the 'brook action threads

While perhaps five years ago Cary Retlin had not expected to find himself sitting in a Connecticut apartment taking dictation from a four-year-old -- one comprised partially from his own DNA, at that -- he found it a challenge to imagine an alternate existence.  Sure, he was supposed to be in New York, scribbling away -- or perhaps typing furiously -- to meet a Monday-morning column deadline for the internship he'd never gotten, but when he was Salinger's age, he'd wanted to be a fighter pilot.  And then a vet.  And then -- a little later -- an ornithologist. 

Life, he had heard once -- and it was a sentiment he fully agreed with -- was the stuff that happened while you were making plans for it.  And truth be told, even before Madeline, he had not been doing a hell of a lot of that.

"Da-ad!"  The insistent little voice never failed to make Cary smile, a more genuine expression than his old trademark smirk -- a trait he was admittedly pleased to see Salinger had picked up on and a dead giveaway that he was considering something vaguely devious.  The "Daddy" phase had not lasted long; Salinger had taken to calling him "Dad" fairly early; Cary himself seemed to recall having done the same thing with his own father.

"He wants to go to the park," Salinger informed him.  "To see if the... the... ice cream truck is there!" he grinned.  

Cary dutifully transcribed the words onto the sheet of notebook paper in front of him -- wisely positioned a safe distance from Salinger's sloppy cereal bowl -- mindful to leave space for Salinger's painstaking but recognizable illustrations at the bottom of each page.  He had taken to the recording of his son's imaginative -- and often slightly nonsensical -- tales almost immediately after Salinger had begun telling them at the beginning of the year.  And lately he had been telling them with such frequency that Cary and Madeline had quickly taken to working in shifts.  Although their son had not been shy to inform them that "Mom's writing is nicer," he did not seem to particularly favor one transcriptionist over the other.   

"And then... the truck gives him a free ice cream sandwich!" added Salinger, his eyes sparkling.

"The truck gives him a free ice cream sandwich?" asked Cary innocently, smiling again as his son's face screwed up in momentary confusion.

"The... the... ice cream man does," Salinger concluded proudly, and they continued this way until Madeline appeared in the kitchen, at which point their son paused long enough to beam up at his mother, who would -- with any luck -- have all sorts of questions as to what today's story involved.

"Oh, girls, they wanna have fun..."

Price winced as he downed another shot of tequila - or perhaps it was from the screeching noise coming from the stage. He watched as the bleached blonde girl bowed grandly, as though she'd just completed an award-winning performance, instead of a horribly off-tune karaoke number, and stumbled off the stage.

"Come on, Irv," Chris prodded, poking him in the arm. "Do it, man. Come on." They'd all been at him all night to go up on stage and sing karaoke, since this was his bachelor party of sorts, and they were aiming to get him as drunk as possible and, Price figured, to laugh at him as much as they could.

Price was chilling out at the club with his three former band members, and the guy that had replaced him in the band. His name was John, and he'd just moved to Stoneybrook a couple of years ago, so Price didn't know him well, but he seemed like a decent enough guy. Though it felt weird knowing that the guys were jamming with someone else, Price held no animosity toward any of them. He'd been the one to move to California, after all, and seeing as how this was his first time back in four years, there wouldn't have been a point for him to stay in the band. Besides, he liked to think he'd matured a little from his pop-punk garage band days.

"Ugh.. fine," Price finally conceded. He was just tipsy enough to not worry about how he sounded, but definitely not drunk enough that he would fall off the stage and make a complete fool of himself.

Damien practically shoved him up onto the stage, just as a girl was shoved up on the opposite side of the stage.

The whole universe must have gotten together behind Price's back, he figured, and thought of the most awkward situation that he could be put in. Here he was, standing in front of his ex-girlfriend that he'd been sort of, kind of thinking about ever since seeing her in her wedding dress, and Price wished the floor would just open up and swallow him whole. Unfortunately, it didn't suddenly grow a mouth and gobble him up, so Price was forced to just look at Davina. This time she was as aware of his presence as he of hers.

Days in the hospital could either be exceptionally good or terrible. Today had been the latter for Darcy. She knew it was always a bad idea to get attached to patients in the ICU, but Mr. Farber had been a grumpy, sarcastic old man – his personality matched Darcy’s almost to a T. She always tried to sneak him extra dinner, even though he complained every day about how terrible the food was. He was battling an aggressive form of lung cancer, and while he’d been in high spirits the previous day, he’d succumbed to his illness just hours before her shift was to start. It was the hospital life, and it wasn’t the first death she’d experienced... but it was quite possibly the hardest. Her coworkers had taken pity on her – none of them had really cared for Mr. Farber the way Darcy had – so they convinced her to go home early, which she appreciated and did.

Walking into her small apartment, she noticed the light on her phone flashing, indicating a new message. She assumed it was her mother or sister, who couldn’t ever keep track of her schedule. She pressed the button and opened the fridge, examining the contents as she listened to the message.
( ... )

Wednesday's were Renée's favorite and least favorite day. Favorite because she only had one class in the morning and the rest of the day off. Least favorite because both Brooke and Tyler had very long days. She usually didn't mind, having homework and such to finish up on, but with the end of the semester just around the corner and the sun beating down as she walked home after class, she knew she had to do something.

She pulled out her phone and immediately scrolled to Ben's name, knowing he'd be up for something fun. Four years ago, if someone had told Renée she'd be willing to spend her free time with Ben Abbott, she'd probably have slapped them. But since moving to Florida, Renée and Ben had actually became friends. It was nice to put the silly high school crap behind them and move on, because he was a pretty fun guy to hang out with.

heyooooo.. soooo.. lets do something. naooo. idk what but i'm sure you have some kinda epic ideaa!

Katie finished a tray of coffee, cookies and a cinnamon bun, the latter which she'd never touch, and probably Ashley wouldn't either. It was more a decoration than anything else. Though Novelia would eat it. Walking into the living room, she found her daughter still watching a movie; Lilo % Stitch, which was one of her favorite older Disney movies. Katie liked it too, it was pretty emotastic, like her. Katie sat down next to her and waited for Ashley to arrive.

Allie hesitated for an unnoticeable split second before pulling open the door to the hole-in-the-wall basement bar, the familiar scent of mothballs and stale cigarettes hitting her as she trudged down the creaky stairs. The bar was the most undesirable place she'd ever seen, but it was the only bar in Stoneybrook she'd never went to with Ryan. Coming home and trying to find places -- grocery stores, restaurants, bars -- that didn't have his memory etched in them was next to impossible, but she was determined to forget about him. Or at least determined to somewhat mend the massive hole her idiot decision left in her heart.

The girl behind the bar wasn't the usual tender -- Allie frowned, not liking the looks of this girl. Judging from her skinny ass and flouncy hair, she seemed like someone who would chat Allie's ear off, diminishing her tip with every word. The usual bartender knew Allie, and tried to be friendly the first few times, before realizing Allie was not the social butterfly -- or the generous tipper.

"Hi!" the blonde chirped happily, grinning from ear-to-ear as Allie propped herself up on a stool. "So, like... you're totes gonna just laugh at me, but..." she broke off and giggled once before continuing, "do you, like... got some ID?"

Allie rolled her eyes before wordlessly handing the girl her driver's license, relieved that she'd managed to climb out from her funk long enough to switch her license back to Connecticut. She was fairly certain this girl would chirp away at her about Florida if the ID was from there.

"Oh, my God!" the girl exclaimed, grinning up at Allie before looking at her ID again. "It's, like... your birthday! That's so exciting! Happy birthday! It's your birthday!"

"Thanks for the update," Allie snapped, snatching her license back away from the girl. She wasn't a complete moron, she knew it was her birthday. All the more reason to be hiding in the dark bar, drowning her sorrows. Who could possibly want to celebrate being a twenty-five year old divorcee, living at home with the parents and driving a parts delivery van part-time?

"Can I just get a Bud, please?" Allie asked, her voice dripping with annoyance. The girl nodded eagerly and snatched a bottle from the cooler, sliding it in front of Allie and smiling proudly.

"On the house, birthday girl!" she announced cheerfully. Allie, though desperately wanting to slap her, took a large gulp from the bottle, slightly pleased with her own self control. It hadn't been very evident in her life lately, and if not punching the bartender was the start, well... it would have to do.

Sam loved seeing the sunshine become more prevalent as summer drew closer, but he didn't love it in the mornings, when it woke him up. There was a tiny slit between the curtains of their bedroom window where they wouldn't close tight, and the sun always seemed to line itself up directly with this slit and make its way to Sam's face.

Groaning, he sat up and rubbed his eyes, glancing at the clock radio next to their bed. It was only 9:34; not too bad at all, he decided, for not being able to get to sleep last night. He hadn't managed to drift off until about 2 AM, and he wasn't sure why.

Stacey began stirring, and Sam leaned over and kissed her on the forehead as she opened her eyes.

"'Morning, birthday girl," he said with a grin.

I can't wait to give her her gift, he thought with glee, practically rubbing his hands together in anticipation. He was planning on taking her out somewhere to eat once they got back in Stoneybrook, where Sam would present her with the gold earrings Kristy had helped pick out for her. He hoped she would like them. He wanted to make her birthday dinner special.

Although she'd seen the beach back in Connecticut, it had always taken hours to get there. But as soon as Mandy had ended up in California, she'd convinced Alana to move as close to the beach as possible, so she could spend her free time just out on the sand. She absolutely loved it.

And when Alana was busy on Mandy's day off, she quickly found an excuse to head straight to the beach, rather than find someone else to hang out with. Chances were she'd find some hot surfer guy to spend a day or two with, anyway.

But when she reached the warm sand, she didn't bother going to the waves; instead, she settled for playing in the warm sand. Sitting cross-legged in the sand, she scooped some sand closer, planning on building a sandcastle. It was a little childish, sure, but she figured she had a childhood of not playing at the beach to make up for. Besides, she just loved the feel of the sand, always warm despite the weather.

The dimly-lit pub was the same shithole it had been since the first time Troy set foot on its permanently-sticky floor nearly ten years prior.  Anywhere else, a fifteen-year-old walking into a bar sounded more like the setup to a tired joke than a reality, but this town was a mecca of fake ID's and businesses that never looked too closely if they looked at all, and by the time most kids in Stoneybrook hit twenty-one, the novelty of buying alcohol was pretty much a thing of the past. 

And it wasn't like he had anything better to do on his day off -- Good Friday or some shit according to his boss.  Troy didn't really give two fucks; he thought all Fridays were pretty badass.

"Wanna split another pitcher?"  The blonde across the table could barely keep her head up as she asked.  Two-thirty in the afternoon and this was what his social life had come to, an endless cycle of sport-fucking bar sluts.   Like the magic of any good addiction, the high never lasted long enough and you ended up feeling emptier and shittier than what you started with.  "I just gotta pick up my kids by four or the sitter starts charging double... how fucked up is that?"

"Pretty fucked up," agreed Troy, who neither knew nor cared although, in a town where no one seemed to know what a fucking condom was, he imagined a sitter could charge whatever they damn well pleased.

"Hey... you mind gettin' this next one, too, hon?"  There was no shame in asking -- she still had three Easter baskets to fill, and she said as much to Troy when he obliged with a shrug.  "God... I hope the stores aren't sold out of that shit already," she mused.

"Yeah... me too," he replied vaguely, and if she noticed the ghost of a smile on his face, she said nothing -- assuming that, like everyone else their age, he had kids of his own waiting anxiously for the Easter Bunny to deliver Sunday morning.

"Fuckin'... Christ."  Ryan's gym bag hit the floor, punctuating the impiety with a dull thud.  While no one in the Stanley's piecemeal excuse for a  fitness center would mistake the slight-framed D.J. for a bodybuilder, it was not for lack of effort on his part. 

"I can assure you... I am not fucking Christ."  Per usual, Rocky was rooted firmly in front of the almost comically-large flat-screen, saving the world one level at a time via his ancient-ass Nintendo.  "Besides," he added, never one to miss a beat,  "he's hardly my type."

"Well, shet... " Much like Ryan's muscle tone, the slight effeminate timbre that had crept into his roommate's voice was barely noticeable, but distinct enough that the former could not help but mock it on occasion.  "I'm torn between 'go fuck yourself,' which... you'd take as a suggestion, and 'go to hell,' which... you aspire to do.  Goddamn, you suck."

"Only if you have cash, luscious," retorted Rocky primly. "And Rophenol," he added after a moment's thought. "Might... circumvent the whole awkward Coyote Ugly morning-after bullshit."

"Yeah, I'll get right on that.  Jesus... I'm not fuckin' Parker, for Chrissake.  And don't... " he caught himself quickly -- the use of both blasphemy and innuendo as adjectives around Rocky tended more often than not to open doors he'd rather leave closed, locked, and deadbolted.

Jay let himself into his and Davina's apartment ready to relax.  Thursdays were especially busy for him; three back-to-back classes in the morning, a three-hour anatomy lab in the afternoon, and then speeding over to SHS to coach a JV Lacrosse game before working out at the gym for a half hour and finally coming home after a quick shower.  All he wanted to do was grab a beer and some food and watch TV on the couch with Davina.

He didn't feel like cooking anything, so unless Davina was inclined to cook, he figured that he'd just grab whatever leftovers were in the refrigerator and go from there.  He never expected Davina to make dinner for him just because she was usually home before him, but he sure appreciated it when she did.  He was mediocre in the kitchen at best, so anyone's cooking was better than his.

He put his keys on a table by the front door and dropped his gym bag beside their sofa as he entered the living room.  Davina was sitting down with a bunch of papers and magazines and Jay grinned as he recognized the "wedding stuff" as he thought of it.  He liked knowing that in just over six months she would be his wife.  "Hey, pretty girl," he greeted her, leaning down to kiss her on the mouth.  "How're you doing?

Although she'd gotten used to the seeming crowd of people Faith normally allowed to hang out in the apartment they shared, Laura always preferred to just have one or two friends over. She suspected it was a consequence of the aversion to people she'd gotten at some point in middle school, but didn't really care too much.

So when she'd finally gotten the place to herself, she'd invited Mallory over; though they hadn't been too friendly in high school, Mallory was probably one of her closest friends now. Laura just kind of wished Mal would get a different boyfriend. She was convinced he was an ass, though she was willing to admit that she tended to think about almost everyone that way.

"Surprised you managed to find time for me," she teased Mallory, partly because she didn't think Brian particularly liked it when Mallory hung out with her. She didn't know why else she'd been seeing so much less of Mallory; the redhead wasn't the type to just drop her friends.

karen, if you want greer to start it instead, lemme know :D

I'm trying to find the words to describe this girl without being disrespectful.

Ben nodded his head almost imperceptibly along with the beat of the song. He'd just finished his last class of the day - English - and he was extremely happy to be done for the day.

Thank God that's over, he mused, as he stopped outside the doors of the building and dug in his backpack for his sunglasses. It wasn't overly warm out, but the sun was blinding. It wasn't exactly that Ben needed an excuse to wear his shades, anyway - he'd wear them in a thundershower in the middle of the night if he thought it would help his cool status. He didn't really think his cool status needed any boosting, but still. Any bit helped.

Replacing his bookbag on his back, he began heading home - about a seven minute walk, give or take a couple of minutes. He didn't usually pay much attention to people on the way home; he was more concerned with getting home and preparing himself for a night of partying. Still, he happened to see someone pass him going the opposite way, and he turned around quickly and hurried to catch up with him.

He slugged Tommy on the shoulder. "What the hell? Too cool for me now, bro?" he demanded, grinning at him.

He'd never admit it to anyone, but he really missed Tommy. It'd been far too long since they'd last hung out. They always tried to arrange something, but their plans usually ended up falling through, and they found themselves at separate locations way more often than not.

"Thanks for coming with me tonight," Greer smirked at Rob from her position on the limo seat across from him.  This was her first time attending the Oscars and though she wasn't especially nervous, it was nice having someone she'd known most of her life at her side.  Even if they acted like they disliked each other most of the time.  "Despite your ugly face, your billionaire status might actually help my reputation."

While Meg hated the spotlight, Greer adored it.  She knew very well that she was low on the paparazzi radar right now and that she wouldn't even be shown in the audience during the awards show itself.  That was fine with her because her goal for tonight was to simply be seen on the red carpet.  She and Rob could coyly deny that they were dating and increase interest in her love life.  Hopefully.  At the very least, she was fairly sure that her dress could be one of the most talked about creations by the end of the night.  Floor-length one-shouldered gold silk with a swirling sheer design that started at the shoulder and cut across her breasts before wrapping around her back and cutting across her belly.  Wrapping around again, it cut across one hip, making it obvious that she wasn't wearing a bra or underwear--they would have shown up beneath the sheer fabric.  The dress was kept from being completely scandalous because the gold silk was solid enough to not actually show anything inappropriate--the hint of scandal was enough to get tongues wagging.  Or so Greer hoped.

Keeping an eye on Milton as he busied himself making up a story to go along with the pictures in one of his favorite storybooks, Jen pulled her hair up into a messy ponytail. Though he'd been an adorable baby, though a little louder than she'd expected, as he'd gotten a little older Jen had finally found time to take care of him, and dress up a bit, like she used to. Maybe she'd never dress like she could before the pregnancy, but at least she no longer looked like she'd simply rolled out of bed and put on whatever was closest.

"And then what did Piglet do?" she prodded gently, as Milton took a break from his rambling story.

Before he could answer, someone - probably Rob, Jen had been waiting for him to visit - knocked at the door. Completely forgetting his book, Milton dropped it to the floor and ran as quickly as his little legs could move to the front window, peering out to see who was visiting. Following him slowly, Jen couldn't help a wide smile - he was just so cute, even if he was her child. Honestly, he was probably the only kid who she liked, besides his little friends. Kids weren't really her thing, despite the fact that she was a mom. "Who's there?" she asked.

"Uncle Rob!" he informed her happily.

"Really?" she asked, covering her desire to smile at him with fake shock as he nodded. "We should let him in then," she told him, opening the door. "Hi, Rob," she greeted him with a grin.

"Hi!" Milton automatically hugged Rob. Though he was usually shy around adults, Rob had been around often enough that that was never an issue.

Benson let himself into the off-campus apartment that he shared with Garrett Carver, one of Madeline's cousins, and immediately dumped his backpack on the floor just before flopping down onto a ratty old sofa that his mother had insisted that he remove from the Retlins' basement.  When a quick glance didn't turn up the TV remote, he started feeling beneath the sofa until he spotted it across the room on top of the TV itself.  Now he was faced with getting up to get it and turn on the TV or stay lazily on the couch.  Before he could make a decision, though, a knock sounded on the front door, so he stood up and walked over to answer it, making a detour by the TV set and grabbing the remote so that he wouldn't forget.
 
"Elise!" he smiled, moving back to let her walk inside.  "Garrett didn't tell me that you were coming."
 
This was his and Garrett's second year as roommates, having been introduced to each other by Madeline during Benson's freshman year.  He'd been skeptical of her prediction that he and her cousin would make great friends because he was used to her trying to prank him...and getting him to sign up to live with someone awful for an entire school year would be a pretty epic prank to pull, no matter how mean-spirited.  To his surprise, she'd been right; Garrett wasn't much like Mad except for his friendly, outgoing personality and he and Benson wound up having a lot in common.
 
Garrett met Elise at the beginning of this school year when he and Benson had a party at their new place, finally having moved off-campus.  She came up for the weekend for the party and to hang out with Benson, but Garrett had tagged along with them and spent his time trying to keep Elise's attention to himself.  Since she had arrived early on a Friday morning, they had the entire day together before that night's party.  When Benson woke up Saturday morning with a hangover, he shuffled out of his bedroom to find Garrett in the kitchen at the sink and Elise not on the couch.
 
"Where's Elise?" he asked, wondering if she'd managed to escape a hangover and was already out running or something.  Garrett turned around and Benson saw his eyes dart to his closed bedroom door before looking at Benson with a slightly alarmed look.  "Shit!  Is she in there?!  I swear to God that if you took advantage of her at all, I'm gonna--"
 
Garrett shook his head vehemently and threw his hands up in the air, defensively.  "No, Ben, I swear, nothing happened!  Well...I mean, some stuff happened--we made out--but that's it, I swear!"
 
Benson trusted that his friend was telling him the truth, but still wasn't happy about the situation until Garrett promised that he actually liked Elise and wanted to go out with her.  Shortly thereafter, they became a couple and Benson got used to two of his best friends dating each other.

"What the hell are you listening to?" Alana asked, making a face as she looked at the computer set up in the corner. Mandy had set it to start playing a song she'd found the night before, that really only appealed to her because it was sung in Russian. It was kind of boy band-ish, and had it been in English, she probably wouldn't have given it a second chance, but she had a weakness for all things Russian. Which really kind of sucked cause she had no idea what was going on -- she'd lost her only translator, and she wasn't going to get him back.

Looking up from where she was flipping through a magazine, Mandy shrugged. "I don't know how to pronounce it."

"It's crap," Alana decided, getting up from her spot on the couch to turn the music off, and put on some Escape the Fate. "There we go. That's music," she decided, looking pleased with herself, as though she'd just given Mandy a lesson on what good music was.

Mandy frowned slightly, but let it go. Maybe Russian music wasn't exactly "good", but it was the only time she heard anyone speaking - or singing, whatever - Russian any more. And sometimes, when she was having an Emo fit, she felt better listening to it. But she knew better than to try to tell Alana all that. The other girl wouldn't understand, she'd only say that there was better music suited to a bad day.

Standing up, Mandy grabbed her MP3 player off the little end table next to the couch. "I'm gonna head out for a quick run," she decided, not bothering to listen to Alana respond. At least then, she could listen to her crappy music in peace, without having to worry about it irritating Alana. "Be back whenever."

"Why is there school after high school?" Brooke whined. College wasn't quite as painful as high school, but school would never be on Brooke's list of things to do. Or that she wanted to do, anyway. Thank God the last class she had for the day was over. "It's so boring."

"And I wanna do something fun," she decided almost immediately, dumping her books into the backseat of her car. Looking at Renée expectantly, as though the other girl would suddenly start spouting insanely awesome ideas, she leaned against the car. "We never do anything fun," she pouted, though pretty much all Brooke did was 'fun'.