notyoureverydaysuicide

[notyoureverydaysuicide]

"You know, you certainly seem it," Heather told him, sweetly, hiding as best as she could that this was not usually the way she acts. If Sonny stuck around long enough, or if Heather allowed him to be in her presence for long enough, he'd soon have the privilege of witnessing that for himself. "I think that way of myself, too, actually," Heather smiled down at the place when it arrived, and tore a piece of the brownie off, slipping it into her mouth, closing her eyes and making sure to be very noticeably enjoying it. "Mmm...this is just...so...good..." "People just don't understand how generous I am to help them." "So, Sonny, what brings you to this awful, deserted slice of hell called 'Apple Barrow'?"

notyoureverydaysuicide:

weare-powerless:

notyoureverydaysuicide:

weare-powerless:

notyoureverydaysuicide:

“Well, aren’t you considerate?” Heather said pushing her hand to her chest, and leaning into it, in an overdramatic, exaggerated display of femininity. “And here I thought I’d been condemned to a life full of a race of blind,disrespectful pricks. But it’s fine. No matter what I put in my mouth, it never seems to bite me in the ass. I’d kill myself if I actually looked like the pigs who ate this crap and weren’t me.” He may have meant it as a joke, but he was right - if he hadn’t been smart enough to realize her beauty and greatness, she’d have avoided his ass like the plague. “It’s…nice to meet you, Sonny. I’m Heather.” She grinned.

“I try to be, like to think of myself as a kind individual.” Sonny said, shaking his head from side to side, swinging his shoulders slightly. “Well, you got me in here, I’m not blind and I… I do my best about respect.” He explained with a slight smile, nodding as she explained she could eat whatever she wanted. “Well you must be above the rest of the world then because shit, I don’t get fat but if I eat too much of this shit I like break out like crazy.” He said, wandering towards a food table and returning with more cookies and a brownie. 

Now he sat beside her and passed the food her way, putting his arm on the table and resting his face in the palm of his hand. 

“Heather, nice to meet you too.”

[notyoureverydaysuicide]

"Well, aren't you considerate?" Heather said pushing her hand to her chest, and leaning into it, in an overdramatic, exaggerated display of femininity. "And here I thought I'd been condemned to a life full of a race of blind,disrespectful pricks. But it's fine. No matter what I put in my mouth, it never seems to bite me in the ass. I'd kill myself if I actually looked like the pigs who ate this crap and weren't me." He may have meant it as a joke, but he was right - if he hadn't been smart enough to realize her beauty and greatness, she'd have avoided his ass like the plague. "It's...nice to meet you, Sonny. I'm Heather." She grinned.

notyoureverydaysuicide:

weare-powerless:

notyoureverydaysuicide:

“You know what? As a matter of fact, I don’t,” Heather explained, “because you’re going to be getting the food for ME.” Heather raised an eyebrow at then man in front of her, absorbing what he just said. Was that…actually a true recognition of her standing? Or, a sarcastic dig? For his sake, it’d better be the former. She smirked. “You know, that’s actually a great question. I honestly have no fucking idea. I can already feel my lungs drying out from breathing in the exact same filthy, toxic ozone layer as these other idiots.” “I don’t believe I’ve met you, yet.” She turned to him, laying on the charm thick so she could better assess the situation, and this man’s potential usefulness.

“Oh I am, am I?” Sonny responded, somewhat flirtatious in his tone though he wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t actually interested in this girl as much as he was, just kinda wondering what would happen if he talked to her like that. “Okay, I’ll get you some food. Though I suppose you don’t want sweets, unless you aren’t one of those ladies who watches her carbs.” Sonny shrugged. “Oh shit well I’ll take a step back so ya’ don’t breathe in the ghetto.” He said with a scoff, even taking a playful step back. 

“My name’s Sonny.”

#weare-powerless #((HI!)) #((It's okay Heather is too conceited to even consider he's not into women)) #((Or maybe other women that aren't her)) #((She's a bitch I apologize in advance this is not the real her XD))

[notyoureverydaysuicide]

"You know what? As a matter of fact, I don't," Heather explained, "because you're going to be getting the food for ME." Heather raised an eyebrow at then man in front of her, absorbing what he just said. Was that...actually a true recognition of her standing? Or, a sarcastic dig? For his sake, it'd better be the former. She smirked. "You know, that's actually a great question. I honestly have no fucking idea. I can already feel my lungs drying out from breathing in the exact same filthy, toxic ozone layer as these other idiots." "I don't believe I've met you, yet." She turned to him, laying on the charm thick so she could better assess the situation, and this man's potential usefulness.

“…And where the hell do you think you’re going?”  Heather snapped at the person passing her, and the table on which she sat. These lowlifes were all so obnoxiously ungrateful that she decided to grace this shitty little cafe with her presence, despite having much better things to do. If she weren’t so sure all the people here were all the people around she had to work on, she’d be occupying her time with something much more worthwhile. 

#weare-powerless #((Hi! :D))

[notyoureverydaysuicide]

“...And where the hell do you think you’re going?”  Heather snapped at the person passing her, and the table on which she sat. These lowlifes were all so obnoxiously ungrateful that she decided to grace this shitty little cafe with her presence, despite having much better things to do. If she weren’t so sure all the people here were all the people around she had to work on, she’d be occupying her time with something much more worthwhile. 

#wickedlittletownmixer

[notyoureverydaysuicide]

likeanemergencyplumber:

notyoureverydaysuicide:

Heather leaned forward from her rather modest throne guarded generously by caffeine and sweets. “Hmm…Well, I guess you could call it a ‘morbid curiosity’ about one of the many human beings whose existence is worth far less than my own, even moreso than the usual, somehow, and whose head is so far up his own ass it’s nearly lliterally impossible not to be entertained by just how much he likes it in there and is still totally convinced his own shit doesn’t stink.” 

“No, I wouldn’t, officer,” Heather said, mockingly. “But I’m sure you’d just love for me to find out.”

“Detective Inspector,” Peter corrected, for not the first time with Miss Heather Chandler.

“You know, you might find yourself more able to make friends if you actually took more than a passing interest in your victims. Hell, you may even find there’s more than one way to be a queen bee without emotionally battering your hive.”

”Oh!” Heather over-dramatically gasped and softly clamped her manicured digits over her lips. “I’m so sorry for getting your title wrong; let me try again: Mr. Professional Dick, Auto-Asshole Inspector.”

“I don’t give a fuck about ‘friends’, Dick. ‘Friends’ is a term for pussies used to describe fake bitches who only pretend they care if you’re alive so they can screw you over later...unlike yours truly, who doesn’t even care if you think I care. And, as a...whatever you are, I’m sure you know just how well physically battering works just as well, right?”

Heather paused, thinking of actually paying some mind for just a second to what Peter was going on about. “Please. I highly doubt you have any idea how to take over anything...” She looked away. “What the hell would you even suggest? Handcuffs? Been there, done that.” 

#likeanemergencyplumber #((Good thing you're so great at iconning then! XD)) #((I'm not sure Kilgrave would work here either)) #((Though I think he and Heather might enjoy meeting up sometime XP)) #((I think I need some more Heathers...))

[notyoureverydaysuicide]

maybeabite:

notyoureverydaysuicide :

“A scientist?” Heather laughed hard at the prospect. “You look like you were just thrown out of a fucking disco drag pageant you weren’t going to even make it to the first round in, or something! What ‘science’ could YOU possibly do?”

“I’m going to run this place someday soon, and that’s all you need to know,” Heather stated, confidently. “And when I do, you will NOT be looking like THAT anymore.”

“A scientist,” Frank confirmed, pushing past her not really heading anywhere with the motion other than pushing Heather off of her position. He paused, taking another long drink of the hot coffee. “Not that it matters to you, but I’m making new life in my laboratory. Soon enough, the world will be remade in an image of my liking. Not. yours.”

“Ow! Hey, what the fuck?!” Heather exclaimed as she was shoved, “Don’t you touch me, you psycho!” looking over the other, once again, with extra scrutiny, to make sure the initial gender she assessed was, indeed, right, and it certainly seemed to be, in an attempt to make some sort of sense out of his lunacy. She followed him the very short distance he moved. She gave him a push of her own, harder and much more with the intent of asserting her dominance. 

“Um...yeah. I despise children, so, no, it doesn't matter to me; that’s your and your very unfortunate partner’s problem, and you really don’t need to take having a kid from surrogate mother so goddamn seriously!” She confidently surmised that was what he was rattling on about. “They’re ovaries, not a fucking lab! It’s just health class shit! Get the fuck over yourself!”

“I guarantee your deformed little piss and vomit machine will not get in the way of MY takeover. What do you go by anyway, ‘scientist’? I’d love to hear what you think a breakthrough in naming would be!”

#maybeabite #((Bitch-offs are fun! XD)) #((This one should be a pretty bitchy bitch-off...)) #((Heather doesn't have science equipment but she does have nails heels a very narrow mind and a mouth that won't quit XD)) #((Take that last one how you will <3))

[notyoureverydaysuicide]

likeanemergencyplumber:

notyoureverydaysuicide:

“So, you did actually care about it, at one point, then?” Heather contemptuously mused aloud. “You’re done with the whole ‘wannabe runaway teenager rebelling in vain’ shit you slung at me when we last spoke? That was actually much faster than I’d have expected from you. You seem to take your pathetic lot in life way too seriously.”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve got the only ‘brass ones’ out of the two of us, you prick.” Heather lifted herself, and claimed her seat atop the empty counter space beside him. “Though it does take a hell of a lot to pretend to care about what’s right and what the law says with such atrocious levels of dedication, like you do.” 

“And you seem to think you actually matter more in the grand scheme of things because you have a badge to project your disgusting sense of self-righteousness onto, or something,” Heather goaded with a smirk, crossing her legs, and putting her pale hands daintily on top of her partially-stockinged knee. “What’s your point?”

She was really enjoying seeing him devoted to thinking he got her pinned as anything; that he thought she cared if she actually was getting to him, or that his outright, perceived blatant lack of caring mattered. For someone so ‘professional’ he sure loved his mind games. 

“Call it a morbid sort of curiosity into a life far less worthwhile than my own,” Peter replied, helping himself to the yet untouched assortment of cookies. “But if you find me so ‘pathetic,’ then why are you still talking to me? Surely, a girl like you could come up with more interesting prospects. Unless, of course, you can’t.”

“Oh, I put bad people behind bars, making sure they’re not out to terrorize the masses. But I bet you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Heather leaned forward from her rather modest throne guarded generously by caffeine and sweets. “Hmm...Well, I guess you could call it a ‘morbid curiosity’ about one of the many human beings whose existence is worth far less than my own, even moreso than the usual, somehow, and whose head is so far up his own ass it’s nearly lliterally impossible not to be entertained by just how much he likes it in there and is still totally convinced his own shit doesn’t stink.” 

“No, I wouldn’t, officer,” Heather said, mockingly. “But I’m sure you’d just love for me to find out.”

#likeanemergencyplumber #((I honestly don't know why she's bothering you either Peter...)) #((XD))

[notyoureverydaysuicide]

maybeabite:

notyoureverydaysuicide:

“Hey!” Heather demanded attention, standing over the flamboyantly-clothed…man who thought he could tune her highness out in favor of desserts. “What even ARE you, anyway? Where the hell did you come from?” She tried not to let on that she was the tiniest bit curious about him and his origins. Wasn’t anything like the plainclothes pricks she had, unfortunately, managed to find in this town.

“What am I?” Frank barked back. “I’m a scientist.”

He cast his eyes over Heather’s relatively monotone wardrobe, pulling a less favourable face than even the one he had initially greeted her with. “What are you?”

“A scientist?” Heather laughed hard at the prospect. “You look like you were just thrown out of a fucking disco drag pageant you weren’t going to even make it to the first round in, or something! What ‘science’ could YOU possibly do?”

“I’m going to run this place someday soon, and that’s all you need to know,” Heather stated, confidently. “And when I do, you will NOT be looking like THAT anymore.”

#maybeabite #((what is happening XD))

[notyoureverydaysuicide]

likeanemergencyplumber:

notyoureverydaysuicide:

“Your reverse-psychology bullshit won’t work on me. I know you’re just saying that because you want to find out just how much I DO know about that. I would assume the bent, crusty, easily-split scone is much more relevant in your case.”

“No. That’s so…freshmen. I have much more interesting and effective ways of getting what I want. For example, threats work much, much better, most of the time.”

“It’s not my fault there’s, like, no one here, and everyone around is even worth my time or the opportunity to French the ground I walk on. Seriously–that shit is almost creepier than you. You should make your hypocritical swine ass useful and look into it.”

“I still think it’s interesting how much you think I actually still care about your life, Miss Chandler,” Peter said, leaning against the counter behind him.

“You threatened your teachers? That takes a bigger set of brass ones than I would have credited you with.” He feigned sounding impressed with Heather’s ‘menace to society’ act. Not that her actions truly mattered in this town or to him, but it was amusing watching her wheels spin.

“You seem to put a lot of stock into how the people around you perceive you, why is that?” Peter needled. The implication that he wasn’t looking into the town was one he would let her live with if that’s how she so chose to see it. Probably better someone like her didn’t know his motives regarding the town anyway.

“So, you did actually care about it, at one point, then?” Heather contemptuously mused aloud. “You’re done with the whole ‘wannabe runaway teenager rebelling in vain’ shit you slung at me when we last spoke? That was actually much faster than I’d have expected from you. You seem to take your pathetic lot in life way too seriously.”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve got the only ‘brass ones’ out of the two of us, you prick.” Heather lifted herself, and claimed her seat atop the empty counter space beside him. “Though it does take a hell of a lot to pretend to care about what’s right and what the law says with such atrocious levels of dedication, like you do.” 

“And you seem to think you actually matter more in the grand scheme of things because you have a badge to project your disgusting sense of self-righteousness onto, or something,” Heather goaded with a smirk, crossing her legs, and putting her pale hands daintily on top of her partially-stockinged knee. “What’s your point?”

She was really enjoying seeing him devoted to thinking he got her pinned as anything; that he thought she cared if she actually was getting to him, or that his outright, perceived blatant lack of caring mattered. For someone so ‘professional’ he sure loved his mind games. 

#likeanemergencyplumber #((<333))

[notyoureverydaysuicide]

likeanemergencyplumber:

notyoureverydaysuicide:

Heather rolled her eyes and scoffed, disgustedly as Peter’s offer, folding her arms pointedly across her chest. “Of course you choose the dessert that looks like a dick to ask me about. Fucking slime with a badge…”

“Not that I’d ever walk the same halls as somewhere I knew YOU would be, but I could go anywhere I want. Grades are for the sad little shits who think those are what you need to get in, out, and through school.”

“So…how’s your ‘detective work’?” Heather asked, her red nails forming the air quotes, dripping with sarcasm. “Like your precious title and job mean anything here.”

“I’m beginning to wonder if you know what a penis looks like, Miss,” Peter said, gesturing to a much more phallic pastry, which by no small coincidence, was covered in nuts. “Ah, no matter; it’s not as if you’ll have a chance to show off that ignorance to many men, is it?”

“And once again, another rousing display of America’s best and brightest…. No, I’d imagine you’re the sort of young woman to bribe someone to take her tests for her.” He took a sip of the freshly made cold peppermint mocha, savouring the cool bitterness of the drink more than that of Heather.

“Oh you know, my detective work’s going about as well as your efforts to get together a willing posse to fall at your feet and worship your every movement.”

“Your reverse-psychology bullshit won’t work on me. I know you’re just saying that because you want to find out just how much I DO know about that. I would assume the bent, crusty, easily-split scone is much more relevant in your case.”

“No. That’s so...freshmen. I have much more interesting and effective ways of getting what I want. For example, threats work much, much better, most of the time.”

“It’s not my fault there’s, like, no one here, and everyone around is even worth my time or the opportunity to French the ground I walk on. Seriously--that shit is almost creepier than you. You should make your hypocritical swine ass useful and look into it.”

#likeanemergencyplumber #((Is the nut-covered pastry...creme-filled? ;;;DDDDD))

[notyoureverydaysuicide]

maybeabite:

notyoureverydaysuicide :

Heather groaned and threw the garment off of her person  and onto the floor with the fanaticism of someone in the presence of a highly contagious disease that spread through fashion that was so forwards it was backwards. “No! Clearly, you don’t think. Ever.”

She groaned and stormed up to the other. “Is that disgusting mass of disco pubes on your head eating your brain? What the hell are you talking about?!”

Though, admittedly, if this sad excuse for a party would be made more interesting by this human sci-fi abomination, she was certainly interested in that.

Frank looked back at his coat resting on the floor and back up at the rather hostile girl who had tossed it there. “Hmm.”

Her presence was ignored for the moment as he went to the coffee machine, finally not being hogged by the man in the black trenchcoat, slowly pouring a black coffee and adding to its black depths three cubes of sugar. He went about his business of selecting baked goods and eloquently kneeing down to see into the case as he chose a soft pink frosted bun and a cupcake with a rolled cookie sticking out of the top. He let his bounty sit on top of the case as he tapped a cigarette out of the packet previously hidden in his bodice.

“Hey!” Heather demanded attention, standing over the flamboyantly-clothed...man who thought he could tune her highness out in favor of desserts. “What even ARE you, anyway? Where the hell did you come from?” She tried not to let on that she was the tiniest bit curious about him and his origins. Wasn’t anything like the plainclothes pricks she had, unfortunately, managed to find in this town.

#maybeabite #((<3))

[notyoureverydaysuicide]

likeanemergencyplumber:

notyoureverydaysuicide:

“It’s never a party for you guys unless there’s fucking tea, right?” Heather abruptly interjected, leaning against a counter by the pastries. “No, this is not a party. Not even close. This is just…pathetic. It’s the second one, and there’s no hard liquor, no sweaty, half-naked, totally-stoned-out-of-their-minds-honor-roll students making asses out of themselves and screwing on the tables…and, worst of all, there IS…adult supervision.” She narrowed her eyes at Peter. 

“Ah, Miss Chandler, I was wondering when we’d meet again. Scone?” Peter offered, extending his hand towards the pastry case beside him where indeed did rest a fine selection of scones. And scorn.

“So it would seem you and I went to the same school. Funny, I hadn’t imagined you having the grades to get into a school in Glasgow. Ah well….” He leaned against the counter containing the coffee machine as he started the next drink of the evening. Probably something with a bit of a peppermint flavour. Peppermint was always good for when the weather – and room – turned cold….

Heather rolled her eyes and scoffed, disgustedly as Peter’s offer, folding her arms pointedly across her chest. “Of course you choose the dessert that looks like a dick to ask me about. Fucking slime with a badge...”

“Not that I’d ever walk the same halls as somewhere I knew YOU would be, but I could go anywhere I want. Grades are for the sad little shits who think those are what you need to get in, out, and through school.”

“So...how’s your ‘detective work’?” Heather asked, her red nails forming the air quotes, dripping with sarcasm. “Like your precious title and job mean anything here.”

#likeanemergencyplumber

[notyoureverydaysuicide]

maybeabite:

notyoureverydaysuicide:

Heather turned towards the very out-of-locale-sounding voice coming from next to her, almost too wary to check out who it was coming from. But, she did, and even she was taken aback by its owner’s appearance. She had not seen anyone try to pull of a look like that.  “Whoa. What the fuck? Are you, like, even sure this is the party you belong at…?” Heather asked, breaking into a snicker she was barely holding back at this point. “I think someone fucked up your invitation.”

“Fucked up my invitation? I don’t think,” Frank said, shirking the dramatic outer coat he had chosen for the evening and throwing it on the girl before him. His face took on an expression of displeasure surveying the gathered persons: so far it appeared a group of musicians, a rather out of place businessman, a homeless man, and this rather vibrantly dressed young woman.

“Well. I’m sure you’ve all been entertained by whatever that is,” he gestured at the two men discussing their guitars. “But now it is time for the main event.”

Heather groaned and threw the garment off of her person  and onto the floor with the fanaticism of someone in the presence of a highly contagious disease that spread through fashion that was so forwards it was backwards. “No! Clearly, you don’t think. Ever.”

She groaned and stormed up to the other. “Is that disgusting mass of disco pubes on your head eating your brain? What the hell are you talking about?!”

Though, admittedly, if this sad excuse for a party would be made more interesting by this human sci-fi abomination, she was certainly interested in that.

#maybeabite #((Oh snap all hell is gonna break loose XD)) #((Sorry Frank! *I* love you and your hair! <3))

[notyoureverydaysuicide]

likeanemergencyplumber:

“So… this is what an American style party mixer looks like…,” Peter mused, walking into the small café and speaking to no one in particular. He took a pastry out of an open display case, taking a large bite as he surveyed the coffee machine in front of him. “I can’t say it was what I was expecting….”

He had been to the last mixer the town had thrown, but there was no need to divulge that right now, was there?

“It’s never a party for you guys unless there’s fucking tea, right?” Heather abruptly interjected, leaning against a counter by the pastries. “No, this is not a party. Not even close. This is just...pathetic. It’s the second one, and there’s no hard liquor, no sweaty, half-naked, totally-stoned-out-of-their-minds-honor-roll students making asses out of themselves and screwing on the tables...and, worst of all, there IS...adult supervision.” She narrowed her eyes at Peter. 

#likeanemergencyplumber

[notyoureverydaysuicide]

maybeabite:

“So,” Frank said, striking a pose by the display case as his voice travelled through the room. “You’ve decided to start the party without me. How nice.”

Heather turned towards the very out-of-locale-sounding voice coming from next to her, almost too wary to check out who it was coming from. But, she did, and even she was taken aback by its owner’s appearance. She had not seen anyone try to pull of a look like that.  “Whoa. What the fuck? Are you, like, even sure this is the party you belong at...?” Heather asked, breaking into a snicker she was barely holding back at this point. “I think someone fucked up your invitation.”

#maybeabite

[notyoureverydaysuicide]

After waiting in silence across the table for what seemed like two and a half decades for her tragically uninformed company to finally notice and react to her, Heather perked up the moment she noticed he was finally moving, and possibly preparing to speak. That he complied with her request without objection made the time spent anticipating an end to the scarcity of human interaction around worth it.

“I am the one person whose opinions actually matter,” Heather told him. She had only just plopped down at the table not much longer ago than he had, but she mimicked the actions of her new acquaintance and lifted herself from her seat, as well. She observed just then that she had some slight height on him, which amused her, and brought a sly grin to her lips. “And you, actually seem pretty quick on the uptake.”

Heather raised an eyebrow at his proposal. “And just where the hell are you off to in  such a goddamn hurry anyway? You definitely wouldn’t be bailing on my account.” She planted her hands on her hips. She always appreciated skipping past all the bullshit and getting down to business, but that he was already making negotiations and seemed to be heading off again so soon struck her as weird. “F-Fine.” She reluctantly agreed to the terms, though she wasn’t really planning on going through with the “parting ways” aspect of the deal. She wasn’t done with him yet. Whatever. I’m Heather. Chandler. Don’t ask me again. Who do you think you are?”

notyoureverydaysuicide :

Heather sat haughtily perched, crossed legs switching positions under the small, round otherwise-unoccupied table at which she sat. Aside from her, empty chairs, the cold, hollow coffee machines, and the lit cases of desserts which never seemed to empty in the slightest, an obnoxiously persistent  silence in the air was all else that shared the space in the cafe with her. It was boring, it was creepy, it was…really fucking annoying. Seriously. What the fuck was with this place and why couldn’t she find it in her to try to get out of it?! Building her empire here might not even be worth it if there’s never even a soul around to lord over.

Suddenly, Heather sensed some activity outside the faux-hipster graveyard where she sipped her coffee.There was so much nothing going on that any activity was made painfully obvious. She could have sworn she saw someone or something pass by the front window her table was aimed at. Ditching her snack and lukewarm beverage, she walked out the entrance to the cafe to see if anything promising was happening…and, indeed, it was.

Looks like she finally had some company again; relatively attractive-ish company, even. Nowhere near her ranks, of course, and his the way he was dressed struck Heather as rather lame and drab (a very fixable problem), but it was nice to see someone who didn’t want to make her gouge her own eyes out in this place that almost made her want to blow her own brains out.

Heather walked over to the seated stranger and without first introducing herself or asking if the other seats were taken–because, obviously, they weren’t and wouldn’t be if one took this long for a body to find it–and pulled a nearby chair out for herself. “Haven’t seen you around this pathetic shitstain of a town before.”

Her face fell when she noticed him smoking. “Ugh! You really shouldn’t do that! Not only is it really fucking gross, but it does all sorts of disgusting shit to you, and it’d would be a shame if you let that face hollow out and your skin rot off your skull. Believe me, if I didn’t think there was anything physical about you worth trying to save, I wouldn’t have even said anything.”

Nathan looked up from his navel-gazing when he heard the girl’s voice, eyes leveling with hers mildly as he took another drag off the cigarette. Had he been anyone else (say, Richard Loeb, or his own older brother Mike) he’d have sent her off with a few choice words and a smoke plume to the face; thankfully, a Nathan Leopold was a principled beast and had courtesy enough to blow the smoke downwind from her. She looked like the sort that would throw a huge fit if any of the smell even touched her, let alone got near her, and that kind of responsibility was too much for him at the moment.

When he had arranged his thoughts enough to speak, he stubbed out the roll of paper that was threatening to burn his fingers on the table, stowing the butt away in his pocket for later disposal. He studied her almost absentmindedly: lips reddened by lipstick, though slightly smudged around the edges; curls perfectly formed and cascading over her shoulders; equally red coat and hair bow showing off her patrician blonde beauty. She was pretty, Nathan supposed, if he’d ever had a thought of going for girls at all.

“Excuse me.” His voice was soft as he stood up, his arms crossing over his chest as he lifted his chin to meet her eyes again. Maybe he should’ve worn the shoes that made him a little taller at the trial; they would’ve made it a bit easier to lock gazes with someone, as embarrassing as the prospect of shoe lifts was to him. “Who are you and why should I listen to your concerns about my health?” Nathan emphasized the word with a widening of his eyes that was at once innocent and a challenge to the young woman, though he’d managed to squash the urge to accompany it with his trademark half-smirk. He wondered vaguely if this town would even have a police force…he doubted it, though, as empty as it seemed to be.

God, but it seemed so much emptier without his friend, leader, and confidant. Still, being berated this early on was almost like being home.

“Tell you what. We exchange names, I stop smoking, you tell me if you’ve seen a particular person, then we part ways for the present.”

#awrittencontract

[notyoureverydaysuicide]

awrittencontract:

Nathan struggled down the street through the wind that threatened to blow him off course (if not completely over, small as he was), one hand keeping his hat firmly in place upon his head, the other pulling his coat tight around his shivering frame. He’d always hated early fall…when it wasn’t annoyingly windy, it was too cold and he’d get more than one flu in quick succession. When the breeze abated for a brief moment, he took the given chance and darted across the street to the café, dropping into an open seat at one of the tables outside where the building could block most of the wind.

After a quick respite and heavier breathing than he’d wanted, he pulled a worn cigarette case from his pocket and, in one practiced movement, removed and lit one of the cigarettes. He’d needed this all day; he was in a strange place and, more importantly, Richard was nowhere to be found. Still, it meant that there was no one to tell him off for smoking.

Right?

Heather sat haughtily perched, crossed legs switching positions under the small, round otherwise-unoccupied table at which she sat. Aside from her, empty chairs, the cold, hollow coffee machines, and the lit cases of desserts which never seemed to empty in the slightest, an obnoxiously persistent  silence in the air was all else that shared the space in the cafe with her. It was boring, it was creepy, it was…really fucking annoying. Seriously. What the fuck was with this place and why couldn’t she find it in her to try to get out of it?! Building her empire here might not even be worth it if there's never even a soul around to lord over.

Suddenly, Heather sensed some activity outside the faux-hipster graveyard where she sipped her coffee.There was so much nothing going on that any activity was made painfully obvious. She could have sworn she saw someone or something pass by the front window her table was aimed at. Ditching her snack and lukewarm beverage, she walked out the entrance to the cafe to see if anything promising was happening...and, indeed, it was.

Looks like she finally had some company again; relatively attractive-ish company, even. Nowhere near her ranks, of course, and his the way he was dressed struck Heather as rather lame and drab (a very fixable problem), but it was nice to see someone who didn’t want to make her gouge her own eyes out in this place that almost made her want to blow her own brains out.

Heather walked over to the seated stranger and without first introducing herself or asking if the other seats were taken--because, obviously, they weren’t and wouldn’t be if one took this long for a body to find it--and pulled a nearby chair out for herself. “Haven’t seen you around this pathetic shitstain of a town before.”

Her face fell when she noticed him smoking. “Ugh! You really shouldn’t do that! Not only is it really fucking gross, but it does all sorts of disgusting shit to you, and it’d would be a shame if you let that face hollow out and your skin rot off your skull. Believe me, if I didn’t think there was anything physical about you worth trying to save, I wouldn’t have even said anything.”

#awrittencontract