#undrgrndstart

[charleyfry]

“You know, sometimes I think dating a magician would be so cool, because he can just make money appear from right under my nose or whatever. But then I remember the one time I did go on a date with a magician and then I got stuck with the bill while he did one of those disappearing acts.” 

“Anyways, what were we talking about? I’m sorry, that date is still so fresh in my mind...”

[clrkingrm]

for someone as notoriously lazy as he is, clark certainly does not make proper use of his work breaks. 

today, he is on a special streak of idiocy, fueled by two strawberry milkshakes and a joint he’d hastily smoked in the back alley. rosie’s is especially dead — it’s usually pretty barren after the lunch rush, but today the diner is inhabited only by their regular, gary (who literally never leaves his sad, sad perch at the counter), and a few assorted stragglers who clearly just want him to have more dishes to deal with when he gets back to work. fucking cruel. 

however, the most essential factor here is that rosie is out running an errand. and when the rosie is away, the idiot comes out to play. 

so of course, as anyone logically would, clark deems this the perfect time to hop up on the empty stage tucked in the back corner, and add another number to what he has lovingly dubbed the rat spectacular. and this is unarguably his finest show to date: a completely acapella croon of “what’s new pussycat,” delivered to (a now sleeping) gary, and the scattered group of patrons who either look bewildered or actively upset. he gives it his all, of course — off-tune vocals, intricate and sensual dance moves, and the unhinged energy of a man who only got four hours of sleep and is running purely on sugar and weed.  

after he finishes his performance, he dips into a hearty bow, before stepping off stage to greet his throes of admirers (that being, the singular person who is closest to the stage). 

“y’know, i think i got a future in show biz,” he says, sporting an especially shitty grin and a face slightly dampened by the extreme fervor of his dance moves. “never even took a dance class, if you can believe it. i know my moves are top tier shit.” 

[conye-west]

    —    ✧    —    not sleeping for nearly forty hours isn’t necessarily something connor is accustomed to, but he’s never been the greatest sleeper in the universe, that much can be said. he’s not really doing it on purpose, but the copious amounts of red bull he has consumed certainly isn’t making matters any better; he can’t help that he’s been on an epic songwriting kick for quite literally an entire day and a half, and after his paycheck finally hits, he soon finds himself downing a six-dollar coffee at the dingle thrift store.

this time around, he’s found a bright blue sequined blazer and has already tried it on, indulging in a series of dumbass poses in front of the mirror. with the mixture of his sleep deprivation, weed intake, and just all-around good mood, he’s absolutely cracking himself up. “please let me know if you see any pants that are supposed to go with this,” he says. “or, like, shoes. or a hat... i feel like i’ve found my new trademark. like, makes you wonder why sequins ever went out of style.”

[maxdecosta]

Max is no stranger to the classic Whiskey and Coke, but this one tastes particularly strong. Sloshing it around rather carelessly, he observed it. “Do you think they forgot to put the cola in? Every sip, I see a clearer vision of God. I’m not even going to remember how to play bass in a couple hours.”

[ofvexations]

。・ * ✧   ECHO  RECORD  CO. , having  such  a  large  collection  of  records , not  so  surprisingly , had  many  without  proper  sleeves . xan , during  lulls  in  his  shifts , often  took  it  upon  himself  to  move  them  to  blank  sleeves  to  prevent  scratching  and  to  protect  from  all  the  extra  dust  from  where  the  miscellaneous  pile  was  stacked  in  the  corner . but  xan  couldn't  leave  them  blank , boring  and  unmarked  --  not  when  his  boredom  was  still  just  as  unresolved , and  not  with  his  tendency  to  doodle  upon  every  surface  anyways . the  countertop  and  cash  registers  got  a  break  from  the  relentlessness  of  xan's  mindless  sharpie  scribbles  on  days  like  this  ..  the  scribbling  shifting  from  the  already  marked - up  counter  to  a  fresh  paper  sleeve  and  from  absentminded , cartoonish  depictions  of  cowboys  and  lizards  to  much  more  thought - out  images  of  whatever  best  fit  the  genre  and  album , matched  with  careful  handwriting .

the  words   JESSIE'S GIRL - RICK SPRINGFIELD /  $8   now  graced  the  new  cover  of  the  small  45  as  xan  sat  and  pondered  what  images  to  add  alongside  the  lettering . the  bell  signaling  a  new  customer  pulled  him  out  of  his  deep  thoughts .. making  him  sit  up  and  accidentally  drop  the  pen  on  the  ground .  ❛  hey  ,  welcome  to  echo .. if  you’re  lookin’  for  ernie , he’s  not  in  right  now .  ❜

[isanosa]

isa: hey

isa: let me tattoo you

[shuifong-blog]

“Look, the Southworth Planetarium is shutting down for good this weekend and it'd be the last time we’d ever get to go,” Peter reasons, sliding the flier forward. Emblazoned across the top was the date for the final laser light show, featuring the music of Widespread Panic. A note that Peter jabs at repeatedly with his finger, his eyes alighting ever so slightly with his excitement.

“I’ll pay for your ticket and everything. I’ll even book you your own room at, like.. I don’t know, the Hilton or something. Whatever. Don’t make me pull the birthday card.”

[connor-undrgrnd]

“do you think this looks good?” connor murmured as he stuck out his lips, an odd, bright shade of purple on them as he capped the lipstick and stuck it back on the shelf. “i’m makin’ it my new lewk.”

[reynakeegan]

the cool toned light beams dance across the walls. music blaring through the speakers as bodies sway to some semblance of the beat. only an hour into the night meant that being good is getting trickier. reyna is stoked to perform, but damn she’s too sober to be around her favorite bands. with a groan, she approaches the empty bar looking for the bartender. “do you think mark will notice if i sneak back there for a bottle of whiskey?” she hums asking the other.

[charleyfry]

Remember when Charley said she was going to keep it cool and sober at the mixer? Yeah well, her nerves got the better of her. Because it’s a fucking mixer, and the competition is all here, and sadly her other half is not. So she’s nervous, sweating like a sauna and downing shots like it’s nobody’s business. Easy to say, Charley is wasted, and a drunk Charley isn’t the easiest one to converse with. 

She’s leaning against the wall, making flirty eyes with someone from across the room, before she gestures for them to come closer. “Hey good-looking, wanna dance?” The blonde has a vague idea that this is probably not a good thing, but consequences were meant for the morning, on a full stomach of greasy foods and sunglasses.

[junearmstrcng]

the pier was one of june’s favorite places on earth, let alone just in dingle, and she went out of her way to enjoy it every once in a while. whether it was walking along the beach with her headphones on in the summers, listening to def leppard loud enough for everyone to hear, or reveling in the festivities of the holiday season in the winters, nothing beat the oceanside vibes.

case in point: an older gentleman was presently dancing by one of the bathrooms and high-fiving the people who approached him, barefoot despite the plummeting temperatures and genuinely busting a move. for several seconds, june had no words for her fascination with the street performer, if that’s what he was, but her look said everything. eventually, she turned to the person next to her.

“honestly, dingle is fucking lit sometimes,” she remarked in her infinite wisdom.

[conye-west]

wet brain is no stranger to doing covers wildly out of their league, and are even more familiar with performing at some level of intoxication, so connor’s not too worried about the competitive part of the evening. but it’s not as if he would be anyway-- he’s just happy to be there. the undrgrnd, with its charm and lack of any regularly colored lightbulbs, is certainly a place he’d be cool with hanging around at more often-- they’ve had actual bands play there, with, like, fanbases and official spotifies. it all seems so far fetched even though he’s literally here.

he’s in a supremely good mood, ordering a third slow gin fizz at the bar and nodding over to the other person stood there. “you ready to rumble, dude?” he says with a doofy grin, a hearty smear of glitter under both eyes. “i feel like i might shit my pants. but, like, in a good way. that good ol’ rollercoaster feeling.”

[tvrrances-blog]

          ‘ do you ever like — think about the snapchat hot dog ? and wonder how that guy’s doing ? i know his glory days are totally over, but i kind of miss him, y’know ? i miss his crazy hot dog backflips, ’ torrance muses, eyes drifting off into the distance almost longingly. there’s a few seconds of peaceful silence, before she locks eyes with the person in front of her, a box of mike & ikes in each hand. ‘ anyway ! as i was saying, we ran out of milk duds, sour patch kids and swedish fish, but i do have a bunch of mike & ikes in stock. does that work or will it like, totally ruin your cinematic experience ? ’

[bluejamiemoon]

Jamie sat, cross-legged, on top of the counter of the thrift store he worked at, his fingers tapping a beat against his knee. Despite a couple of elderly ladies who came in to donate clothing earlier in the day, the store had been empty. And, after sorting through the items for roughly fifteen minutes to see if they dropped off any good items - they didn’t - he didn’t have anything else to do. “Somebody just kill me,” he grumbled to himself, leaning back on the counter until he was laying down, his head bumping into the cash register. He flinched from the pain, rubbing his palm against the spot he swore was already swelling up into a lump.

Hearing the soft bell attached to the door jingle, signalling a customer entering the store, Jamie paused for a beat, praying to whatever or whoever would hear him in his time of need that it was someone actually good. “Hello, how can I be of assistance?” he asked, not yet looking at the customer as he pushed himself back up into a sitting position.

[clrkingrm-undrgrnd]

it’s his cherished break from slaving over endless crusty dishes, and he’s sprawled out across a booth seat like he owns it, half empty chocolate malt in front of him, the jukebox a few feet away on its sixth loop of ‘together forever.’ the song is a lowkey banger, yeah, but he mainly just throws it on to see the gradual annoyance build up among the few scattered patrons munching on their overly-greasy burgers. 

he is gnawing at the pen in his hands, occasionally being hit with what he deems a stroke of genius and scribbling wildly in the gnarled notebook in front of him. after a beat, he pops up from his manic work like a meerkat from its burrow, waving the passerby over, presenting the page like a proud artiste. 

“whaddya think?” the page begins with scribbled out song lyrics — the words heartbeat and shivers and honey can barely be seen — and instead, he has drawn a rather detailed photo of a man’s face on a cat’s body with, of course, a massive dong. “i happen to think it’s my fuckin’ magnum opus, but i’m willin’ to take constructive criticism.” he isn’t, really, but damn if he doesn’t want that delicious feedback. 

[isanosa]

Isa’s steps are silent even as she runs through the darkened streets, bag heavy on her shoulder as she looks determinedly for somewhere to hide. She’s pretty sure she lost the police officer that had nearly caught her, but that doesn’t make Isa any less urgent as she looks for a hiding spot just in case she didn’t. Isa pauses at the sight of a half open window in a darkened room, hesitating only a moment before she’s quietly making her way to that window and pushing it fully open, sliding her duffel through the opening as quietly as she can before she’s following it with cat-like movements and immediately crouching to make herself compact in effort to not be spotted as she slowly closes the window once again. Isa freezes at a sound from behind her, still for a few moments in the dark room as she tries to think of how to handle this before she is making a split decision. 

Her back is still to her audience as she smoothly gets to her feet, and tonelessly says, “oh, good. You’re home.” Isa says as she begins to casually rummage through her bag, “I have reason to believe there is an evil spirit residing here. I am here to cleanse the household. Do you have any salt?”