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gilparry · 2 years

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Sarcasm. It wasn't shocking; Gil knew derision, and he knew the people who wielded it. Sneering standoffishness and loner tendencies. At first glance, the mechanic seemed easy to read. "Don't tell me you're of the mind that the only way to enjoy something is to throw money at it." Gil took another drink of his beer, watching the other man wave down the bartender with a careful, steady gaze. "Inauspicious news for your bank account." He tried to remember what the nametag on his work uniform had said; at the time, Gil hadn't paid much attention—which wasn't usual for him, but the overall circumstances within which they met could be categorically defined as unusual for him. Whims and impulse: not his habitual jam. A moment passed, and he decided to give a more real response: "I window-shopped, so to speak." Gil listened to the guy's answer with the expected amount of interest; distant, but not unfriendly. Neutral, but not disinterested. He shrugged when the question was redirected toward him. "Hey, maybe I thrive off the crowds and chaos. Maybe I just wanted a quick drink. I'm a pretty simple guy," he answered without really answering, then finished off his beer. Gil tilted and looked down at the bottom of his glass, where just foam remained, then set it back straight. "But you seem singularly disdainful of tourists. Did you think I was one of those? Back at the garage, about a month ago." It would explain the less-than-ideal initial exchange.

𝐠𝐢𝐥.

It might have taken him a second but Gil recognized the owner of that voice, though he hadn’t spoken to him in a few weeks. If pressed, he wouldn’t have really guessed the guy was a chit-chatting sort, never mind with a relative stranger in a bar. But he also knew, logically, that most people were more than their first impressions—even if, by Gil’s perception, the mechanic seemed hellbent on making a point with his. Gil took his time taking another drink from his beer. Miller High Life—cheap but not godawful—because he might as well treat himself to something once in a while. Or that’s what a school counselor told him once upon a time. Placing the glass back down on the bar top, he shrugged. “The market’s fine for what it is. I liked it,” he answered, slow and deliberate. In reality, he didn’t care much for the whole thing, too much of a money pit and too alien to him to really settle. Maybe it would’ve been a nicer experience if he hadn’t attended on his own, but everyone he deemed at least an acquaintance was working a booth or at their real job. Plus, he didn’t think of that as a real option until he got there. But he was comfortable with his white lie nevertheless. Those always came easy. “What was your problem with it: the crowds, the noise, the kids…?”

tadge looked over at the voice that replied back to him, his face had been around the shop before. beat up thing just come into town — tadge nearly felt bad for the guy. ❝ if you liked it so much, where’s the stuff you bought ? ❞ his tone filled with sarcasm as he looked to the ground and up, shaking his head in the process as he finished the remainder of his drink, licking his lips. tadge waved down the bartender next as he ordered a second one for the evening, playing with the empty glass still in his hands before the new one came. ❝ people. usually the tourists stick to the beaches or getting traumatized in the woods. forcing them all onto our small as shit main street should be everyones nightmore. and, surprisingly, the bar is less chaotic. that’s why you’re here now, right ? ❞

#int #c: tadge #reminder that i can't cut posts rip!!!! </3

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gilparry · 2 years

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There wasn't much time after the bell tinkled above Gil's head before a voice called out somewhere in the back of the store. "Take your time," he called back, observing the odds and ends around him. Everywhere he glanced, there was something bizarre and new: sticks of incense, books on tarot, bundles of dried herbs, bright-colored crystals, and oils in amber jars equipped with eye droppers. Gil very rarely felt out of his depth, and he never admitted when he was. But this stuff was about as unfamiliar as it could get. "What clued you in? Am I giving off a particular—" He gestured vaguely with both hands. "—aura?"

𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 — 𝐜𝐨𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐜 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 / @gilparry

❝ i’ll be right there ! ❞ thank goodness for the bell that hung off the door or else rikki would never realize when customers entered the shop. she was notorious for spending a lot of time in the back trying to organize items and restock whenever possible. this time she was just admiring all the new tumbles they got in. ❝ first timer ? i can sense it. ❞

#int #c: rikki #sooooo late......hi<3

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gilparry · 2 years

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#musings.

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gilparry · 2 years

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#mirror.

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gilparry · 2 years

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It might have taken him a second but Gil recognized the owner of that voice, though he hadn't spoken to him in a few weeks. If pressed, he wouldn't have really guessed the guy was a chit-chatting sort, never mind with a relative stranger in a bar. But he also knew, logically, that most people were more than their first impressions—even if, by Gil's perception, the mechanic seemed hellbent on making a point with his. Gil took his time taking another drink from his beer. Miller High Life—cheap but not godawful—because he might as well treat himself to something once in a while. Or that's what a school counselor told him once upon a time. Placing the glass back down on the bar top, he shrugged. "The market's fine for what it is. I liked it," he answered, slow and deliberate. In reality, he didn't care much for the whole thing, too much of a money pit and too alien to him to really settle. Maybe it would've been a nicer experience if he hadn't attended on his own, but everyone he deemed at least an acquaintance was working a booth or at their real job. Plus, he didn't think of that as a real option until he got there. But he was comfortable with his white lie nevertheless. Those always came easy. "What was your problem with it: the crowds, the noise, the kids...?"

𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 — 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐫

the bar was quiet, save for the third barstool being occupied by tadge himself and a few people sitting at a booth just to enjoy the warmth of the place. if he’s honest, tadge is surprised the bar is open after all the halloween festivities the night before and the market right outside its doors. normally he wouldn’t bother leaving his house during these street-wide events because he’d always be stuck parking his bike several blocks away, but the hair of the dog always wins the hangover battle. ❝ weren’t feeling the market either ? ❞ he invites himself to converse with whoever sat a few stools down from him. usually he’d ignore everyone around him, but that was only easy when there were too many people in the bar to care that he was sat alone.

#int #c: tadge

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gilparry · 2 years

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"It's good business to market yourself at a place like this. Spreading the word and whatnot. I think your only mistake was not branding these buttons," Gil observed, studying another one that lay on the table. It was adorned with the face of a classic alien rendition; oval-shaped head, pointy chin, and narrowed eyes. He tapped his finger against it. "Is this a generalized alien or a geographically specific one? I'm curious." He didn't know much of anything about the supernatural or cryptids or any number of things that Mina seemed interested in, but he knew the broad strokes. Bigfoot, Nessie, Jersey Devil... et cetera. It intrigued him that not only would someone know more, but they would actively seek the information out. Regularly. But everyone wanted answers for something, he guessed. Some people had a church, others had politics, and some skewed paranormal. And now, he was curious. His eyes lifted back to her as he carefully watched her put together a little baggie. You don't actually have to spin the wheel. The corner of his mouth quirked, and only wavered a bit when she pushed it across the table toward him. Gil didn't immediately reach to take it. He shrugged. "I think you did alright, for only having one pair of hands to work with," he said and straightened one of the pamphlets to get a better look at the information, his hand just skirting the candy bag. Gil let out a low whistle. "Lack of free time too, huh? That timeslot's... unfortunate. I bet you get a lot of crackpots calling in at that hour."

gilparry:

“I’d say your generosity is commendable,” Gil commented, both a little distracted by the silver dollar-sized button with a rabbit-antelope hybrid emblazoned on it and not quite ready to commit to playing something that felt a little childish. He held the button between his fingers, spinning it slowly as he studied the artwork. “And so’s your nose for business.” Whether or not he really meant the latter wasn’t important. Because either way, she was making an effort; Gil could appreciate that. He put the button back down on the table, his eyes darting to quickly look at her other wares. None interested him very much, but he had to ask—"Did you put all of this together by yourself?“ He gestured between both booths. They weren’t showstopping, but still: she had two of them. Double the preparation, double the workload. He felt, for a moment, like he ought to throw her a bone for her trouble. Gil took a silent, deep breath, then shrugged his shoulders. “And what kind of candy are we talking about?”

“hey, i have a lot of candy to get rid of. just going to go to waste at my place.” she says with a small smile. if she didn’t get rid of it by today she knew that she could just put it in the jar and have it up at the front of the library for the kids. but she genuinely liked seeing some of the kids walk over to her booth and do the stupid little wheel. there was a innocence in it, having done this for many years now with both booths. it wasn’t show stopping by any means, and mina felt like an ass half the time with not that much traction but she digressed. “is it a business if it’s all for free?” she says with a shrug of her shoulders, sitting back in her chair. she watched him look at the booth. she had grabbed one of the little baggies and started putting couple of buttons and one of her pamphlets even if it would go to the trash into it, and then slid it across with a tiny handful of candy. “you don’t actually have to spin the wheel,” she says, her voice a little quieter this time, looking at the amount of people with their kids walking up and down the different stalls. “i did, and as you can see, it’s very obvious who made it.” she moves forward a little. “i didn’t realize that i would have to, short staffed and what not.” it didn’t matter anyway. “take whatever you want if this doesn’t suit your fancy.”

#int #c: mina #can't trim... please... forgive me

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gilparry · 2 years

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At Gil’s assessment, 3D gives a solemn nod. “I get it, dude - goldfish ownership is a lifelong commitment.” At least, it is for the goldfish. “Maybe we should start you out with one of these plushies instead - they’re basically unkillable, and who doesn’t like Definitely Not Scooby Doo?” He says, prodding at the ersatz great dane stuffie and setting it swinging on its hook.

Getting up from his lawn chair and performing a luxurious, back-popping stretch, 3D lifts an amused eyebrow at Gil’s question. It’s weird: they live in the same place, under essentially the same conditions, but they couldn’t be more different. He’s so serious, with his good posture and his two jobs. “Is that your way of asking if I want to hang out with you?” 3D asks with a laugh. “I mean, I was probably just gonna smoke in the alley behind the pharmacy, but I like your idea better. I’ve already lined my stomach with, like, a million reese’s cups, so I’m good to go.” Gleefully pissing away his wages before they’re even in his pocket - it’s classic 3D.

Gil looked into the Scooby knockoff's soulless, plastic eyes for a second too long. The pupils were pointed in slightly different directions, and the fur had that shiny sheen of cheap plastic. He didn't think he ever had a stuffed animal before, and it seemed far too late to rectify that fact. Besides, while Gil wasn't an avid moviegoer by any means, he did see Child's Play. He wasn't scared while watching the film, but it successfully managed to trigger a sense of unease around any sort of toy that looked ripe for the plucking by a serial killer wielding voodoo chants. Id est: he didn't want it in his apartment, sparse as the place was. Gil shook his head once—slowly. "Yeeeah, no. I'm good," he said evenly. "It would feel iniquitous to take such a prize right out of some theoretical kid's hands. Save it for the Grimrose progeny."

Is that your way of asking if I want to hang out with you? For a brief moment, Gil felt sheepish. It was gone as soon as it reared its head but, still, it had been there. He wasn't entirely accustomed to this, making a personal effort to connect. In the past, people fell conveniently into his path and by his side, as brief as it could be, without much work on his part. New Guy in Town, in his late twenties, was a different challenge. And he wasn't comfortable with accepting failure. He shrugged. "Look at that, you caught me red-handed," he answered wryly, then took a step back from the booth to give 3D room to step around; it was more of a symbolic than necessary move. "I actually haven't been to the Wooden Tavern yet. I figured I'd take the opportunity when presented with it." He smiled something small and contained. "Is it safe to assume the service there is superior to the kind you get at Hangman's?"

#int #c: 3d

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gilparry · 2 years

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Gil scratched lightly at his forehead as he observed the game in front of him. It seemed ludicrous, imagining himself actually putting real, human money into playing something like that. He was an adult and, as an adult, he made a point of either avoiding or cutting out wasteful, silly endeavors. But still, it was impossible not to crack a smile at the kid who'd just walked away from the booth—glowing with pride after a job well done, excitedly chattering to his mom about the prize he'd won. Gil rubbed at his nose, suddenly uncomfortable, and looked away. "I have to pass," he answered. "I don't think I'm ready for the burden of goldfish ownership just yet." He tucked his hands into his jacket pockets and took a second to consider how to say what he wanted to ask about next. 3D—a nickname Gil never asked for an explanation of, now that he thought about it, or if he got one, he didn't catalog it at the time—was his neighbor. A neighbor whose rock-grunge-punk-something music could be heard late at night. A neighbor whose illegal extracurriculars had a very hard-to-miss smell. Their walls were very thin. He took another second, then continued: "Where are you taking your break? I was thinking about grabbing a quick beer before heading out."

where: grimrose farmer’s market (hook-a-duck booth) when: afternoon, probably, there’s no way 3D got up early for this who: open!

Somehow 3D has managed to land himself a gig manning the hook-a-duck booth, which has mostly consisted of him sitting in a lawn chair and eating leftover Halloween candy while he hands out literally whichever prize is closest at hand, rather than the ones assigned to the number written on the bottom of each rubber duckie. Oh well, the kids all seem pretty psyched about the twenty-odd pet goldfish he’s given out so far, so is he really doing the job wrong?

“Hey, you wanna play? Speak now, my friend, ‘cause I’m about to go on break, and that means no duck-wrangling action for at least a half hour.” More like forty-five minutes, if he’s being honest with himself.

#int #c: 3d

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gilparry · 2 years

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"I'd say your generosity is commendable," Gil commented, both a little distracted by the silver dollar-sized button with a rabbit-antelope hybrid emblazoned on it and not quite ready to commit to playing something that felt a little childish. He held the button between his fingers, spinning it slowly as he studied the artwork. "And so's your nose for business." Whether or not he really meant the latter wasn't important. Because either way, she was making an effort; Gil could appreciate that. He put the button back down on the table, his eyes darting to quickly look at her other wares. None interested him very much, but he had to ask—"Did you put all of this together by yourself?" He gestured between both booths. They weren't showstopping, but still: she had two of them. Double the preparation, double the workload. He felt, for a moment, like he ought to throw her a bone for her trouble. Gil took a silent, deep breath, then shrugged his shoulders. "And what kind of candy are we talking about?"

open ! location: library booth !

it all looks a bit….ridiculous. being one of the only librarians in town had its perks in say what the library farmers booth would look like. mina had crafted to her best abilities something that would appease the small children while trying to get everyone to get a library card ! though immediately next to the booth was her own booth for her radio show, harbingers cross, which was much more extravagant in the hand painted sign, the very sad attempts at merch ( that wasn’t really merch in hindsight, but all things that cryptid lovers would find interesting: buttons of bigfoot, aliens, jackalopes and the like ), with pamphlets describing everything that you needed to know about her unfortunate time slot on the radio. “here’s the deal, you get two lucky spins for prizes on both booths,” the prizes weren’t by any means great, but they sure were something made of love! “i might even throw in an extra candy. what do you say? want to take a spin?”

#int #c: mina

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gilparry · 2 years

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Gil had been at the fair for about twenty minutes when he found that his main takeaway of the day was that he felt like he walked directly into a Norman Rockwell painting. And all too much like it was obvious he was painted in a different medium. Gil told himself he didn't care if he looked out of place, but after a group of raucous kids ran by followed by their tired parents, and then they were followed by a few googly-eyed couples, well. He did start to feel a little weird about not only attending alone but being empty-handed on top of that. So he bought a hot apple cider. Two dollars exactly. Gil watched the white steam lick upward into the cold air and had a brief moment where he wondered if he should just leave. Too many people, too much time wasted—he could easily conjure up an excuse to get back to work. So caught up in his thoughts about it, he was taken aback when someone addressed him over the bustle. "Oh." Not expected and therefore not quite welcome was his first instinctual response. He made an effort to keep any shittiness out of his voice. "I know you're the professional here but if you'd like a little input..." he started, then gestured to himself. Standing off to the side, shoulders tense, mind somewhere else. "Then I'm not sure I have the real poster boy potential you ought to be looking out for." That, and he knew any smile he managed to give would inevitably look awkward and pained and definitely not print-worthy. It wasn't an opinion based on any lack of self-esteem, but an unavoidable fact. He'd seen his own grimace reflected back to him in enough school yearbooks to know it. Gil paused a second, then added plainly: "I'm not very photogenic."

open ! location: anywhere on main street !

lennon had been to quite a few farmer’s market events in grimrose, but it was the day after halloween and he wasn’t feeling too optimistic on people’s cheer considering how hard some people went in the festivities. himself included. he was never much of a drinker but he did spend a considerable amount of time at hangman’s last night and had to do some stuff for the paper this morning. he had skated in, his camera on his person and looking for the unfortunate souls that he would have to stop and almost beg to take a picture for the cover photo of the paper. he had ran a hand through his hair, walking up to one of the booths that offered coffee before he went to work. he wasn’t exactly hungover, but he definitely wasn’t feeling one-hundred percent at the moment. it had been… a weird night. too many overpowering emotions and a lot of blurry memories. “do you mind if i take a picture for the paper?” he asks, there’s a polite smile, he hates having to ask for it, but it was part of the job description. “you can say no- i won’t blame you.”

#int #c: lennon

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gilparry · 2 years

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staring into the bathroom mirror gripping the sink and telling myself "you are not uniquely horrible you are literally just some guy"

#musings.

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gilparry · 2 years

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[ dylan arnold | cis man | he/him | twenty-seven ] —— welcome to grimrose, gilbert rhys parry. it’s cool that you’re here, you know. haven’t you heard of the history of this place… anyway, how’s being a newcomer who has been in town for one month, especially since you spend most of your days as an assistant manager at radioshack and part-time archivist at town hall? also, not that it’s a bad thing, of course, but i’ve heard people say you can be a little critical more than you are thoughtful… but that’s just coming from people who are bored here, i promise. to me, you remind me of how soon is now? by the smiths and secondhand flannels with patches on the elbows, a worn leather messenger bag, and the soft whispering call of the forest... hope to see you around, gil.

PINTEREST | PLAYLIST | inspos: haku (spirited away), kat stratford (10 things i hate about you), andy dufresne (shawshank redemption), marco alisdair (the night circus), gene forrester (a separate peace), alice quinn (the magicians)

full name — gilbert rhys parry nickname(s) — gil, previously rhys name meaning — bright promise age — twenty-seven date of birth — july 3rd place of birth — ossipee, new hampshire current location — grimrose, new hampshire religion — atheist with agnostic tendencies sexuality — bisexual education level — believe it or not... but this guy's got a law degree residence — old-home-turned-apartment-building in the evergreen forest neighborhood family — jim parry (father) and margaret parry (mother). he knows his mom has a sister somewhere out there, possibly in vermont, but they cut ties when gil was just a toddler. so maybe he has an uncle or cousins too, but he's never felt the urge to go out and look for them. finances — right now he is the most financially comfortable he's been in his entire life. he quit his job at a law firm a few months ago, so he's still sitting on some savings from that gig. not rich, but not living in the kind of poverty he grew up with. spoken languages — english ability — cebrukineses (the ability to manipulate the brain and its functions)

overview. (tw: child abuse)

gilbert was born to jim and margaret parry in ossipee, new hampshire. growing up, he lived in a trailer in a mobile home park a hop, skip, and a jump from ossipee lake. looking far back enough, he can remember the three of them sitting down for dinner; his mom pushing his dad's hair out of his eyes with a wide smile; a shiny, tinsel-laden christmas tree in the corner; and a small terrier mix named rocky at his feet. what they had was meager, but gil didn't notice yet. he could remember a time when they felt like a real family, and maybe that's what made everything that followed so much harder. after a series of layoffs at the factory jim worked at, there was a long period of unemployment. gil was too young to remember much of what exactly happened during that time, but what he knew was that nothing was ever the same. dinner became a game of scrounging for whatever was in the kitchen. his mom's eyes never crinkled up with a smile. no holiday decorations. his dog was gone. and his dad started to hit him.

always a smart boy and a hard worker, gil managed to secure himself a scholarship to a private school in nearby wolfeboro. the problem was that the scholarship was only partial. he took on a few part-time jobs (working in the warehouse of a tractor supply company, as a stocker at the circle k, and dog walking) to make up the difference. the more time he worked the less time he had to spend in his family's trailer, so he found he didn't have much to complain about other than the constant exhaustion and social alienation. all was going pretty well until his dad found out just how much money gil was making. what followed was their biggest fight yet (though whether or not you could call it a fight when gil never retaliated, well...). huddled in the corner, near the front door of the trailer, gil watched as his dad lifted his fist. he squeezed his eyes closed and waited for the impact. it never came. all he hear was a loud, resounding thud, and the sound of his dad cursing. upon opening his eyes, gil saw his dad's fist connected with the wall. what he didn't know is that he made that happen. :o

fast-forward and one of gil's coworkers rented him a room above his garage for a small rent price, where gil ended up living to finish out his senior year. come fall, he attended boston college (full ride, baby!), and then after that, he turned his eye toward law school (boston college again -- go eagles!). his time in college, socially, was marked by a lot of lies and ducking around the truth about his family and past. he didn't want his new classmates to see him as gil parry: trailer trash. gil parry: poor. gil parry: victim. so he made stuff up until it became too much. all hopes of having a stable friend group in college came to a crashing halt at the beginning of junior year. he ghosted them all. but that's fine. he was certain he was never very good at being a friend anyway.

after law school, gil got a job at a law firm in providence, rhode island. there, he worked in corporate law. very quickly, he became what many of his fellow law school grads called a "corporate lackey" and it was about as soul-sucking as you can imagine -- nevermind the ethics of constantly finding yourself defending and working for corporations, who have no real care in the world for how they damage society and the environment. basically, gil was due for an existential crisis, and twenty-seven years old and with all the things he worked his whole life for and dreamed about and kept him going through the worst of it... well, that ended up being the perfect time to have it.

in a rare show of impulse, gil quit after a nasty case. he didn't like his job. he didn't like his colleagues. and he didn't even like providence. he had once sworn he'd never return to new hampshire, but he couldn't get it out of his head. he started having weird dreams. he's dreamt of trees and faces in them. sounds and voices. one voice sounds like his mother, who he hasn't spoken to in a decade. and they're whispering so softly that he can't make out what they're saying, but he has this feeling deep in his gut. and it keeps waking him up and telling him to go outside. to go north. to go into the woods. he packed up his shit in his apartment and drove his shoddy station wagon until he ran out of gas. and then he was in grimrose. it felt like a sign (though he very rarely believed in those -- though that will quickly change).

he's been in grimrose for a month and he was only able to stomach unemployment for three days. as the vigilant and no-nonsense dude that he is, he quickly found work. radioshack was hiring an assistant manager and though they were skeptical about why a guy with his qualifications wanted the job, he got it. and more recently, he managed to wrangle a job helping out with some archival work at town hall. it'd take up a good chunk of his weekends but since he spent most of his life with multiple jobs, the lack of time off doesn't bother him too much. actually, being motionless might kill him. like a shark. and it's better to work and think about work and nothing else than try to look too hard at whatever the hell he's actually doing with his life.

personality.

first and foremost: intj kinngggg

anyway, gil is logical and pragmatic and intelligent and a bit cynical. he values independence and self-reliance to a truly coocoo degree and because things that should've come freely and easily at home growing up were always treated as a transaction or as something he should feel bad about. he usually does not and will not accept help from anyone, because that means he owes them something in return and he'd rather chew his own hand off than be indebted to someone.

constantly fighting this internal war of like sheer, utter, mind-numbing contempt for people from places of privilege and arrogance while also desperate to be part of their world.

introverted overall ig, he's always like ~observing people and learning a lot about how he wants to be perceived by what he sees and then wants to make a good first impression so no one can ever guess he feels like he doesn't belong/is white trash. secret internal mean streak and i hate to be a millennial about this but def a slytherin.

but to say something kind about him, i'll say he's cautious and he makes deliberate efforts to be kinder and more understanding and more patient. he's just trying his darndest. xoxo

misc headcanons.

gil has an innate green thumb. when you walk into his apartment, you’ll see rows of pots and plants by the windows. it started when an ex-girlfriend gifted him a little cactus in college; it was a low-maintenance plant, but he found that his instincts when it came to the care and upkeep of it came very easily. he quickly expanded his collection of small plants until his roommate voiced a complaint.

he's a big fan of art rock (talking heads, kate bush, brian eno, etc.) and usually has his cassette player and headphones in his bag.

three words: human garbage disposal. if you're not finishing that plate of food, and you make a point to say it's just gonna get thrown out, have no fear... gil is gonna gobble up those scraps. sandwich crust, pickles, a half-eaten side of fries. they're all fair game.

ummmm and that's it. sorry for writing so much. if you made it this far, i'm sending you a virtual kiss to your forehead. :-*

#grimrosehqs.intro

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