#mwstarter

[losthxlo]

It had taken Adam all of three minutes to despair after realizing that he was in fact dead. Murdered, even. And very, very alone. He had mowed through everything in his pantry at the house, leaving only to seek out fried food and booze at Troy. After all, a Syndicate hotspot seemed safer than anywhere else after the things he’d seen. 

He heard someone take the stool at the bar beside him, torn between telling them to find another seat and begging whoever they were to stay with him. In the end he just pushed the half-eaten basket of mozzarella sticks in their direction, reaching for his drink instead. “Knock yourself out, if you want.” He offered grimly, fully intent on ordering the potato skins next. 

[bash-alvarez]

Some days, you just couldn’t have a quiet drink at your place of work without assholes interrupting every few minutes. It was a nuisance. Granted, Bash probably wasn’t supposed to be drinking on the job at Troy but Wyatt pretty much knew he did and probably didn’t care, so long as Bash could do his job. He usually didn’t get to the point of happy drunk anyway, just a few drinks to pass the time and make the idiots just a little easier to deal with. The bartenders were too scared of him to cut him off, anyway. Tonight, though, he’d barely finished half of his first drink before he’d had to “break up” two fights (i.e. take the offenders outside and kick their asses properly so they knew what a real fight was) and physically toss out some racist punks. It was the kind of night that put Bash in a bad mood, though that was often his state of being anyway. At least there’d been plenty of violence to vent his aggression on. 

Dusting his hands off after throwing yet another scumbag out of the bar, he strode over to his table and his waiting drink...only to find someone sitting there. His expression darkened. “That’s my table. Move or I’ll move you.” He would give the person about ten seconds before he followed through on his threat. 

[n-slick-blog]

“...and that was the ever so lovely Ginger Snap, everyone! You know where to put those tips and she might give you extra special thanks if you’re very generous. Next on the stage, the naughty, the dangerous, the ever so flexible, Nikita!”

Applause thundered out as the next stripper took the stage and Nicky smiled as he put the mike down. He headed for the bar and almost absently flexed his hands at his sides as he did so. They were sore, though he’d had to get used to the fact that they were always kind of sore now, but if he was starting to feel it so sharply it meant that his painkillers were wearing off. He had the bartender fill a glass with whiskey and shook some pills into his hand as the alcohol glugged out of the bottle. Nicky tossed them into his mouth like they were candy and washed them down with the booze, pleased by the warm burn that chased its way down his throat and chest. He wasn’t supposed to mix the two, of course, the doctors gave all sorts of dire warnings about it, but whatever. If you weren’t living on the edge, etc. Besides, Nicky tried to avoid being completely sober at any time these days. If he wasn’t at least a little numb or high, he didn’t know how to handle himself anymore.

Nikita’s set was going to last a while so he had a little time to slug back some drinks before he actually had to work again, though calling what he did here ‘work’ was kind of laughable. They’d tried giving him scripts at first but he never really stuck to them so he just made up whatever he wanted about the girls that he thought the crowd might like and it seemed to have worked out so far. He hoped he could find someone amusing or at least interesting to talk to while he waited, even better if that person was willing to share a drink with him. Glancing over, he noticed someone at the bar a few paces away and smiled at them. “Not that interested in the show, or are you just more interested in me?” It wasn’t his best line but he was famous (had been? He still didn’t like to think of it in the past tense) so it wasn’t that far off to think someone had recognized him. It still happened quite a bit.

[effie-aker-blog]

til death do us...meet?

Abi looked over the poster in her hand one last time before taping it up next to the door that lead into the morgue. Her boss wasn’t crazy about her advertising her unauthorized grief counseling there, especially since the image she chose strongly hinted that she could also communicate with the dead. She felt that her lengthy research on the matter and her attendance of several seances when she was living in LA qualified on her enough on the matter to start trying to make some money off of it. 

She finished smoothing out the paper on the window before stepping back to observe her work, turning her head and squinting at the person she heard approaching from the sidewalk. “Lost anyone recently?” she asked boldly, not realizing how insensitive that question might come across. 

[julian-bolanos]

It was the third call this evening about a suspicious someone hanging around the EZpump and the third time driving out to find nothing and no one that seemed out of place. Julian got that people were paranoid and on edge with everything that had happened lately but these calls to the station were getting old. 

He’d checked the parking lot and asked the attendee inside if they’d seen anything unexpected. Again. Walking back to the patrol car, he noticed someone who had pulled up at the pump. “Hey,” He called, reaching for the handle of his car door. “You the one who keeps calling?”

[jameson-martin-blog]

Jamie tried to limit the obviousness of his current state, staggering through the Quikmart as a man on a mission. He had just run out of his personal stash in his parent’s old house, now his house. The scent of whiskey on his tongue like a brand. He licked his lips as he made his way through the store, collecting armfuls of pork rinds and turkey jerky before toeing down the liquor aisle. He swayed down the path to the beat that played over the loud speaker and filled the empty store, ghosting across the shelves and reverberating back to him as his hips and shoulders engaged in a harmonizing rhythm sure to shock any innocent onlookers in the supermarket past twelve on a weeknight.

It took a second of close observation before he noticed someone close to him that he recognized also perusing the aisles. He had lived in Muddy Waters nearly his whole life, save for his time in the marines, and could hardly go out without getting stuck talking to someone, this time, drunk. His intoxicated brain told him it would be a good idea to duck behind a shelf of booze, so as not to be noticed in such a state. The outline of his body could still be obviously seen behind the little stand, though that didn’t stop him from looking like an over-sized child, too big for his hiding place. It was when his shoulder bumped into a tower of wine that the pork rinds went toppling out of his grasp and onto the floor, causing his eyes to meet with the person before him. He bent over to pick up the bag, making it dance in the air to the music a bit. “When pigs fly, huh?” he said with a grin, missing front tooth evident as he had forgotten to put his denture in at home.

[jesse-childs]

Oz seemed distracted lately and Jesse wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to take advantage of the owner’s lack of attention. He had crawled up onto the counter to reach the chalkboard menu, using his sleeve to clear the Oz-approved specials listed there. He scrawled his own additions in their place, listing what were sure to be instant favorites such as The Brewed Awakening, Frank Sumatra, 03AH-5PBC-9K2T7 (Not Your Mother’s Hot Coffee Mod), and for customers who planned on ever sleeping again, The Decappuccino.

He hopped down when he heard a customer asking for help at the counter, turning towards them with the chalk still held between his fingers. “Sorry, I don’t make the drinks. I’m just head of marketing.” 

[classycrusader-blog]

It was quite early in the morning when Testament entered the Rise and Grind. Like usual he was in a mostly content mood, always prone to getting up on the right side of the bed. As with his common routine he greeted the morning birds tending to the regular morning risers like himself and took his usual seat.

There was something about the clinking of cups, the smell of freshly made coffee, and the sounds of college students tapping away at their laptops to get that essay in just in time. It was always a conventional way to start the day but it was something Test just never grew tired of.

He always fancied himself a table by the window, looking out on the town outside. Soon he felt the usual sense of melancholy that often went unsaid. He didn’t enjoy the company of the entire squad, knowing what he knew, save for a handful of them. It was a pill he put in his mouth and swallowed, though, without complaint. Despite hating where he worked, he loved what he did.

So there he sat, mentally preparing himself for a new day, wearing a small and worn smile as he watched the public do their thing out the window.

“Huh… That guy does not know how to park.”