#trash me comin at ya with some trash

[final-girl96]

Broken World: Chapter Twenty-Four

It's been a couple days since we showed up at the farm. Carl was doing a little better than he had been. Rick was now free to organize a search party for Sophia. He had given Carl three transfusions of blood since he was a match. Some of us had gone out into the woods after the memorial we had for Otis. Maggie, Hershel's eldest daughter brought us a map of the property and the surrounding area. Daryl had found an old farmhouse, but didn't find anyone in it. He did, however, find a small closet with blankets and pillows. He said it was only big enough for a child to skip into and it looked like someone had been there fairly recently.

Daryl posted towards the map, “I'm going to barrow a horse and ride along here. Chances are she'll be by the water. It's her only landmark.” Rick nodded, “Alright. Take yn with you.” Daryl and I looked at him in confusion. “I don't need her slowin’ me down. I'm better off on my own.” Ouch. “You two are the best trackers we got. I want you to stick together and look together.” Rick gave no room for argument. Daryl trudged off towards the stables with a huff and I gave Rick a look. “Don't look at me like that. I don't know what's going on between you two but you need to put it aside.”

I rolled my eyes and followed after Daryl. I found him in the stable saddling one of the horses. “Do you even know how to ride a horse?” I asked. I got no answer though which isn't anything new. “Right.” When he was done he got up onto the horse and reached a hand out. “Ya comin’ or what?” He grumbled. Without taking his hand I hopped up onto the horse behind him. I placed my hands lightly on his waist to keep myself steady when the horse galloped out of the barn, across the field, and into the woods. I could feel how tense Daryl was under my fingertips.

We went back to the house that he had found the other day and got off. Daryl tied the horse to a tree branch, making sure she could get herself free if walkers came stumbling towards her. “This the farmhouse you were talking about?” I asked. He answered me with a grunt and I held back the urge to roll my eyes. It was like trying to talk to a damn caveman. Each grunt meant different things and it was your job to understand what each grunt meant. Luckily for me I spoke caveman Daryl.

“Right…can you show me that cupboard found?” Another grunt was my answer and he walked towards the door. We did a quick sweep before he took me to the kitchen. The was a small cupboard that was meant to be a pantry from I'm assuming. It had four shelves and under the last one was a small space just big enough for a small child like Sophia to squeeze into. “Found a can of sardines in the trash too. It smelled fresh so I had to have been open that day at some point.”

I stood up and looked around the kitchen. Behind where Daryl was, there was an archway that led to a mudroom and a back door. I stepped around him, walked into the small space, and out the backdoor. “She could have heard you coming and got spooked. Might have not realized it was one of us. If she fled, she would have gone out this door and back into the woods,” I said. Daryl was standing beside me in the yard out back of the house. “The creek ain't far from here. She might have gone that way or came from that way. It's the only landmark she got.”

We headed back around front, mounted the horse, and headed for the creek. We followed a well traveled foot trail that looked down over an embankment. At the bottom of it was the creek. Daryl slowly walked the horse along the trail, looking out for any signs of Sophia. I was looking down at The creek bed when I spotted something in the shallow water. “Hold up, what Is that?” I asked, pointing down to the object.

Daryl stopped and we dismounted. “Stay here, I'm goin’ down to see what it is.” I took the reins from him and watched as he slowly descended the embankment. At the bottom he walked through the water and picked something up. “Hey! that little girl had a doll, right?” He hollered up to me. He held a little doll up that wore a pink dress. “That's hers! That's Sophia's doll!” I called down to him.

We found something! That had to mean she wasn't too far from here, right? Even though after forty-eight hours you're usually looking for a body. But that isn't always the case either. There is still a chance, and finding Sophia's doll, and that small cupboard in the farmhouse gives me hope that we'll find her. Daryl walked back up to the trail and handed me the doll. “Yeah, it's hers,” I confirmed. He looked around us, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Sophia!”

“Come on, we'll go back and tell Rick. The more people we have out here the better,” I told him. He hummed, “Look around this area for a little first then we’ll head back.” He mounted the horse and before I could get up behind him she got spooked, bucking Daryl off. “Daryl!” I yelled, watching him get thrown and roll down the embankment into the creek below. “Oh, my god!” I quickly made my way to the edge and started to ease myself down, holding onto the roots of trees, to help keep myself from falling.

Halfway down, I lost my footing and skidded the rest of the way down, falling and rolling towards the bottom. My head smacked into a rock, sending sparks of pain through my skull. “Fuck!” I blinked several times trying to clear the black spots obscuring my vision. Rolling over onto my hands and knees I made my way to Daryl. “Daryl!” I rolled him over and pulled him out of the water. His eyes blinked open and a groan of pain left his lips. “Oh, my god, are you okay?” I helped him stand up and when he did I gasped. “Shit, Daryl.” He hummed and looked around us searching for a crossbow. The only bolt he had left was now pierced through his side.

[otaku-orochi-okami]

will kenzie be getting a blog soon?

Hey, thanks for asking about Kenzie. To be honest, I was just playing around with some designs one day, came up with her look, and thought it was kind of cool so I kept it. Didn’t really have a plan for it at first, but eventually remembered that there’s something hot about those #nofucksgiven kinda chav girls. You know, the ones hanging out on council estates, drinking too young, with trashed sofas and fridges scattered all around. The type who’d nick your cash and give you a hard time without even thinking about it—just their natural self. So, that’s where Kenzie came from.

But honestly? I’m more into corruption; stuff like political play etc as a fetish, so Kenzie’s more of a fun side thing. Wasn’t planning to give her a whole blog, just pops up on mine sometimes. Plus I’m already stretched thin with the blogs I’ve got, so not posting as much as I’d like. Not sure I have enough chav-inspired ideas for another separate one for now, but who knows. Maybe someday, I guess. Kenzie, you got any thoughts?

Oi, you lot, listen up—some nosy anon punter’s askin’ if I’m gonna get my own blog or just keep hijackin’ Lew’s, yeah? Well, lemme lay it down for ya, you sad little pricks. For now, I’m stickin’ with Lew’s Tumblr, postin’ whenever I can be arsed—‘cos let’s be real, I’m too busy neckin’ cheap vodka, flickin’ fag ash, and causin’ chaos round the estate to be faffin’ about with my own page. But, if enough of you losers start beggin’ for it, kickin’ up for it, then maybe—*maybe*—I’ll think about it, yeah? Gotta see how many of you are proper desperate for a dose of my chavvy madness first.

If I do go solo, you better believe it’ll be a proper Kenzie takeover—givin’ you a full-on council estate take on femdom and sissies, all loud, brash, and in your face. Picture me as the grimiest dominatrix you never wanted, spittin’ sass and makin’ you lot squirm. I’d be dishin’ out orders to you sissy pricks—none of that posh, frilly nonsense, mind. I’m talkin’ proper chavvy femdom: bossin’ you about in my fake Adidas trackies, makin’ you scrub the fag butts off my flat’s carpet or fetch me a fresh pack of smokes from the corner shop while I’m cacklin’ and takin’ the piss. You’d be my little minions, jumpin’ at my every word, prob’ly trippin’ over your own feet in them knockoff Nikes tryin’ to keep up.

Or maybe, just to fuck with ya, I’d flip the script. Instead of me bein’ a sissy or some daft ATM for me crew, I’d grab a few of you posh cunts and force you to go full chav. Picture it: you lot, all sniffy in your fancy suits and overpriced loafers, gettin’ dragged to my turf. I’d make you cut up them expensive clothes—slice those Armani shirts into rags, shred them Gucci belts, and chuck the lot in a bin bag while you’re blubberin’. Then it’s a trip to the market for a head-to-toe chav glow-up: black Adidas trackies with them stripes, fake Nike trainers that squeak when you walk, and a proper chunky Argos gold chain that screams “I’m tryin’ too hard.” Add some bling—maybe a knockoff sovereign ring or two, scuffed up before you even leave the stall—and you’re lookin’ like you were born on the estate. I’d have you struttin’ round, lookin’ like proper muppets, while I’m creasin’ and flickin’ ash at ya for the laugh and everyone judging ya.

But that’s all if I can be bothered, innit? For now, I’m with Lew—poppin’ up on his blog when the mood takes me, slingin’ some sarky advice or takin’ the piss out of you lot when I ain’t too hungover or skint. So keep your asks comin’, and if you’re lucky, I’ll grace ya with a bit more of my chaos. Prove you’re worth it, you pathetic lot. **blows a sarky kiss, smirkin’**

[slashingdisneypasta]

Hum hum... something about calling Mayor Buckman 'Daddy' but in an affectionate way not a sexual one, hum hum...

Like I said though, not in a sexual way!! In more a... 50's housewife greeting her husband kinda way. In a white trash suburban way. Like Buck and Blanche, 'It's [being away from each other's] gonna be just as hard on me, Daddy!' in Bonnie & Clyde. Almost as if you're setting an example for kiddies but there are no kiddies.

Maybe it started out a joke, something to make him a little tongue-tied, but now it's just a very casual way for you to address him. He doesn't think much about it and neither do you.

Seeing him starting to go a little wacky, a little pissed the hell off, and getting in between him and whoever he's about draw his steal on with a gentle smile and gentle pats on his shoulders and gentle 'Calm down now daddy, no need to lose your head here~'.

Feeling beyond exhausted and Boones place late at night until he sits down next to you and you press your forehead into his shoulder and close your eyes. 'I think its about time to go home now,.. huh daddy?... '

Calling out '- Hey Daddy??' into the house when someone comes by looking for him, a frustrated tone in your voice at having to get the door for him - again, - like you're some house maid. "Hello back there Mr Mayor??? You got a visitor!" "Comin', sweetheart!"

Him asking "How're ya feelin' there, darlin'?" as you you lay in bed sick with the flu and you huffing. 'Well daddy, I've been better- '

Mhm... okay yeah goodnight-

[chiimeramanticore]

Part of the Band - Chapter 17 - The Junkyard

Chapter summary: Beach Bear gets his car back. Fatz does some sick negotiating. Dook finds a sign. A/N:

can you believe we're almost at 20 chapters. can you believe I've almost been writing this fic a full year. horrible /lh

Chapter word count: 1,260 <- Chapter 16 - Chapter 18 -> Read it on AO3!

"Y'know we don't have to do this," Dook says.

"We have to," Beach Bear says.

Dook stands behind Beach Bear's chair, just outside a junkyard. This is apparently the place they've been keeping Beach Bear's car. Fatz was nice enough to drive them here after band practice. Beach Bear himself seems pretty determined about getting his car back, but... Dook isn't sure he likes it here. Still, they enter.

The ground is all dirt, and the scenery consists of piles of trash and other, larger, broken appliances strewn about the area. If there's an organization system, Dook can't figure it out.

"Tell me if you see the car," Beach Bear says.

"I'm lookin' for a management office or somethin'," Dook says. "We can't just nab it outta the lot, right?"

"I dunno," Beach Bear mutters. Dook scans the area, admittedly on the lookout for both. Finally, at the far end of the lot, he spots a small building. That must be the office.

"Wait– There it is!" Beach Bear says. Dook assumes he's talking about the office at first, before Beach Bear points off to their left. There it is. His faded blue convertible, with broken windows and dented severely on the right side. Dook connects this with the fact that Beach Bear's injuries are largely on his right...

"Take me closer, Dook," Beach Bear urges, before Dook's imagination can take him any further. "I wanna see her."

"I feel like we should get to the office first," Dook says. "I don't wanna–"

"Hey!" A voice sounds out. A man approaches them from the direction of the office. He's a mastiff, large and imposing, but his gruff voice seems relatively friendly. "Sorry I missed 'ya comin' in. I'm the manager here– how can I help you two gentlemen?"

"That's my car," Beach Bear says, gesturing toward the convertible. "I wrecked it recently, and it got sent here."

"Given your state, I don't doubt that!" The manager says, and laughs.

"Right, well, we're here to take it back," Beach Bear says.

"Well, I assume y'all have gone through your insurance, first, of course..." the manager starts. "But that car right there, I've not received any sorta notification about it getting claimed again. I've got it ready to go to auction soon."

"Auction?" Beach Bear and Dook say at the same time.

"That's– you can't do that," Beach Bear insists. "That's my car! You can't just sell it off!"

"Your insurance already sold it off to me," the manager tells them. "And that thing's a wreck, I'll tell 'ya that." He shoves his hands into his pockets. "Can't even imagine it'll go for too much, might have to crush it."

"No, you can't!" Beach Bear says.

"I certainly can," the manager says. "Way I see it, you'd have to pay me, probably, twice whatever your settlement was just to have that thing trashed, let alone taken off anywhere. Good thousand, at least. Besides, all the forms've been filled out already, everything's in motion, y'know? Probably be off at auction in a week, maybe less." He glances at the car again. "Probably less. So, 'less you got that kinda money up front, right now, you're outta luck, kid." He leans down, meeting Beach Bear at eye level in his wheelchair. "Or, y'know. Could always try your hand at the auction." He chuckles, and Beach Bear near growls at him.

The guy's talking circles around them. For Dook, at least, he barely understands a word of it. But he understands at the very least they're going to need a lot of money to take the car home, money they don't have. It seems pretty open-and-shut, but he's not sure Beach Bear is going to be that easy to convince to let the car go.

"Now, hold on a second," someone says from behind them.

Dook turns to see. "Fatz," he calls.

"I thought you were gonna wait in the car?" Beach Bear says, craning his neck to look at him.

"I figured you all might need help with negotiations," Fatz replies. "Now listen here, mister manager, you and I both know that ain't how this works.

The mastiff crosses his arms. "Really now? And what do you know about how this works?"

"I know that the owner of the car's entitled to takin' it back at any point before the auction," Fatz says. "I know that Beach Bear here's the owner of that car, and I know he can prove it. But you didn't doubt that, didja?"

The manager says nothing, scowling at him.

"I also know that any car is worth at least a hundred bucks, in any condition," Fatz continues. "Anything can be used for parts, at the worst." He gestures toward the car. "Mirrors and headlights look pretty good. Seating can get reused. Most of the seatbelts look fine too. You and I both know you ain't gonna destroy that car. And it certainly don't cost you money to do it."

The manager ponders the car again, frowning the whole time. Then, finally, "Hmph. Seems like you know somethin', yeah. Tell you what. Hundred-fifty bucks, it's yours. I don't care if it's worth more than that, you ain't worth the trouble."

"Done," Fatz says.

"Fatz–" Beach Bear says, then lowers his voice. Fatz leans in to hear. "Fatz, I don't know if we can cover that. Don't sound so sure."

"Don't worry about it," Fatz whispers back. "I can take care of it."

"F... Fatz, no," Beach Bear says. "I– I can't let you do that."

"And I can't stand to see you lose that car. I know how much you love it."

"I- I..." Beach Bear wants to argue, but shuts his mouth.

"Now," Fatz says, turning his attention back to the manager. "You need anything else from us, or are we done here?"

The mastiff grumbles. "I gotta get some signatures from y'all," he mutters. He nods at Fatz. "You're the one buyin, yeah? C'mon."

The two walk off toward the office, leaving Beach Bear and Dook alone together.

"...Well–" Dook starts, but Beach Bear pulls away from him and moves towards the car.

"Oh, my baby," he says to it. "You poor thing... I'm so sorry."

Dook watches him touch the dents in the passenger door gingerly, running his palms over the ripples. He'd approach, but this feels... oddly intimate for Beach Bear. Maybe he'll leave him be for now. Instead, he turns toward the nearest pile of junk.

"People really dump whatever here, huh...?" he murmurs, pulling out a sheet of metal. A tire, a hubcap, a windshield wiper... You could build a while new car like this. Dook pulls out another piece of scrap metal on it, with an emblem painted on it. A black circle with a red "D" on it, and a lightning bolt going through it.

"Hey, 'D' for Dook," Beach Bear says from behind him. "Neat find."

"Yeah," Dook says. "Maybe I'll use it. Lotta weird stuff here."

"Heh, yeah," Beach Bear replies. He pulls on a short length of rope sticking out from the pile, only to keep pulling more and more, finding it comically long. "You could probably build some neat stuff with all this."

"Like a spaceship," Dook says quietly.

"Yeah, like a spaceship!" Beach Bear says, and Dook senses genuine excitement in his voice. He smiles.

"Maybe one day, we can build a spaceship together," Dook says.

"Yeah," Beach Bear replies. "Run off to the stars together."

"...Yeah," Dook concurs, turning back to the pile of junk. "Together."

[dariusult]

FFXIV Write Day 26- Zip

The Ul'dahn dream... What a crock o' shite. This town's nothin' but a bad joke wrapped in a pretty lie built on top of an uncomfortable truth. Pick any street and walk five fulms- you'll see what believing in the Ul'dahn dream gets you. I was born in this town, or maybe I died there, hard to tell the difference when you live like I do. This town'll grab hold of you like a starving wolf, and gnaw 'til there's nothin' left but bones—and then livin' aint so different from dyin'. But this is my town... All the drunkards and swindlers, the crooked guards and ten-gil hookers, my people. If there's someone that needs to be found, or something that needs doing... I'm your mammet.

It was a day like any other in the so-called desert jewel. The office was quiet, rent was overdue, and a client hadn't been by since the sultana was swaddled. But then, like a desert dust storm, she blew into my life. The door creaked open and there she was—a dame that I knew was danger just by lookin' at her. Eyes darker than a ceruleum pool at midnight, a pair of legs that went all the way down, and a backside that didn't quit unexpectedly. Sudeki Nankali was nothin' but trouble, and I knew it all too well.

"Oh, hey Zip. I got chores for ya."

She started singin' the same sweet tune she always sang whenever she came waltzin' back into my life. Only comin' to find her old flame Zip Zap when she needed some dirty work done. I shoulda known better than to get taken in by her, but I was always a sucker for a dame with a mean set o' gams.

"Zip…? You doin' that weird 'detective fantasy' thing again?"

She wanted me to get out of the gumshoe life, once. Run away with her. But the only dame for Zip Zap was Lady Ul'dah, and she was a jealous mistress. I couldn't live a fantasy life like Sudeki wanted. Hidin' from the real world in a farce as pretty as a picture. The real world's an ugly morning after a drunken bender, you gotta wake up and smell the coffee or wind up another broken-down has-been, lyin' in a puddle of your own dried vomit.

"Uh… Anyway, Darius wanted the salvage out back sorted, but the new episode of MAGNA force is 'bout to air, so I’ma listen to that and you can do the sorty stuff."

She slinked across the room, a panther on the prowl. She draped her lithe form across the couch, lounging like the predator I knew she was. This dame was on the hunt for a stooge, and to her, I was a cut of prime-grade chump. She flicked on the radio, it started playin' our song... Warm old tubes croonin' about forgotten goodbyes and rose-tinted yesterdays, the kind of yesterdays I rode away from on the hard-knock express, with nonstop service to heartache. She started singin' along, and before I knew it, I was caught, hook, line, and sinker.

"MAGNA Force Rules! MAGNA Force Rules!"

Just like that, I was back on the beat. All for a desert rose thornier' n' colder than a morning in a brume bramble patch. This job might be the death of me, but a private dick dies hard. Siftin' through this trash pile we call life, a fella's got no choice but to keep siftin' or join the rest of the junk. This ain’t a life just anyone can live, it's hard n' cold and takes a man who's just as hard n' cold to survive it. You may not start that way, but it turns you, one night at a time, 'til you're starin' down at the bottom of an empty ceruleum bottle, firmware out of date, and the taste of exhaust in your mouth. But that's life in this town, and Zip Zap ain’t gonna change it for nothin'.

[jonesatheart]

Body Modification

"Hey, pal."  

Casey closed his eyes with a soft groan. "I'm dyin', aren't I?"  

Raph chuckled and tousled his hair. "No, ya not dyin', drama king."  

"It's somethin' bad if I'm in'e lab and you're here without Don. If it was fixable you'd'a gotten Don as soon as I started wakin' up. So what's wrong with me?"  

Raph shifted. "It's complicated. It's fixable, it's just gonna take a few months."  

Casey hummed. "What'd I break?"  

"Nothin'."  

He lifted his head to look at Raph. "Then what is it?"  

"You feelin' okay to sit up? Ya were pretty doped up when we first found ya." 

Casey nodded and pushed himself onto his elbows. "Yeah. Honestly. I'm feeling pretty okay considerin' it sounds like ya had to go all mission impossible for me."  

"Yeah, well. They weren't tryin'a rough you up too bad. Kinda just happened. Don says ya didn't have many defensive wounds so they probably ambushed ya and dosed ya pretty quick then kept ya under the whole time. Ya been in and out here for a few hours too." 

"You're bein' weird, Raph."  

"I'm really sorry, Casey," he answered quietly, unable to fully look at Casey. "We really...we failed ya this time." 

"Okay, now you're just scarin' me. What happened?"  

"We think they took ya from your apartment. I got a text from you sayin' ya made it home fine after patrol and...based on the time line either they jumped ya right after ya sent it or they just sent it themselves."  

Casey felt his heart rate kick up as dread settle into his chest. "Raph, what day is it?" 

"It's Wednesday. They nabbed ya late Monday, early Tuesday. We don't always talk durin' the day and bein' out, we slept late. April's ben outta town so it wasn't till we tried gettin' a hold of ya about comin' over for dinner that we knew somethin' was wrong. It didn't take us long to find ya after that though. They didn't even really fight back about it. Just let us take ya."  

He cast a warily look at his friend. "They being?..."  

"The Dragons. We brought ya back Tuesday night and Don ran some tests to make sure you were okay, got ya started on an IV and some other stuff we nabbed from a few ambulances, and you been sleepin' off whatever it was they gave ya."  

"So it's like a full twenty-four hours kinda thing."  

"Close to, yeah."  

"And I guess it has somethin' to do with?..." He raised his left arm which was bandaged from the elbow down to his knuckles. 

"Yeah."  

"Do I wanna know?" 

Raph shook his head. "Ya really don't."  

"I wanna see it."  

"Case-" 

"Raph-" 

"It's a tattoo. It's...It's their tattoo." 

Casey went still. "What do you mean 'their tattoo'?"  

"I'm sorry."  

"I wanna see it."  

"Casey-"  "It's not goin' anywhere and I'm gonna have to deal with it. Let me see it."  

"Okay." Raph held out his hand and Casey gave him his arm.  

"Hey." Casey rested his other hand over Raph's. "This is not your fault and I'm not mad at ya."  

Raph nodded. "Let's get this off and then ya can decide how ya feel."  

Casey stared at his arm as little by little  the outline of a purple dragon appeared, the tail first just under his elbow and ending with a severed head on the back of his hand. It was impossible not to recognize. A near perfect recreation of the one on Hun's arm, but condensed to his forearm where it could never be out of sight. The severed head either a threat or an accusation. 

He started gagging and Raph snatched the small bin off the floor and shoved it into his hands. He stood by his friend, holding back his hair and keeping the trash can steady.  

"Donny!" Raph shouted. "Get in here!" 

Donatello rushed and took the trash can from Raph. "Was he complaining of any symptoms before he got sick?" 

"He just threw up when I showed him his arm," Raph replied, massaging one of Casey's shoulders.  

"The shock of it then," Don nodded.  

--- 

"When can I get rid of it?" Casey asked, his voice dull from exhaustion and throwing his guts up. It had taken a while, even after his stomach was empty, for the his body to relax and stop dry heaving. Even then he was still shaking.  

"From my research, at least four months. Maybe up to six." 

"After that?" 

"Laser removal is an option. But the coloring does make it difficult. Thankfully they didn't have time to fill it in, but purple is one of the more difficult inks to remove. And. Scarring is always a possibility."  

Casey nodded and leaned into Raph who slipped an arm around his back. 

"I know you're not going to want to, but taking care of it is going to be really important. Keeping an eye out for infection and making sure the skin heals properly can help prevent scaring. We can always help you with that. But the faster it heals, the sooner we can look more seriously into removal options."  

"Thanks for takin' care of me, Don."  

Donatello reached out and squeezed his wrist. "That's what family does."  

"Family looks out for each other, we already talked about it, we want ya to hang out here till we can get you a new place," Raph told him. "That's not an offer. I'm tellin' you that's what gonna happen," he clarified when Casey looked like he might argue.  

"It ain't like they couldn't find me at the shop or somewhere else if they really wanted to," he grumbled. 

"Doesn't mean we gotta just hand ya over either." 

"They're not gonna kill me, Raph. If they'd wanted to do that they'd'a done it already. They want me to live with this. They don't need to get revenge beyond this."  

[allisonv]

saying allison rolled out of the wrong side of the bed was one way to put it. everything she encountered on her way to deja brew for the much needed caffeine seemed to irk her. she had worked a full six days in a row, long hours at that and no amount of sleep seemed to restore her energy. it finally being her day off, she was determined to do something with it but her current mood was definitely not something she was counting on. nothing a large cup of coffee wouldn’t fix. or so she hoped. once she had her coffee in hand, she turned back around with the intent to leave the coffee shop until a familiar face was heading inside.  out of impulse to avoid that person, she darted into the closest empty seat near her, without checking if the table was occupied. the last thing she needed was to run into someone she never called back after saying she would. her gaze was fixed on the table until she heard a voice speak to her. she brought her face back up slowly and looked at the person, offering a fake smile. “oh, hey. didn’t see you there.” @shstarters​