a girl needs a gun these days

val. 24. not about to take your shit.

[valdling-blog]

(gasoline, saccharin) | val & serra | sept. 4th

[twinfreygirl]

“Competitive.”  Serra gives a small, short laugh.  ”Yes, I know all about that.  Sarra and I spent our entire childhood trying to beat each other in anything and everything.  Board games and races and swimming contests…”  Serra loved swimming so much.  She misses it more than she expected she would when she moved down here.  There aren’t many lakes in London, and if she misses anything, she misses that.

Serra stirs her tiny stick in her drink and watches it swirl.  ”I’ve never really been the adventurous type.  Pretty much just stuck to the way things are.  You seem much more the type to go off on that kinda thing though.  And good for you.”  She raises her glass up like she’s giving a toast.  ”May you find people that give you interesting stories and may you have amazing adventures in, I don’t know, Scotland.  Or Asia.  Or Narnia.  Or wherever people go to have interesting adventures.”

Serra sits back and drains her glass and then sets it down.  She doesn’t think she’ll have any more tonight.  Doesn’t exactly feel comfortable enough with the state of her car to actually drink more.  She smiles as Val gives Serra her number.  I’ll be nice, she thinks, to have someone to hang out with or talk to or anything at all like that.  ”Sure.  That sounds good.  Let’s do something, sometime.”

[valdling-blog]

Val's nose wrinkles a bit as she stifles a smile, clinking her bottle along Serra's glass in toast. "To Narnia, then," she announces, straightening up with just the appropriate amount of dramatic flourish before slumping back down with her elbows on the bar again. It's a terrible habit, all this slouching, and one day her back will be screaming at her for it Val knows, but for the moment she can't care. "Though I'll be honest with you -- sometimes I wish I were the kind to stay put. I guess that's why I'm here now, trying to settle down." She fidgets with her bottle a bit and then looks up to meet Serra's eyes again. "It'd be a lot easier if I didn't have the urge to just pick up and leave all over again."

She scribbles her number down on the back of a discarded receipt and slides it over to Serra with a smile. "We'll have to find a local adventure to have."

Out of the corner of her eye Val notices one of her regular patrons (already about six drinks in at this point in the night) vying for her attention and decides she'd better go deal with him before the lewd or offensive comments begin. For all her complaints, Val's job is actually a very easy one, and her boss is incredibly lenient -- but she does have to work, after all. "I've got to go take care of this one," she rolls her eyes at Serra, "but I'll talk to you soon, yeah?"

[valdling-blog]

(this color, this summer night) | val & dale | aug 24th

[seaworthd]

Dale laughed easily, breathy and natural. Something about her made him both uneasy and at-ease, which was a strange combination — there was part of him that felt like he was walking on needles with her, like one misstep could land him in a lifetime of never seeing her again, which was totally possible. Val didn’t seem to be like the kind of girl who would hold on to friends she didn’t care about or ex-boyfriends/one night stands who she didn’t want anymore. At the same time, Dale felt comfortable with her already, comfortable enough to (almost!!) act like an idiot in front of her. Not that it was hard to do that.

He balanced the cigarette in his mouth and fished around his pockets for his zippo, a silly thing his father bought for him when he finished school engraved with his initials and an anchor. When his fingers caught hold of it, he nearly sighed audibly; the feeling whenever it took him a second too long to find it could only be described as “near panic.”

He lit the cigarette for her before letting out a puff of his own smoke. 

“Maybe I don’t mind being put to work,” he replied with a smile. 

[valdling-blog]

Val inhaled deeply, letting the nicotine hit her and feeling blissfully lightheaded at once (it was honestly some form of torture that she wasn't able to smoke at work). She cocked an eyebrow at Dale and smirked before taking another drag.

"Careful," she said. "I just might get comfortable with the fact."

And -- looking at him -- it could be difficult not to get comfortable, she knew. Dale was tall, and well-built, and handsome. He worked an important job for the important government and Val was tiny enough to fold neatly into his chest, if she let herself. He knew how to take a joke, she had already learned, and he looked strong. It would be easy to get comfortable with a guy like Dale. It would be easy for anyone, Val thought distantly, watching him, the smile still on her lips (she made sure it reached her eyes), though she didn't feel anything.

"Well! -- Shall we?" she asked theatrically, reaching for his hand with her free one. "I could be halfway to my bed right now; I think you owe me three burgers. Lead the way."

[jon-nutten-blog]

the walls line the bullet holes // september 2nd // closed; jon and val

[jon-nutten-blog]

London wasn’t exactly boring, Jon didn’t think so anyway, he just wished he would have a chance to leave it, someday, even if it was just for a year or two. He hadn’t traveled much, and that’s what he found boring, really. He’d like to see the world a bit more before he got too focused on work to leave, or before he simply got too old. Maybe one day, he thought. Maybe one day he’d have the chance. “It’s not so bad,” he said at last, half-smiling.

Jon cocked his head when she told him Scotland (thinking about it, he should have recognised that accent. But it had been a long day, he reasoned. He could cut himself some slack.) He heard the finality in her tone though, and didn’t ask her more, just as she hadn’t when he’d told her he worked at the university. There were certain things you didn’t push, he supposed, and this was one of them.

I’m not just a bar girl, she’d said, and that roused Jon’s interest at once. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes meeting hers. “Do elaborate; you’ve got me curious,” he told her, leaning his elbow on the counter. 

[valdling-blog]

She breathed an inward sigh of relief when he didn't press the issue of home, and was slightly surprised at herself at having to do so. Val had been completely prepared for the difficulties of finding an apartment in an expensive city, moving furniture up long flights of stairs, settling into a brand new job, a new university, new friends. What she hadn't been expecting, really, was the strange sort of purgatory of everything that came after. The "now what?" feeling. So yes -- the last thing she wanted to talk about was home.

"Talk about another mystery killer," Val replied with a grin, rocking forward on the bar on her elbows. "Where's the fun in it if I just tell you all about myself?" She paused, shrugging. "Anyway, I guess -- I hope I won't be 'bar girl' for long. I'm kind of -- how do you explain it -- wandering right now." Being born into a political family had taught Val a lot about what she didn't want to do, yet not much in the other way. "I travel a lot. I wanna have a good time." She leaned in a bit, smiling just a little. "You could say I don't really have it together."

And really -- what 24 year old did? Val tended not to feel bad about the fact that she didn't have her whole life figured out just yet, but something about Jon made it seem like he did. And a part of her envied that. "This must be terribly boring for you," she added. "I'm really not the best conversationalist -- fuck knows why I'm a bartender."

[valdling-blog]

FOLLOW RAVELLA SWANN

sideblog, heeey

[valdling-blog]

(gasoline, saccharin) | val & serra | sept. 4th

[twinfreygirl]

“Yeah.  My sister taught me how.  She loved the play pool and, it’s pretty fun.  She liked darts better, mostly because I always beat her at pool.”  Sarra likes loosing almost as much as Serra does.  That is always fun, in a sibling.  Made their childhood a bit more competitive, but that was always something Serra enjoyed about her sister.  Something that she misses, too.

Val grabs another drink as Serra sips down her second.  She wonders if she can chance a third or switch to something else.  She does have to drive home and she would really hate to get in trouble right before school starts, but she sort of wants another and she certainly wants to stay here longer.  She sets her drink back on the table and tucks her hair behind her ears, feeling a bit sleepy.  ”You seem like a curious sort of person.  That’s good!  Though I’m not sure why you became a bartender if you don’t like smalltalk.”  Serra gives a short laugh.

“Well, I’m glad you enjoy talking to me.”  Serra smiles much more openly this time then looks back down at her drink.  She reaches into her purse and fishes out a pad of paper and a pencil and scribbles down her number.  ”I think I’m pretty fond of you as well.  You’ll give me a call sometime, won’t you?”  She holds the paper out, tentatively, willing Val to take it.  Even if Val isn’t interested in her, and she might not be, Serra would still really like a chance to get to talk to her more.

[valdling-blog]

"Yeah? My sister isn't really the pool type. I'm not sure if that's changed over the years -- she's competitive in other ways, though," Val admits, remembering the look in Dalla's eyes when she talks about change, whether it's at a family dinner or standing besides Mance -- the fire erupting in her normally sweet-tempered, amiable older sister. A sudden pang of longing for her, and for home, rushes through her.

Val decides to ignore it as best as she can -- there's nothing she can do about it now, she's made her bed -- and match Serra's laugh. "You're right; I am curious. I try to be, at least. What's the point in living without a little adventure?" A shrug. "And I needed the money. There's nothing adventurous about small talk, 'cause it always leads back to the same few questions -- 'Where are you from, what do you do' -- but never really interesting answers. Not here, anyway." She grins. "I make it sound a lot worse than it is."

While Serra writes down her number, Val takes another swig of her beer, smiling to herself. It's always been easy for her to make friends, when she's wanted, and she thinks she might even keep this one. "Sure," she says, snatching the slip of paper from Serra and tucking it into her back pocket. "Why not? As long as we don't have to hang around here -- I'm game."

[valdling-blog]

(this color, this summer night) | val & dale | aug 24th

[seaworthd]

Dale was nervous.

He wasn’t usually nervous about things like this — or many things, really. He’d get nervous now and then, when there was a riot outside and he knew he’d have to march through it, or when he thought his family might be in danger and he hadn’t heard from any of them in an hour. He got nervous whenever a news bulletin comes on, and he thought that he’d failed at his job, that he’d failed to protect the Prime Minister, or the public, or that he’d failed, full stop.

Dating? One-night stands? He didn’t bat an eye at those. He was straightforward and no-stress/no-frills when it came to dating — a dab of cologne and (maybe) a brush of his hair and he’d be set, and either the girl he was seeing would like him or she wouldn’t.  And if she did, brilliant. If she didn’t — well, that’s what pub nights were for, right? 

(Anyway, usually they liked him.)

Anyway. Anyway.

He was nervous. He wasn’t sure what was different — what it was about Val that made him breathless in a way that other women hadn’t. There was something about her that attracted him past her beauty (though god, she was beautiful)— how little he knew her and how much he wanted to, the way she looked at him like she’d already read his mind before he has spoken and thought (/knew) he was ridiculous.

He knew it’d be a miracle if they made it past the first date; the fact that she said yes at all was a miracle. As he stood outside the pub, he smoked a cigarette and kicked at a stone on the floor, too preoccupied to worry about looking “cool” when she came out to meet him. Also, he’d already figured out that she would probably never think he’s cool. 

(And usually people think he’s cool when they first meet him!!!!!)

He didn’t notice her until she spoke, and shocked him out of his reverie — he glanced over at her and was struck silent, stupid. She was beautiful. Stunning. In a sort of classic, non-duplicatable way. Women would try their whole lives to look as beautiful as she did, effortlessly, after a long day of working.

He smiled at her and nodded, holding the cigarette in his mouth and fishing around for his pack in his jacket. He pulled one out and motioned for her to put it in her mouth. He prayed his hands weren’t shaking.  

[valdling-blog]

If Dale was nervous -- Val couldn't tell. This was, it had to be said, for the best, as Val couldn't stand nerves -- couldn't stand them on her, couldn't stand them on other people. The jitterier the person in front of her was, the jitterier she became, and frankly the last thing she needed after a late night shift serving up drinks to the local drunks was to be jittery when all she wanted was to 1. curl up and go to sleep 2. in lieu of that, have burgers with a cute boy.

For herself, she felt fine. Besides the usual -- I hope he's not a creep/I hope he's not boring/I hope I don't have to use my pepper spray/I hope I don't need to use the "phone an emergency friend" option headline worries zipping quickly through her head -- she felt fine. She hated first dates, she remembered again, leaning forward to take the cigarette into her mouth, no hands.

"Thanks -- oh, I'll need a light too," she realized, pulling the cig back out of her mouth, laughing. "How do you like that? I've barely said hi and I'm already putting you to work."

She grinned. It said, Get used to it, if you wanna stick around.

[valdling-blog]

(this color, this summer night) | val & dale | aug 24th

Aside from the occasional one night stand, Val hadn't really the time or interest to date since she'd moved to London: a situation she was altogether satisfied with. Relationships were messy, commitment took patience and compromise, and truthfully... there was nothing more uncomfortable or boring than a first date. She liked her space and her freedom. She liked being able to come home and flop down in front of the TV and not have to impress anybody. She felt exhausted and uncertain with where her life was going at this exact moment in time -- and though she didn't like to admit it -- Val wasn't entirely sure she had the room or energy to let anyone into that dull sort of madness. So why say yes to Dale? Maybe there was something charming about his earnest attempt to get her attention. He was a regular at the bar, though he never bothered her before. In fact, he never seemed to bother anyone much -- a good sign, considering someone was always trying to cause a problem -- mostly keeping to himself and his group of friends, cheering on his footie team when the game was on, etc. He seemed... nice. He wouldn't last, Val knew. But he might be a good fuck, at least. They'd agreed to meet outside, much to her relief, (by the end of her shifts, Val couldn't stand the place anymore), and as she swung the door open Val spotted Dale loitering against the wall, smoking a cigarette. She had nearly forgotten (had she ever really noticed? she was noticing now) how handsome he was. Not just the kind of hot she found around the clubs downtown -- but. Handsome. She shook it off. "Got one of those for me?" she smiled.

[imogenpootsdaily]

[valdling-blog]

(gasoline, saccharin) | val & serra | sept. 4th

[twinfreygirl]

Serra laughs as Val talks about bar fights.  ”You know, there is very little that is more fun than watching people beat each other up.  Also, that is a totally legitimate reason to take a job.  Far more so than why I became a teacher.”  Serra takes a sip of her drink and glances around the almost empty bar.  ”I’ll defiantly have to come some time when there are enough people to have a fight.  Also, when there’s enough people to play pool.  I really do like playing pool.”

“Strange.  Yes.  Perhaps not the right word.  Maybe batshit insane.  Or too large for their own good.”  Serra laughs and sets down her drink.  ”Alright.  Once upon a time (and now I suppose, he’s still alive) there was a man named Walder Frey and was either incredibly horny or he had some grand Darwinian plan that I cannot possibly understand.  I don’t know.  Either way, he went and got married a bunch of times, I don’t know how many, like six or eight or nine or something.  I don’t really care.  And with each wife he had something like two or three kids who, in turn, had a shit load of grandkids.”

Serra tries to take another of her drink and finds the cup disappointingly empty.  ”Ah.  Could you make another one?  I need to be considerably more drunk to have this conversation.”  Val takes her cup and Serra continues.  ”I’m one of the grandkids from his third wife.  Now, you would think we would all ignore the rest of our very large family, but it seems there is a need in the Frey family to all kiss up to Walder Frey, who has a very large inheritance that needs to be given to someone, since he is gonna die soon.”

Val hands her back her drink.  ”See now, I don’t really talk to much of my family anymore, cept my twin who’s up in Scotland.  I’ve been trying to talk to my little sister, Cersei—yeah, I know—but I’m not sure how much she wants to talk to me.”  Serra smiles at Val.  ”Sorry about that.  Sure you didn’t wanna hear all that.”

She stirs her drink with a tiny plastic spoon.  ”People are all the same.  Yeah, I’m sure that’s true.”

[valdling-blog]

Val grins, raising her eyebrows. "You play pool?" She plays pool. Of course, nearly everyone that comes around plays pool, but it's still a pleasant surprise -- coming from her. She leans forward on her elbows, tipping the bottle back into her mouth, finishing off the beer in a final, long sip.

As Serra launches into her story, Val busies herself by grabbing another bottle and popping off the cap. She watches the rest of her customers out of the corner of her eye; however, most of them have settled into their drinks and conversations by now and they don't really need her attention -- so she's able to focus most of it on Serra. The perks of a slow night, Val decides (of course, only when she has proper company, which she rarely ever does.) She prepares another drink for the girl in silence, nodding as she does so.

It sounds... complicated. Val can't imagine belonging to such a large group of people -- but she can definitely relate to having a sister up in Scotland. She smiles a bit at the fact, though it's barely noticeable. Dalla and her try to stay in touch as often as possible, though it's difficult with how busy she is (and Val would be lying to herself if she said there wasn't a bit of rebellion creeping up there on her part -- after all, what was moving to London, if not rebellion?).

"Don't be silly," she finally says, after Serra's finished. "I asked. And between the two of us -- I never ask unless I'm curious. I don't have time for small talk." She smiles.

"Sometimes, though..." Val trails off. Shrugs. "I don't know. Sometimes people surprise you. Like you. I certainly didn't expect anyone to save me from this dull night."

[jon-nutten-blog]

the walls line the bullet holes // september 2nd // closed; jon and val

[jon-nutten-blog]

“Apparently you can,” he agreed, still grinning widely at her. Much better; she was even prettier when she smiled, even only slightly. He suspected that when she was smiling properly she was rather breathtaking (more so than she already was.)

His grin faltered slightly when she asked what he did, but it was barely noticeable, thankfully for him. He’d used to work in the local Tesco store a few months back just to pay the bills (he’d never really liked it, and he’d often preferred to just mess around with computers all day. Work in a supermarket was boring; it was the same day in, day out, but when it came to hacking and programming, it was different. Each day he would be doing the same thing, but the result would be different, and he actually enjoyed computers. Unlike the shitty part-time shelf-stacking job he’d had before. Thank God he’d quit.)

“I’m working at the University College London - nothing special.” He couldn’t really go into any more detail than that (thankfully, she probably wouldn’t want to), because most of the work he did there wasn’t actually UCL related. Thoros had him doing work for the Brotherhood, most of the time, something much more interesting than being Thoros’ assistant and doing actual work. “I’ve been a Londoner since birth,” he said, shrugging. He’d been born in London, and he’d always lived here (heck, he’d even gone to university here, and he hated London. But he’d always thought that he’d hate somewhere else even more. His family were here, (although he rarely saw theme these days), as were his mates (although he rarely saw them, either.) “Never left it, either. I’m a very boring person,” he concluded, giving her a shrug.

“Where are you from, then? I’d ask what you do, but, well…” he trailed off, gesturing to her with his hand. She was here serving him his beer; it was blatantly obvious what she did. He lifted his drink to his mouth once more, and took another sip, then another, before placing the glass back down on its coaster in front of him.

[valdling-blog]

If Val's question had any effect on Jon -- she didn't notice. In fact, the moment he mentioned the University she decided she wouldn't ask for him to divulge; she'd had enough of universities for one day. She was certain whatever it was he did was blissfully normal and equally as boring as what she did, and a part of her regretting asking the question anyway. It was pretty predictable.

"Well," she said slowly, crossing her arms, "I wouldn't necessarily call London boring." Val could think of far worse places to be. She could think of far more hopeless places to be. At least London had life. At least you could walk outside and walk straight into civilization. You didn't need a car to get around. Val had nightmares about the sorts of places where you needed to know how to drive to get around. "I like it here," she shrugged. It certainly didn't feel like home -- but she couldn't say she was an avid fan of home, either.

"Scotland." It was a statement on its own: one that, judging by her tone, Val did not care to elaborate on. She had left. She was here now. Always looking forward. "Oh, yes," she continued with a small laugh. "Sort of kills the mystery, meeting like this. But I do plenty of other things, I can assure you. I'm not just bar girl."

[valdling-blog]

(gasoline, saccharin) | val & serra | sept. 4th

[twinfreygirl]

“You like it.  You like watching fights.”  Serra smiles, low and almost to herself.  Of course she does.  Val comes across as rather fearless, the type that would prefer a life watching drunk men punching each other rather then staring at an empty bar.  She probably loves it.  She probably became a bartender because she wants to watch people just let go of themselves.  She must hate it right now.  Serra wants to see her in her element.  Where everything around her goes insane.  ”Well then.  I’ll just have to come around on a more exciting night.”

“Exceptions are awfully nice.  Whatever did I do to win your favor?”  Serra takes another sip of her drink and smiles to herself.  ”Still, I’d rather not take advantage.  I’ll try and stop asking questions.  Though it’s a little hard to resist.”  Serra wonders what Val would be like in business.  She’s pretty and charming, which can certainly get a person rather far in that type of world, but Serra wonders if a business job would be interesting at all for her.  ”I think you might be good at marketing.  You seem pretty persuasive.”

“I’m from northern England.  Sheffield.  Way up almost to Scotland.  That’s where you’re from, I’m guessing?  You sound Scottish, at least.”  Serra’s eyes focus on her drink then back to the bartender.  ”Most Freys are from there.  We’re a pretty strange family.  I left about as quick as I could.”

“You travel.”  She’d guess that Val is the type that likes to travel.  ”I’ve never done that much, but it certainly sounds exciting.  Where do you go?  Around Europe?  Elsewhere?”  Serra looks at her drink a little regretfully.  ”Never been out of the country, myself.  But that’s not really such a problem.  Can’t image most places are too much different.”  She tilts her head back.  ”But then, I don’t travel.”

[valdling-blog]

She nearly laughs again, yet stops just in time, catching herself. She's becoming too friendly. Yes, she likes the fights; she likes the action. It's thrilling. And Val has always been of the notion that life should be thrilling. She finds herself nodding, agreeing with Serra -- "yes, you should. Come back on the weekend and watch the men at each other's throats. I certainly enjoy it."

There is, however, always a limit to how much she gives, and Val decides to stop there. She takes a sip of her drink in response to Serra's next question -- Whatever did I do to win your favor? -- partly because she isn't quite sure, and partly because it isn't the sort of thing she would ever answer in the first place. She likes her company, it's clear. She wouldn't be having this conversation at all if she didn't, would have walked away the first sentence in (Val doesn't need the tips that badly). She's been terribly bored all day, yes -- that definitely has something to do with it -- but it takes an awful lot to entertain Val. Typically, it takes more than just a conversation. She isn't sure. There's something about her. She gives her a signature one shouldered shrug in reply.

"Strange family?" she asks instead. Her eyes flash. "Strange how? I like strange. Elaborate."

"I'm from Scotland," Val nods, "and I did most of my traveling before moving here. Around Europe mostly yeah -- I'd like to see the States someday. You're not interested?" She pauses, tipping the beer bottle between her fingers. "You're wrong, though. The places are different. It's the people that are the same."

[gcraster]

in manners of the heart ; gilly & val | flashback: january 16th

[gcraster]

Gilly shrugs, blushing slightly. She knows it’s ridiculous that she hasn’t, but she knows it’s more ridiculous that she’s barely ever done anything or gone anywhere — she hasn’t been to a museum or amusement park since she was a child, she hasn’t been to a house party or gotten too drunk or slept on someone’s couch, or done anything most people her age have done. Not that she’s willing to admit that right now, of course. If Val is so shocked that she’s never gone dancing, she can’t imagine what her reaction to some of the other things would be.

“Yes, please,” she says instead, sitting up a little straighter, excited at the prospect of having something to be excited about. (Along with the rest of the things she hasn’t done, feeling truly excited is something she could add to that list, too.) 

Gilly smiles at Val as she kisses her son and hands him back. She never expected that she’d trust someone who’s essentially a stranger to take care of Dieter, but seeing him in her arms is natural, lovely. Gilly’d like to see it more, and not just to give her arms a rest. She takes Dieter back, though, and breathes him in, kissing his forehead. 

At her next words, though, Gilly smiles even more widely, even more naturally. In that moment, Gilly not only wishes Val was her sister, but loves her as well. “So are you,” she replies gently. She pauses before adding, “I won’t tell anyone, though. I wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation.”

[valdling-blog]

Val decides not to embarrass the girl any further and grins instead, pleased by her genuine enthusiasm. Although it's clear she's done more than Gilly (though what value does going out have and getting hammered on the weekend every once in a while have, anyway?), Val's always felt a sense of going through the motions. Especially in the last few years -- away from her family. Especially here, in England. While she enjoys being on her own, there are downsides to it as well. A sort of hazy detachment she tries not to think about.

She watches them for a moment -- mother and son in their quiet ease -- and realizes she does not feel that detachment. For the first time since she's moved to this little corner of London, she feels comforted and at peace instead.

But that comment? No. No, Gilly, no. "Please," Val snorts, throwing her hair over her shoulder. "As if anyone would believe you anyway."

Standing up, she flashes her a smile, baring her teeth. "Hey, I was going out, but I have a better idea. It's a bleak night and it looks like it's gonna rain. I'm changing into sweats and I'm putting on That Thing You Do. If you laugh at my bad taste in movies I'll kill you. If you put Dieter to bed, I'll let you watch it with me."

[valdling-blog]

sorry about dale he's...overbearing sometimes -devan

well. we’ll just have to work together to whip him into shape then. :)

[seaworthd]

text (val & dale) | august 20th

[seaworthd]

txt: thank god txt: it would be too embarrassing if you said txt: perfect txt: i’ll meet you at the pub

[valdling-blog]

txt: that's where i'll be running boy txt: see you then

[seaworthd]

text (val & dale) | august 20th

[seaworthd]

txt: is that a yes, val?

[valdling-blog]

txt: why not?

[seaworthd]

text (val & dale) | august 20th

[seaworthd]

txt: yeah. txt: no. not too late. txt: not exactly dinner, though. are you opposed to late night burgers & fries or am i ruining my nonexistent chances?

[valdling-blog]

txt: no one in their right mind is opposed to late night burgers & fries

[seaworthd]

text (val & dale) | august 20th

[seaworthd]

txt: noted. txt: me too. surprisingly. txt: …. how late is your shift on friday? 

[valdling-blog]

txt: oh yeah? txt: late -- like 2 am late txt: that past your bedtime?