Realistic or Modern THE BRAT PACK — the story

[demonology]

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[demonology]

location :

the old polish theater at 1222 Casmere

tldr :

the brats have convinced Mrs. B to let them use her projector to watch Stand By Me

tags :

you don't have anything better to do? »

. . . movie night

Friday, June 6th, 1986

The signage out the front is strangely dim. It isn't often that the Polish Theatre isn't bustling with customers on a Friday night, even this late. It is approximately 10 PM, and the residents of 1222 Casmere have all gathered in the vestibule. With candies, popcorn, and soda in toe, the early birds wait for the rest of their party as Mrs. Bugalski keeps hustling to and fro, trying to set up the projector. A few stragglers from the last film shown, Siekierezada, loiter in the lobby, completely unsure what to do or make of the young twenty-somethings. Mrs. Bugalski keeps getting distracted form her initial task by having to shoo the customers out of the theater, telling them that the kids are here for a special, private showing. One man grumbles, fanning himself with the program for Siekierezada and noting that he'd like to host a special showing.

"Call me tomorrow, Fred. I'll see what I can do," Mrs. B says sternly before shutting the door in his face.

To one of the early Brats, she turns and asks, "Just unlock the door if one of your stragglers show up." Then, she is a blur of floral fabric and wiry, blonde hair as she jogs back to the projector. Leaving everyone in the soft glow of the lamp on the box office desk, waiting for the last of their friends to show up and growing steadily concerned over the profanities coming from Mrs. B's mouth.

coded by reveriee.

 

[yokai.]

lev de la espada

the party animal

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woahh popcorn

the Polish Theatre, lobby

[/tab]

JUST AN ANIMAL LOOKING FOR A HOME —

Despite the sun bleeding out its final streaks of orange into a steadily darkening sky, Michigan’s summer air was warm enough for Lev to comfortably keep his arms bare, having opted for a stretched out cotton tank and denim jeans that were fraying dangerously at the heels. He hadn’t had much time after his late shift at the Auto Centre to really make much needed headway with the laundry pile, which by now had consisted of most of his wardrobe, leaving him with a limited selection of undershirts to change into. Unit 3 was quiet when he’d stopped by after work, bereft of any of the familiar, folksy dream pop that Cece liked to blast in her room. Judi’s absence was felt more than seen, and Lev had already known since walking through the doorway that she was out and about as usual, a whirlwind of a girl that came and went sporadically. Lev would have been lucky to have caught her at home so early in the evening, and if he had, maybe she would have told him to cover up a little bit more and saved him the grief of being reprimanded by a duo of cantankerous, pearl-clutching old women on his way to the Polish Theatre.

“One of those rascals from twelve twenty-two,” one of them muttered audibly as he passed them, the glow of the cinema sign casting their aged faces in a warm yellow. “Don’t know how that woman manages so many of them, what with all their racket…”

The theatre doors creaked open with his entrance, leading the few elderly patrons who were meandering on their way out to turn their bent heads toward him, varied expressions of exasperated disapproval on their faces, mixed with the occasional giggle of reluctant appreciation. He weaved his way through the lobby, a half-smoked Newport cigarette stashed behind his ear and a sheepish smile on his face which widened when he spied a familiar figure, clad in floral-patterns and possessing a demeanor as unflappable as the day he met her.

“Yo, Mrs. B!” Lev called out, waving an eager hand, the one that wasn’t stained with dark grease on the curve of its wrist. The elderly woman in question was ushering out yet another disgruntled customer, meeting the mechanic with a raised brow as she pointed a thumb to gesture at him, as if to say, See what I have to deal with? And then, as if she couldn’t help herself, she glanced back to nod at him in greeting, a fondness in her smile. Once he was near enough to hear her, she rattled some instructions to him, to unlock the doors if they needed to let late arrivals in, then waved him off. Giddy and in high spirits, Lev hummed to himself as he picked out a large paper bag from behind the counter and scooped a healthy, shareable serving of just-popped popcorn from the wheeled kettle container, gently closing its glass lid shut with an arm once he was done. When he returned to the fore, Mrs. Bugalski was notably gone, though her presence was still tangible through the muffled stream of profanity coming from the projection booth. The resounding creak of the theatre doors and footsteps thumping on the carpeted flooring next to him signalled another person’s arrival.

“Oh, for the love of… Is this thing possessed?!”

Lev huffed out a laugh, though he was ready to bound over and give things a look-see if things went south. Although his handiness was mostly finely attuned to the inner workings of engines, a projector wasn’t a completely different animal to him, knowing enough about film thanks to Cece’s insight to at least know which parts went where. It was muscle memory to him by now, to figure out how machinery pieces slotted into place so they could whir to life with a roar. The circuiting, though, would require an expert’s knowledge, and thankfully, quite a few of his fellow tenants seemed to be film-enthusiasts, themselves. They’d figure out how to get the show on the road eventually.

“Hopefully we can exorcise it with something feel-good,” he joked to the Pack member who’d just arrived, his back against the wall, knee bent with a foot propped up behind him. He was buzzing with the spark of unwinding for the weekend, amped up for an eclectic and lively Friday night. It seemed to spread through the air around him, the palpability of his energy pouring throughout the space, coating everything in glittery varnish. “D’you know if we’re still set on ’Stand by Me’?”

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[honeycoves]

ricky

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  Damon Pepsionne > Lev yokai.

  
  

  
  

  
  

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creedence...

have you...

Just like that, Ricky was back in his horrible summer routine. No matter how late he set his alarm clock, he was awake by 5:30, staring up at his popcorn ceiling quietly. It was one of the few moments of silence on 1222 Ave. It was only a matter of time before the rest of the units would wake up and begin their usual reign of terror and chaos. He was just grateful his roommate was fairly tame. His mornings felt empty without the usual presence of baseball practice, here soon he would be bugging Damon and Lev to play catch with him outside. but he knew he was supposed to take off some time to relax. So, he'd go running, come home to shower, and eat a bowl of cinnamon toast crunch just to waste the rest of the day away in front of his TV on the floor until his neighbors dragged him out to have some fun.

The day consisted of endless hours of baseball coverage, including the college world series. The CWS always came with some serious moping from Ricky. Every great play was accompanied by a twinge of jealousy and then a pang of guilt. He knew that his dreams of going pro were over, and that it wasn't anyone's fault, and really, if Dan was watching over him, if dead people did that, he wouldn't be upset that Ricky felt jealous or sad. Right? Right. But that didn't stop the endless cycle of fun-pain-more pain that joined Arizona's 9-5 win over Florida State. It's not like he would've gone to either school anyways.

By the time it was just review of today's games and infomercials, Ricky knew it was time for him to leave. It was a little early, but that was alright. Early was better than late. He pushed himself up off the cold wooden floor and flipped the television off, returning to his barren room for his chucks and his jacket. "Dame!" He called softly, pulling his shoes on, "I'm going to head down early, see if Mrs. B needs any help." There was suspiciously no response, so he walked to the neighboring door frame just to find Damon fast asleep in his equally empty bedroom. A soft smile came to his lips, shrugging on the denim jacket that had Dan's name scribbled on the tag. The poor guy never looked like he slept, so he decided it was best just to leave him.

He began his quiet creep out of the apartment, just barely getting the door closed softly behind him when he bumped into a short girl. "Oh!" He flushed, catching her by the arm before she tipped backwards. "I'm so sorry. I'm such an idiot." His cheeks began to tingle. He didn't recognize her, so she must've been here for someone else. "Are you here for uh, Damon?" She mumbled somethin in response and he reached back for the doorknob to their apartment. "Dame!" This time, his call was a shout as he stepped in, the girl just on his heels. "Damon, your uh, er- your friend is here!" He took long strides towards Damon's room to try to out pace the girl and beat her to Damon's bedroom.

"Damon! Damon!" Ricky hissed quietly, shaking him vigorously. "A girl showed up looking for you." His roommate's bleary eyes were almost unreadable as they opened, the only discernable emotion being true confusion. The girl peered around the corner, causing Ricky to stand up and let go of Damon. He let out an awkward laugh, hiding behind a slouch. "I er- I'm going to go. I'll leave you two." He whisked himself out in a quick fashion, desperate to get away from the awkward encounter with the stranger girl. He couldn't have ran down the steps any faster. By the time he reached the theater, the keys had already been passed off and Mrs. B was mostly handling customers outside. He slipped past her and Frank with a gentle hand on her shoulder and into the theater.

It looked like, for now, it was only Lev and him. "You can fix a car but not a projector?" He teased softly, his straight brows raising at the exorcism comment and a shy smile forming on his lips. He shrugged in response to the question. "I don't mind if we see Stand By Me. I think Judi was pretty excited about a horror movie, and then I think Lockhart was pretty against a horror movie. So...." He shrugged. His smile broadened a little, flashing a glimpse of the gap between his teeth. "We could watch Top Gun again."

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Pepsionne]

MOOD:
Groggy

LOCATION:
1222 Casmere Ave

OUTFIT:

MENTIONS:

honeycoves ricky, demonology judi, miyabi cece

the burnout

damon

“Damon,” An impatient voice sounded. The room fell into a stillness after, saved only by the ambient noise of summer in its full night time chorus. “Damon!” It tried again, this time louder. A hand on his shoulder began shaking him, awkward desperation guiding their grasp.

“A girl showed up looking for you,” Ricky said. "I er- I'm going to go. I'll leave you two.” And with that, his roommate was gone before Damon even had time to get his bearings.

“Thanks Ricky,” He called out before the front door creaked shut.

The formerly sleeping male grunted, turning over in a mess of tangled sheets. “What,” He groaned to the woman Ricky had escorted in. Lazy fists rubbed the sleep from his eyes with a heavy sigh.

“You told me you were going to meet me outside Kitab at noon, you made me late for class waiting around for your ass,” She sighed, crossing her arms.

“I did say that didn’t I,” He looked over at the clock on the floor beside his bed, eyesight focusing on the shifting hands. Damn, it was already ten pm. “Isn’t it summer? And what would you have done if Ricky wasn’t here to let you in?” Damon asked, flopping from his side and onto his back. He pushed a mess of brown curls up and off his forehead with one hand. “You didn’t know I was home.”

“I take summer classes, genius. Makes my fall schedule lighter. And Ricky being here wouldn’t have changed anything. You always leave your door unlocked which I keep telling you not to do.”

“Why not?”

“Well someone could come in and steal something.”

“Steal what? The three pieces of furniture Ricky and I have combined?” Damon scoffed. He propped himself up onto his elbows, gesturing with a nod of his head to a metal container stored in one of the plastic milk crates pushed against the wall of his room. “Your ounce is in there. Just put the money in its place.”

He let his eyes slipped closed, listening to the ambient sounds of rustling while Veronica followed his instructions. “I really only need it to get me through my upcoming exams. I swear they make these summer classes even harder than the ones during semester, im stressing the fuck out.”

“You know you don’t have to give me an excuse for why you’re buying, right?” He said, cracking open an eye to peer at her. “I’m not your mom. You could just--like it. I wouldn’t care.”

Veronica was silent for a while, head pivoting to allow her eyes to roam over Damon’s figure lazed about his bed. She rightened her posture before leaning against his old dresser, crossing her legs at the ankle. “Why the hell are you even sleeping right now anyways? Didn’t take you for someone who tucks in early on a Friday night.”

Damon cleared his throat before giving a half shrug, his limbs stiff. “I just woke up for the night actually.”

A beat of thickened silence wormed its way between them, causing Veronica to heave a sigh and push herself off the dresser. She turned, bending at the waist to put the container back in the place where she found it. Against his better judgment, Damon let his gaze turn sticky and linger, slinking down the curve of her waist to the smooth planes of her legs.

“Really?” Veronica said, raising an eyebrow.

Damon threw her a lopsided smile to cover up the sheepish shame of getting caught. “A man can dream, can’t he?”

“Best get back to sleep then,” the young woman scoffed. “And don’t be late next time,” Her voice was sharp, matching the pointed clack of her heels as she stalked from his room. The old wooden floors groaned in her departure. After a brief struggle with the sticky front door (they really should get on Mrs. B about that) the apartment was left in the company of white noise.

“Fuck,” Damon sighed, falling back onto his bed. Selling to the preppy girls at CCS was more of a handful than it was worth, but it was hard to say no after a few batted lashes and skillfully calculated arm touches thrown his way. Even still, Veronica showing up this late when she could have easily waited until the next day had to mean something--right? Maybe he had some kind of shot here. He made a mental note to ask Judi about it later.

Lanky limbs hauled themselves into an upright position. He was going to be late if he didn’t get going now. It was already ten pm and he hadn’t even met up with Judi and Cece yet.

Damon searched about his room for the pile of clean clothes he had set off--somewhere. The color and style of whatever he managed to grab hold of never mattered to him, and after throwing on a slightly wrinkled but very comfortable tshirt and well worn jeans, Damon was grabbing his backpack and headed out of the apartment.

He pulled out a joint from the front pocket of the bag, tucking it behind his ear to become lost in a sea of messy curls. The man fished out a crinkled carton of cigarettes next, pulling one out and sticking it between his lips. He smoked soundlessly as he walked, making a mental list of all the customers he promised something to at the showing tonight.

The family owned restaurant now in view, Damon fixed the shifting straps of his backpack from falling off his shoulders. He ran a hand through his wild bedhead briefly as well, making sure the joint still nestled behind his ear was well hidden. The warming scent of food filled his senses when the man stepped inside, and his stomach began to shift and groan in response. Mrs. B wouldn't mind him bringing outside food into the theater would she?

"CCS girls are gonna be the death of me," Damon sighed, joining Cece and Judi at their table.

coded by reveriee.