A sleek black 1968 Dodge Charger pulled into it's old familiar parking spot around noon. 'Mistress' by Disturbed was blaring from said car until the owner cut the engine and opened his door. A soft groan slipped past his lips as Drake stood, pushing his worn out form from his cozy black seat. He was back, for now, and needed rest. That sudden call from his boss ended up putting him in a dance with a deadly vampire in another town which earned him all sorts of pretty new scars.
A yawn sounded as the detective really hadn't slept very well the past few weeks he'd been gone. Chocolate orbs glanced towards what he knew to be Rowen's apartment, half expecting to see her there perched in her famous little chair. If so, he'd wave warmly before starting the journey towards his own apartment.. if none of his other neighbors stopped him. If she wasn't? He'd see her eventually, he was sure of it. Besides, she still owed him a tour. Little did he know, there were a few new faces also roaming around these days that he'd maybe run into at some point.
A yawn sounded as the detective really hadn't slept very well the past few weeks he'd been gone. Chocolate orbs glanced towards what he knew to be Rowen's apartment, half expecting to see her there perched in her famous little chair. If so, he'd wave warmly before starting the journey towards his own apartment.. if none of his other neighbors stopped him. If she wasn't? He'd see her eventually, he was sure of it. Besides, she still owed him a tour. Little did he know, there were a few new faces also roaming around these days that he'd maybe run into at some point.
That infamous, cheap plastic, white chair stood empty, seeming eerily lonely without it's rambunctious resident perched in it, singing out loud to herself as she smoked, tossing beer cans into the already putrid pool, or pestering the neighbors. Cigarette butts littered the dirty cement under and around it, strong evidence of it's use.
Slowly, an iconic smacking sound began to emerge from the lazy quietness that was blanketing the complex lot. It grew louder and louder as it's source closed in towards Paradise. Suddenly, a young, pale blonde woman rounded the corner of the J shaped apartment building, tearing ass into it's lot, flip flops thundering against the cracked cement. She wore a plain, black tshirt that had a rip in the neck, as if someone had grabbed her by it and she tore away, and a pair of blue jeans wrapped around her shapely legs.
Rowen dashed amongst the few cars parked in the lot, like she was some Olympic gold medalist (in fuckin' flip flops. Can we get a round of applause?), then suddenly dipped behind a large, vomit green van, using it as cover from something. That something very soon revealed itself, as a motorcycle rumbled into the complex, idling a little as it's leather clad rider scanned the stillness of the lot, looking rather unhappy. After a moment of reviewing the pretty empty lot and casting a brief glare over Drake, the biker revved his bike back to life and sped off, spewing up a clouded trail of dust and small gravel chunks. Hearing the sound of the bike slowly ebb, Rowen poked her head out from around the back of the van, confirming the guy was gone before fully exiting her hiding spot. Dumbass, She thought to herself, shaking her head with a victorious smirk on her pillowy lips as she pulled a pair of large, black sunglasses, that didn't belong to her, from where they'd been folded on her waistline. Her casual stroll towards her apparentment, as if nothing had happened, was interrupted when those eyes of her's fell upon a familiar 1968 Dodge Charger. Well, well, well. Her devious mind purred, her walk slowing as she checked out the sleek, black vehicle. Her gaze from under the dark glasses immediately flicked towards where Drake's apartment was, and caught a pleasant surprise. Drake himself, on his way to finally get some rest. A huge grin twisted and spread her lips across her teeth, and she cocked a hand on to her hip. Rest may not come as soon as the detective hoped.
"Well, howdy there stranger!" Came her holler, sugared with the fake, Southern drawl she enjoyed using. "I didn't think you was comin' back to this lil' ol' shit house."
Slowly, an iconic smacking sound began to emerge from the lazy quietness that was blanketing the complex lot. It grew louder and louder as it's source closed in towards Paradise. Suddenly, a young, pale blonde woman rounded the corner of the J shaped apartment building, tearing ass into it's lot, flip flops thundering against the cracked cement. She wore a plain, black tshirt that had a rip in the neck, as if someone had grabbed her by it and she tore away, and a pair of blue jeans wrapped around her shapely legs.
Rowen dashed amongst the few cars parked in the lot, like she was some Olympic gold medalist (in fuckin' flip flops. Can we get a round of applause?), then suddenly dipped behind a large, vomit green van, using it as cover from something. That something very soon revealed itself, as a motorcycle rumbled into the complex, idling a little as it's leather clad rider scanned the stillness of the lot, looking rather unhappy. After a moment of reviewing the pretty empty lot and casting a brief glare over Drake, the biker revved his bike back to life and sped off, spewing up a clouded trail of dust and small gravel chunks. Hearing the sound of the bike slowly ebb, Rowen poked her head out from around the back of the van, confirming the guy was gone before fully exiting her hiding spot. Dumbass, She thought to herself, shaking her head with a victorious smirk on her pillowy lips as she pulled a pair of large, black sunglasses, that didn't belong to her, from where they'd been folded on her waistline. Her casual stroll towards her apparentment, as if nothing had happened, was interrupted when those eyes of her's fell upon a familiar 1968 Dodge Charger. Well, well, well. Her devious mind purred, her walk slowing as she checked out the sleek, black vehicle. Her gaze from under the dark glasses immediately flicked towards where Drake's apartment was, and caught a pleasant surprise. Drake himself, on his way to finally get some rest. A huge grin twisted and spread her lips across her teeth, and she cocked a hand on to her hip. Rest may not come as soon as the detective hoped.
"Well, howdy there stranger!" Came her holler, sugared with the fake, Southern drawl she enjoyed using. "I didn't think you was comin' back to this lil' ol' shit house."
It was odd to see the chair empty and he almost felt an air of concern until he heard that sound of flip flops against pavement. He blinked in confusion at first until biker dude pulled up. His ground was stood, amusement flickering over handsome features as one of those brows rose in response to the glare. There was no intimidation evident on the detective's face as he'd definitely dealt with worse guys than that. He had started for his apartment however until the sugary sound of that Southern drawl wrapped around him, roping his attention back to the parking lot where the girl with the magnetic eyes stood. Screw rest..
"Heya!" he called out with a soft laugh at the latter bit, "How can I stay away? The view is incredible." He motioned around them playfully. Sarcastic boy, but it was definitely nice to have interaction again with someone other than his boss and the monsters he chased down. "Did you miss me?" he mused, arms crossed as he finally stood before her. He'd made his way over so they didn't have to yell across the lot and disturb the peace. Although... for some reason, disturbing the peace actually sounded rather tempting right about now. "Who was your charming biker buddy?" he asked curiously, trying to make conversation. He could have sworn he felt beady little eyes watching them, but shrugged it off. Debra? That you?
"Heya!" he called out with a soft laugh at the latter bit, "How can I stay away? The view is incredible." He motioned around them playfully. Sarcastic boy, but it was definitely nice to have interaction again with someone other than his boss and the monsters he chased down. "Did you miss me?" he mused, arms crossed as he finally stood before her. He'd made his way over so they didn't have to yell across the lot and disturb the peace. Although... for some reason, disturbing the peace actually sounded rather tempting right about now. "Who was your charming biker buddy?" he asked curiously, trying to make conversation. He could have sworn he felt beady little eyes watching them, but shrugged it off. Debra? That you?
The feeling of being watched could be confirmed by shifts in drawn curtains, from more than just one apartment window. Many of the residents of Paradise tended to flock around any sort of entertainment, Debra in all her botoxed glory definitely being the Queen though. In fact, she wasn't even trying to hide behind the protection of shades or curtains, she stood in her open doorway, leaning against the frame with a bony shoulder and draped in a real sheer, lacy robe, just watching like it was one of her Soaps or something.
Rowen didn't seem to notice, or give a shit if she did, her attention being primarily focused on the returning Drake. She didn't appear winded in the slightest from her sprint, she'd gotten pretty much to a professional level in getting away. Usain Bolt himself might even give her a thumbs up. Her hair seemed a bit frazzled, some pale strands stubbornly draping in her nicely structured face, no matter how many times she tried to blow them away. She lowered the stolen sunglasses down the bridge of her nose, giving Drake a devilish look from over the top of the black lenses. "Yeah, I s'pose I did miss seein' that pretty face of your's 'round here." She purred, dropping the accent and eyeing him up and down from over the sunglasses. At the mention of the biker, her mint green eyes flashed towards where he'd sped off to, her mouth trying to swallow the amused smirk poking in the corners of her lips. She shrugged one shoulder casually, as if it were nothin'. "Eh, that was Rob. He's just upset he lost a gamble." It was mostly the truth. She removed Rob's sunglasses from her face, twirled them and bit the tip of the right ear piece between her teeth. With a budding, playful grin, she turned her gaze back to Drake, then reached forward and gave him a light shove on his broad chest, above his crossed arms. "Where ya been at, cowboy? What've you been up to?" Rowen probed, replacing the sunglasses onto her face.
"Fill me in over a cup'a tea?" She offered through that mischievous grin of her's, while nodding her head towards her apartment. One could easily get a feeling 'tea' wasn't really a beverage on Rowen's menu, but instead was a comfortable, cliche invitation for conversation.
Rowen didn't seem to notice, or give a shit if she did, her attention being primarily focused on the returning Drake. She didn't appear winded in the slightest from her sprint, she'd gotten pretty much to a professional level in getting away. Usain Bolt himself might even give her a thumbs up. Her hair seemed a bit frazzled, some pale strands stubbornly draping in her nicely structured face, no matter how many times she tried to blow them away. She lowered the stolen sunglasses down the bridge of her nose, giving Drake a devilish look from over the top of the black lenses. "Yeah, I s'pose I did miss seein' that pretty face of your's 'round here." She purred, dropping the accent and eyeing him up and down from over the sunglasses. At the mention of the biker, her mint green eyes flashed towards where he'd sped off to, her mouth trying to swallow the amused smirk poking in the corners of her lips. She shrugged one shoulder casually, as if it were nothin'. "Eh, that was Rob. He's just upset he lost a gamble." It was mostly the truth. She removed Rob's sunglasses from her face, twirled them and bit the tip of the right ear piece between her teeth. With a budding, playful grin, she turned her gaze back to Drake, then reached forward and gave him a light shove on his broad chest, above his crossed arms. "Where ya been at, cowboy? What've you been up to?" Rowen probed, replacing the sunglasses onto her face.
"Fill me in over a cup'a tea?" She offered through that mischievous grin of her's, while nodding her head towards her apartment. One could easily get a feeling 'tea' wasn't really a beverage on Rowen's menu, but instead was a comfortable, cliche invitation for conversation.
Chocolate orbs had probably already taken note of those subtle movements, and he was likely even watching Debra in her lacy little robe out of the corner of his eye in silent amusement. He didn't mind either honestly, but that didn't change the fact that he could almost feel those eyes of his neighbors crawling all over him. He'd already soaked in Rowen's outfit of choice and was even observant enough to notice the incredible cardio she must have to be speaking so smoothly after running like a madman before.
He laughed softly at her devilish look as well as the comment that followed. He recalled very well what she had said about that 'pretty' face of his that first time they hung out and ate together. His cheeks took on the subtlest hint of heat, turning a delicate shade of pink at the memory. "Makes sense," he shrugged as well nonchalantly. He could definitely see this girl making bets with bikers. She was a total badass. Maybe that's why Drake was drawn to Rowen like a moth to a flame?
A brow rose curiously at the movement of those shades and a smirk of his own finally danced over those lips of his. Said smirk shifted into an amused grin at the shove she'd given him. He allowed his form to move ever so slightly in response to the gentle shove, as a human would probably do, rather than having his chest feel like a brick wall against her hand.
He bit his lip a moment, trying to remember the lie he'd been selling. Let's see.. He'd told her he was a mechanic. He had likely even mentioned to Tony that his 'friend' was paying for his apartment; so that had probably spread in some form or fashion. What on earth was he supposed to say to that question though? He couldn't simply say, Well, I was off fighting monsters, specifically vampires, in a town a few hours from here. A game of cat and mouse turned into a hellish nightmare and it took longer than I thought it would to kill them all. Nope. That was a definite no-go. This war in his brain took all of three seconds, long enough to drag that lower lip of his through his teeth roughly as she offered to catch up at her apartment over 'tea'. She didn't look like a tea drinker, but he caught on easily to her invitation.
"Sure," he smiled warmly, rubbing the side of his neck, "It kinda is a long story." Story.. That was an ironic choice of wording. Again, screw rest. He was going to crash so hard later. When did he turn into such a social butterfly? He usually ran for the hills when it came to interacting with anyone, especially humans. Rowen was just an exception. Perhaps he'd add to that list of exceptions the more he interacted with those neighbors of his, but for now her name was the only one on there.
He laughed softly at her devilish look as well as the comment that followed. He recalled very well what she had said about that 'pretty' face of his that first time they hung out and ate together. His cheeks took on the subtlest hint of heat, turning a delicate shade of pink at the memory. "Makes sense," he shrugged as well nonchalantly. He could definitely see this girl making bets with bikers. She was a total badass. Maybe that's why Drake was drawn to Rowen like a moth to a flame?
A brow rose curiously at the movement of those shades and a smirk of his own finally danced over those lips of his. Said smirk shifted into an amused grin at the shove she'd given him. He allowed his form to move ever so slightly in response to the gentle shove, as a human would probably do, rather than having his chest feel like a brick wall against her hand.
He bit his lip a moment, trying to remember the lie he'd been selling. Let's see.. He'd told her he was a mechanic. He had likely even mentioned to Tony that his 'friend' was paying for his apartment; so that had probably spread in some form or fashion. What on earth was he supposed to say to that question though? He couldn't simply say, Well, I was off fighting monsters, specifically vampires, in a town a few hours from here. A game of cat and mouse turned into a hellish nightmare and it took longer than I thought it would to kill them all. Nope. That was a definite no-go. This war in his brain took all of three seconds, long enough to drag that lower lip of his through his teeth roughly as she offered to catch up at her apartment over 'tea'. She didn't look like a tea drinker, but he caught on easily to her invitation.
"Sure," he smiled warmly, rubbing the side of his neck, "It kinda is a long story." Story.. That was an ironic choice of wording. Again, screw rest. He was going to crash so hard later. When did he turn into such a social butterfly? He usually ran for the hills when it came to interacting with anyone, especially humans. Rowen was just an exception. Perhaps he'd add to that list of exceptions the more he interacted with those neighbors of his, but for now her name was the only one on there.
Rowen looked pleased, but somehow there was a feeling she hadn't expected any answer but yes to her 'question'.
"Lucky for you, I'm a great listener." She teased, already beginning to saunter off towards her ground floor apartment near the pool, where that ol' plastic chair was stood guard. She cast a wink over her shoulder at him once she got to the door, giving the handle a jiggle, then kicking the lower, right corner of it near its hinges, resulting in it cracking open. She used her right arm to swing open the door, while stepping inside. "Welcome, welcome, make yourself at home." Rowen invited, making hand gestures that mocked those of some royalty, as if she were showing off a palace.
Layout wise, her's was no different than the other apartments. Her's wasn't heinously messy, but not clean either, perhaps lived in? To put it nicely. The shades were drawn, the daylight sneaking through to shower the living room in dusty, horizontal slashes. There was a small, dark red couch, with a few articles of clothing draped over it, in front of a box set TV, with a cheap coffee table in between, which housed an ashtray, a pack of smokes, tv remote, and the movie case for Grease. The kitchen's counters had a couple empty beer bottles, and a sink half full of dishes, a small pile of broken glass shards was in the corner of the floor which she hadnt picked up yet, also another handy dandy ashtray laid on the counter beside the fridge. It smelt of old cigarette smoke, and that odd scent of licorice Rowen seemed to carry. There was low music coming from somewhere down the back hall, presumably her bedroom, playing The Joker by Steve Miller.
Rowen slipped her way into the cheaply laminated kitchen, poking her head into the old fridge. "Do you like your tea with 5% alcohol or 94 proof?" She called. Along with the case of Heineken and the half empty bottle of Jack Daniels Single Barrel in the fridge, there was a to-go box from Shirley's, two pizza slices from Pizza Johnny's in a ziplock bag, three Redbulls and a jug of orange juice. Without waiting for an answer, she gathered two Heineken bottles, the bottle of Jack, and two shot glasses from the cabinet, then carried her arm full of loot to the coffee table in the living room. Rowen set out the beverage assortment neatly, then plopped down on the couch heavily, punting off her flip flops in the general direction of the front door.
"Pop a squat, man. Ain't nothin' that'll bite ya." She assured, while leaning forward to unscrew the cap from the Jack. "Besides maybe me," Rowen added. "Or the roaches." Little did she know, Drake had his fair share of dealing with biting parasites.
"Lucky for you, I'm a great listener." She teased, already beginning to saunter off towards her ground floor apartment near the pool, where that ol' plastic chair was stood guard. She cast a wink over her shoulder at him once she got to the door, giving the handle a jiggle, then kicking the lower, right corner of it near its hinges, resulting in it cracking open. She used her right arm to swing open the door, while stepping inside. "Welcome, welcome, make yourself at home." Rowen invited, making hand gestures that mocked those of some royalty, as if she were showing off a palace.
Layout wise, her's was no different than the other apartments. Her's wasn't heinously messy, but not clean either, perhaps lived in? To put it nicely. The shades were drawn, the daylight sneaking through to shower the living room in dusty, horizontal slashes. There was a small, dark red couch, with a few articles of clothing draped over it, in front of a box set TV, with a cheap coffee table in between, which housed an ashtray, a pack of smokes, tv remote, and the movie case for Grease. The kitchen's counters had a couple empty beer bottles, and a sink half full of dishes, a small pile of broken glass shards was in the corner of the floor which she hadnt picked up yet, also another handy dandy ashtray laid on the counter beside the fridge. It smelt of old cigarette smoke, and that odd scent of licorice Rowen seemed to carry. There was low music coming from somewhere down the back hall, presumably her bedroom, playing The Joker by Steve Miller.
Rowen slipped her way into the cheaply laminated kitchen, poking her head into the old fridge. "Do you like your tea with 5% alcohol or 94 proof?" She called. Along with the case of Heineken and the half empty bottle of Jack Daniels Single Barrel in the fridge, there was a to-go box from Shirley's, two pizza slices from Pizza Johnny's in a ziplock bag, three Redbulls and a jug of orange juice. Without waiting for an answer, she gathered two Heineken bottles, the bottle of Jack, and two shot glasses from the cabinet, then carried her arm full of loot to the coffee table in the living room. Rowen set out the beverage assortment neatly, then plopped down on the couch heavily, punting off her flip flops in the general direction of the front door.
"Pop a squat, man. Ain't nothin' that'll bite ya." She assured, while leaning forward to unscrew the cap from the Jack. "Besides maybe me," Rowen added. "Or the roaches." Little did she know, Drake had his fair share of dealing with biting parasites.
"Lucky me," he agreed with a soft laugh. The smell of old cigarette smoke hit him like a freight train due to heightened senses, but he could handle it. Drake wasn't entirely sure what to expect upon entering the 'palace' she'd gestured around at, and all things considered.. it fit. The ashtrays, the lived in feel.. all those small touches made sense and made told him a little more about the girl whether she intended it or not. Grease was taken note of, not that he could really use that for anything apart from maybe movie quotes. Was that shattered glass over there? Huh. His brain was coming up with all kinds of scenarios for that one. Observant eyes washed over every detail, likely out of habit honestly due to the nature of who and what he was. The music settled those nerves of his that he wasn't even aware had tensed. Perhaps it was just the fact that he was about to spin a story for this girl, something that better be pretty damn believable.
He grinned when she asked about tea with alcohol. Called it. This girl totally wasn't going to make him actual tea, and he was completely fine with that. "Surprise me," he laughed playfully, still glancing around curiously at all the small things. "Damn," his brows raised when he noticed her arms full. He took a seat comfortably on that couch, laughing again at the biting comment. "Perhaps I enjoy being bitten?" he teased. In a way, he kind of did. He'd been on the receiving end of plenty of those biting parasites and something about teeth grazing his skin sent goosebumps shooting down his spine.. in an oddly addictive way. Speaking of.. with all those secrets he had.. was it really wise to drink? No idea, but it took quite a bit to get this guy drunk thanks to that 'not so human' thing so he was bold enough to risk it.
(Slightly lacking due to exhaustion but I tried. ^^)
He grinned when she asked about tea with alcohol. Called it. This girl totally wasn't going to make him actual tea, and he was completely fine with that. "Surprise me," he laughed playfully, still glancing around curiously at all the small things. "Damn," his brows raised when he noticed her arms full. He took a seat comfortably on that couch, laughing again at the biting comment. "Perhaps I enjoy being bitten?" he teased. In a way, he kind of did. He'd been on the receiving end of plenty of those biting parasites and something about teeth grazing his skin sent goosebumps shooting down his spine.. in an oddly addictive way. Speaking of.. with all those secrets he had.. was it really wise to drink? No idea, but it took quite a bit to get this guy drunk thanks to that 'not so human' thing so he was bold enough to risk it.
(Slightly lacking due to exhaustion but I tried. ^^)
(I appreciate your efforts!)
Rowen had removed 'her' sunglasses, setting them on the couch armrest, then tipped the now open bottle of jack over, leaking the harsh smelling liquid into the two shot glasses with thick 'glug glug' sounds. Her head bobbed with the rhythm from the Steve Miller Band, her bare foot tapping against the shaggy, dark beige(ish) carpet. "You're the cutest thing I ever did see-ee ~ Really love your peaches, want to shake your tree-ee ~" She sang softly as she poured, then set the large bottle back up right and slid a shot glass over to Drake's side of the table. Carrying her own small glass, she cuddled back into the quite worn couch, pulling one leg up and tucking it under her rear, the other remaining on the carpet, bouncing to the warm beat. She sipped her shot at first, letting the first wave of sharp, stinging liquid assault her tongue and burn her throat beautifully, making her minty green eyes water up a bit. Then, down went the rest in a swallow, as if it were water.
"Lovey dovey, lovey dovey, lovey dovey all the time~" The Steve Miller Band sang from down the hall.
"Ooh wee baby, I sure show you a good time!" Rowen hollered along with the music. She loved this song.
She returned her emptied shot glass to the coffee table, which had a fair share of stains and what looked like stab wounds. Annnddd, came round two for shots.
"So, I'm assuming you didn't just go and visit ol' Ma. Since it's such a long story?" Rowen initiated, after the second shot was washed down. Slumped up against the small cabinet with the TV set on it, was a saggy bag of cat food, and a plastic, Tupperware container beside that on the floor, almost half full with cat kibble. Did Rowen have a cat? Why would she have cat food laying around... Strange detail among the other oddities of Rowen's abode, including a gator skull that sat on the coffee table, a 1950's clay pipe - or Sherlock Holmes style pipe hanging out of it's gaped jaws. There was about a dozen Polaroid pictures thumb tacked into the wall by the TV set. They showcased a young Rowen, a good amount of the photos obviously taken at parties, a few with large bonfires in the background and lots of other people. A few were taken with Rowen behind the wheel of a vehicle, looking too young to legally be driving in a couple of them. The majority of the photos had a boy by her side, a boy that looked strikingly similar to Rowen.
Rowen had removed 'her' sunglasses, setting them on the couch armrest, then tipped the now open bottle of jack over, leaking the harsh smelling liquid into the two shot glasses with thick 'glug glug' sounds. Her head bobbed with the rhythm from the Steve Miller Band, her bare foot tapping against the shaggy, dark beige(ish) carpet. "You're the cutest thing I ever did see-ee ~ Really love your peaches, want to shake your tree-ee ~" She sang softly as she poured, then set the large bottle back up right and slid a shot glass over to Drake's side of the table. Carrying her own small glass, she cuddled back into the quite worn couch, pulling one leg up and tucking it under her rear, the other remaining on the carpet, bouncing to the warm beat. She sipped her shot at first, letting the first wave of sharp, stinging liquid assault her tongue and burn her throat beautifully, making her minty green eyes water up a bit. Then, down went the rest in a swallow, as if it were water.
"Lovey dovey, lovey dovey, lovey dovey all the time~" The Steve Miller Band sang from down the hall.
"Ooh wee baby, I sure show you a good time!" Rowen hollered along with the music. She loved this song.
She returned her emptied shot glass to the coffee table, which had a fair share of stains and what looked like stab wounds. Annnddd, came round two for shots.
"So, I'm assuming you didn't just go and visit ol' Ma. Since it's such a long story?" Rowen initiated, after the second shot was washed down. Slumped up against the small cabinet with the TV set on it, was a saggy bag of cat food, and a plastic, Tupperware container beside that on the floor, almost half full with cat kibble. Did Rowen have a cat? Why would she have cat food laying around... Strange detail among the other oddities of Rowen's abode, including a gator skull that sat on the coffee table, a 1950's clay pipe - or Sherlock Holmes style pipe hanging out of it's gaped jaws. There was about a dozen Polaroid pictures thumb tacked into the wall by the TV set. They showcased a young Rowen, a good amount of the photos obviously taken at parties, a few with large bonfires in the background and lots of other people. A few were taken with Rowen behind the wheel of a vehicle, looking too young to legally be driving in a couple of them. The majority of the photos had a boy by her side, a boy that looked strikingly similar to Rowen.
He smiled as he watched the girl sing along to the song as she poured the drinks. He picked up the shot glass she slid his way. The detective skipped that intial first sip, downing the shot with a smooth swallow. He laughed as she hollered with the music. This girl wasn't shy in the slightest and it was incredibly entertaining to Drake just watching her. Those subtle things she did out of comfort? He noticed each move, smiling contently as he slowly tiptoed out of his quiet shell he carried like a boulder. He slid the glass over for round two as well, laughing despite the fact that ol' Ma was long gone. He wasn't gonna bring up ghosts, not right now at least. He noticed the cat food but never mentioned it. Perhaps she had one or perhaps she even fed the strays outside?
"My aunt Edna," he said as if telling her the honest truth, "She hurt her ankle pretty bad. Sprain I think the doc said, and it put her on crutches for awhile. I drew short straw and got the luxury of tending to her. I swear, if I woulda heard her say 'Ey Drake, make me a sammich and sum sketti' ONE more time.." He did his best to imitate his 'aunt's voice then shook his head with a laugh, "That woman was always hungry. It was awful. I'm glad to be home. The worst part was helping her up and down her stairs. She's not a small lady, not at all." The story was so smoothly sold.. Why? Well, because it did happen; perhaps not recently, but once upon a time.
Chocolate orbs washed over the pictures curiously after he downed his second shot. He wondered about the boy, but didn't ask just in case. You never know.. He himself was an orphan, so he knew all too well the sting that innocent questions could have. He may ask eventually if they turn into closer friends but not yet. Instead, he teased her over the others, "Sooo, you were a rebel back then too huh? You couldn't have been old enough to drive yet." He nodded to the pics so she'd know what he was talking about and slid the glass over again. Round three anyone?
"My aunt Edna," he said as if telling her the honest truth, "She hurt her ankle pretty bad. Sprain I think the doc said, and it put her on crutches for awhile. I drew short straw and got the luxury of tending to her. I swear, if I woulda heard her say 'Ey Drake, make me a sammich and sum sketti' ONE more time.." He did his best to imitate his 'aunt's voice then shook his head with a laugh, "That woman was always hungry. It was awful. I'm glad to be home. The worst part was helping her up and down her stairs. She's not a small lady, not at all." The story was so smoothly sold.. Why? Well, because it did happen; perhaps not recently, but once upon a time.
Chocolate orbs washed over the pictures curiously after he downed his second shot. He wondered about the boy, but didn't ask just in case. You never know.. He himself was an orphan, so he knew all too well the sting that innocent questions could have. He may ask eventually if they turn into closer friends but not yet. Instead, he teased her over the others, "Sooo, you were a rebel back then too huh? You couldn't have been old enough to drive yet." He nodded to the pics so she'd know what he was talking about and slid the glass over again. Round three anyone?
"Well, can't blame the gal," Rowen defended easily. "Some sketti sounds real swell, any damn time. If I had my own hunky man servant to do my bidding, I'd be hollerin' for snacks 'round the clock too." The statement rolled off the quirky blonde with a casual shrug of a shoulder, before she leaned forward again with a soft grunt, lining up round three of shots. Her thoughts wandered briefly down the imaginative path of having a beefy, shirtless man beauty doing house chores for her. "See? That didn't seem like a long story." She said, while glug glug gluging the eye-watering substance into the two, little shot glasses again. "I hope that wasn't just some desperate and feeble excuse to deter me. I'm not so easily deterred." Her words sounded slightly stern, but there was a cocky smirk in the corners of her big mouth. Leaning back again, she thrust the small glass in Drake's direction, holding the top with her finger tips until Drake took it.
At the mention, her pale, green eyes flickered up towards her collection of loose photos, then back down at the small glass of dark reddish orange liquid in her fingers. "Eh, yeah, guess so." She admitted, with another shrug, then the downing of her drink, her head tipping back against the squishy backrest of the old couch. "I mean, I was never trying to be a rebel, I never actively try to. I just do... what I want. I dunno." Her words came in a slight hiss from the alcohol. One hand held the empty shot glass in her lap, the other hand laying limply on the couch at her side, the fingers making small gestures as she spoke. "Never really saw a point to life if you're not going to do whatever you want in it. I mean, who's life is it supposed to be if you're not living it for you, ya know?" She reached her free hand up to brush some blonde strands out of her face, tucking them behind an ear, her gaze twitching back to the pictures again, cracking a small smile. "But yeah, no, I wasn't old enough to drive. Maybe thirteen or fourteen."
Axel and Rowen's older friends had always gotten a kick out of letting them drive, as if their cars weren't expensive machinery and something like go carts instead. Ah, the good ol' days.
Rowen's thoughts of memories were interrupted by a strange, croaking meow sound, seconds before a small, grey kitty cat jumped up to the armrest of the couch on Rowen's side. It was little, yet scrappy and lanky. It's grey fur was short, its right ear shredded towards the tip and it's right eye was missing, swollen into a pink scar by this point, it's whiskers on that side also a bit patchy and crimped looking. It seemed to be missing at least one third of it's tail. "Hey Handsome!" Rowen greeted jubilantly, reaching over to scoop the little kitty up in her arms.
At the mention, her pale, green eyes flickered up towards her collection of loose photos, then back down at the small glass of dark reddish orange liquid in her fingers. "Eh, yeah, guess so." She admitted, with another shrug, then the downing of her drink, her head tipping back against the squishy backrest of the old couch. "I mean, I was never trying to be a rebel, I never actively try to. I just do... what I want. I dunno." Her words came in a slight hiss from the alcohol. One hand held the empty shot glass in her lap, the other hand laying limply on the couch at her side, the fingers making small gestures as she spoke. "Never really saw a point to life if you're not going to do whatever you want in it. I mean, who's life is it supposed to be if you're not living it for you, ya know?" She reached her free hand up to brush some blonde strands out of her face, tucking them behind an ear, her gaze twitching back to the pictures again, cracking a small smile. "But yeah, no, I wasn't old enough to drive. Maybe thirteen or fourteen."
Axel and Rowen's older friends had always gotten a kick out of letting them drive, as if their cars weren't expensive machinery and something like go carts instead. Ah, the good ol' days.
Rowen's thoughts of memories were interrupted by a strange, croaking meow sound, seconds before a small, grey kitty cat jumped up to the armrest of the couch on Rowen's side. It was little, yet scrappy and lanky. It's grey fur was short, its right ear shredded towards the tip and it's right eye was missing, swollen into a pink scar by this point, it's whiskers on that side also a bit patchy and crimped looking. It seemed to be missing at least one third of it's tail. "Hey Handsome!" Rowen greeted jubilantly, reaching over to scoop the little kitty up in her arms.