themissing-linc - Tumblr blog

[themissing-linc]

LINCOLN WELCH + headlines

[themissing-linc]

"Oh," Linc furrowed his brow at the word stranger. He could've sworn they knew each other, but also... Guinness tended to make him feel like he'd never met a stranger. That's what Phoebe always said, at least. "Oh, uh, shit," Linc laughed, pressing a finger to his lips and removing his arm. Clearly, the stranger was stressed about something, and Linc was immediately eager to help.

"Louis," Linc repeated the name, mentally flipping through the faces he'd seen inside. "I don't think I even know a Louis, man," he said, apologetic. Still, he listened intently to the man's description, narrowing his eyes and putting his cigarette out on the patio's rail. "That's... still doesn't really ring a bell, I think, but he could be one of Leon's friends?" he suggested, clapping the stranger on the shoulder and gesturing towards the door.

"C'mon, least we can do is go ask," Linc promised, opening the door and leading the other through the crowd. "Louis is a friend of yours? He usually hang out at O'Shea's? Maybe Ricky'll know him," Linc pointed to the bartender-on-duty. Linc leaned over the bar, talking to Ricky above the loud hum of the crowd for a moment before turning back to the stranger with a frown. "Sorry, man. No dice. You see him?" Linc asked, turning towards the crowd as if he could be of any help. Beanie. Brown eyes.

This is the sixth text he’s sent Louis, and, frankly, Damian’s starting to think he worried him this late on a weeknight on purpose. Louis is younger than him, newer to the program, and for some reason completely unbeknownst to Damian, has imprinted on him the sort of way a baby duckling might imprint on a golden retriever after being abandoned by their mother. He’d asked Damian to be his sponsor, but Damian’s been in a weird headspace as of late so he’d had to decline — though that hasn’t stopped Louis from treating him like his sponsor anyway, so here he is, at a bar in his comfy sweats and favorite tee, dragged out of a very comfortable Dexter binge-watching session on his couch in favor of a rescue mission, or whatever. 

He shoots Sofia a text about maybe having to bring the kid back with him when he’s practically ambushed by a stranger, an arm slung lazily around his neck like they’re old friends. Damian blinks as the other gushes about his attendance, warns him about someone playing darts (certainly not the same CJ he knows, as he thinks that’d be too much of a coincidence — but, considering what he does know about CJ, ‘shooting darts dangerously’ does sound like something he would do), then invites him to join him for a smoke. Damian chuckles a little awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“That’s the warmest welcome reception I’ve had in a minute from a stranger,” he jokes. “Sorry, I’m not here to stay for the party,” he explains, attempting to call Louis this time. It goes to voicemail after two rings, and Damian swears under his breath. “You haven’t seen someone named Louis around tonight, have you? Tall, lanky, tattoos all over his body? Wears a beanie in ninety-degree weather for the ‘vibes’? Big, brown eyes used exclusively to disarm you into agreeing to do things you don’t want to do?” He pauses. “He also shouldn’t be drinking tonight.”

[themissing-linc]

Linc's weekly run to the Gulp 'n' Go felt ritualistic at this point. Mom went to the store Saturday mornings, Linc hit the farmer's market on Sundays, and by about Thursdays they were out of a couple essentials-- toilet paper, dish soap. So he used it as an excuse to get in a walk-- less than a mile both ways. Today, he opted to leave his headphones at home and enjoy the sounds of Blue Harbor. The sounds of Weaver Ridge, ironically, consisted of traffic and far-off stereos playing loud music Linc didn't recognize. Before he could enter the convenience store, Linc stopped in his tracks. Even though it happened pretty frequently, Linc hadn't gotten used to running into people from his past-- He hadn't gotten used to being a person from people's past. "Holy shit," he broke into a grin. "Ruby! Man, I had no idea you were back," he shook his head, smile lighting up his face, "It's been forever, what have you been up to? What brings you back home?" Immediately, Linc felt guilty for asking. He knew his own reason for coming back wasn't always easy to talk about, and he didn't want to put Ruby in an uncomfortable situation, "Um, you don't have to say. Sorry, that's kind of... intrusive." They'd been friends once, years ago, but what would've been routine then now felt almost... invasive. "You smoke?" Linc offered, pulling a his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and holding it up in offering.

closed starter for @themissing-linc, with any location in mind that works!

connecting  was  difficult  enough;  the  act  of  re-connecting  felt  near  impossible.  it  was  ironic;  some  might  think  it  easier  to  see  old  high  school  friends,  but  for  ruby,  it  immediately  sent  a  pit  of  nervosa  deep  into  their  stomach.  it  wasn't  so  bad  these  days,  and  worse  on  others  even  less  so.  but  still,  sometimes  it  would  gnaw  at  them.  you  were  a  terrible  friend,  y'know?  you  left  so  many  people  in  the  lurch  when  you  set  off  and  didn't  plan  on  coming  back.  if  bridges  were  burnt  —  what  more  could  ruby  do  than  come  as  they  currently  were?  logically,  they  understood:  not  much.  and  yet  it  still  haunted  them.  at  least  this  week,  the  blue  harbor  weather  had  been  kind,  even  if  storm  clouds  gathered  on  the  horizon.  hoping  it  wasn't  some  kind  of  omen,  they  rounded  the  corner,  planning  on  hunting  down  something  to  eat  before  returning  to  finishing  their  evening  clean  at  honey  bee  —  only  for  fate,  or  something,  to  intervene.  they  came  to  a  full  stop,  blinking  in  surprise.  here  was  someone  they  hadn't  expected  to  see.  ever,  probably.  and  the  last  time  they  had  seen  him  was  performing  live  at  the  coffee  shop.  right?  (  embarrassing  if  you  can't  even  remember  that,  ruby.  )  “…  linc?”  it  was  somewhat  strange  that  they'd  not  spied  each  other  before.  considering  how  small  blue  harbor  is,  in  the  end.  “no  way.  is  that  really  you?”  both  he  and  they  seemed  to  have  changed.  though  ruby  hoped  for  both  of  them,  it  was  for  the  better.

[themissing-linc]

JONAH HAUER-KING & ZOEY DEUTCH via Chad Hartigan’s story ☀️

[themissing-linc]

Lincoln raised his eyebrows and let out an impressed whistle, "Wooow, fancy." He couldn't quite banish the mischievous smirk from his eye yet, though, "I always knew you'd outgrow Weaver Ridge." On a more serious note, though, Lincoln nudged Phoebe with his knee, "You letting him take care of you?" If there was one thing that bound Sebastian, Phoebe, and Lincoln together-- other than shared trauma-- it was the stubbornly self-sufficient gene. He laughed, hearty and genuine, at her statement, "What, the Glove Shack wasn't your calling? I'm shocked."

Phoebe had a point. She had several, in fact, but... Lincoln was still the clueless little brother figure. He couldn't let her out of it this easily. "Right, but it's.... it was easier when he was there and I was here. At least the geography felt like finality." Linc shrugged, lifting the champagne flute to his lips miserably. "I'm not even mad at him, really, I'm just... I don't really want to make a decision right now." But Linc worried that with Dante it was always all-in or all-out-- at least on Linc's end. He wasn't very good at treading water in the in-between something and nothing his and Dante's relationship seemed to occupy.

[themissing-linc]

who: Linc & @just-foster where: O'Shea's

Linc was a creature of habit. He sat at the same seat (three stools away from the wall) at the same place (O'Shea's) on the same day each week (Thursdays... and sometimes Wednesdays and Fridays, too). He wasn't exactly the drowning-your-sorrows type-- he'd seen too many good people lose themselves to the bottle-- but O'Shea's felt like home. The worn wooden bar with the same carvings he'd traced a decade ago and, of course, Leon in the back were a comfort when it felt like everything around him was changing.

And today, Linc wasn't the only creature of habit haunting the pub. He glanced over at Foster, offering a watery smile. It felt like another lifetime, the last time they'd sat here and talked about Phoebe. Now... well. Linc didn't know what to think, and it seemed like Foster didn't either. "You can sit," Linc offered, nudging the seat next to him and taking a long drink from his beer. "You, uh... you doing okay?" Linc had never been very good at playing the social game-- but he knew that, deep down, Phoebe cared about Foster still, and Linc wasn't here to fight her battles.

[themissing-linc]

[themissing-linc]

"Did you know they're the same people? The world record book and the brewers, I mean?" Linc posited with a grin. It was a fact he'd learned when he went to Ireland the summer after freshman year of college-- back when he was a fumbling, freshly nineteen-year-old boy convincing himself he liked Guinness because he was Irish somewhere way back in his lineage. He hoped he was less fumbling now. Linc shrugged at her disdain for his beverage of choice, taking a long sip as if to make a point. He chuckled, "I hated it at first, just put on a brave face. It grew on me."

When Juno moved towards a seemingly secret section of the room, Linc was quick to follow. Hand on his hip, Linc surveyed the scene, the intricately made clay figurines. "Wow," he nodded, looking at them with admiration. "It's impressive, the amount of detail." Linc leaned down, getting a closer look with his hands and beer well behind his back. "I think I saw shitty high school version of Sweeney Todd, but I can't say I remember anything about it."

Other than the guy who'd played Sweeney Todd who he had a massive crush on. It was why he went to the show in the first place. "Wasn't there a movie adaptation?" Linc attempted, standing up straight and glancing at Juno. "So are you re-creating it because it's a favorite, or how'd you pick it? What about this scene specifically strikes you?" He didn't mean to launch an interrogation, it was just that Linc loved getting a look into his friends' creative process.

Juno's eyes danced around their room ensuring they had cleared away all unsightly messes from their cluttered space. An organized mess was beauty in their eyes. As Lincoln spoke, though, they found themselves centuring focus back on him and just how out of place and peculiar he looked amongst their things. Most of the color in the room adorned his person, and that alone made him stand out. "The only Guinness I know is the book of records." they offered with raised brows in spite of their amusement. It was interesting just how lighthearted their words could turn when speaking with Lincoln. They felt themself joining in on his playful nature even if Juno didn't always understood the reasoning behind it. What drove him to be so seemingly natural and... mundane? "But you are correct. I do not drink often, but when I do it certainly is not be that." They used their hand to gesture towards the beer in his hand. For a blink of a second Juno wondered which project he spoke of seeing as they tended to keep most things to themself, but they quickly remembered and moved towards the curtained off area that was Juno's makeshift studio. "I've been working on an interpretive dance piece." they said, reaching for the plate that held the clay figures they had yet to finish painting. "It will be a murder sequence. I've taken the inspiration from Sweeney Todd. Have you seen it? There's a scene in the basement where they share a dance and Mrs. Lovett gets crisped. It's always been a favorite for me."

[themissing-linc]

Lincoln raised his eyebrows and let out an impressed whistle, "Wooow, fancy." He couldn't quite banish the mischievous smirk from his eye yet, though, "I always knew you'd outgrow Weaver Ridge." On a more serious note, though, Lincoln nudged Phoebe with his knee, "You letting him take care of you?" If there was one thing that bound Sebastian, Phoebe, and Lincoln together-- other than shared trauma-- it was the stubbornly self-sufficient gene. He laughed, hearty and genuine, at her statement, "What, the Glove Shack wasn't your calling? I'm shocked."

Phoebe had a point. She had several, in fact, but... Lincoln was still the clueless little brother figure. He couldn't let her out of it this easily. "Right, but it's.... it was easier when he was there and I was here. At least the geography felt like finality." Linc shrugged, lifting the champagne flute to his lips miserably. "I'm not even mad at him, really, I'm just... I don't really want to make a decision right now." But Linc worried that with Dante it was always all-in or all-out-- at least on Linc's end. He wasn't very good at treading water in the in-between something and nothing his and Dante's relationship seemed to occupy.

“Behave!” Phoebe brandished, sticking her tongue out Linc, “I’m referring to when he takes her out to the fancy restaurant. Foster took me to that new seafood restaurant the other day.” She would probably never know the total of the bill, and would have to make peace with it eventually, even if she was tempted to look through her boyfriend’s wallet for a copy of the receipt. She took a sip of her champagne, the added raspberries adding a little class to the situation, letting out a soft, satisfied sigh. “Besides, if I was going to get into sex work, I would have done it years ago. Anything to get me out of that weird mall kiosk that sold gloves year round.” 

The intern nodded softly, giving Lincoln the time he needed to talk through it all. Things with Foster had never gotten this messy — or so she had hoped — but she understood to a point about feeling guilty over a situation that was otherwise free of blame. “You can’t…go through life constantly protecting other people’s feelings.” Which was rich, coming from her. “What is going on with Dante’s family, much like the shit going on with your dad, has nothing to do with the whole you-and-Dante thing, y’know? They’re separate.” She let out a knowing hum at what Linc meant about the singer being ‘all Dante’, remembering her conversation with him at Pride. “I think he feels bad, for how he acted. There’s not a handbook for this kind of situation, so he was always going to fuck up I think.” She proposed. “Maybe you just need to…really think about what you want. With him, without him.”

[themissing-linc]

"Okay, we'll work on that," Linc said, genuine smile on his face when he met Lia's eye. He wanted her to know that he meant it-- both that she was cool, and that he'd be around to work on it with her. In Blue Harbor or otherwise, Lincoln was a forever friend kind of guy. He might not have a lot of close friends, but those he had, he intended to keep. Maybe it was a side effect of his Weaver Ridge upbringing.

Linc grinned, nodding eagerly, "Okay, cool. I haven't read Three Sisters. Best to see it live, probably." He chuckled at Lia's apt description of Dante and Is, curling his fingers around the coffee mug and nodding, "You're right-- but can you imagine me fighting either of them much? I think we were all surprised when I actually moved back here."

Playfully, Linc asked, "And are you going to go on record criticizing George Bush?" Still, the idea of Lia venturing into something so new was exciting to Linc. He appreciated artists who could bend genres, and he had not doubt Lia was one of them. She'd always been. "I'd love to hear it," he promised, knowing the whole endeavor would probably require a couple of coaxing texts before Lia actually sent it over. "Inspired by anything specific lately?"

Linc had been having trouble grabbing onto anything that felt substantial enough to write a song about that wasn't... his dad's cancer diagnosis. He figured Sufjan had that covered, what with Casimir Pulaski Day and the entirety of Javelin. "The audacity," he laughed, too. It felt good to laugh about all of this. Less scary.

He nodded. Linc had been thinking about this a lot-- what made something good versus what made it popular-- especially working at a radio station. "And that's the thing, like, you have to cater to popularity to live off of the music. Guess that's why they say don't monetize your hobbies."

Deep down, if he was really honest, Linc still harbored a little bit of hurt about how his solo project didn't get noticed except by fans who were obsessed with deep cuts. He'd poured his soul out into each pressing, and it was a drop in the ocean. Luckily, though, Linc had decided early on that honesty was the bottom line-- not recognition. Just bearing witness. Sitting across from her now, Linc was pretty sure he'd learned that from Lia. "Yeah, you're right. I don't even really hate working behind the scenes if it means I get to write my way," Linc admitted.

When she shifted the conversation to his love life, Linc groaned and dropped his head into his hands. "Oh, God," he laughed, shaking his shoulders. "Actually less than nothing. I think I'm actively getting worse at the whole... dating thing." Linc shook his head, "I'm... I don't know. Things are weird with Dante. And Isabel. And I don't even know if they're actually weird or I'm just in my head, so."

“Meh,” Dahlia said with a shrug of her shoulders and a self-deprecating smile. “I guess.” If asked directly, Dahlia wouldn’t say that she has low self-esteem, but she knew her confidence had seen better days. However, she didn’t want to sully the first real conversation she’s had with Linc in years by being all depressing. “You know what, I think they did a production of Three Sisters a few years ago? So, they do a little bit of everything.” 

At the mention of Dante and Isabel, Lia tilted her head to the side, a soft smile on her lips. “Well, those two are each a force of nature in their own right,” she agreed. “But don’t count yourself out. You had a part in all of it too.” Lia had always loved to watch the three of them play, the band’s chemistry was off-the-charts and since the beginning, Dahlia had been one of their biggest supporters. “No thanks needed. I’m just proud that you guys went for it!” 

She took a sip of her coffee and grinned as she saw Linc’s eyes light up as he leaned forward eager to “talk shop” with her. “The track I’m working on– think like Shania Twain, The Chicks, Martina McBride… that sort of vibe. It’s part country pop, part singer-songwriter,” she explained, hands gesturing expressively as she spoke. Dahlia didn’t go out of her way to write her feelings out into songs, but she did have a lot of material that was fairly autobiographical or at least inspired by real situations or problems she’d experienced. Music had always been a type of therapy for her and she had songs that she’d written that had never been played for another soul. “I’ll have to record myself playing a bit of it for you to hear. I’d love to pick your brain about it.” 

Dahlia nodded, smiling sympathetically, as Linc explained how things were at home. She related to the idea of a father doing his best to hide the wounds and scars he was experiencing in order to stay strong for his family. She’d witnessed her father do very much the same thing in the months and years since her mother had walked out on them. “Yeah, I’ve noticed they can be quite stubborn when they want to,” she joked lightly. “It’s like they think they’re grown or something.” Lia nodded in acknowledgement as Linc explained about the good days. Those days were sometimes the only thing that kept you fighting. 

She hummed at his statement about what music became popular, and mulled it over. “I guess that’s the thing, right? There are certain levels of the industry where you have to take that into account what will sell, but that’s the balance right? Because those tracks are what allow you to keep working on the stuff you’re really passionate about,” Dahlia paused to take another sip, and then observed Linc with a fond smile. When he looked like that, she could see the scrawny kid who asked if his band could open for some of her performances. She tapped her foot back at him, acknowledging his compliment. “Weaver Ridge kids for life.” “As long as you keep being honest in your writing, you’ll be fine.” Dahlia put her coffee cup down at the edge of the table and leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. “So, how’s the love life? Any updates I should know about?” she asked, wiggling her eyebrows at her friend playfully.

[themissing-linc]

"Sorry," Linc said, almost immediately on the heels of Foster's words. Now that he said it, Foster remembered hearing something... whether it was from Phoebe or someone else, he couldn't be sure. News traveled fast and unforgiving in Blue Harbor. "I... can't imagine." Linc knew better than to assume... well, anything really. He'd always been the odd one out, being as close to his family as he was, and it wasn't everyone else's situation. He couldn't get any kind of read on Foster, here, and Linc had to wonder if that was intentional. He wasn't one to pry.

Lincoln lifted his glass to his lips, wordlessly acknowledging that his line of questioning had ended and it was Foster's turn in the tennis match of conversation. "Yeah, the band was just about to take off." It was hard to say without any kind of remorse, though Linc wasn't exactly upset for himself. More like the opportunity he felt he'd taken from the rest of the band. "My dad got sick about a year ago. They didn't want to ask me to come back, but... it's not like they have a lot of, like, emergency funds? And I wanted to be here." Linc shrugged, trying on a joke for size, "Plus, it's my long-time dream to run a radio segment absolutely no one listens to."

"The rest is history," he repeated. In actuality, it had been a lot rockier than could be summed up in four words, but considering they were in a good place now, it didn't seem necessary to rehash it. They had both made mistakes (though Foster had made considerably more...) but if anything, it only proved that they were more resilient than they probably imagined. What matter is that they continued to choose each other, and now, here they were — about to move in together... Foster wondered if Phoebe had shot out an update text after he fell asleep, or whether that was a secret just the two of them could hold onto.

Getting the third degree from her friends felt sort of like a rite of passage — like the one thing in their relationship that was following convention. The corner of Foster's mouth quirked up in amusement, but he made no other comment about Lincoln playing the protective friend. "Last October. My dad died." He didn't usually give an explanation unless someone asked, but he was doing his best to be forthright. He couldn't guarantee that he would answer every question, but if it meant protecting Phoebe, Lincoln should at least be allowed to ask it. "What about you? Seems like things were going pretty good for you out there." Seems — because Foster knew better than to assume.

[themissing-linc]

"God forbid the masses are educated," Linc teased back, before smiling up at the librarian. "Ah, that's the accent. Where are you from in England? Um, not that I would know..." He smiled at the other's sentiment. Linc hadn't been much of a reader as a kid, but had fallen in love with it again as an adult. He hadn't been converted to the e-reader thing yet, but he always had a stack of at least three books on tour. It was the only thing he could think to do with so much down time. "Well, you've convinced me at least. What's your favorite book?" Linc asked, then realized the predicament he'd just put them in. Like when people asked Linc his favorite record, it was impossible to choose. "Or... top five?" Linc nodded at the other's instruction, trying to keep up with them. "Okay, and you... just have them all memorized?"

“i think they’re probably right. it’s an unfathomable thing, to give people access and opportunity to educate themselves. i’d say it’s better in england, but . . . ” jasper shrugged his shoulders. they had lived in both countries, seen both sides of the coin, and the older they became the more they realized that the two were the same—just sporting different flags. “i just hope i can do my part by being enthusiastic and helping people. a world without books would be a sad place. i owe a lot to literature.” if he hadn’t had the escape of books, of cowering into the corner of his bedroom and disappearing into a fantasy world, jasper would have kissed goodbye to his sanity a long time ago. he straightened, took a deep and steadying breath, before erupting: “okay. so. every genre, every subgenre . . . they all have a number. 610 is medical science, 560 is paleontology. most fiction is in the 800s.”

[themissing-linc]

With a newfound knowledge of aphids, Linc dropped to his knees in the plant bed, quickly identifying a couple other flowers teeming with the little green things. "D'you mind?" he asked over his shoulder, pulling up a chewed-through stem. "It's kind of therapeutic," Linc said, though he was sure he didn't need to explain that to the man. The feeling of the earth under his fingers was... grounding. Ironic. He sympathized with the man's predicament, though, and wanted to help. Plus, it took his mind off of everything else which was... convenient. "Is there such thing as a freelance gardener?" Linc asked, glancing up again. "I think it looks great. Better than this time last year, for sure," Linc assured him, remembering the dull, mostly-concrete courtyard he'd spent hours in when dad was first diagnosed. "Used to be a lot... greyer. As if this place wasn't depressing enough."

Clusters of small green insects populated the stem of a sad, chewed upon plant in Jack's hands as he raised it aloft for the other man to see. Even to the untrained eye it was obvious that they were the cause of the flowers' demise. Several of the surviving plants in the bed were similarly affected, a plague of little green bodies munching through their leaves gluttonously. Glowering, he tossed it into a bucket by his feet. "Fuckin' aphids," he repeated, shaking his head in annoyance. "They eat everything-" A tirade was building inside, but he clamped down on it, grinding his teeth. While it was certainly easier focus his thoughts on the bugs than the actual reason for his poor mood, he didn't need to inflict that on some unfortunate bystander... at least, not some unfortunate bystander at the hospital. Had they been in a bar it would've been different, but the dude was probably having a bad enough day as it was all things considered. He definitely looked like was. Jack nodded, squinting in the sunlight as he surveyed his work. "Sorta. They hired me to do this, anyway. Might stop paying me if all the plants get chewed up though. It's supposed to look nice out here."

➥ tagging @themissing-linc

[themissing-linc]

"Sorry!" Linc said immediately, laughing at himself. For all his trying to not unsettle her, he'd exclaimed and undid any progress. Leave it to Phoebe, though, to put anyone at ease, even in her absence. He grinned, nodding. "Lincoln Welch," he said, hand not holding the cigarette outstretched. He shook his head, effectively waving off the woman's apology. "No need to apologize, really. I've been in California for the past eight years. Just moved back last summer. I'm not sure our paths have crossed much."

Linc ducked his head, a familiar blush creeping up his neck. He never knew how to talk about his music, or the band, or his future plans. The pink only deepened when he connected Dr. Bailey to Elijah Falvey. Phoebe had told him how she'd come to know him, of course, but maybe it didn't exactly quit "I...." He'd learned from Elijah himself not to say I know that. Linc cleared his throat, "I don't at the moment, really, but I... I actually ran into him a few weeks back. Um... I was definitely painfully awkward," Linc laughed, before admitting, "He's kind of a hero of mine."

He nodded as Dr. Bailey spoke, eyebrows raised. Linc knew she was brilliant-- Phoebe had said as much-- but Jesus Christ. "Suddenly I'm incredibly intimidated," Linc said, meaning it in a complimentary sense. "That's... amazing. I don't know how one brain can hold so much," he chuckled, taking a final drag of his cigarette and putting it out under his shoe. "What's your research focus?" Linc asked, after a beat of searching for something remotely intelligent to say. He nodded, clicking his teeth in agreement, "Your agent usually send you out on stuff without any information?

Despite her wariness, she offered a small smile. "It's... alright," she said. Of course, she would still keep some caution. She knew better than to do otherwise. But, unless he tried or said something, she would do her best to keep an open mind towards him. And it didn't hurt that he was also trying to appear less threatening. Which, frankly, was to no fault of his. Just her own past still affecting her. "If it's any consolation, you also look familiar. I just... didn't want to risk offending you if we had and I couldn't remember." Which was also true: she absolutely hated the idea of not recognizing someone she's met before. She never wanted to make anyone feel like they're not important enough to be remembered.

Nilay had been about to take another drag when his sudden exclamation caused her to jump. "I—... What?" Her eyebrows rose. Unlike last time, however, a smile grew with her words. She sat up straighter. "You know Phoebe? That's incredible! What's your name? She's always speaking so highly of her friends; I'm so sorry we haven't met sooner." She wondered if she's might've seen him around the museum when Phoebe was still working for her. Either way, she was more relaxed now. Any friend of Phoebe's was a friend of hers. She made a mental note to tell Eli and to ask the young writer to help her introduce her friend to the musician.

The mentioning of him being a musician only made her want to introduce him to Eli even more now. "Do you still play or write any music? My partner's the owner of MOREMUSIC recording studio. I can talk to him about meeting with you, if you like?" A pink blush crept to her cheeks. Part of her still felt a bit weird to admit that she had an agent. But, she wasn't ashamed either. She adored Angela and was grateful to have had her by her side these past few years. Between her books, her documentaries, and her social media, Nilay knew she would've been lost without Angie. "I... have a variety of careers," she admitted. "Formally and primarily, I'm an anthropologist and curator of a wing and hall at the museum. But I've written some books, have hosted and participated in a handful of documentary television programs, and I have a YouTube channel where I'm able to do more pertaining to my careers than in my programs. I do some covers on my channel, so, maybe that could be part of it?" Shrugging, she shook her head. "I'm not sure and it's bothering me."

📜@themissing-linc

[themissing-linc]

"Hey, you brought the guitar!" Linc said, grinning at the revelation. "Best birthday gift I could ask for is a Dahlia Young set..." he said, offering his cigarette to his old friend. It was a bad habit, he knew, only made worse by the fact that he was a singer himself. Used to be, at least. "Is the future looking bright for me?" Linc picked his beer up off the railing, taking a gulp to keep the summer evening heat at bay. "Maybe we get to hear the new song?" he asked, hopeful.

"I'm glad you're here, L, really," Linc said, smiling warmly. "'Course I'm happy, everybody I love is in one place." He had the best friends in the world, and everybody being in one place almost felt too good to be true. "I used to think I would have to, like, get married to get everybody all together like this," Linc laughed. Even his parents had come out for the festivities, though Mom was holding them to a strict 9 p.m. bedtime prior to Dad's appointments in the morning. "Thank God that isn't the case, right?" Linc laughed.

She was late. With all the preparations for the upcoming Felines! (Not Associated with ALW’s Cats!) show, Dahlia ended up staying at work later than she had anticipated. By the time, she climbed into her car and made it to O’Shea’s it was already eight o’clock. It wasn’t the worst time to be arriving, but still she felt bad that she’d missed the start of the festivities. She parked her car on the street, around the corner from the building and got out. She opened the door to the backseat to pull out her new guitar in its new carrying case. It still felt like she’d hallucinated her whole encounter with Toni Beltran just a few weeks earlier, but the Epiphone that was now hers served as an all too real reminder that it actually did happen. ( She couldn’t let herself think about it too much, lest she burst into tears again. )  Leon and Linc were both very special to her and, as such, she felt it would only be fair to serenade them with her most precious instrument. After making sure to lock her car, she began the short walk to the pub. As she got closer, Lia could make out a figure leaning against the railing. Closer inspection revealed it to be none other than one of the birthday boys. Linc spotted her at the same time that she recognized him and wrapped an arm around her neck, knocking her slightly off balance. “Hey yourself,” Dahlia laughed, taking a moment to stop herself from falling over. “You know I wouldn’t miss this for the world!” While she didn’t exactly fear the thought of CJ with darts, she also wasn’t not afraid of the idea. “I think I’ll chill with you for a bit. You look happy,” Lia smiled, bumping her shoulder against his side.

[themissing-linc]

who: Linc & @leonwozniak where: O'Shea's Irish Pub what: Linc & Leon's birthday extravaganza!

For as long as he could remember, Linc and Leon had celebrated their birthdays together. It was the perfect antidote for two men who hated attention but whose friends and families insisted on celebrating them anyhow-- to split it right down the middle. Of course, Linc maintained that he always got it worse, being that their celebration always landed on or around his birthday, and thus three weeks before Leon's. But more than he hated attention, Linc hated conflict, so Leon won out every year. Besides, Linc chose to look at it as an opportunity to celebrate Leon twice every year... which Leon also tended to dislike.

"Hey, no!" Linc called, pointing at Leon before he could duck behind the bar. "What the fuck are you doing, asshole?" he grinned, clapping a hand on Leon's shoulder and gently tugging him back. "Step away from the bar. You're not at work today, them's the birthday rules," Linc said, pressing a pint into Leon's hand. "Besides, I got your drink already. Or...." he glanced over his shoulder, already forgetting who'd bought this round. "Somebody did." Linc shook his head, waving a hand as if to brush off the specifics. "You wanna smoke?" Maybe that would be an effective distraction.

[themissing-linc]

Linc was pleasantly buzzed before eight, mostly because people kept pressing beers into his hand. He couldn't get two feet empty-handed before someone clapped him on the back and handed him a chilled glass-- and somewhere between the alcohol-soaked haze and the sweaty mob of friends, Linc had to wonder. Is this what Elysium is like? He was on his way to the patio for a smoke when a second person stopped him, asking Linc to please check in with Phoebe. It dawned on him, then, that another friend had told him the same thing maybe thirty minutes ago. Shit.

"I'm so sorry," he said, words tripping over each other as Linc broke through the crowd and stood in front of Phoebe. "I...." he dropped his gaze to the cake, grinning at Phoebe's predicament. It was admittedly funny. "We should've thought that through, huh?" Linc asked, reaching over to pull Phoebe into a hug. He was tipsy and he was hit with the sudden need to tell Phoebe how good of a friend she was. "Love you, Yates, you're a better friend than any of us deserve," Linc mumbled, pressing a platonic kiss to her hairline.

Linc made a mental note to find Sebastian next, but before he could do a proper sweep of the bar, Linc remembered the cake. He dropped his eyes to the quickly-melting dessert and wondered why he'd ever thought it would be a good idea. Linc set his glass down on the table, looking from Phoebe to the kitchen. "Um... should we take it back, or... should I get Leon?"

≈ linc and leon's birthday extravaganza, o'shea's, 8th august 2024. open. ( @bluestarters )

Of course Phoebe was having a fun time. She was a fun person. She was at one of her favorite places, celebrating two of her favorite L-named, Weaver Ridge born men, who both seemed to be enjoying the low-key festivities being hosted in their honor. What was more fun than this: a perfect night full of laughter, drinks, and people banded together who loved Linc and Leon as much as she did?

Well, everything was almost perfect, except for the fact that everyone in the party-planning process didn't seem to consider the temperature of the pub in the August heat, and thus the longevity of the ice-cream birthday cake. Phoebe had tried to keep it in the freezer for as long as she could, and had even set up a standing fan near where it was presented on a table to attempt to blow some non-existent cold air in its direction, but she could see it was beginning to melt, the tell-tale sweat beads at the sides already forming.

"Does anyone know where either birthday boy is?" She called out to the crowd in general, "Because, I know it's a little early, but maybe we should do cake and candles? Or maybe...someone can help me haul it back in the freezer until later?"