graham-oswald

[graham-oswald]

the line at caffelicious moved with a snail's pace that kept graham from getting his morning caffeine dose as quickly as he would have liked. even without the little pick-me-up, he managed to put on a friendly face for the man asking about the lone glove. "looks like i've got both of mine," he smirked holding up both hands to wiggle his fingers. "i've always heard your supposed to put lost items in a visible, high place so that their owner can find them more easily. it might be worthwhile to place it on the back of one of the chairs," graham suggested, looking around for a good spot to put the single glove. "someone must have a freezing right hand, right now."

open: ( capping at 3)

location: caffelicious

After an afternoon of teaching practice at the University, Lucas needed an afternoon pick me up before heading home for the day. That meant another coffee so he had to choose between two places across from each other. He looked around before getting in line to wait. Something caught his eye so he picked it up, realizing it was a winter glove. 'Maybe it fell out of a pocket.' He thought to himself as he hesitated before tapping the person in front of him. ''Excuse me..is this yours?'' @bluestarters

[graham-oswald]

graham was once again reminded of that unhappy inkling of a feeling that had rooted itself in his stomach after their first conversation. not being liked made him queasy. since he was granted praise and love in most other areas of his life, he felt like a fish out of water being treated with plain disdain. "no, no, not lessons. the problem is the instrument i already know how to play is broken," he began to explain, taking one step closer to roman. an olive branch extended, if you would. "do you have anyone who would be able to restring a piano? it's a grand that's years and years old. the last time a broken string was replaced, i was still taking lessons. i went to test it out the other day, and one of the strings snapped... with the holidays coming around, and all, i thought it would be a lovely gift to be able to play for my grandmother."

When he had first bought Re-Chording, Ophelia had talked Roman out of printing a big sign with Elijah’s face on it with a giant red cross through it. People would get curious, they’d ask too many questions. It was only the fear of people getting into his business that stopped him marching over to the copy-shop with his latest request. However, would that same argument hold if he got one made of this smug bastard before him? His sister would probably try and make him see reason that he couldn’t just bar people he disliked for no apparent reason, but he could probably sway Antonio onto his side. “If the question is anything along the lines of how you play something, I don’t teach. I recommend Craigstlist for that one.” But he gestured dramatically, ignoring the barb about heading elsewhere if that was an option, though it wouldn’t have been the first time he directed unhappy customers to the Vintage Stock about an hour outside city limits. “Go on then.”

[graham-oswald]

CLOSED STARTER • @safaksoy • on a blue harbor jogging path

graham, in his usual winter jogging fair, had slipped on a patch of ice that he was absolutely certain was placed just to trip him up. he clumsily slid, then fell forward, banging his knee on the sidewalk before him. "ouch, that's going to leave a mark," he muttered to himself, attempting to stand up more elegantly than he had fallen down. his attempt proved fruitless, as his knee filled with pins and needles when he put any weight on it. a passerby came right in time, "do you mind helping me up? that ice did quite a number on my motor skills."

[graham-oswald]

"asking for favors is the best part of being a family friend," he slapped his hand against his desk eagerly. "for example, it wouldn't hurt if i got a free pastry with every drink purchase at latte love." it's all in good humor, of course. graham had no reservations paying for his full order at the cafe, nor did he hesitate to drop a full twenty dollar bill in the tip jar. friends support friends, that was a motto that he could live by. loyalty, along with expensive taste, ran in his blood.

"i don't claim to be up to your standards, but i can do my best to make something that's appetizing," he was no trained pastry chef, but he had been baking with his grandmother since he was a child. graham was no stranger to a sieve, a mixing bowl, a whisk, or the oven. "knock-out? phew, guess i will have to pull out all the stops to make the 'muhammad ali special,'" he laughed, raising his fists up to imitate a fighting stance. in the back of his mind, graham was intimidated by the prospect of making a dessert that would live up to maya's expectations. he couldn't remember having ever made something all by himself for the whole of the jackson family to enjoy. he'd always had his grandmother to help alongside him in the kitchen. this could all go terribly wrong or incredibly right.

"they might eat around the corners to make them round and poker chip-like," he conceded, knowing just how crafty each of their grandmothers could be. he had to admit, he was morbidly curious as to how the brownies would become another bargain or bet in the elderly ladies' various games. "when you've been filing and filling out forms since before you could read, it definitely helps to make you an efficient adult," he straightened his tie with gusto. "that's why they let me fill in for records today, they knew that no one else would be capable of getting the job done."

graham can feel his forehead wrinkling as maya puts on an everything-is-fine facade. "i guess your lawyer was playing 'file clerk' as a child, too, then," it's his lame attempt at making a joke to keep things light for her. "if you need a second opinion on anything, you know who to call. i'll be graduating with my j.d. this december, and i'd be happy to provide pro bono services just for you."

Graham’s remarks had Maya laughing softly to herself. He’d always had that bright enthusiasm that never failed to bring a smile to her face. Their grandmothers had been close friends for years, having frequent get-togethers with grandkids in tow. “Well, I’m not going to argue with that,” she replied, her tone teasing. “But then they tend to ask for a lot of favors don’t they?”

A dinner party with their families sounded so nice, she couldn’t help but smile at the wave of nostalgia that came over her at the thought. “You baking dessert, huhI Now, those are some awfully big shoes to fill,” Maya giggled teasingly before giving Graham a nod. “It sounds like a plan, though. I warn you though, I won’t settle for anything less than a knock-out dessert!”

His talk of casino chip cookies brought a small laugh out of her. With how competitive both of their grandmothers were, it was an easy image to picture. “Okay, I’ll make brownies, but I wouldn’t put it past them to find a way to turn those into some sort of bargaining chip, too.” When Graham mentioned his childhood fascination with forms, she grinned playfully at him. “So, that’s why you’re so good at keeping things running so smoothly.” His last question, however, caught her a bit off guard. Maya’s expression faltered, just for a second, before she masked it with her usual easy going smile. “The cafe’s fine,” she said, a little too quickly, forcing her voice to sound fine. “You know how it is–lawyers and their endless need for documents.” 

Maya wasn’t trying to be sneaky, but she didn’t want him to needlessly worry. She still wasn’t exactly sure why her lawyer needed the documents in the first place, so she didn’t want to sound the alarm just yet.

[graham-oswald]

"daycares would probably be the first—toddlers and their gigantic heads are a recipe for disaster," he let his hands collide together in an explosion-like action. graham hoped the joke was getting across, he didn't want to spread any misinformation around town regarding the danger-level of the town's children. it wasn't like blue harbor was a small town written by stephen king. it felt more like the small town from a nicholas sparks novel. "oh, they'll be very happy, you can be sure of that." if lacrosse hadn't worked out, maybe soccer would have. he sure knew how to volley protein powder like nobody's business.

graham had made a silent promise to himself, but he still didn't feel comfortable letting someone else pay for his insolence. "i-" he stopped himself from turning the stranger down, but came to the realization he had another compromise up his sleeve. "how about we give this broken container to the cashier, and nobody pays for it? i've got enough chocolate powder back at home, i was just trying to mix it up with the pumpkin spice flavor. i'm sure it's not even that good," the stranger was right that no one else was going to buy it, so it didn't seem right to have anyone pay for it. enough had already spilled out on the ground that it didn't seem worth it to pay full price.

“The second?” He raises an eyebrow, amused. “Can’t imagine what the first place could be,” he smirks as he watches the Gushers end up in his cart, nodding as seriously as he can muster at the other man’s assurance that the sweets are not, in fact, for him. “Right,” he bites the inside of his cheek in amusement. “Well, I’m sure whoever’s getting the Gushers, they’ll be happy to know they survived a two-man collision.” He glances back down at the protein powder that the other man has now stacked neatly into a pile, impressively with his sneakers.

“Well, at least let me pay for that,” he nods at the protein powder on the floor. “No one else is going to buy it — seems a waste for you to pay for it, in any case.” Besides, he’ll be thinking about this blunder for weeks to come, he’s sure — the least he can do to ease the embarrassment of it is know he’s done something to make up for it. He thinks Ellie would have protested — say something about looking a gift horse in the mouth, as always — but this is Rory’s conscience, and it’s starting to sound less like Eliza and more like him again, after all this time.

[graham-oswald]

even though graham hadn't asked with the intention of getting a full on history lesson, he nodded along politely and listened closely anyways. when he heard the statistics that jasper rattled off he was shocked, "that's an awful long time ago, and an awful lot of people, too. i just hope my family wasn't involved, but you'll have to keep me updated." the pendleton-oswald name was mostly clear of any shameful scandals. it would be horrific to find out that their fish had a part in the cholera outbreak of the nineteenth century. the business would have been starting out then, that would be an awful way to get their foot in the door of becoming one of illinois' largest fish sellers. "if anything bad comes up just break it to me gently."

he assumed that being good with books was a necessary trait for becoming a librarian. graham also thought that having a closet full of cardigans and tweed was a part of the job description, too. "hey, don't downplay that brain of yours. it just helped me in a time of dire need. how else would i have gotten that crossword puzzle done?" he patted jasper on the shoulder on their way out the door. latte love was only a short walk down the street, and graham couldn't wait to hold a warm cappuccino in his hands. as soon as they exited town hall, the fall breeze could be felt down to the bone. a sure sign that winter was on its way, and soon graham would be shoveling his walk of snow. "forget the library! a boyfriend?" graham exclaimed, he was literally stopped in his tracks by jasper's admission. "tell me all about him! do i know him? is he from the library? did you fall in love when you both went for the same book on one of the shelves?"

jasper wasn’t entirely sure whether the question was a serious one, whether graham really did care about recent — or not-so-recent — outbreaks of disease. there was a moment where they considered staying quiet and shrugging their shoulders, changing the subject or allowing the conversation to drift, but after a half-second of hesitation they sprung into action like a wind-up car. “well, the last outbreak in illinois was in 1866. it was an epidemic, actually. it took up 35% of the deaths in randolph county that year.” moving to america meant that there was an entire new history to learn. it was rare that jasper’s face wasn’t buried in a book, and they were thankful for the change of focus. “it’s really interesting. i didn’t notice that your family was involved, but i’ve only just started investigating. i’ll keep you updated on my findings.” in a way, jasper was their own version of nancy drew. a book-diving, word-puzzle solving detective fuelled by nothing but hot chocolate. they gave a nonchalant shrug and crossed both arms over their chest, almost in a one-sided hug, as they waited for graham to be ready. “it just came to mind. i don’t know. i’m good with books.” when his friend finally grabbed his bag, jasper followed obediently alongside and wiggled their way through the door, speaking over one shoulder but keeping their gaze firmly on the road ahead. “my day has been okay. the library has been crazy recently with the startup of schools and colleges again. i was rushing around filling requests for hours. oh, and i think i’ve got a boyfriend…” he hesitated, “maybe. i’m not certain.”

[graham-oswald]

graham had been happily munching on a club sandwich when all of the hullabaloo kicked off. his half-eaten sandwich now long forgotten on its paper wrapper, and a dotting of crumbs on the right corner of his mouth. he’d never been one to shy away from confrontation, and when the initial bedraggled customer let out a torrential downpour of insults to the other patron he’d stepped in with little hesitation. it was his decision to intervene that escalated the conflict, and one of the men had pushed graham out of the conversation, both in the verbal and physical definitions of the word. he straightened his collar, stepping back before things went from light prodding to heavy shoving.

as if in slow motion, graham watched his club sandwich as it was squashed under the weight of the man who was shoved into the table. the shover came crashing after him. there went his lunch hour… after a second altercation, one of the men was held by his collar by a bystander, coffee splashing and covering the remains of graham’s destroyed meal. insult to injury. his stomach growled in poignant protest.

“and i would have ordered two sandwiches in advance,” graham added, helping the second man off of the ground. “who knew blue harbor had such an invigorated bunch of deli-goers. the muffaletta here is good, but not fisticuffs worthy.”

➥ location: the sandwich establishment

➥ timestamp: lunchtime

➥ status: closed starter for @graham-oswald

Perhaps he ought to have cut his losses and headed right back out the door the second he heard raised voices, but, quite frankly, Nathan was starved for entertainment and a sandwich shop bust-up was about the closest thing to any real action he'd seen in weeks. It seemed he wasn't the only one intrigued by the escalating chaos. Of the entire queue waiting—a lunch rush in full swing—only a handful had left when the two men at the front started arguing. One woman in front of Nathan was actually craning her neck to see what was going on, much to his amusement.

Behind the counter, an anxious teenager hovered uncertainly, obviously not sure what to do. He had no idea what had started it, only that the idiots involved were creating much more of a scene than necessary. Somebody else tried to step in and was quickly rebuffed. It wasn't much of a surprise when it came to blows, though the sheer impetus with which the pair of men went careening into one of the few small tables was.

It was more out of instinct than generosity that Nathan's hand shot out, seizing a handful of the coat in front of him, and tugged its owner out of the path of destruction. He regretted it instantly. The two of them went stumbling sideways and the cappuccino he'd acquired from next door met an untimely death, drenching his previously spotless shirt in lukewarm coffee and spilling across both their feet. “Jesus wept,” he cursed, caught halfway between annoyance and amusement. “If I'd known I was entering a fight club I'd have warned my dry-cleaner ahead of time. My apologies,” he added to the man as an afterthought.

[graham-oswald]

“dani!” graham grinned from ear to ear, moving swiftly to the side to avoid any potential collision. he’d made his way to assembly depot for a new pair of garden shears and gloves, it was time to help his grandmother fully prep their backyard for the incoming winter season. “good to see you,” unlike some, or most, people, he wasn’t avoidant when running into his high school classmates. being a “golden boy” of blue harbor made it less likely he would run into an enemy or anyone who would cause him strife. if anything, it was probably his former classmates who would avoid running into him: the one person who may remind them that even if you “peaked” in high school, you could keep on going on and up. it didn’t feel like karmic justice when you always expected the quarterbacks and cheerleaders to end up with crappy, sad lives. “what are you painting? my heart is telling me sage, but a whole room in that color may just make you too relaxed.”

location: assembly depot who: open to anyone @bluestarters

Dani has decided she's going to repaint her childhood bedroom. Since it has now turned into her adult bedroom, it feels like it's finally time to get rid of the numerous teen beat heart throb posters she had from high school off her walls. And it's time the bedroom walls changed from an almost florescent shade of aqua to something a bit more... relaxing?

Looking between a soft neutral shade of grey (boring, but it screams adult), and earthy sage (was she an earth tone person?) and the most saturated coral she could find (it felt like her but less in your face), Dani let out a huff.

Turning to hold the tester strips for each color in the light, she swore under her breath as she almost struck a nearby shopper in the face. "Fuck, I'm sorry!" She apologized, grabbing their shoulder as if it could convey just how sorry she was for the near miss. "I didn't see you passing by." Too consumed by paint, it seemed. "Uh... which one?" She held up the three shades, hoping someone who wasn't desperate to make a sale would be honest about the colors and if any of them were worth buying.

[graham-oswald]

“i’m an illinois guy—born and raised. at this point, i’ve got my seasonal wardrobe down to a science,” graham explained, he lifted one hand from his to-go coffee cup to show off his gloved hand. he wiggled his fingers for added effect. he also, most likely, had some resistance to the cold just because he’d lived in it long enough. he’d never gone far enough south for a long enough time to grow out of his thick skin against winter winds. “come september, i start pulling the sweaters and thicker pants from storage. then come the hats, the down coat, and the gloves by the middle of october. you can never be too careful on halloween, the weather can be finicky and cruel.” he hadn’t expected to go through his whole winter routine with this stranger, but this was the typical morning routine for anyone with a dash of midwestern kindness running through them. “you’re absolutely right about layering, it works wonders. wool is a gift from sheep against the winter cold, too.” graham unzipped the top of his coat to reveal a woolen sweater underneath. “and, always buy any winter clothes during the heat of summer, and any summer clothes in the dead of winter. it saves you money on buying sweaters and coats once the cold front rushes in.”

at a coffee cart in the park with anyone! ( open )

Theo accepted the steaming cup of coffee from the barista with a murmured thanks, then turned his attention to the person who’d commented on the cold. His grin was immediate, teasing. “Oh, it’s definitely winter’s opening act. You can tell because everyone’s still pretending they don’t need gloves. Including me.” He raised the paper cup like a shield, his fingers already pink from the chill. “But come January, we’ll all be bundled up like mummies, questioning every life choice that brought us to Illinois.” He paused, his grin softening into a curious tilt of his head. “You must be better prepared than me, though. What’s your secret? Layers? Thermal socks? Some ancient ritual you’d be willing to share? I'm not a creature of the cold. I'm meant to migrate South, like birds do.”

[graham-oswald]

“it all depends, you’ll have to send any copies to my lawyer for approval first,” he joked. his attention had been purely focused on the latest edition of the blue harbor newspaper. from a distance, graham could have been a tableau taken from a 1940s black and white film: his suit jacket draped against the park bench, his suspenders perfectly in place on his shoulders, and a newspaper spread open in front of him. “what’s your project for?” he asked, folding the paper and letting it rest on his lap. “have you gotten some good ‘random moments’ so far?”

Who: Anyone! (@bluestarters)

Where: Anywhere around Blue Harbor

Sadie wandered down the main street of Blue Harbor, her camera hanging loosely around her neck as she snapped photos of the little things that caught her eye—vibrant flower pots outside the bakery, the way the sunlight hit the water down by the pier, the lazy way a dog napped on the sidewalk in front of the bookstore. She had been in a bit of a creative slump lately, but today felt different. She'd gotten this idea to document the town. A sort of visual love letter to Blue Harbor.

She stopped for a moment, camera raised, and captured someone strolling past. Lowering the camera, Sadie smiled and jogged over. "Hey, sorry to interrupt," she said, her voice warm, "but I just took a photo of you for a project I’m working on. It's a 'day-in-the-life' of the town kinda thing, just capturing random moments. Is it okay if I use the photo?"

[graham-oswald]

“unless they’re headed straight to the hospital, i really don’t think they are,” graham nodded in agreement, his eyes unable to move away from the strange acrobatic performance before him. although he and jasper were close friends, he hadn’t had as much time to get to know giselle. when he’d first met her, he hadn’t even realized she was the twin that jasper had brought up in their conversations. genetics surely was a strange beast. seeing giselle roam so freely among the crowd made graham wonder if jasper could do the same silly tricks. in his mind, there was no way the other finch twin would make themself as visible as their sister. “i know them both, but jasper a bit better. what about you? i’ve always thought it would be nice to have a twin, or any sibling at all. i once had the aspiration to pull a parent trap level trick on my parents, alas there was no doppelgänger of mine to make that dream a reality.” when he’d received the invitation, graham didn’t know what to expect or how to dress. he’d simply come with a pair of mouse ears atop his head and one of his usual suits. he hoped the dormouse reference was enough to fit the dress code. “it certainly is a very un-birthday. i think the last time i went this all-out on a party i was in the single digits and i was at a chuck e. cheese or a build-a-bear.”

@graham-oswald       /       mic drop — finch birthday celebrations  ,     with     graham.

“are people meant to bend that way?” the features on miles’s face were contorted in horror. he stared, observing, watching the strange dance moves, the questionable outfits — all tall hats and playing cards. there was no extra effort from the middle monroe; he wore what he always wore, hand me downs and oversized clothes that made him look more at home at the skate park than the karaoke bar. at least there were drinks (weird, unexpected drinks, but drinks nonetheless) to keep him alert, entertained, distracted from the movements of giselle finch as they moved through the crowds of attendees. miles wondered how many were there for her, how many for her brother, and how many had turned up for free nibbles. “do you know them, the twins? it still freaks me out that people can have two babies at the same time.”

[graham-oswald]

"no harm, no foul; please don't stake me!" he covered his bare pec with two hands, trying to prevent any future vampire slayings. "i think you should have gone as buffy summers if you wanted to take down all the vampires in here." that gave graham an idea for next halloween, he could always go as blade—both a vampire and a vampire slayer. that would definitely take more coordination than his current costume had, though, and he wasn't sure if he had the bandwidth for such an intensive costume. "well, whoever turned down the opportunity to be a sanderson sister missed out on an incredible group costume. i'm sorry for their loss. rest in peace to those halloween haters," he faked a moment of silence. "nobody wanted to be the abed to my troy, so i guess we're about in the same boat. but, troy's sexy dracula holds up well on its own."

graham reached into his back pocket and pulled out a lighter, he wasn't a smoker but he was always well-prepared (hence the extra toilet seat covers for his neck, and a packet of emergen-c in his front pocket). "don't test me, witch, i may just have a few secrets up my sleeve," with that he flicked the lighter to life, watching the flame dance in front of them for a few short seconds before he removed his thumb from its fork.

one toilet-paper cape was enough, but the fact that he had a spare? giselle watched him yank it out with flourish as a replacement. good grief, each element of their own costume was so specific, if something happened to anything, it would be over. spell of hydromancy also had her wondering: was he a reader of fantasy? that wasn't something someone simply pulled out of their back pocket. "you'd better not be making fun of me, count! a wooden wand can double as a stake!" she danced it through the air, the tail-end of his old toilet seat cover catching on her skirt. and she made sure to flick it with just as much flourish. it floated up and above their heads. "i think if we'd decorated, we'd have done better. imagine some toilet-paper mummy things like that. anyways, no one wanted to do the costume with me." she gave a pout. she also hadn't asked anybody. "too much effort. well, i basically dress like a witch anyways, so, not for me! will you use pyromancy back on me?"

[graham-oswald]

"you know me, i rock and i roll," he shrugged with a moony smile. for being such a nerd, it was impressive that graham was one of the reigning supreme beings of their high school. part of it was his family name carrying his weight through blue harbor, and the other part was that he was the life of the party whenever he had the opportunity to be. as the ke$ha song that was oh-so popular at all their high school soirees said, the party didn't start 'till he walked in.

"definitely not trying to become the president, i would break under all the pressure," honestly, he'd probably have the white house handled. graham, however, didn't have such grand ambitions. at most, he would stay consistent in his run with local politics. "maybe a city councilman at most, or mayor. honestly, alec, i don't really know what's next. i'm on track to get my j.d. by spring of next year, so i may become a practicing lawyer, if i get my license. or, i could continue to work in city hall. the world is my oyster, or something like that." the future was daunting, but graham would never admit the full extent of it.

"what about you? any musical feats of late? you still play, don't you?"

Alec scoffed. "Yeah, all of those words sound rock and roll as fuck, bro." If his sarcasm wasn't clear, the roll of his eyes would have made it so. Frankly, Alec was inclined to believe the rest of the words he'd just listed were also made up. He'd certainly never heard them before. Except memorial. And editorial. And some version of the word accuse. Okay, so maybe he mostly knew them. The point still stood that they were incredibly unsexy.

His nose wrinkled as he imagined a life working a government job, rubbing shoulders with policy makers who gave fuck all about the people that put them in power. "What even made you wanna work a job like that anyway? You tryin' to be president one day or something?"

[graham-oswald]

"i actually work all over city hall. i am consistently flitting from office to office so i can hand deliver memos, paperwork, and office supplies back-and-forth between the mayor and everyone else," he meddled in a little bit of everything. wherever he was needed, he went, and that meant countless trips up and down the stairs of the building each day. graham never skipped leg day. "these papers here are actually for planning and development: some historical land surveys, and the like, from records downstairs. we really are just one working body," he explained. graham knew everyone in the building, and they knew him. there was nary a day he went without waving and smiling to at least two dozen co-workers as he navigated his way through the maze-like hallways and stairwells of the century-old building. "we're going to take a left up this next hallway," he directed, venturing forth. "so, what brings you down to our neck of woods for building permits?"

She nodded in confirmation when he repeated the location back to her. Dylan was appreciative that she'd chosen to stop the wrong person. It was always difficult to reach out for help from others, and even worse when they couldn't help so then you had to ask another person. She was relieved that she only had to go through the exercise once. "Thanks so much! Do ya work over that way?" Dylan asked in making talk with the person who was now showing her kindness in showing her over that way. She knew he shared he also was heading in that direction, so it wasn't as if he was going out of his way. Which honestly she preferred more considering that meant that she wasn't making him do anything he wasn't already planning on doing. It didn't hurt to be polite though and get to know him.

[graham-oswald]

"to be quite honest, i don't have any idea how to play either," he admitted, his shoulders coming up in a nonchalant shrug. even with his wealthy upbringing, he couldn't tell the difference between croquet and bocce ball. they all involved colorful, small balls that got scored for points in one way or another. all graham knew was that one involved a mallet and the other did not. "i just know that every tuesday is bocce ball in the afternoons and knitting circle in the evenings, with a break in between for an early dinner. then every wednesday is board games with that same group of friends. i came back to blue harbor for her, but she seems to keep busy all on her own. i think she keeps me around as her personal chef, housekeeper, and jeopardy! co-watcher."

"great, well, it's lovely to meet you ziana," for added effect, and maybe just to keep his hands busy, he underlined her name to punctuate his words. graham had to laugh at her attempt to say his name five times fast, but it wasn't laughing at her, he found humor in the overall ridiculousness of his full name spoken by someone else's tongue. "that's why i just go by 'graham' these days. my father went by 'gray,' and my grandfather went by 'theodore,' and my great-grandfather was also a 'graham.'" the pendleton-oswald's had a long line of sons. with only the original graham theodore pendleton-oswald having more than one child to carry on the lineage. although graham called the pendleton-oswald's who took over the fishing business his cousins, they were really his second cousins from his great aunt's side of the family.

"oh, you live out there?" graham cleared his throat, suddenly feeling quite rude for writing off oak gardens as a whole. "if you don't mind my asking, what do you do for a living?" he knew that the neighbors of oak gardens tended to hold highfalutin positions such as company executives, former professional athletes, and the like. such impressive occupations always caught graham's attention.

It was endearing to hear that he had been keeping tabs on his grandmother, knowing what her schedule was and the like. It reminded Ziana that she needed to check in on her own grandmother more...not her grandfather though, he did enough checking in—more like spying—on Ziana. "I don't think I've ever been taught how to play that, seen it...is it hard?" It was a genuine question, mind wandering to images of the game itself from what she had seen when she was younger.

"Yes, exactly," she nodded along as he pronounced it, following up with a bit of laughter at him giving her his full name. "What a sophisticated name...hold on wait, let me see..." she cleared her throat, starting to say his name repeatedly but only getting to the third time of saying it before she tripped over her own words. "Wow...you're right, that's definitely difficult." she laughed a little again before tapping her fingers against the desk. "Honestly, I've heard quite a few end up going there, enjoying their break from the regular snooty image they have to keep." Which hey, they had every right to want to escape that. "Well lucky me it seems, I have full access to those gates. I have a place out there."

[graham-oswald]

“wow, business must be absolutely booming with that kind of attitude,” graham commented as he entered the music shop. he had recalled their last conversation ending on a bitter note, but he wasn’t sure why he’d deserved such a scathing reception. even though he’d been a bit more lukewarm than usual, he still got roman’s deed request complete in a timely manner. no hard feelings, right? “hello to you to, mr. daniels,” it was rare graham forgot a name or a face, and this was no exception. unsurprisingly, it was easier for him to drudge up a face to a name when said face was so close to being punchable. “i’m a real paying customer with a real question about a musical instrument,” graham conceded, walking closer to the disgruntled shop owner. “i’m sure you know this, but there’s really only one music shop in town. if i had other options, you wouldn’t have to see my face.”

— re-chording. ft. graham oswald ( @graham-oswald )

Despite the holidays looming over Roman’s head like a dark cloud, there luckily hadn’t been too much traffic just yet. He knew once they got to the halfway point of November, the annoying people in their festive jumpers and loud, screeching kids would be coming in droves, demanding expensive instruments that would be used for a month in an effort of new year's resolutions only to be shoved in a corner and to collect dust for the rest of time. So really, he should have been enjoying the quiet, but it would have been more enjoyable being back home with Toni. Still, he powered through, checking over the inventory of whichever mouth-breather completed the task the day before, back straightening when he heard the dreaded sound of the bell indicating a new customer. He turned, finding the young man — Oswald something — from the city hall. A nicer person would have offered him the same grace he had shown Roman that day. But unfortunately, he was not a nicer person. “Whatever you're going to ask, the answer is no."

[graham-oswald]

“freya,” graham greeted her by raising his rocks glass in a “cheers” gesture. in a town like blue harbor, lifers had a way of running into each other around every corner and in any cranny. he never really had to do any social media stalking to find out what his high school classmates were up to. a trip to the grocery store was enough to fill in the blanks. “i don’t think my friend behind the bar would be too fond of your interior design prowess…” graham poked his chin toward alec who was working tonight. “what were you going to add to the barrage of ‘fuck x-person’ or ‘y-person was heres?’” his eyes wandered down to the wood which was covered with a mix of vulgar insults, names who had come and gone through town, and notes app worthy poetry. “better than the stalls of blue harbor high, though,” graham commented, glad he no longer had to wash his hands in a rusty sink and look in a mirror with rumors and insults worse than anything carved into the table here. “did you ever write anything on those walls?”

where: the pour house who: open

When November came, a chill fully settled in, bringing with it winds and rains, the taste of winter, like it always did. And as always, things seemed a bit more harsh in Weaver Ridge, the rotten root that kills the whole tree. While other neighborhoods were getting a start on pie competitions and Christmas lights, a knock-off inflatable zombie Snoopy with eyes too humanoid blew in front of Freya like a tumbleweed. Fitting. She stopped to watch despite the way her wet clothes clung to her skin like sharp icicles, traveling deeper into bone. She kind of liked the way it made her feel – both the fucked-up Snoopy and the cold. As if on purpose, the sky split open with thunder as the inflatable finally hit and flattened against the outside of The Pour House. R.I.P. zombie dog. She shrugged and followed heed – Freya’s own version of what she considered divine intervention. A fan of bars aplenty, she didn’t venture into The Pour House often. If Blue Harbor was a radioactive map of the most-fucked-up-reminders-of-your-life, Freya’s internal Geiger scale was always off the charts there, even if she’d never admit it. Besides, rum could help warm things up – warm her up. She didn’t go for the rum first, though. Instead, Freya veered towards the bar stool on the far left. Years ago, at that spot, she had discovered her parents’ initials carved into the table, surrounded by a heart and all. It had unsettled her then, so Freya ignored it until now. Now she dug her keys out of her pockets and scratched at the engraved wood because it didn’t deserve to exist if they didn’t exist. She felt the presence of someone else before they made themselves known. “I’m helping re-decorate. This place is a shithole,” she said, expecting admonishment.