Realistic or Modern ✽ Efflorescence ✽ Life in Skyvine [Reboot Main]

[Parallax]

━━━━━━❦━━━━━━

Efflorescence
of the
Flowers
peak as
One

━━━━━━❦━━━━━━
Who
are the residents of Skyvine? Their ranges are vast, and diverge from enigmatic, cynical, passionate, diverse, strong, weary, generous, and filled with greed. Some born from kings, and some from the unknown. Despite these differences, they can all keenly align in harmony with one opinion. Never has there been another place such as Skyvine. The essence it carries whispers ethereally.
δ
Colorado. Winter. It's snowing on and off.
The air is crisp, and ideal for sweater weather. The town is small.
There's only so many places to go. But this doesn't deter the blooming youth.
They love this place. Some escaped from other parts of the world. Some blossomed here from birth.
But regardless, they all want to stay. And for good reason.
The land is rich with a sense of freedom. It's like the very atmosphere bleeds peace and rehabilitation.
Some say even the waters are healing. Other say it's a myth, but sure as hell is a convincing one.
Flowers are who we are. We just don't know it.
Who are you?

━━━━━━❦━━━━━━​

Spoiler: C a r n a t i o n

played by: @crucialstar
Carnations are someone who's pure, affectionate, and peaceful.
They're extremely receptive to emotions and have a welcoming familiarity.
They're as sweet as can be, respectful, and seem like they can do no wrong.
They are usually positive people who enjoy helping others in their spare time.
They're selfless, innocent, and a little curious at times.
They can be naive, pushovers, and painfully timid.

Spoiler: C r o c u s

played by: Chimney Swift
Crocus' are someone who's entertaining and vivacious.
They don't see the glass half full, or half empty.
They're withdrawn, vengeful, secretive at times, with a tendency to be sly.
They're usually hiding themselves just to play it safe.
They can be mistrusting, but extremely loyal to those who gain their security.
Crocus' are artistic, but sometimes sheepish and insecure.
They can be paranoid, manipulative, and neurotic.

Spoiler: D a h l i a

played by: @undecided
Dahlias are optimistic social butterflies, with unique personality traits.
They're a breath of fresh air to many but may also rub others the wrong way.
They're bright, warm-hearted, and nurturing.
You'll find them to be perky, and lively. Another common trait is loudness.
They can be immature, sensitive, and overly talkative.

Spoiler: L a n t a n a

played by: Parallax
Lantana flowers are beautiful, but considered weeds.
Lantanas are bottled up, reserved, and silent.
They tend to keep their thoughts to themselves and don't voice much.
They're the strong silent type, and always seem to be unfazed.
Inside, however, they're extremely emotional and can lash out if pushed.
Lantanas are cryptic and calculated and keep you at arm's length.
They're almost always gone in their thoughts.
They can be apathetic, moody, and unsociable.

Spoiler: M a r i g o l d

played by: apolla
Marigolds are upbeat, extensively creative, and humorous.
They're generally fun to be around and keep up great conversations.
They're trustworthy and loyal.
Not to mention easy to talk to.
But the biggest frustration about them is they don't open up.
Inside, they're locked.
They have no real need to express their emotions.
They're conservative and cautious.
They can be depressive, secretive, and self-destructive.

Spoiler: R o s e

played by: Inb4Cloaker
Roses are ardent, but may also be almost caustic.
Red is someone who's passionate, powerful, confident, and sharp-tongued.
They can't resist speaking their mind, and their temper is wild.
They're a rowdy, sometimes party type who always have something to say
and always need to get in the last word.
Many are attracted to their confident stride.
They can be harsh, ruthless, and vain.

Spoiler: T i g e r l i l y

Played by: Nobelia
Tiger lilies are someone who's independent, noble, and loyal.
They are a fierce force to be reckoned with.
They tend to be leader types and may have a gracious presence.
Once you develop a bond with one, it is unbreakable.
They protect at all costs, and will always defend their beliefs.
Tiger lilies are often businesspeople considering their innovativeness.
They can be demanding, prideful, and relentless.

Spoiler: N i g h t s h a d e

Played by: @undecided
Nightshades are cryptic, hard to read, and inquisitive.
It can be hard to satiate the Nightshades' thirst for knowledge.
As such, Nightshade's are curious souls.
They are quite creative when inspiration takes them.
Exploration can drive a Nightshade.
Nightshades are often smooth talkers, though still maintaining stoicism.
While Nightshades aren't particularly timid, they don't directly speak their intentions.
When they do, it is because they were coerced or found it to be a necessity.
Nightshades can be tricky, hot headed, and irrational;
brimming with venomosity.
They can be bitter and are most certainly grudge-holders.

code by @spookie spook​

 

[Chimney Swift]

Oliver Quinby

Location: Valley Uptown, a bus stop by the Skyvine Museum of Natural History
Mentions: Not a soul​

"I-I'm sorry ma'am, but I just… I can't let you do that."


The teen's plea barely cut above the commotion of the afternoon tour crowd, through which which he was feverishly attempting to pry the attention of a middle-aged woman who had climbed over the barrier rope between the patrons and a large fossil-cast Smilodon and was now taking photographs with the skeleton.

She glowered down at him, bleached eyebrows furrowing. " You don't work here. There's no sign anywhere. Leave me the fuck alone." Oliver couldn't believe it. At a momentary loss for words, he slowly gestured to the small "do not touch" sign on the corner of the stand. It was positioned low to the ground, as usually only small children had to be notified of this rule. Never, in his entire 6 months on this job, had he been required to explain this to an adult.

Oliver couldn't help but get a little salty: "If I could point your attention two feet to your right, you'll notice the placard on the end of the platform. And, uh, I'm a museum guide. It's my job to keep you and the fossils safe from--"

She retorted with the spitfire of an angry chihuahua. "Well you should move it somewhere else! No one can see that there!"

"You climbed over it to get into the exhibit, ma'am..."

"That's ridiculous! You guys should make it more obvious that we can't cross the rope if you care so much!"

The pressure was starting to crack Oliver's composure. The exhibit hall seemed to swirl a bit as he held on to the last shreds of authority he could muster up. "I'm sorry- I can't really hear you, it's very loud in here and I still need you to please get down--"

Just when Oliver thought he was going to be buried in the hole he'd dug himself, like the second coming of Christ, the senior museum guide Brad swam through the crowd. Brad was a tall, grey-bearded man who looked for all the world like some kind of wizard from a children's book. And, while not wizened in spellwork, he had seen more than enough museum visitor bull to write an epic on the subject. He looked at Oliver, then slowly glanced up to the irate lady still standing defiantly in the middle of the display. "What's going on here, Quinby?" He asked, deadpan rhetorically. The woman wasted no time trying to spin the situation in her favor, immediately putting on a sympathetic whining tone. "This guide was harassing me!" She simpered. "I, I have it all on video! If you don't take action, you'll have my lawyers to deal with!"

Brad rolled up his sleeves as though preparing for surgery. "I'll take this from here, bud. Your shift's up for the day."

Oliver swallowed, nodding furtively as the woman was noisily escorted out by the exhibit security officer.

By the time Oliver hurried himself out the doors, he was practically shaking. A knot formed in his throat thinking about how he fumbled that situation, as a thousand more clever and assertive things to say back then flooded into his head. Classic esprit de l'escalier. What kind of world did he even live in, where people like that existed. The quiet town of Skyvine was still as suburban as they come, the native realms of the worst sort of entitled customers.

I hate Friday afternoons.

Slinging his book bag over his shoulder and gritting his teeth against the bracing cold, he slumped onto the bus stop bench at the foot of the hill. The quiet slowly drained the ringing from his ears, returning to some semblance of normalcy. Flipping open his pocket watch, he noted the bus home still had several minutes before its scheduled arrival, but just as well. He carefully unlatched his bag and pulled out a small sketchbook and a pen, which he twirled between hsi gloved fingers for a moment as he searched for a blank page.

After today, he needed a break.

Coding by @AnimeGenork

 

[Nobelia]

Teiga Reymore
「UNBALANCED」 ​

location: train

with: Remi

tags: n/a

His world of slumber was promptly disturbed by a sharp slam, followed by beeping noises signaling a phone’s line cut dead. Teiga stirred, raising an arm over his eyes, and hoped to soothe his senses into darkened quiet once more.

“The nerve of this rabid snake,” Remi was half whispering in disbelief, although to Teiga it barely registered as more than white noise. More curses, and then a strangled noise that sounded like Remi was on the verge of pulling her hair out. Most likely, riling herself into a fit. “Oh, I can’t stand her.”

Teiga twitched, this time at the grating edge of Remi’s voice that continued to rip apart the thrum of his tranquil daze. He removed his arm, letting it plop against the cushioning of white sheets that were twisted and tangled around the crevices of his body. He squinted as the ceiling adjusted into focus–a bleary mass of black with the faintest streaks of an early blue dawn.

Dawn, not midnight? Teiga idly turned himself over, in direction of the vast singular window pane. From that position, the unfiltered, panoramic view of the city below unfolded before his eyes. Towers, skyscrapers and corporate malls stood alongside each other in a breathtaking expanse of overshadowing blocks–hues of orange illuminating the sky line through the millions of windows encompassing light. The slightest tone of sunrise touched the corners of the sky. The city was indeed awake, alive and well.

Teiga sat up from his bed fully now, the white blanket pooling at his waist.

“Oi, Remi,” he snapped, reaching over to grab his cell phone lying atop the night stand, “why are you up this early?”

The cell phone’s home screen glared: 7:30 AM, confirming his suspicions.

“Tch.”

Teiga flung the cell across the bed, leaving it buried somewhere he didn’t care enough to know. With a thoroughly miffed grumble, he pulled the blanket over his head, forming a synthetic cocoon of linen; irregular strings of auburn hair and furrowed brows relatively uncovered otherwise. He closed his eyes, tuning in to the distinct roar of the city churning several floors below their apartment. Vehicles rushed together in a flurry of honks and boosts of gas, the voices of hundreds and thousands of residents hurrying to their latest destination becoming no more than a slurred noise. At last, sleep trickled upon his senses, weariness melting away into welcomed serenity.

Or at least it would have, if the horrendous, repeated slamming of a phone didn’t nastily tear him awake once more.

Teiga shot up, much like the way a toast of bread readily ejected itself from a toaster, and glared needles at the barren room for not safeguarding his peace and quiet. His eyes were inching towards bloodshot; his hair, as frazzled as he felt. Unfortunately, the night stand, couch, and day old bag of sleep medications that lay carelessly thrown across the table did little to appease his flaring temper–proudly refusing to warp into oblivion as he wished. Remi would best be equipped with a reasonable explanation for her disturbance or there would be hell to pay, no doubt about it.

From the hallway, footsteps skittered straight in the direction of his bedroom door, but Teiga had already slipped out of bed–dressed in a snug pair of black sweatpants and shirt–and opened the door before Remi could knock.

The vicious swing of the door nearly swiped Remi out of its path; she’d jumped to the side, only narrowly avoiding sudden death.

“Going on a killing spree this early in the morning?” she asked, casually bending down to smooth the wrinkles from her dark leather pants and crimson smock blouse.

Teiga cocked a brow, arms crossed while he leaned against the door frame. Instead of cowering reflexively at their unfair height differences, Remi noted–with a slight pang of guilt–the dark circles under Teiga’s eyes. That, and the way his gaze threateningly beat a hole into her skull of course.

“I extend the same curiosity to you,” Teiga said ‘curiosity’ in a way that implied that he was anything but curious. “Is it funny to wake me up at this hour?”

Remi almost gave in to the impulse that begged her to crack a joke at Teiga’s expense, but remembering his mood–decided to play safe. However, “You do realize that it was only five minutes before your alarm went off anyways, right?”

“My five precious minutes,” Teiga’s mouth curled downwards, and he brushed past Remi to head for the bathroom. Whether he gained five more minutes or otherwise, his mode of comfort was ruined either way. “You owe me an explanation, and it better be a good one.”

Remi trailed behind him–shuffling along the bare wood floor in her socks–stopping at the row of ivory tile that covered the entrance of the bathroom and stretched across the small expanse. With a bathtub, sink, closet, and toilet crammed into a singular space, there was barely enough room to squeeze herself in. But squeeze herself in, Remi would.

“Hey,” Remi said, and slipped into the dry bathtub while Teiga slapped cold water onto his face, “don’t you wanna’ know who I was talking to?”

When Teiga didn’t answer–head submerged under the icy fells of sink water–Remi sighed, “It was the Lady Snake—oops, I mean, your mom.”

Remi heard the faucet handles screech off, a beat of silence pulsing heavily afterwards. She looked up from her slouched position in the tub just in time to see Teiga’s gaze pinned and frozen before the mirror. His expression was carefully blank, and Remi could almost hear the gears in his head grind to a halt. Droplets of water rolled down his disarrayed strands of hair, moisture sleek on his forehead and neck. Remi, inquisitive, leaned over the edge of the tub to get a closer look at his face; an array of emotions distorted over it, though they fled quickly enough that she found herself unable to decipher them.

Teiga gripped the sink with a ferocity that strained them white. Remi shook her head in wonder, because any more and the sink would crack under pressure.

He squeezed his eyes shut, as though battling an impending headache, and then opened them again. The blank stare was gone, but Remi was watching him; her head tilted in an investigative manner that mimicked a curious cat. That was the probably the most emotion she’d seen from him in their two short years of acquaintance.

Tei wasn’t on good terms with any of his relatives–that much she knew. And in her book, that was enough of a reason for the hostility she felt when reminded of them. If every being was born with screws attached–for example: to aid in a sound state of mind–then Tei probably had several missing. If every person was placed on a scale and measured to be balanced, then Tei was possibly unbalanced. And if humans functioned by fluctuating through emotions hot and cold, then Tei may as well have invented his own emotion, his own code. One that couldn’t be deciphered by Remi, or likely anyone else.

Regardless of Teiga’s inherent complications, Remi had learned to adapt to his strange sense of communication in her own way. As far as his family was concerned, Remi felt somehow that Tei could have turned out quite alright if it weren’t for them. At least, alright enough to be welcomed into society like the brilliant creature Remi knew him to be. Remi’s intuition told her that his relatives were the ones responsible for rearranging his gears–turning him into an alien machine among men. With that in mind, Remi’s hatred towards them–she believed–was pretty damn justified.

“What did she say to you?” Teiga asked, through grit teeth. Remi translated that to mean, tell me everything and tell me now.

She stood up, stepping out of the tub with enough grace to not slam into a wall, or slip on tile and into a concussion. “Honestly? I kinda nope’d out when she introduced herself as your mother, so I can’t say for sure,” Remi grinned wryly, remembering the satisfaction of slamming the corded landline onto the receiver multiple times.

Soon after, followed the image of Teiga rousing angrily, and damn near smashing her into the wall with swing of his door. Whoops. Probably the wrong time to be smiling.

“Anyways,” said Remi, fragments of the earlier phone call coming to mind, “what’s this about your bank accounts being frozen in 3 days?”

“Answer the question.”

“Something, something—you have to come home or else?”

“Did she more or less say those exact words?”

“Yep.”

“We’re leaving. Pack up.”

“What?” Remi stared after Teiga as he left the bathroom, ruffling his hair with the end of the short towel hanging around his neck. She stubbornly marched behind him, annoyed at the fact that nothing was presently making sense, and that Teiga refused to alleviate her confusion.

“Is this related to why we’ve been living in an essentially bare apartment this past month? Did you know this was going to happen? I’ll bet my left toe you knew this was going to happen.”

When Teiga didn’t answer, Remi added rather sharply, “Hah. Now I know who threw out my nail polish collection. I should have figured something was up when you redecorated–excuse me, emptied out this place to don the whole nasty minimalist look. I am so mad at you right now. A girl can never have too much black! My black creme, matte, shimmer, and chrome nail polish– gone! It took forever to find everything and put it together. Are you serious right now?”

Teiga ignored her, of course.

“Be ready in ten,” was all he said as he entered his bedroom, and the door clicked shut behind him with resounding finality.

At the closed door, Remi made a face.

“Why do I even live with him, ugh.”

_____​

The streets were slicked over with a wet gleam left behind fresh from the previous night’s melted snow. A dull yellow haze of sunrise increasingly colored the edges of the sky, becoming a clashing gradient with the deep blue that shadowed prominently over the expanse of the city. Teiga could see that much, from where he stood at the receptionist desk, as he looked outside from across the lobby. He waited patiently, the receptionist before him importantly typing away in records that officially ended their apartment lease.

At his feet, Remi made herself comfortable by sitting atop her neon green suitcase, one leg crossed fancily over the other. Somehow, she managed to look like a spoiled brat, and at the same time–some obscure off-duty model who found no greater joy than in looking delightfully flawless in the viewfinder of the latest iPhone. In fact, said device was being held just an arms length away from Remi’s face. She held up a ‘V’ sign with her fingers—expression coolly void of happiness—and the camera shutter went off.

Teiga blinked once, brow raised. “What are you doing?”

Remi rolled her eyes without looking his way, “It’s called therapy.” She sighed rather dramatically, intent on fixing the fringes of her dark bangs by way of the front camera. “I’m going to miss this place.”

“Sir,” the receptionist began, and Teiga readily returned his attention to things that made more sense, “Once I receive the keys to your suite, you may be on your way.”

Teiga placed the keys on the desk, the pocket where it once resided becoming abnormally heavy in its newfound vacancy. Although he couldn’t fathom why Remi reacted so emotionally in light of their departure, he could sense, in some way, that a part of him was being left behind. For better or worse, it was an uncomfortable sensation to deal with.

To the receptionist he nodded, “Thank you.” He grabbed the handle to his luggage and gestured to Remi to get moving along. She uncrossed her legs, and stood up with great reluctance—swaying with every step forward.

Although she appeared to be on the verge of breaking out in a tantrum, Remi simply huffed and settled for fluffing her dark bob instead. She yanked her neon suitcase up, rolling it behind her. “Come on Beanie, let’s go.”

If the receptionist stifled a laugh at Remi’s decision to nickname her belongings, she was thoroughly ignored.

_____​

Over the course of their race to catch the 10 o’clock train to Skyvine, Remi spent practically the entire journey venting about how strongly everything was making her miserable and overall found new things to complain about at every given moment. Their ride on the subway was the first to suffer the brunt of Remi’s unforgiving rants. Underground was too grimy, it smelled, and being a passenger on a train felt like death oncoming. Privately, Teiga agreed with her consensus that public transportation was a nightmare to deal with. He opted to not share that with her, in case she felt inclined to further explore the depth of her woes.

Sometime on their second train en route, Remi noticed Teiga staring openly at the upper half of her body. If Remi’s interpretative senses were not mistaken, Tei seemed to be engaging in a mental double take.

“What?” Remi hugged her arms around herself in a pretend bashfulness.

“Your coat.” Teiga said finally.

“I don’t wanna.” Remi stuck her tongue out. Skyvine was cold, so what? She would bear the full force of the winds with the nakedness of her arms, and reign as the supreme Queen of Ice.

“Be my guest,” Teiga comfortably shrugged a woolen shoulder, and leaned back against the cushioned seat. He was dressed in a sage green cable knit turtleneck, paired with a dark set of trousers. His leather book bag slung over his shoulders, and a medium sized suitcase stood between his legs which were propped on either side of it.

Remi’s fashion sense on the other hand, was what had been targeted by Teiga earlier: a burgundy sundress, leather buckled boots, and a floppy hat hanging on the back of her neck by its adjustable ribbon. Clearly, a criminal choice in light of the unforgiving weather Teiga was expecting forthcoming.

Further along during that trip then, children were too loud, dust kept flying everywhere, it was too hot, and people stared too much. Remi was flattered that strangers found her brother-in-spirit soul crushingly gorgeous, gosh, but why did Tei have to attract attention all the damn time? If one more grandmother approached to ask if Tei was looking for a hand in marriage, if one more terribly smitten teen pulled Remi aside and whispered: Hey, what’s his number—because everyone wanted to stare, but no one wanted to directly converse with Tei. One more time, and Remi was going to snap. More so because people made her skin crawl, and she was allergic to conversations involving the forbidden words: love, crush, and in love.

All of this, according to Remi as Teiga neared his limits to indulging in Remi’s ramblings. Quite conveniently for him, he remained perfectly unaware of the so-called apparent inconveniences Remi felt kept coming his way. Actually, he was beginning to convince himself that Remi was just needlessly paranoid.

Three trains and two hours later, Teiga had enough.

They had caught their 10 o’clock train, and were finally bound straight for Skyvine.

“Remi,” Teiga said in practiced calm, while scrolling through Skyvine’s digital news feed on his phone. He might as well take the time to catch a glimpse at how much his home town had changed in his three years of absence. “Shut up.”

codedbycrucialstar

Spoiler: Simple IC Post

His world of slumber was promptly disturbed by a sharp slam, followed by beeping noises signaling a phone’s line cut dead. Teiga stirred, raising an arm over his eyes, and hoped to soothe his senses into darkened quiet once more.

“The nerve of this rabid snake,” Remi was half whispering in disbelief, although to Teiga it barely registered as more than white noise. More curses, and then a strangled noise that sounded like Remi was on the verge of pulling her hair out. Most likely, riling herself into a fit. “Oh, I can’t stand her.”

Teiga twitched, this time at the grating edge of Remi’s voice that continued to rip apart the thrum of his tranquil daze. He removed his arm, letting it plop against the cushioning of white sheets that were twisted and tangled around the crevices of his body. He squinted as the ceiling adjusted into focus–a bleary mass of black with the faintest streaks of an early blue dawn.

Dawn, not midnight? Teiga idly turned himself over, in direction of the vast singular window pane. From that position, the unfiltered, panoramic view of the city below unfolded before his eyes. Towers, skyscrapers and corporate malls stood alongside each other in a breathtaking expanse of overshadowing blocks–hues of orange illuminating the sky line through the millions of windows encompassing light. The slightest tone of sunrise touched the corners of the sky. The city was indeed awake, alive and well.

Teiga sat up from his bed fully now, the white blanket pooling at his waist.

“Oi, Remi,” he snapped, reaching over to grab his cell phone lying atop the night stand, “why are you up this early?”

The cell phone’s home screen glared: 7:30 AM, confirming his suspicions.

“Tch.”

Teiga flung the cell across the bed, leaving it buried somewhere he didn’t care enough to know. With a thoroughly miffed grumble, he pulled the blanket over his head, forming a synthetic cocoon of linen; irregular strings of auburn hair and furrowed brows relatively uncovered otherwise. He closed his eyes, tuning in to the distinct roar of the city churning several floors below their apartment. Vehicles rushed together in a flurry of honks and boosts of gas, the voices of hundreds and thousands of residents hurrying to their latest destination becoming no more than a slurred noise. At last, sleep trickled upon his senses, weariness melting away into welcomed serenity.

Or at least it would have, if the horrendous, repeated slamming of a phone didn’t nastily tear him awake once more.

Teiga shot up, much like the way a toast of bread readily ejected itself from a toaster, and glared needles at the barren room for not safeguarding his peace and quiet. His eyes were inching towards bloodshot; his hair, as frazzled as he felt. Unfortunately, the night stand, couch, and day old bag of sleep medications that lay carelessly thrown across the table did little to appease his flaring temper–proudly refusing to warp into oblivion as he wished. Remi would best be equipped with a reasonable explanation for her disturbance or there would be hell to pay, no doubt about it.

From the hallway, footsteps skittered straight in the direction of his bedroom door, but Teiga had already slipped out of bed–dressed in a snug pair of black sweatpants and shirt–and opened the door before Remi could knock.

The vicious swing of the door nearly swiped Remi out of its path; she’d jumped to the side, only narrowly avoiding sudden death.

“Going on a killing spree this early in the morning?” she asked, casually bending down to smooth the wrinkles from her dark leather pants and crimson smock blouse.

Teiga cocked a brow, arms crossed while he leaned against the door frame. Instead of cowering reflexively at their unfair height differences, Remi noted–with a slight pang of guilt–the dark circles under Teiga’s eyes. That, and the way his gaze threateningly beat a hole into her skull of course.

“I extend the same curiosity to you,” Teiga said ‘curiosity’ in a way that implied that he was anything but curious. “Is it funny to wake me up at this hour?”

Remi almost gave in to the impulse that begged her to crack a joke at Teiga’s expense, but remembering his mood–decided to play safe. However, “You do realize that it was only five minutes before your alarm went off anyways, right?”

“My five precious minutes,” Teiga’s mouth curled downwards, and he brushed past Remi to head for the bathroom. Whether he gained five more minutes or otherwise, his mode of comfort was ruined either way. “You owe me an explanation, and it better be a good one.”

Remi trailed behind him–shuffling along the bare wood floor in her socks–stopping at the row of ivory tile that covered the entrance of the bathroom and stretched across the small expanse. With a bathtub, sink, closet, and toilet crammed into a singular space, there was barely enough room to squeeze herself in. But squeeze herself in, Remi would.

“Hey,” Remi said, and slipped into the dry bathtub while Teiga slapped cold water onto his face, “don’t you wanna’ know who I was talking to?”

When Teiga didn’t answer–head submerged under the icy fells of sink water–Remi sighed, “It was the Lady Snake—oops, I mean, your mom.”

Remi heard the faucet handles screech off, a beat of silence pulsing heavily afterwards. She looked up from her slouched position in the tub just in time to see Teiga’s gaze pinned and frozen before the mirror. His expression was carefully blank, and Remi could almost hear the gears in his head grind to a halt. Droplets of water rolled down his disarrayed strands of hair, moisture sleek on his forehead and neck. Remi, inquisitive, leaned over the edge of the tub to get a closer look at his face; an array of emotions distorted over it, though they fled quickly enough that she found herself unable to decipher them.

Teiga gripped the sink with a ferocity that strained them white. Remi shook her head in wonder, because any more and the sink would crack under pressure.

He squeezed his eyes shut, as though battling an impending headache, and then opened them again. The blank stare was gone, but Remi was watching him; her head tilted in an investigative manner that mimicked a curious cat. That was the probably the most emotion she’d seen from him in their two short years of acquaintance.

Tei wasn’t on good terms with any of his relatives–that much she knew. And in her book, that was enough of a reason for the hostility she felt when reminded of them. If every being was born with screws attached–for example: to aid in a sound state of mind–then Tei probably had several missing. If every person was placed on a scale and measured to be balanced, then Tei was possibly unbalanced. And if humans functioned by fluctuating through emotions hot and cold, then Tei may as well have invented his own emotion, his own code. One that couldn’t be deciphered by Remi, or likely anyone else.

Regardless of Teiga’s inherent complications, Remi had learned to adapt to his strange sense of communication in her own way. As far as his family was concerned, Remi felt somehow that Tei could have turned out quite alright if it weren’t for them. At least, alright enough to be welcomed into society like the brilliant creature Remi knew him to be. Remi’s intuition told her that his relatives were the ones responsible for rearranging his gears–turning him into an alien machine among men. With that in mind, Remi’s hatred towards them–she believed–was pretty damn justified.

“What did she say to you?” Teiga asked, through grit teeth. Remi translated that to mean, tell me everything and tell me now.

She stood up, stepping out of the tub with enough grace to not slam into a wall, or slip on tile and into a concussion. “Honestly? I kinda nope’d out when she introduced herself as your mother, so I can’t say for sure,” Remi grinned wryly, remembering the satisfaction of slamming the corded landline onto the receiver multiple times.

Soon after, followed the image of Teiga rousing angrily, and damn near smashing her into the wall with swing of his door. Whoops. Probably the wrong time to be smiling.

“Anyways,” said Remi, fragments of the earlier phone call coming to mind, “what’s this about your bank accounts being frozen in 3 days?”

“Answer the question.”

“Something, something—you have to come home or else?”

“Did she more or less say those exact words?”

“Yep.”

“We’re leaving. Pack up.”

“What?” Remi stared after Teiga as he left the bathroom, ruffling his hair with the end of the short towel hanging around his neck. She stubbornly marched behind him, annoyed at the fact that nothing was presently making sense, and that Teiga refused to alleviate her confusion.

“Is this related to why we’ve been living in an essentially bare apartment this past month? Did you know this was going to happen? I’ll bet my left toe you knew this was going to happen.”

When Teiga didn’t answer, Remi added rather sharply, “Hah. Now I know who threw out my nail polish collection. I should have figured something was up when you redecorated–excuse me, emptied out this place to don the whole nasty minimalist look. I am so mad at you right now. A girl can never have too much black! My black creme, matte, shimmer, and chrome nail polish– gone! It took forever to find everything and put it together. Are you serious right now?”

Teiga ignored her, of course.

“Be ready in ten,” was all he said as he entered his bedroom, and the door clicked shut behind him with resounding finality.

At the closed door, Remi made a face.

“Why do I even live with him, ugh.”
_____

The streets were slicked over with a wet gleam left behind fresh from the previous night’s melted snow. A dull yellow haze of sunrise increasingly colored the edges of the sky, becoming a clashing gradient with the deep blue that shadowed prominently over the expanse of the city. Teiga could see that much, from where he stood at the receptionist desk, as he looked outside from across the lobby. He waited patiently, the receptionist before him importantly typing away in records that officially ended their apartment lease.

At his feet, Remi made herself comfortable by sitting atop her neon green suitcase, one leg crossed fancily over the other. Somehow, she managed to look like a spoiled brat, and at the same time–some obscure off-duty model who found no greater joy than in looking delightfully flawless in the viewfinder of the latest iPhone. In fact, said device was being held just an arms length away from Remi’s face. She held up a ‘V’ sign with her fingers—expression coolly void of happiness—and the camera shutter went off.

Teiga blinked once, brow raised. “What are you doing?”

Remi rolled her eyes without looking his way, “It’s called therapy.” She sighed rather dramatically, intent on fixing the fringes of her dark bangs by way of the front camera. “I’m going to miss this place.”

“Sir,” the receptionist began, and Teiga readily returned his attention to things that made more sense, “Once I receive the keys to your suite, you may be on your way.”

Teiga placed the keys on the desk, the pocket where it once resided becoming abnormally heavy in its newfound vacancy. Although he couldn’t fathom why Remi reacted so emotionally in light of their departure, he could sense, in some way, that a part of him was being left behind. For better or worse, it was an uncomfortable sensation to deal with.

To the receptionist he nodded, “Thank you.” He grabbed the handle to his luggage and gestured to Remi to get moving along. She uncrossed her legs, and stood up with great reluctance—swaying with every step forward.

Although she appeared to be on the verge of breaking out in a tantrum, Remi simply huffed and settled for fluffing her dark bob instead. She yanked her neon suitcase up, rolling it behind her. “Come on Beanie, let’s go.”

If the receptionist stifled a laugh at Remi’s decision to nickname her belongings, she was thoroughly ignored.

_____

Over the course of their race to catch the 10 o’clock train to Skyvine, Remi spent practically the entire journey venting about how strongly everything was making her miserable and overall found new things to complain about at every given moment. Their ride on the subway was the first to suffer the brunt of Remi’s unforgiving rants. Underground was too grimy, it smelled, and being a passenger on a train felt like death oncoming. Privately, Teiga agreed with her consensus that public transportation was a nightmare to deal with. He opted to not share that with her, in case she felt inclined to further explore the depth of her woes.

Sometime on their second train en route, Remi noticed Teiga staring openly at the upper half of her body. If Remi’s interpretative senses were not mistaken, Tei seemed to be engaging in a mental double take.

“What?” Remi hugged her arms around herself in a pretend bashfulness.

“Your coat.” Teiga said finally.

“I don’t wanna.” Remi stuck her tongue out. Skyvine was cold, so what? She would bear the full force of the winds with the nakedness of her arms, and reign as the supreme Queen of Ice.

“Be my guest,” Teiga comfortably shrugged a woolen shoulder, and leaned back against the cushioned seat. He was dressed in a sage green cable knit turtleneck, paired with a dark set of trousers. His leather book bag slung over his shoulders, and a medium sized suitcase stood between his legs which were propped on either side of it.

Remi’s fashion sense on the other hand, was what had been targeted by Teiga earlier: a burgundy sundress, leather buckled boots, and a floppy hat hanging on the back of her neck by its adjustable ribbon. Clearly, a criminal choice in light of the unforgiving weather Teiga was expecting forthcoming.

Further along during that trip then, children were too loud, dust kept flying everywhere, it was too hot, and people stared too much. Remi was flattered that strangers found her brother-in-spirit soul crushingly gorgeous, gosh, but why did Tei have to attract attention all the damn time? If one more grandmother approached to ask if Tei was looking for a hand in marriage, if one more terribly smitten teen pulled Remi aside and whispered: Hey, what’s his number—because everyone wanted to stare, but no one wanted to directly converse with Tei. One more time, and Remi was going to snap. More so because people made her skin crawl, and she was allergic to conversations involving the forbidden words: love, crush, and in love.

All of this, according to Remi as Teiga neared his limits to indulging in Remi’s ramblings. Quite conveniently for him, he remained perfectly unaware of the so-called apparent inconveniences Remi felt kept coming his way. Actually, he was beginning to convince himself that Remi was just needlessly paranoid.

Three trains and two hours later, Teiga had enough.

They had caught their 10 o’clock train, and were finally bound straight for Skyvine.

“Remi,” Teiga said in practiced calm, while scrolling through Skyvine’s digital news feed on his phone. He might as well take the time to catch a glimpse at how much his home town had changed in his three years of absence. “Shut up.”

 

[Vespertine]

Dante Peña Rodríguez​

Location: Valley Downton to Uptown
Mentions: Oliver Quinby

The sound of cans crashing to the ground and rolling across vinyl flooring for the umpteenth time saw the headache blossoming in Dante's temples increase tenfold, his grip tightening around the broomstick currently in his possession. It was one mess after another today, and he was about five seconds away from losing it on these punks. He got it. He really did. It was hilarious an ex-member of one of the most notorious gangs in Skyvine had resorted to working in a damn supermarket but did they have to give him a hard time every single day?

At least his shift was almost over. Fifteen more minutes and these assholes were someone else's problem. Drawing in a deep breath and doing his best to release the tension he could feel pulsing through every inch of his body, Dante made his way over to the display, a mess of canned goods now scattered down the surrounding isles. Leaning the broom against a shelf, he went about recollecting them, carefully stacking each to repair the formerly tidy array of cans. The delinquents were nowhere in sight, but he knew they were still around watching him if their hushed snickering and whispers were anything to go by.

Dante rolled his eyes and made a valiant attempt at ignoring them. As such, there was little warning before something hard collided with the side of his head and cracked, leaving behind a wet, gooey trail that sank into his scalp and trailed down his cheek. For a moment his vision darkened, the ache in his head that had finally lessened to a dull throbbing returning full force. A hand rose to touch the sticky substance clinging to his hair and skin, a clear liquid streaked with yellow dripping from his fingertips, hard white pieces of shell accompanying it.

Oh, they were dead. They were so dead. No job was worth this shit.

Laughter seemed to erupt all around him as he wiped the smashed egg from his face in disgust, the three teenagers making the unfortunate mistake of revealing themselves. The humiliation and lack of respect left Dante seeing red. Grabbing the item nearest to him, a can of clam chowder, he sent it hurtling toward them, a satisfying crack resounding as it slammed directly into one boy's face. The boy doubled over, cursing loudly and clutching at his nose.

The other two seemed dumbfounded, and their laughter abruptly cut short as their horrified faces shot from their wounded friend's hunched form back to him. "What the hell is wrong with you!?" The only girl in the group shouted, one of her hand's clenching into a fist as if she were considering throwing a punch his way.

"A lot. Now get the fuck out of my store," was his icy retort, and Dante wasn't sure if it was the sight of their friend's heavily bleeding nostrils or he just looked that crazy, because they seemed to conclude it wasn't worth sticking around and risking further injury, a trail of red droplets left behind as they bolted toward the entrance. Great. Another thing he was gonna have to clean up. The store was eerily silent after the sound of the automatic doors closing ceased. No one was around to witness the incident, but between the security cameras hanging overhead and the fact those brats looked as if they were probably from an upper-class family, he knew he was more likely to have a lawsuit against him in the morning than a job.

Regardless, he finished restacking the cans and mopped the floor before leaving, the next clerk coming in for their shift shocked by the state of him, but wisely deciding not to ask. Despite the need to clean up being ever present, Dante was reluctant to return home, if you could call passing out on someone's couch every night a home, which ultimately resulted in him washing his hair in the sink of the employee bathroom before slipping out a back exit.

At one point he must have gotten on a bus because the next thing Dante knew he was uptown sharing the sidewalk with hordes of tourists. It should have been the last place he wanted to be, but sometimes there was comfort in mingling among people who didn't know your name or who your parents were. Besides that, tourist watching was a bit of a hobby of his. These people were often hilariously stupid. He certainly wasn't disappointed with the group he'd picked this time, following them into a museum, the family's matriarch climbing over the 'do not touch' sign of one exhibit for a selfie not even 20 minutes into the tour.

He couldn't help the stab of empathy he felt for the poor bastard trying to deal with her, but it was undeniably an entertaining incident to witness. An older gentleman soon arrived on the scene, presumably the senior guide, to save the day and he lingered to watch the remainder of this mess unfold as the other guy made a quick getaway. ' Well, he def handled that better than I would have. I'll give him that.'

Eventually growing bored, he made his way back to the bus stop. It was still pretty early, but he didn't have any desire to be stuck uptown after dark. Someone else had clearly beat him to the single bench situated at the bottom of the hillside, but that didn't stop Dante from dropping down into the empty spot next to the guy, offering a quick, "Sup," as greeting without so much as sparing him a glance before fishing through a pocket for the pack of cigarettes nestled within.

Pulling one out, he seemed to pause mid-way to his mouth, gaze finally sliding to the person next to him. "Do you mind if I smoke?" He questioned, realizing with some amusement the stranger was the poor downtrodden guide from the museum he just left only minutes ago, his eyes slipping down to the open sketchbook curiously as he waited for an answer.​

codedbycrucialstar​

 

[Inb4Cloaker]

Victor Camilo

Spoiler: Bang!

Hot weather was never as insurmountable for him as it was for many of his colleagues, and humidity was just another feature of the land he inhabited. He had heard people make comments about how it was always easier to bundle up to get warm rather than dress down to cool off, but he opted to ignore them. What use would complaining be? Either way, everyone would have to face the heat, one way or another.

The sun was directly overhead, gracing everyone with its presence, whether they welcomed it or not. Wearing a pair of light brown cargo pants, a solid grey button up with rolled sleeves, and two beat up leather boots, stood Victor Camillo. From behind the dark lenses of his aviators, the contractor surveyed the area around him with little interest. He wasn’t necessarily upset, he was just growing tired of walking the same stretch of road repeatedly. Within his mind, Vic was more comparable to a royal guard rather than an armed enforcer in South America, which felt more like a downgrade when compared to his normal duties. Occasionally, his fellow gunslingers and Victor himself would be subject to guard duty if the normal career guards had other matters to attend to. Camillo drew the short straw again, and found himself patrolling a section of the town while his friends were off raising hell.

Inspecting the Winchester 1886 he bore, Victor took careless steps as he strolled past the same school he passed nearly fourteen times earlier in the day. With shade becoming minimal, he began to stray closer to the buildings that surrounded him, in hopes that the occasional shadow would grant relief from the glare above him. While his patrol cap absorbed most of the sunlight, it wasn’t enough to be relied on entirely, and he had to seek solid cover or risk accumulating a sunburn more severe than the one he already had. Eventually finding himself underneath a relatively comfortable amount of shade, the enforcer pursed his lips and ceased walking. Following a few glances around his position, Victor gradually eased his body against the dusty stone behind him. He had decided that it wouldn’t be all that much of an issue if he took a momentary rest, and if it did cause an issue, the contractor would still enjoy his relaxation regardless. Nothing could pry him from a few well deserved minutes of cool, peaceful respite.

Forcing his eyes shut, Victor began to elicit a content sigh. Unfortunately, it promptly morphed into a startled snort at the sound of a yelling woman and the sound of overjoyed children. A few meters away from his idle position, the battered wooden doors that controlled access to the school flung open, and children of various ages began to eagerly run outside to enjoy their recess session. The noise didn’t bother Victor, and a passing, squinting glance was his sole reaction before closing his eyes yet again. Minutes passed, and the contractor only focused his vision again when he heard a shrill voice distantly.

“Bang!”

Grunting, the contractor quickly spotted a small girl across the street; he assumed she was around six or seven years old. Her right arm was outstretched, and she was mimicking the shape of a handgun with her fingers. Her makeshift weapon was pointed directly at the resting enforcer, and her bright, lively eyes reflected an excitement that only a child could truly attain. She made the noise again at the sight of Victor’s movement, confident that she had gotten his attention. Inclined to ignore her, the contractor simply watched with indifference from behind his dirty lenses, secretly wishing that she would turn her attention elsewhere. Such a wish would not be granted for the disgruntled man, however, and to seemingly spite him for his desire to be ignored, another child joined in the fun of pestering Camillo. As one turned to two, two turned to three, and so forth. It wasn’t long before the gun toting man was subject to a multitude of toddlers pretending to fire weapons at him. His view of the display was only averted when he took notice of a young woman around his age standing confidently behind them.

The woman in question happened to be the caretaker, and while she didn’t join in the fun of harassing the contractor, her eyes were fixated on him all the same. Two dark pupils that complemented her black, curly hair, yet contradicted her bright yellow dress, commanded his attention. Crossing her arms expectantly, she nodded in a subtle manner, as if she was conveying a silent message to Victor. Knowing what she wanted him to do, he shook his head back and forth in return, matching her own discreet motions as he declined. In response, she shifted her stance and raised her eyebrows in a judgmental manner, further testing the contractor.

Something about the combination of circumstances made Camillo uneasy, and, between the group of still ‘shooting’ children, as well as the challenging glare of the caretaker, giving in seemed to be the only solution.

Deprived of relaxation, Victor first stood straight before cradling his rifle close to his chest. Why did this bunch of children decide to harass a gun toting man wearing a belt of ammunition? Mentally reviewing the question, the contractor deliberately lowered himself to the ground with a disheveled grunt. His actions were clearly forced, and his feigning death act was anything but graceful. Lying face first on the ground, he acknowledged that his pride had taken a hit, and his fellow gunslingers would most likely tease him when they heard tale.

“¡Disparamos el bandido!”

Well, at least someone had fun with this, he thought.

Victor promptly snorted as his blast from the past came to a shuddering halt, as well as the train he had boarded hours ago. With narrowed eyes and a subtle yawn, he reflected on the past few minutes he spent dozing, and wondered why such visions were returning to him at a time like this. Sleep had to be the deciding factor, he noted. Typically, he wasn’t subject to watching his past like a tape that refused to rewind when he was awake, but there was an occasional episode now and then. If he was lucky, he’d get a week of unprovoked sleep that was devoid of whatever horrors lurked in his memories. Thankfully, the dream he was just subject to wasn’t as devoid of joy when compared to its counterparts. As people began to clear off the train and onto the platform they had stowed away at, the contractor did his best to withdraw himself from his soul searching. Victor would ignore the mental barrage, just like he suppressed the others that came before it.

The gunslinger stirred from the position he had maintained for the duration of the train ride, aligning his goals as he awaited a chance to join the flow of passengers who were exiting. First, he needed to head to his newfound apartment and unpack. Next, was to establish contact with his employer. Finally, his last objective was to pick up a stiff drink while he still had time to unwind. Without a doubt in his mind, Victor assured himself that he’d be back in business all too soon, and that his relatively young boss would be directing his efforts towards work yet again. Not that he didn’t enjoy some aspects of his job, of course, he just enjoyed doing whatever he identified as a fun activity for the time being a bit more. Drinking and trying his hardest to avoid agitating his soon to be apartment-mate seemed to be the ideal way to spend his evening, so that was exactly what he intended to do. Pushing himself out of his seat with a muffled grunt, the contractor prepared himself for his introduction to Skyvine.

Unfortunately for Victor, his reaction to the air outside was akin to that of a man who had just been attacked with a knife. Wincing and emitting a sharp gasp, his surprise quickly morphed into frustration upon being struck by the cold Colorado air. Cursing under his breath, the abrupt change in temperature reminded him that he was not prepared for the chilly environment, as well as his distain for the cold. It would take a while to acclimate, but this was to be expected; he did agree to move here after all. Sporting his usual patrol cap and darkened aviators, the contractor acknowledged that he was underdressed for this type of weather. Wearing a rather mundane outfit, his attire consisted of black suede boots bloused into dark grey cargo pants, along with a basic, slate shaded button up. He made the poor choice of downgrading shortly before securing his bag for transport, and had little cold weather gear readily available. There was a positive side to this, thankfully, as he knew the apartment he chose to reside in wasn’t more than a few blocks away. Surveying the street around him, he entertained the consideration of a cab for a total of roughly ten seconds before preparing the single, large suitcase he brought with him for the walk. Well, at least he’d get to enjoy the winter scenery.

Shivering, the contractor pressed on alongside the sidewalk and bustle of traffic.

The stroll was mostly uneventful, with only his thoughts to keep him occupied during his personal travel session. Grateful that he didn’t arrive beyond the late evening, Victor used the walk to immerse himself in the scenery around him, the sunlight that graced his form granting an extra level of tolerance against the frigid air. Something about the change of pace in his new location was appealing to the visitor, and given time, he’d hopefully be able to overlook the weather. That, and a visit to a clothing store would be enough to reinforce a positive outlook. More variations in clothing and some heavier duty coats would do wonders for him, seeing as how he chose to travel light from his previous residence. Clothing was not high on his packing list, since he figured it would be replaced within the first day or so of him settling in. Carefully keeping a watchful eye on the layout of his surroundings meant he was able to make mental notes about the buildings he passed, as well as potential areas of interest. With his new home no more than half a klick away, Victor wondered if his employers residence was within a comfortable distance. Most likely not, so obtaining a vehicle would be another addition to his list. Maybe his boss would supply extra funds to help?

“Speaking of my wealthy friend... maybe I should make contact.” He quietly expressed to himself, slowing his step as he swiftly withdrew his phone.

With his attention redirected to the bright screen, Victor found himself contemplating a good way to convey his current arrival and frustration with the cold. Texting a direct statement with a simple manner was out of the question, because creatively pushing the buttons of his paycheck provider was one of the contractors favorite pastimes. A split second before his thumb tapped the first letter, Victor hesitated. Truthfully, he should do well stop stop poking fun at the man, seeing as he was quite literally his main source of income. If something were to occur, Victor would have to seek a new contract, in a new place, and move there. That was not a cycle he looked upon fondly. Humorously, the contractor was quick to remember that nothing short of ceasing to breathe would be enough to not annoy the man. Reassured, Victor proceeded with his colorful text.

>Hey, Mr. Reymore. This place is kinda cold. If I freeze to death, will you please write: ‘Fuck you, why did you send me to this god forsaken spit of ice,’ on my tombstone?
>I’m awaiting orders at the moment, so if you need something done, tell me now please. Otherwise, I’m gonna see how many shots of tequila I can take before passing out, while watching an 80s action movie. Maybe a romance film, actually. Haven’t decided yet.
> : D

Immediately after he sent the message, Victor nearly caught a case of being too personal with the doorway leading into the apartment. Eager to free himself from the chilling embrace that enveloped him, the contractor shouldered his way though the door and into building. The burst of heat was enough to breathe life back into his body, and the numbness that had set in began to gradually subside. After a moment of recuperation and one quiet sneeze later, the contractor pushed to complete the final stretch.

Navigating his way through the maze of compact halls and stairs wouldn’t turn out to be as much of a problem as he initially anticipated, much to his relief. With little time wasted, he approached the numbered door that would be his new home. During his online discussion with the woman, which was curiously devoid of sarcastic remarks and attempts at incitement, she had detailed the layout, as well as the fact that he would get a key after arrival. Having no desire to startle the person he agreed to share a living space with, Victor removed his sunglasses and knocked on the door three time in rapid succession. The sound of wood and knuckle connecting echoed through the relatively desolate hall. Victor inhaled deeply while putting on a somewhat gracious smile, attempting to purge his inner need to test people. One thing was for certain, however.

“This is gonna be interesting.” He mused.

Sueños malvados.

Mentions: Teiga Reymore Nobelia Vivian Cobb apolla
Interactions: None.​

​

[/font][/FONT]

 

[apolla]

[class=wrapper] width:80vw; max-width:300px; height:420px; margin:auto;center; flex-wrap:wrap; border:1px solid #000000; overflow:hidden; background:url('https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IOvq9Rwrj5k/WLRHboUzuxI/AAAAAAABZxs/ii6uMFEBFlwvowQm_92uciW0gisopiPwQCLcB/s1600/192307621-cold-winter.jpg'); background-size:100%; z-index:3px; [/class] [class=scroll] width:90vw; max-width:310px; height:100%; overflow-y:auto; [/class] [class=textbox] width:80vw; max-width:300px; font-family:Montserrat; font-size:14px; color:#212121; padding:2px; background: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.9); position:relative; top:420px; [/class] [class=overlay] width:80vw; max-width:320px; margin:auto;center; position:relative; top:-461px; left:-10px; font-family:Montserrat; font-size:25px; color:#fff; text-shadow:3px 2px 0px #000000; z-index:2px; [/class] [class=tags] opacity:0.0; width:80vw; max-width:320px; margin:auto;center; position:relative; top:-490px; left:-10px; text-align:right; font-family:Montserrat; font-size:10px; color:#ccc; z-index:3px; transition: all 0.3s ease; [/class] [class name=tags state=hover] opacity:1.0; transform: translateY(20px); [/class] [class=credit] width:80vw; max-width:300px; opacity:0.5; font-family:Heebo; font-size:8px; margin:auto;center; [/class]
[div class=wrapper][div class=scroll]
[div class=textbox]"Honestly, Vivi, do you ever leave this place? I swear, it's like you live here."

Hearing the familiar voice of one of the other instructors, Vivian looked up from her locker, where she'd been standing, lost in thought. Her last class of the day had just ended-- early for her-- and she knew she was due home to meet her new roommate. Hell, for all she knew, he was there already and she was late. Wouldn't that just be perfect? She'd made sure today that her classes would end on time, but she'd be late because she was daydreaming again.

She really didn't know what was wrong with her. It wasn't as though she still missed Travis, her whole reason for coming to Skyvine. He'd ditched her long enough ago that she'd moved on. But she had to admit... she missed what he stood for. He'd been her safety net, her everything, and he'd thrown it all away for some girl he'd met at a coffee shop.

She still remembered it vividly-- walking into their place to find the girl on top of him, in their bed. At first, she was all Vivi had been able to focus on. But slowly, oh so slowly, her eyes had slid over to Travis. He just gaped at her, his lips moving but no words coming out, making him look like a fish someone had deposited on the side of the riverbank.

She hadn't cried.

Instead, she'd closed the distance between them, her eyes never leaving Travis as she perched on the edge of the bed. Without even realizing what she was doing, she reached out, slowly caressing the scar on his cheek he'd gotten as a child. Then she'd brushed his hair back, almost as though a part of her realized that she'd never be able to do it again.

And then she'd left.

It wasn't until a few days later that the tears came, flooding her eyes as she taught an intermediate dance class. Turning away from her class, she had them mirror her movements as she cried, repeating the same mantra over and over again in her head. "Dance, Vivi, dance. And when your knees give out, keep smiling, and you'll be able to fool them all."

After the class, she'd dried her tears and stayed behind in the studio, locking the door, putting her own music on and dancing until she literally collapsed. The pain of losing someone else in her life was too real, too raw, and she didn't have any other way to deal with it.

In the few months after Travis left, she scrambled to make ends meet, picking up extra shifts here and odd jobs there. She did everything from dog washing and walking to babysitting, making all the money she could, but she just couldn't afford the place they'd shared. Eventually she had to give it up, but even the apartment she moved into stretched her funds tight.

Hence the roommate.

Shit, the roommate!

Smiling at her fellow instructor, she just shook her head and grabbed her jacket from her locker. Pulling it on, she snatched up her messenger bag and slammed the locker shut, twisting the lock and then turning to go. The Colorado wind was unforgiving as she stepped outside, causing her to draw her jacket tighter around her upper body as she started off in a jog towards her apartment.

By the time she arrived, her calves were both frozen and burning simultaneously. Nearly laughing at the conflicting feeling, she let herself in, shutting but not locking the door behind her. Removing her jacket, she draped it over a chair and pulled the beanie from her head she'd pulled on after class, tossing it on top of the jacket. Plopping down on the couch, still in her workout/dance gear, she craned her head back slightly to stare at the ceiling.

She had no idea how much time passed as she dozed in that position, until she heard a rapt knocking at her door. Starting, she jerked up, her knee banging into the table as she did so. A glass of water from that morning tipped over, the glass falling to the hardwood floor and shattering as she gasped.

Pushing herself to a standing position, she took a step towards the closet, both feeling and hearing the crunch of glass underneath her foot as she stepped on a shard. Biting her lip, she tried hopping over it, managing to clear the glass and land safely on her other foot.

"It's open!" She called to the person on the other side, sparing half a moment to pray the person wasn't a murderer. Hopping into the hall bathroom, she grabbed a washrag and pressed it on her foot, turning to hop back out and greet her new roommate. Or the killer, whichever.

----

Spoiler: Outfit

Tags: Victor ( Inb4Cloaker )

[/div][/div][/div]
[div class=credit]credits @RI.a[/div][div class=overlay]Vivian[/div]

 

[Parallax]

Boulevard Castleberry

Location: Mountains, dog sled event | Interacting with: No one | Mentions: No one

Driblets of water striated a uniform pattern down Boulevard's forearms, nestling into the fabric of her rolled up sleeves. Her fingers coiled around the thick metal pipe just beneath her bathroom sink, grievance gnawing at her insides as she learned through trial and error which way the plumbing should be turned. The scent of mildew, lacking charm and welcome, had spawned seemingly overnight in the rickety cabinets, to which Boulevard had met with a flurry of curse words.

She made this place reek enough by neglecting dish maintenance. It had become so tragic at one point that she discovered a baby lizard struggling between two pieces of tupperware. Thankfully, he escaped unscathed after some assistance.

Grinding her molars, Castleberry managed a final wrenched hand grip, satisfied now that the dripping had ceased. If only that were the only thing she had to worry over. There was still the blackened, uneven looking ring that had dyed itself into the cheap wood beneath. It stunk, frankly. Boulevard seized the store brand Febreeze in the corner, eyes bugging with disturbance as it seemed to stick a bit to the surface it rested upon. "Mother-hugging father-lover." She grunted with scorn, spraying a poisonous cloud of floral scented chemicals onto the fungal ring until it was saturated with white.

Climbing to her feet, the noirette choked out a cough and slipped away from the claustrophobic room, thoroughly finished with being inside. The kitchen light flitted in rhythm with the wind outside, just barely brushing against the small home. It was as sensitive as a most adolescents nowadays, frankly.

Boulevard already had a rucksack packed up with her version of 'necessities' for the sake of her ritualistic walks outside. Generally it would have held peculiar and troubling things. It could range from a crappy, scratched up plastic yo-yo, all the way to a wrinkled sandwich bag of pills, a childish rainbow drawn on the front of the plastic.

Today was the dog sledding event. It was beyond the Highlands, nestled in the midst of the mountains. If you didn't live here, that would have seemed like eras away to travel. The mountains were in fact, greatly closer than you could ever tell from estimation. Despite its relatively gentle driving distance, walking would take a substantial amount of time. Time she didn't have, if she wanted to make it there in time to see the event. Perhaps participate herself. What a concept, huh?

It wasn't a mystery that she enjoyed animals. She simply had reservations regarding keeping one herself. It would depend on her. Rely on her. Not just for fun, but literally to survive. How did that not make people sweat?

Her lyft would be here soon. Uber wasn't nearly as popular in this town. Generally, the woman evaded the responsibility of a vehicle. Walking was her favored method of self-transportation. It burned calories in bulk when you were as frail and minuscule as she was. She leaned against the uneven trunk of a twisted tree, its barren and stripped limbs grasping at all ends of the air overhead. She was adorned in a rather enormous raven colored jacket, woven with hefty layers of wool and fur. It was fake. Probably..?

Soon enough, Jared from lyft arrived to escort her, rolling his window down as though he was trying to make certain that she was a human being. It was incredibly expected by this point to get weary glances. She had a pretty 'sketchy' vibe at times, and real RBF. Not to mention her skinny ass body that frightened children and men alike. She'd be lying if she told someone that the stares didn't fuel her. Boulevard ate them alive. The inky-haired female took years to come to the realization that she enjoyed being distantly feared; blighted.

"Boulevard? Is it?"

Her eyes locked with his sunken blue ones as she nodded, giving way to a sideways twitch for a smile. The woman climbed into the car, tossing her rucksack off to the side. He pulled out of the driveway before she clip on her seatbelt; a habit that was not her own. In fact, it really only occured to her during lectures they offered her in times like these.

"I can't have a lawsuit." Yeah, she gets it.
"Do you even care about your life?" No, but that wasn't the point.
"You better make that a habit." She had much more... Fun habits to pursue.

The car ride was tense after he broke hard at that one stop sign, sliding into oncoming traffic. Thankfully no one else had been as foolish as to collide with the small grey Honda, and Boulevard wouldn't have been phased either way.

When they pulled up to the dog sledding event, the first thing that caught her eye was the 'Adopt a Sled Dog!" section, where a small gated area swallowed up five tiny huskies. She winced, hating her instincts begging her to scoop one up. What would she do after that? Look at it? A lot? No thanks. She'd stick to struggling to feed herself, and herself only.

Castleberry managed to slip into the back of the crowd, not really sticking out among the others drowning in giant clothing. There was a chick with shorts, obviously attempting to blanket her chills by acting intentional. She chuckled under her breath. What a judgy thought.

The huskies were getting geared up, and people were still huddled under the sign-up tent to get their signatures in under the waivers. Macabre, but necessary. It was worth it, after all.

code by Ri.a