. devil town

[finn hawkins]

Despite Finn Hawkins' utter ineptitude in all matters to do with planning and organizaiton, the past few days had gone by almost exactly as planned. Monday had been a whirr of brightly colored fairground attractions, oddly sombre against grey skies and stormy seas. The steady sprinkle of rain had not undone the days festivities for Finn, who tended to find Coney Island entrancingly depressing anyway-- like a resurrected corpse, dejectedly wearing its reluctance to live on its sleeve. He loved that about the place, its miserable cheeriness. Arya had been stoney faced, but he'd expected that, prepared for it even, by planning a relatively light days activities. After all, she had warned him that his approach should be one of "baby steps". Still, beaming across at her in his full Flynn Rider get-up, hair flopping into his face and satchel safely stowed across his broad chest,  he couldn't help but feel this was something of a victory. With a platted wig that trailed down to the floor, Arya had certainly been pushed beyond baby steps, and despite not looking entirely comfortable with it, she hadn't run away. Not yet.   Pushing floppy hair from his face, he started tucking in to the bread basket that sat between them. If curious Brooklynites were staring he didn't notice, but then he was more accustomed to being inappropriately dressed than most, and had grown rather accustomed to negative attention over the years. "Cute kids, huh? Chloe's lil bro used to be really ill, so we started this up then... hey, waitress?" Grin crossing his face as the girl turned, Finn brushed crumbs from his stubble with the back of his hand. "Can you get me and Rapunzel here some beers? Whatever's good - you look like a lady of taste. 'Sides, up in that tower for so long she doesn't even know good beer from bad." Returning to the bread as the waitress nodded, he clocked her little half smile as she walked away. So in there. Still,  glancing back up at the Disney princess sitting across from him, it was hard to see anyone else as anything but plain.  "I almost forgot to ask you, what did you think of Ariel Pink? He's always so shit live, and yet I keep buying tickets." This should have been more awkward. It was an observation he had privately made more than once since the week had begun, but it was somehow more evident than ever as the waitress returned with their beers. Before this week the last time he had sat down to eat with her would have been well over eight years ago, and it would have been one of Scarlett's many enforced double dates... if he had told his seventeen year old self that the next time he sat to eat with Arya Fox would be at the age of twenty-three, and it would be an one-on-one affair, he'd have been giddy with glee. It was with a stab of guilt that he thought of that, though of course his young self would have had no idea of how their foursome had been halved. So he downed some beer to dull the ache. "I have to say, I'm impressed by your order. Most people always choose the most predictable thing off the menu, but then I guess when you're sitting here in fancy dress you've got nothing to lose. Uncomfortable yet?" Notes:  well this was truly atrocious. Tagged: arya fox Listening: Beethoven.

[arya fox]

This had escalated quickly. Sitting in discomfort opposite of Finn Hawkins, this was a thought that kneaded at her mind rhythmically. Escalated quickly, the way that fall breaks into winter, burnt orange leaves wisping to the ground one moment, then it's winter, and snowplows are cramming every street, those leaves soggy under a blanket of slush. Sending a letter, and now a third dinner date, it was a tough pill to swallow, and she needed a drink to get it down. In truth, she hadn't a clue why she had sent the letter. On the night she'd written it, she was in the company of a bottle of Cono Sur cabernat, and of course, her morbidly obese dog. Her heart fond for memories as she sifting through old photographs, feeling extreme grievance when she hovered upon a picture of the four of them. Peter with his arm around her, her body language awkward and her face shy, Scarlett had a mega-watt smile, and she leaned into Finn, Finn who also smiled, like the high school dreamboat he once was. It was this picture that tugged at her heart strings, and dizzied her mind with thoughts. And in her wine induced drunkenness, it seemed the best resolve was to write her thoughts down. The sending part? The fault of her maid.

Here she was, across from that high school dreamboat. She examined him for the millionth time that week, spying everything in his movement and features that she was so in love for the entirety of her childhood. Arya kept quiet, bony shoulders shrugging, lifting her eyes to the female waitress, who in return gave her a second glance. She almost forgot how ridiculous they looked in comparison to everyone else in the room, more herself than Finn, who more had to worry about looking like a hipster with a green vest and satchel slung across his shoulder. She was a picture as Rapunzel, her slim body cloaked in violet, every inch of her limbs tightly covered in purple. A polyester wig tumbled from her head in a long blonde braid, and at her side sat a stuffed green chameleon. Her eyes leveled with his momentarily, cocking her head to the side and thinking about the pepto-bismol haired musician. “He's still shit live,” she decided, lips twisting as she nodded agreeably.

Fingers clawed at her scalp, the wig getting more uncomfortable the longer she wore it, the weight of polyester surprisingly heavier that it first appeared. She shifted it atop of her head, attempting to give her head solace, but having no such luck. Fed up with it, her attempt of relief led her to tear the wig from her head, and pull her own flaxen hair from the clasp of a ponytail, long fingers pulling the flow of strands over her shoulder. “Sorry,” she apologized, twirling the wig, and placing the lizard in the middle of the yellow nest. She thanked the waitress, lifting the cold bottle glass to her plump lips, draining it to the halfway point, drinking more than she intended. “Unbearably,” Arya admitted, uncomfortable in more ways than one. Tongue ran along her wet lips, “you? Or just talkative?” Though her words were laid out with sarcasm, she was genuinely glad he was filling the silence, whereas she seemed stuck in conversation. As the waitress returned with full plates in hand, she felt a loss of appetite. The salmon on her plate looked and undoubtedly tasted delicious, but she couldn't bring herself to lift her fork. “You should let me go home, I just... purple's not my colour,” she gestured at her attire, forcing laughter, “You stuffed me earlier, honestly. I'll bag it up and meet you later?”

MUSIC pretty in pink. the movie. whatev.
NOTES i'm a bad rper.

[finn hawkins]

Far from being a nervous habit, Finn's tendency to waffle came all too naturally to the boy. One hand on the chilled glass of the beer bottle, he raised an eyebrow at her. Was this a new quality after all? If you were to ask his friends they'd laugh, knowing that you couldn't go five minutes without Finn butting in, ore often than not to say something completely irrelevant to the conversation topic at hand... which was itself usually a topic he himself had raised. Rory could attest to his twin brother's hatred of silence and his natural inkling to fill it with whatever trash came to mind. They would sit across from each other in that visitor centre, and Rory would freeze him out with that little smirk of his, waiting for Finn to start rambling on about anything from bunk beds to advent calendars in July. But he supposed it would be new to Arya after all - at school Scarlett had adopted the role of his personal reporter, telling people what he felt and thought about things with such frequency that he gave up on having his own opinions, even searching for her when someone asked him what he thought of something, searching for the answer. She would appear by his arm, taking it in hers and demanding to have the question repeated... then it would be, "oh, Finn hates those movies", or "Finn loved that, didn't you honey?!", or even "Finn doesn't really care one way or the other."    His choice of meal, for instance, would not have pleased Scarlett. Steak and fries - what was that he had said about predictability? - wouldn't have been nutritious enough for a budding footballer, and she never liked seeing people eat food rare. Similarly, she would have hated having the day planned for her. Even if she broke every reservation only to remake it herself, that would have soothed her. Finn wasn't sure what would soothe Arya at this point. Watching as her glossy hair tumbled about her shoulders, he finished his beer. Just as he opened his mouth to defend himself she was making excuses, and he felt a stab of guilt at forcing her through this, in addition to not a little disappointment. "Really? I mean, we could call it a day if you wanted. We could call it a week. I just..." He just what? For once at a loss for words, he shovelled a good quarter of the steak into his mouth to give it something to do. Then he gestured to the waitress for another beer, before shovelling a couple ketchup-laden fries into his mouth, before gulping down a glass of water.   Eventually he looked up at her, his eyes locking on hers. It never ceased to amaze him just how beautiful she was, how perfectly proportioned, how exotic and yet so girl-next-door. He cleared his throat. "You're, it's just..." He paused as his second beer was placed down in front of him. Resisting the urge to sip, he broke eye contact, instead picking up the bottle and glancing over the label in a pantomime of interest. "I wish you could understand that we're different people now. Different people, with all the benefit of being the kids we once were, just... pared back. You're still you and I'm still me, which is great, it's why we connected in the first place. But we're different enough for this to be something different to what we would have been back then, I..." Stopping when he found it difficult to force the words he wanted to say out, he took another gulp of beer before setting the bottle back down on the table. He looked at her again, back at those steely blue eyes that were so reminiscent of a younger Arya. "...I wish you could accept that you're not stealing anyone's boyfriend." Notes:  it's 8am please forgive this for being utter shite. Listening: to my own internal dread about going to work.

[arya fox]

Listening to him fumble in his words, a sense of remorse seeped into her consciousness, her hands joined into a fist, a manicured thumb stroking the rose gold ring that sat on the knuckle of her index finger. Always a particularly sorrowful person, Arya was constantly apologizing for what seemed like her wrong doing. Something as innocent as bumping into a stranger on the street led to pleading for forgiveness, she made it seem it was as if she'd ran over their dog. In her head she was fighting a battle, she'd spent what felt like half a lifetime looking for Finn Hawkins, and now here he was, tongue-tied in front of her. She watched the way his jaw tightened, twitches, how his brow stitched together in the most delicate way, things one would only notice if they spent most of their educational doing things like looking at his face.

He looks uncomfortable. They're sitting in practical silence, I just, it's just, you just, Arya lifts her brows, like she's waiting for something to happen, for him to come out and say it. There's a hum and clatter amidst the restaurant, waitresses busing around the two of them, she catches their waitress' arm as she comes by, asking for the bill and to box her meal, voice sticky sweet as the young woman grabs her untouched plate. ”Well -” she's cut off by his follow-up. And there's that familiar guilt, her gaze shuns that hurt look in his eyes, her amber beer swallowing her blame, and she drains the bottle. It feels like Scarlett's the third person in this relationship, she might as well be at this point. Any mention of her, the girl gets stiff, and begins to shut down, a lump forms at the back of her throat. Scarlett's practically there, her stupidly pretty head resting on her palm, a perfect smile on her angular features. Criticizing, watching, judging the two of them.

”I'm trying,”, the seams rip, her voice cutting and composed. Finn looks helpless, taking his fill, and drowning it with a second bottle of beer. It was half true, a part of her doesn't want to make it easy for him, the other half has always been yearning for his attention. The ring has slipped from her knuckle, and she's rolling it habitually inbetween her fingers, it's warmth indenting her flesh. On the outside she's more graceful choosing her next words, on the inside she's recklessly spinning. The waitress returns, Arya takes hands her a credit card, and takes the box from her hands, forgetting her manners in the sudden rush of defense that she feels. Her thoughts seemingly collected, her attention returns to him, and for another moment her voice is laced with argument, spilling quickly into defeat, ”I'm giving it what I can, so stop.” There's an underlining of accusations she fails to say, the lump in her throat feels like it's growing the more she talks. ”I don't know why you're pushing it,” an insecurity surrounds her, she doesn't have anything better to say, petty argument suffocating in the presence of the golden boy. A deep sigh fills her lungs, and she lifts herself from the table, motioning towards the door, ”get me out of this stupid dress before I completely lose it.”

MUSIC caught me thinking - bahamas
NOTES LOL @ THIS CRAP.