his current attire of a red V-neck and jeans, accomplished with slightly messy hair. Both were certainly pleasing to look at.

After his drink was handed to him, Hunter made a beeline to his boss, a small smile pulling up his lips. “Fancy seeing you here, Mr. Smythe,” Hunter greeted him from behind, waiting for him to turn around before letting his smile grow. “I’m surprised to see you do anything but work.”

[ceceharper-blog1]

LOCATION: coffee shop.

DATE & TIME: 8/19, morning.

OPEN TO: @bitoted

There was a reason coffee shops served their to-go drinks with lids on them, and that reason was unfolding right before CeCe’s wide eyes, before she’d even had the chance to stop it. Why she’d taken the lid off of her iced macchiato didn’t seem important now; her focus was on the fact that it was currently out of its clear plastic cup and instead running right down the shirt and pants of the person in front of her, ice crashing onto the floor. Of course the shop was busy, and of course people were staring, and although CeCe felt terrible for soaking this total stranger in ice cold coffee, she also wasn’t totally surprised by it. She’d always been pretty clumsy, so this was just typical of her, but that didn’t stop her from covering her mouth with her hand as she gasped, then scrambled for the napkins on the table beside her. “I am so, so sorry,” she finally said, voice panicked as she started dabbing at his shirt with a napkin, “I realize this totally isn’t helping but I also don’t really know what else to do. I’m so sorry!”

[mimiritter]

knocking on wood → MIMI & OPEN.

It was a slow news night. Or, rather, the network had put an embargo on almost any interesting story she wanted to do, forcing Mimi to question every stupid ass decision she’d ever made that put her on the path to this stupid job in the first place; it was annoying, not being able to investigate whatever she damn well pleased, and while she’d always worked for publications that took certain stances on issues such as mutants, she found that television was a horse of a different color. Maybe it was just Chicago. But the Times and the Post had both allowed her a decent amount of freedom to report on the facts, as long as it vaguely aligned with their views--the way news should be. Regardless, the restrictions made her restless and irritated, which always proved to be a dangerous combination. 

So. It was late, just shy of 10:30pm, but it was still a bit earlier than she usually left the station after a show. Mimi found more comfort in her office than her own apartment, surrounded by staff who either worked just as hard as she did or didn’t want to be seen as inferior by going home at a normal hour, but tonight there was nothing to do other than a run down full of the usual frustrating news from the White House and a few Chicago-based stories that felt so unimportant in comparison to what was actually going on, and she just... couldn’t, anymore.

With insomnia and time to kill, Mimi opted out of her usual cab back to her apartment in favor of walking--it was only a few miles, and she was less afraid of walking alone in Chicago at night than she probably should have been, but whatever. As luck would have it, she was on a relatively vacant block when she heard a noise in the alley up ahead. She couldn’t put her finger on the source, and if she were smarter she would’ve crossed the street and ignored it, but as it stood--

Well. She’d call it curiosity, but the truth was that she was a nosy bitch.

Brow furrowed, Mimi paused for just a moment to transfer her handgun from her bag to the waistband of her pants as a precaution. She adjusted her shirt over the weapon as she crept closer to the source of the commotion, stepping into the alley and out of the safety of the light emitting from the street lamps.