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"Sounds like you're a little stuck on the past." He raised a brow. It was a challenge. Remington was all too familiar how he treated her when they were younger. The man was reckless and was invisible to his own antics. So, it wouldn't be any shock if her words were laced heavily with bitterness. "I certainly didn't have to force myself into some kind of character or try to be Danny from Grease's doppelganger." Remington certainly didn't have to play some role in hopes to get laid which was what he assumed this other guy was trying to play. Here was to hoping he would get his ass handed to him with someone rejecting him harshly. "So, it's alright for you to judge me but I can't judge some tourist prick? Make that make sense." He shook his head but gladly motioned towards the bartender for another round.

When one could sleep and felt completely unsettled by every little thing in their life, what was the best course of action?

Lay in bed with yet another existential crisis? Head to a club that had three things that could numb her to everything for a short while?

Clearly, as she stood at the bar, music pulsing in her ears, Genevieve had chosen that latter. Alcohol, music, and dancing. A lethal combination to overthinking for the likes of the disgraced ballerina.

"Maybe you're just old," the brunette commented. Briefly, hazel traveled in the direction to what seemed to have set the old foe off and Gen couldn't resist grumbling her response. "You act like you didn't do a ton of stupid shit like that when you were that age."

Hell, maybe Remington still did. It wasn't something the local girl who escaped this town at eighteen would know. Not since she'd only returned months ago.

Even worse, she wasn't one of Wilmington's success stories. There was shame on her name.

"Hairspray is a circus to you?" Then she rolled her eyes. "You're being so damn dramatic. Chill out and have another drink." Genevieve herself was a bit emboldened by the spirits that had filled her last few drinks.

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"Some people should drink at home --" He responded. Though, Remington might have just been referring to his self in that moment. It was always the young ones that could not handle their liquor and always tried to show how tough they were. Perhaps, Remington was really feeling his own age as he was hell on wheels when he was younger. "If you water down that prick's drink - I won't tell. Just saying." He proposed but figured everyone got the same treatment. Surely when your job was on the line. "At least I can call him a fucker to his face." The words were quickly added. He downed the shot and nodded at her toast. "Here's to you having something to take the edge off too." The night was still young after all and things could always be worse. The man nodded again in agreement. "I imagine I am a for lifer. Don't know too much aside from this place."

"Townsfolk have always been weird. I blame the tide. The moon. Some shit like that," Deryn said with her best customer-service smile, which never quite landed in the way she wanted it to. Then the smell arrived, and she heaved a sigh. "Might as well spray bear mace into the air vents. Fucker," she grumbled, barely holding back her urge to tell the offender to at least have the decency to take it to the bathroom. The other man's second request was enough of a distraction to remind her that a bad attitude doesn't get tips, Deryn, yelling at customers is frowned upon, Deryn. She let out a breath of laughter, pouring him another shot, casting a quick glance around the bar before pouring one for herself. "Bring out the goddamn clowns," she said, tapping her shot glass against his in her own little toast before taking her own back. "You local?"

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location: TRIC

open: anyone

"Seriously, the out of townsfolk get weirder and weirder." He more commented off to himself before downing a shot of Whiskey - perhaps to take the edge off from what he just witnessed. Some young guy who barely looked like he was 21 spraying his hair with a small travel size bottle of hair spray. Like what the absolute hell? Old, way more reckless Remington would have half the idea to light his Zippo and see how flammable that kind of product was. But he held off. "I think I am going to need a few more drinks to censor myself from whatever craziness walks through that door next. Hadn't realized this place turned into a circus."

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FULL NAME: Remington Dutton

NICKNAMES: Rem, Remi

AGE: 36

OCCUPATION: Fisherman & Boat Guide

RESIDENCE: Wrightsville Beach

GENDER / PRONOUNS: Cismale. He/Him

HOMETOWN: Wilmington, NC

TW: Abandonment

Parents always want their offspring to have the best: to be good. Something that when they’re out with their friends and co-workers, they can boast about their child’s accomplishments. At least that was what it was like in the Dutton household. This isn’t a story of a white picket fence or one that has a happy ending. Sure, Remington had the foundation of a good upbringing and foundation but sometimes that overbearing and pressure alter’s a man’s change of course. Acting as it’s own fork in the road. It definitely didn’t help when he had to compete with his older brother at everything. Remingtons’ brother was the epitome of a golden child, one who wanted to be some world leader. Even in his early childhood days, the boy had ambition and when Remington was born - his parents expected that he too would follow in the footsteps. But Remington knew he would never be a replica. For he wanted to stand out even if that meant being looked at as the bad son. The young male never considered himself a rebel. The only people who ever called him that were people who wanted him to do what they wanted. It was safe to say that he would go against any expectations and hopes his adult parents had for him. Much to their dismay. When he was still growing, there was always that glint or relish of hope. But see hope was a bitter thing.  It means that you are not what you want to be. It means that part of you is dead, if not all of you. It means that you entertain illusions. Illusions that the Dutton’s were using to protect themselves from the real destruction that Remington was and who wanted to be with open arms.  Sometimes you need to start a fire to create everything but ruins and disasters. Destruction is its own form of beauty. At least to him anyways. And that only would escalate as he grew older.

What started as a slow taste of chaos stemming from a candy bar here or there stolen or scooped into his pocket and then walking out of the store like he was invisible fully escalated. That rush of his heart beat quickening in the few moments between the register and the door excited him. It was a thrill for the then young man. A taste he soon would crave over and over again. One that would fully come to surface in the years passing. If his parents thought they could change him then, they soon realized he was ultimately a lost cause once his freshmen year of high school started. He spent a few days here and there in juvenile detention for hot wiring cars (his parents refused to take him to get his permit so he found more creative ways of going about such act). Among many other brushes with the law. Remington was known as the disappointment. The one where at family dinners, he was never asked about his day or how his school week had been because they had already expected the answers to it. It was safe to say he was the black sheep of the family. A title surprisingly that he took in stride. They chose to ignore the male and not fuel the amusement in their ways of trying to redeem him. Though what almost came as a surprise for Remington was the ability to have his family fully desert him. He was off on a bender his junior year of high school - partying, stealing from rich out of townees and spending the loads of cash he collected with his friends, his peers who were like him was almost like a merry go round to the man. A never ending cycle. To say he was shocked, to come home the summer of his senior year with his childhood home laced with nothing but dust. With one hidden exception - a note stating that he was no son of theirs. That they couldn’t watch his own forthcoming death. At least the physical part anyways. In retrospect he was already dead to him and they had only one true son. Nonetheless, he was alone for the very first time it seemed. He didn’t have a fall back. The perks of at least a warm bed, one never truly knows the value until it’s completely gone.

For a good while, he lived on the street in some back alley. Just like in some movie, tent city you might call it. It was also safe to say he never got around to finishing up his senior year and graduating but what was the importance of a small piece of paper with his name on it anyways? It was all bullshit to him. But see, when you hit rock bottom the only way to go is up and he took full advantage. Having street smarts was way more life altering then knowing the value of pi or some other mathematical equation. Even Stoichiometry. Or literally anything chemistry related. Microsoft word and Google Chrome don’t even recognize that as a word. Why should he? Remington encountered a lot of hardships and he literally was trash (when you sleep behind a dumpster – it’s kind of difficult to come up with better verbiage) for a few years of hard learning. One night when he was 20, he tried to pick pocket some random guy or who he thought was of no importance. Well, like most things he turned out to be wrong and had to weasel his way out of it. That particular person was well known around town for having their own fishing/boating business and instead sending Remington to law enforcement, the man took pity to him and was amused at the balls that Remington himself seemed to have. As he didn’t cower and instead tried to played slick. Nonetheless, the story goes as any cliché might. Remington was taken under this elder’s wing. Of course, not without some blood, sweat and tears. He would soon turn into the man’s best employee. In the end, it’s not what you achieve but what you overcome.

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JAY HALSTEAD CHICAGO P.D. | “TO PROTECT” (9x12)

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Before Sunrise (1995) dir. Richard Linklater