Repose

Who: Destiny and Si.
What: A hang out involving some skates.
When: Recent/Now.
Warnings: None atm.

[Outside on the front stairs, she was haloed in the halogen-yellow of the main porch light. It was nuclear disco bright, giving a golden fuzz to the dusky line of trees. The woods were proving to have a whole new set of problems in the past few days, and Destiny watched their stillness with more distrust than curiosity. Se was feeling older than ever, which was scientifically accurate and all, but still, any valiant and naive need to go poking at the strange and unusual felt long behind her. She was beginning to understand why the witch always lived alone in the fairy tales, hidden away in caves or woods or towers. Destiny wasn't a natural shut-in and her inner party-girl had been drowning slowly since the last of the holiday hurrahs, but she hadn't extended a life saver until tonight when Si asked her out.

She was probably supposed to decline seeing as how she was technically the boss and all, but this line of work didn't come with so strict of guidelines, or any guidelines really. Destiny knew that the man had his issues, but they were totally normal, human, grown up problems from what she'd heard, and Destiny was honestly more than willing to welcome some normal stuff into her life. She hadn't felt next to normal in a long time, but these days were as close as she'd gotten. Her magic was stable, steadied on a diet of self care and meditation. She found that in being good to herself, her magic was content. Well, as content as a tiger in a cage could be. She kept her mind de-stressed and her body well-fed, and so far nothing and nobody were dying around her so Destiny took that as a good sign.

She intended to keep it that way. Roller skates and the possibility of cheese fries sounded like a good place to start. So she sat on the front steps of her trailer, waiting on him to show. She had on some gray sweater tights and black shorts on top, some slouchy boots and a green flannel buttoned up over a tongue-out Rolling Stones shirt. The trailers seemed quiet tonight, and Destiny sat by, idly messing with a strand of year-round twinkle lights that wrapped the rail of her stairs.]

Who: Travis and Marta.
What: NA meeting buddies cruise around town.
Where: Repose here and there.
When: Current-ish.
Warnings: Probably mentions of passing bad things like drugs. Will update as necessary.

[The local junkyard didn't have much to offer as far as fully functional motor vehicles went. It was really just the place where people disposed of their rust bucket clunkers and their dead relatives' long-forgotten mechanical projects of one type or another. The place that Travis was beginning to think of as home despite himself was a desolate graveyard of bombed out engine guts and damaged steel frames. Fucking junk in every sense of the word, but he'd managed to salvage a few gems out of the wreckage. He'd fixed up a bike or two, and most recently an old Chevelle that was in need of a lot things, most obviously a single-hued paint job. But the heat worked, and he'd gotten it to shift smoothly into every gear, which were the only criteria on a quiet winter evening like this one.

The old muscle car that pulled up in front of Marta's must have been a real gem in it's day, but the only thing that could be said for it now was that it at least ran in the cold weather after the wrench-work that Travis had put into it. It really wasn't the kind of car that any guy wanted to be picking up a girl in. It needed a fresh coat of paint badly because the body was mostly rust-licked black but the passenger door was a mismatch of robin's egg blue. The old 8-track stereo had been ripped out and was bleeding little red and yellow wires up on the dash. The seats had one been pretty black leather, but were now so sutured with duct tape that they might as well have been gray. The engine was loud and the muffler was clunky. The car probably should have been an embarrassment and not any source of pride, but Travis had gotten it out of the grave and back to life again. He couldn't help but to feel just a little proud of it. The list of his accomplishments was really fucking short, and even the minor victories felt golden.

After texting Marta that he was out front, Travis fussed with the portable stereo that he'd shoved into the middle of the bench seat. The only CDs that he'd found back at the trailer he'd inherited only consisted of old 1970's country music, it seemed. There was some of it playing now, but the volume was real, real low. He had on blue jeans and a gray cotton shirt with long sleeves. Some dark gloves that he'd gotten for Christmas were on his hands, both of which clutched the steering wheel, waiting.]

it is skaree at my howse and ther is smok sumtimes it smels bad

and a man cam and sed i had to go away beefor

i mis my howse i mis my clothe tent

[Public]

Do I have to remark on the woods? They're very wood-y. Bit smelly, but that's already been covered.