#& replies.cel

[chroniichorror]

who: max m. (@fatebinds) where: satanic panic practice

Callista arrived late to practice, though it wasn't entirely her fault. It wasn't because she overslept or missed her alarm. It wasn't due to traffic or delays at The Scoop making her matcha. No, the reason was far more unexpected. As she woke from a nap, she was hit with the worst bout of morning sickness she had experienced yet. Rushing to the bathroom, she had left her phone on her bed, unable to leave until she felt stable enough to avoid a mess on her bedroom carpet. She had read a theory that pregnancy symptoms could intensify once known, and Callista was beginning to believe it.

By the time she made it to practice, she brushed off Max and the others' comments about her tardiness. Offering little explanation beyond a couple of eye rolls and curt remarks to "shut up and play," she tuned out their chatter and focused solely on her drumming. It was her sanctuary, the one place where she could escape the stress and pretend everything else in her life didn't exist. Lost in her rhythm, she didn't notice the passage of time until she heard a loud, angry voice bark her name.

Startled, Callista jerked her head up, drumsticks slamming against the drumhead and hoop, causing them to chip. "What?!" she snapped sharply, irritation laced in her voice.

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Callista smiled softly at John's knowledge and care for his flowers. She appreciated the way he spoke about each plant with such reverence and understanding. It reminded her of the times she spent with her mother, learning about the natural world and its hidden secrets. She picked up a sprig of lavender, bringing it to her nose and inhaling its calming scent. "Not quite," she replied, glancing at John. "I don't have the space for a garden, but I love having fresh flowers around. They make the place feel alive." She set the lavender back down gently.

"Your knowledge is impressive," she added. She picked up a bundle of feverfew, examining the delicate petals. "I might take some of these, though. Good to have on hand for headaches." Callista's attention drifted back to the flowers, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Do you have any other recommendations? Something that’s good for morning sickness?" She asks. "My sister is pregnant & she's been constantly feeling nauseous...She swears she can smell everything ten times more & it bothers her. Thought flowers might freshen up the place."

"I like all of them for one reason or another," John answered honestly, and it was true... though one might have assumed that he wasn't the type to appreciate them, he always made sure the flowers on his land were taken care of. Healthy flowers meant healthy ecosystems, all the way from producers to decomposers. He reached a callused, dirt-stained hand out to thumb a bunch of tightly-grouped lilac flowers vased on the counter. "Valerian here'll give you the best night's sleep of your life, and feverfew..." He brushed at the petals of a delicate white blossom next. "helps headaches, arthritis pains." He nearly mentioned that it helped his wife when she went into labor, too, but he kept that more intimate information to himself.

John stepped aside so Callista had access to the other part of the stand, found himself watching how she picked each flower to smell as if she could distinguish their scents from the amalgamation of floral aromas surrounding the stand. "Planting a garden?"

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Callista listened, her eyes narrowing slightly as he continued on. She knew it wasn't obvious that she had too much on her plate, but couldn't he at least ask that first? And what was the point of needing her help anyway? Max was independent, as far as she knew, & didn't need help. The band was just a hobby, a career.

When he finally got to it—asking her to do something, whatever it was—she raised an eyebrow. "A 'special team,' huh?" she echoed, her tone skeptical yet curious. "And here I thought we already were one."

She crossed her arms, leaning against the wall as she studied him, trying to gauge what he was really after. "Alright, spill it, Max. What exactly are you asking me to do? Because if you're looking for someone to pull extra weight, you’d better be clear about what you're expecting." There was a slight edge to her voice, not quite confrontational but definitely firm. She wasn’t about to agree to anything without knowing what she was getting into.

truth be told, her explanation isn't terribly important to him. there's only two words he's looking for: yes and no. or... maybe, too. anything else? inconsequential. some nice filler, for certain, but he's got more on his mind than just conversation—and when was the last time he had truly listened to anyone speak, anyway? he's still a child mashing through dialogue options, just with more mental skimming involved. still, he's satisfied with the answer he's incurred. "you know, that's a good way to put it," he says, nodding sagely. um, the last bit anyway. the part he was paying some attention to. "so i don't know if it's fate that you're sober-curious right now or what, but it's perfect because i need someone i can—" he cuts off, glancing back towards callista. this time, he's smiling. "rely on, i guess? i mean, look. i know i got pissed you were late. shit happens, you know? at the end of the day, i need us to be a team. but i need us—you know, you and me—to be a bit more of a special team." purposefully vague and wandering around the point, is it any wonder that he's leading into wanting something? "i want you to do something for me, cal." inhale, exhale. "well, with me. i'll be there. but you're the one who's going to be doing the extra work."

[chroniichorror]

Callista almost felt agitated that he wanted the break & even more when he extended the time. She considered leaving him by himself to face his fear & look like a loser. But the others stared at her with an expectant look to leave so they could whisper about her behavior. With a huff, she followed him outside, the cooler air a welcome change from the stuffy garage. As Max settled on the bench and took a puff of his joint, she took a moment to enjoy the fresh air, feeling a small sense of relief. When he finally looked her way and asked, "Do you believe in fate?" Callista hesitated, weighing her response. She leaned against the wall, crossing her arms as she considered his question.

"Fate, huh?" she said, her eyes meeting his. "I think… I want to believe in it. That everything happens for a reason, that there's some kind of plan." She glanced away, her thoughts drifting. "But sometimes, it just feels like chaos. Like we're all just trying to make sense of the mess." She sighed, turning back to Max with a small, rueful smile. "Maybe it's a bit of both. Fate gives us the cards, but it's up to us how we play them."

she does at least seem to have found her motivation, but max, ever-distracted, has found it easy to sidestep. "nah, i think you've got the right idea. i want a break. we'll take ten." he pauses, fishing around in his pocket for a joint. once its secured between his teeth, he adds, "okay, more like twenty. whenever i finish this shit." turning back to cal, he offers a crooked smile and a finger pointed her way. "you come with me. i don't want to sit out by myself like a loser." somehow, outside feels cooler than inside. a relief, after being holed up in the garage for the last few hours. "so," max starts, making sure the door is securely shut behind him before he takes a seat on the bench; "i have a question for you, cal." after taking a puff of his joint, he finally looks her way. "do you believe in fate?"

[chroniichorror]

Callista took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. The concern in Max's eyes, however veiled by his critical gaze, softened her frustration slightly. But Max's offer was almost laughable, considering the very issue he was upset about. "Max, it's not about being dead or needing a boost," she replied, her voice calmer but still firm. "I've just got a lot on my plate right now. It's nothing that Adderall can fix." The sound of adderall sounded good though. The thought of being able to focus on one thing was nice but she knew she couldn't do that. It would hurt the baby.

She met his gaze, appreciating his odd way of offering help, even if it came with strings attached. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm good. Just need to focus and get through this. Let's try the song again, from the top." With that, she readied herself, determined to push through and regain her rhythm. She knew the stakes and was committed to not letting anything, not even morning sickness, derail her.

there's a note of surprise when she drops the sticks, even if he won't let it show in his face. he should know better by now that emotions are contagious—human beings so often feel as a group. max is more the type to expect others to bend to him, not provide a mirror. "look, drugs or not," and truthfully, he's disappointed that she really does seem to be sober; "something is distracting you." there's something almost like concern in his expression, but it's all just a disguise for a more critical gaze. "you know, if you're feeling dead, i've got some adderall." most people wouldn't think of max as generous, but he's always been very giving to his circle of friends. of course, with the caveat that he'll help himself to their things when the need arises... "you want some?"

[chroniichorror]

Callista rolled her eyes as Max voiced his irritation. The irony of Max, the king of tardiness, getting on her case about being late wasn't lost on her. But she bit back her frustration, knowing he wouldn't let it go. As he continued, his tone shifted to something more serious.

She dropped her drumsticks, the clatter punctuating her irritation. "Really, Max? Drugs? Seriously?" she snapped back. "I'm not on anything. Just had a rough morning, okay? So how about you cut me some slack for once?" She picks her sticks back up. The thought of her on any drugs made a wave of nausea kick in & slowly rolled up straight in her seat, eyes landing back on Max. "And for the record, if I were on anything, you'd be the last to know. Now can we get back to practice, or do you want to keep playing the blame game?"

it would have been hypocritical for max, of all people, to complain about people being late. tardiness was in the top five of all his character traits, arguably in the top three. that doesn't stop him from being irritated when callista shows up late to practice. doesn't she realize what's at stake here? the fact that it's not early makes him doubly irritated—he's already accounted for his own laziness, and anyone who can best him there has to be on another level. but he doesn't say anything at first, because he's not a hypocrite. it's only when she goes off into her own little world, completely off-tune for the song they're trying to play, that he finally lets himself voice his concerns. "dude, are you kidding me? we've been practicing this song for months. how the fuck are you fucking this up?" his expression hardens, just a little. "are you on drugs? you know my policy on drugs at practice, cal. if you're not gonna share, you can't bring 'em with you."

[chroniichorror]

Pregnancy had heightened Callista's senses in ways she hadn't anticipated. Every scent in her home seemed more pronounced, not necessarily unpleasant, but definitely in need of a refresh. She craved something soothing, something that wouldn’t trigger her nausea but would bring a touch of tranquility to her surroundings. So, she decided to visit the swap meet, hoping to discover some locally grown flowers that would be both visually and aromatically delightful.

On her way there, she indulged in a variety of snacks to satisfy her unexpected cravings. She picked up treats she’d never normally consider, but today, they looked irresistible. When she finally arrived at the flower stalls, she took her time, carefully sniffing each bloom to identify the perfect scent before considering their appearance. “Nothing like I expected,” she mused, holding up a delicate blossom. “What do you think? Any favorites among these?”

who: Callista (@chroniichorror) where: the swap meet when: a beautiful and unassuming afternoon

John was actually in a decent mood when he finally made it to the weekly swap meet. His attendance was exceedingly rare - there had just been so many guests on the compound recently who've all deserved his attention - but it was nice when he was able to lay eyes on the Society's stand, watch from a careful distance and observe how the Star Children fared. It was even nicer when he saw it was profitable.

He wandered along a separate aisle, stopping alongside a woman who was perusing a selection of fresh flowers. Feeling amicable and, rarer still, conversational, John greeted her. "Ain't nothing quite like fresh-cut flowers, is there?" he asked in a friendly tone, though, for him, it was still rumbling and rough-edged with old exhaustion.