open starter | outside, by the main stage, moments before the wet t-shirt contest
♪ ༘⋆ ━━━
the buzzing near the shell of her ear forces a groan to slip from her lips. lucy reaches up and smacks the side of her neck, eyebrows raising in surprise at the fly guts on her fingertips. "huh," she shrugged, turning to her counterpart. "i somehow terminated that fly with no problem, do you have hand sanitizer? or...a napkin?" lucy reaches forward, grabbing a crinkled napkin to wipe off the excess insect residue. as the announcer takes the stage, the girl looks up, a scrunched look forming upon her face. "what could they possibly be promoting now?" she was a snob when it came to live music, and the last couple of acts hadn't been her favorite. lucy was as open as she could be, but if one sour note or one song she doesn't care for comes to light, then she's turned off for good. the last thing she wanted to do was listen to another band that wouldn't tickle her fancy. however, the mention of a wet t-shirt contest catches her off guard, eyes widening at the idea. "no fucking way they're doing the wet t-shirt contest!" she exclaimed, looking at the person that sat next to her. "oh my god, you totally have to do it! i'll give you five bucks to do it." she smiled, knowing damn well she gave her last bill away at the kissing booth.
dom watches the woman, laughs at her confusion at the situation she unknowingly stumbled into. " well ... you don't have to kiss me. suit yourself, " thumb points lazily at the sign over high shoulder, gaze drifts towards it before it lands back upon her. " ... but 100% of proceeds go to charity, so … if you don't care about poor kids being able to play sports, i guess you can pass. " one shoulder lifts in a shrug, smiling while she approaches. he is grateful for the entertainment, having pecked more people than he would have liked today, and he was only a quarter of the way through his stint at the booth. " i'm kidding, obviously — no pressure. i was roped into this. turns out there are consequences for being defiant to leadership. " what a punishment !
♪ ༘⋆ ━━━the playfulness in his expression only made lucy’s smile widen, a subtle shift in the attitude toward the stranger infiltrating her body. “wow, what a way to guilt trip me!” she feigned offense, placing a hand over her heart as her bottom lip poked out. “if you just wanted to kiss a stranger, you could’ve just asked. i don’t bite,” she paused, the corners of her lips lifting. “mostly.” lucy stood to her feet, waltzing over to dom with a scrunch of the nose. “this is why i am not involved in leadership … you get to avoid things like swapping spit with strangers.” lucy dug into her purse, fetching out her wallet. she hummed as she fished out a bill from one of the folds, holding it out to him. “one dollar. it’s all i got. take it or leave it, pretty boy.” she waved the bill. “no need to kiss me, though. just a simple charity donation.” she paused. “unless i have to kiss you.” she teased, sending him a playful wink.
" fuckin' hell . . i think i'm about to explode , " had just practically devoured her weight in barbecue , nothing left on the tray that once held her food aside from a few bones and some spare crumbs of the parts of the hotdog buns she couldn't bring herself to finish . two were tucked away in a corner , couldn't have been comfortable enough to devour this much food in front of the public eye , any sense of decorum completely flown from the window anywhere a rack of ribs was involved . she sits back in the metal chair , one hand lifted to pat her full stomach while the other brings a napkin to swipe away any stray drops of barbecue sauce from the corner of her mouth . " we need to go walk around for a bit so i can make room for a sweet treat because i am not leaving here without whatever that fucking peach cobbler looking thing was at the georgia's stand ⸺ and don't give me that shit about not wanting dessert because i know you do . . . and i'm not gonna enjoy it unless you have something too . "
♪ ༘⋆ ━━━ the look on lucy's face was expressive enough to be hung in an art gallery: appalled, confused, impressed. her fingers curled around her half-eaten turkey leg, fingertips stained with grease, and the corner of her lips held charred remains. with a subtle scoff, a smile pulled at lucy's lips as she placed her turkey leg down on the flimsy plate in front of her. " how do you manage to eat ribs so messily ?" she asked, eyebrows arched in a surprised manner. " they're naturally messy, yet ... here you are ... " lucy grinned, glancing down at her turkey leg. " i've barely left a dent in this , but you know i am always down for a treat. though, a cupcake is calling my name . or a brownie . oh ! brownie sundae ?! " she licked her lips, swiping away the remnants of her turkey leg. " you might have to help me finish this ? or ill just carry around the leg and the sundae ... " lucy chuckled, disregarding any use of a napkin and continuing to swirl her tongue around her mouth. " did i get it all ? "
━━━ ✴︎ the lone stars branded training shirt clings to dominic's sweaty torso, grateful for the canopy that shades the kissing booth. dom's knee bounces, eyes find the sign again:
' DALLAS LONE STARS, PUCKS AND PECKS: kissing booth fundraiser. with #17 dominic khadra. $20 = one kiss, $30 = a kiss and a photo, $50 skip the line privileges.
all proceeds go to charity. '
that's the catch, isn't it ? all proceeds go to charity. how could he outright refuse when the funds raised would go towards helping underprivilieged kids access the sport that had given him everything ? it's only been thirty-five minutes into his two-hour commitment and he's signed more ‘ khadra ‘ merch than he could count, kissed more fans than he ever would have anticipated. one had simply wanted to touch the knuckles that had broken a rival team-member’s front teeth … weird. two fingers hook under the collar of his shirt as he savors the last of his break, a futile attempt to send cooling air to wet skin when his eyes land upon a welcome figure. " oh, hey ! you here to kiss me, too ? " he teases, motioning them over with a relieved smile.
♪ ༘⋆ ━━━ the summer heat was beginning to take a toll on lucy as she curled up a pamphlet in one hand, fanning herself, the stickiness of her hair forcing her to frown. her boots clicked on the ground as she passed through the booths, the flimsy paper keeping her cool slipping from her fingers. " fuck , " she mumbled as she leaned down, an unfamiliar voice echoing in her ear. the brunette looked up as her chipped nails curled around the paper, eyebrows furrowing at the sight of a very shirtless and very attractive man standing before her. " uhm , " lucy looked over her shoulder, seeing no one else around them. he was, in fact, talking to her...about kissing him. she looked back up at him, eyes squinting as she lifted a hand to her forehead, blocking out the sun, the lighting acting like a halo around him. " no ? " she shrugged, resuming her fanning episode. " am i supposed to kiss you ? are you like ... the best kisser in town or something ?" she grinned, glancing past him for a moment, acknowledging the kissing booth sign but wanting nothing more than to continue this conversation.
* ⋆ ⭒˚｡ [ sophie thatcher, cis!female, she/her ] was that lucy russo i just saw over at the hideaway ? you know, the twenty seven year old record store sales associate that’s been around willow glen for five years. people around town say they can somehow both be pessimistic and authentic, but if you were to ask them, they’d probably say they’re more like scratched records, a storm amongst the seas, humming around a vampire, tangled wired headphones. the town sure has been rumbling about them lately, apparently they came to town years ago in hopes of finding her father that left her behind in chicago … but who knows if that’s true, i guess i’ll just have to stop by the oaks and find out !
full name: lucy josephine russo. nickname(s): luce, russo, lucy jo. age: twenty seven . date of birth: october 31st. zodiac sign: scorpio. birthplace: chicago, illinois. current residence: the oaks, willow glen, texas. gender: cis woman. pronouns: she/her. sexuality: unlabeled. occupation: record store sales associate.
faceclaim: sophie thatcher. height: 5’5” . eye color: blue. hair color/style: dark brown hair, long with a shag cut with curtain bangs. scar(s): one above her eyebrow and upper lip from a car accident. tattoo(s): one grey cat on her left wrist, one black cat on her right wrist.
alignment: chaotic good. positive traits: intelligent, authentic, reliable, resilient. negative traits: pessimistic, cynical, judgmental, insecure. likes: collecting vinyls, long walks in the cold, skipping rocks at the pond, indulging in cigarettes, interior decorating, cats, shakespeare, difficult tasks, ripping up old newspapers, stargazing, dancing in the rain, forehead kisses. dislikes: driving, cracks in the pavement, people who interrupt, country music, surface level conversations, unscented lipgloss. fears: blood, needles, being forgotten about. hobbies: reading shitty romance novels, collecting and maintaining vinyls, working at the record store, frequenting bars, analyzing films, thrifting, indulging in coffee and croissants, rolling her eyes, painting, puzzles.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
tw: (parental) death, murder, drugs, negligence
biography: born and raised in chicago, lucy russo never understood how families could be loving. she noticed it between others, a longing for a nurturing environment lingering in the pit of her stomach, but never with her own flesh and blood. late nights spent tucked away in her bedroom, records spinning while her parents argued in the background. plates smashed, complaints from neighbors and booming voices was enough for lucy to learn that the entirety of her neighborhood was aware of her parents failing marriage. hanging on by a thread, lucy is the glue that holds them together, thus resulting in a heart torn in two. instead of feeding into academic pressure or the need to be perfect, lucy became the opposite. she caved in on herself, stowed away her emotions in the back of her mind between deep scars from her childhood, reminded herself over how cruel and cynical the world could be. she could never risk love or happiness knowing what the future held for her; she witnessed it every day at the hands and mouths of her parents.
the reality of her world came crashing down the moment her mother died right before her very eyes, inches away, the young girl stuffed in a closet. a break in to her house, lucy heard her mother at the hands of a gunshot wound to the head, a scene that lucy had to hear at the ripe age of ten. scarring her for life. leaving her without her mother, and her father never returning that night. an act of child neglect led lucy to her aunt and uncle’s home on the north side of chicago, allowing lucy to grow up with a handful of cousins and a decent life. however, she never truly got over the death of her mother. it hung in the air, scratched at her skin, invited her to overthink about the outcome of trust. years of therapy hardly healed the open wounds, every year seemingly growing harder to manage. at the age of eighteen, her aunt and uncle decided to tell the truth regarding her father: he had run away from chicago after a failed drug deal in which he forgot to pay back his dealer. the result ended in her mother’s death, and lucy had learned of the foundation of her parents troubles. a hard pill to swallow, lucy continued to shove it down, distracting herself.
college came and went, her heart barely in it as she learned to love shakespeare and her literature classes, graduating with a major in english literature. lucy worked throughout college, cooped up in a record store down the street from campus, surrounded by the very thing she loved the most: music. since she was a child, it was the only thing that calmed her down. brought her back down to earth. reminded her that life was worth something if music was around. her headphones remained in at all times, vinyls spun on her record player, music blasted through the speakers at work. a safe space curated to lucy and only lucy: that was until her aunt and uncle had told her news of her father potentially being in willow glen, texas while forget her by jeff buckley played on her phone. the idea of knowing her father was still out there, hiding out in a small town, only made lucy want to search for him. find him. approach him. kick him. hit him. unleash every and all emotions onto him.
and that’s what she sought out to do. discover a new place. leave behind her home and every painful memory associated with it. chase after a father who wants nothing to do with her. dive deep into texas just to see if she’d even catch a glimpse of her father. see if he’d recognize her and want to know the girl he left behind and got her mother killed for. the move to willow glen had been easy: nothing but lucy and her chevy cruze packed to the brim. the hardest part came with adjusting. change. city life to a calmer lifestyle, settling her roots in an area that seemed to thrive off the quiet and calm. but, lucy would suck it up. she’d do anything just to catch a glimpse of her father.
years passed and she still remains in willow glen. lucy kept to herself, nestled into work as a record store sales associate and went home to her two cats every night. she ate shitty ramen and walked late at night around the park and downtown. lucy read shakespeare and plugged her headphones in. a tough cookie to crack, lucy russo remains a mystery to willow glen. her arrival, her reason for staying, no one quite understand. then again, she felt that no one else had to understand. it was her destiny, her boredom, her need to destroy her father in one single breath. she’s learned to embrace willow glen, but is still learning to let willow glen embrace her.
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