dutchblackwell​:

where: dutch’s when: six pm on a monday who: open

“Motherfucker…” Dutch mumbles to himself as he views the text message from the bartender scheduled to be on shift tonight. Sick kid – he’s annoyed, yeah, but he also isn’t callous enough to try and make the guy come in anyway. As much as his head is screaming at him to just close up early and head home, he could just see the look on his father’s face in his head, laying into him about how he was the boss and he had to be there for his employees and blah blah blah. At forty years old, you’d think he wouldn’t take his old man’s lectures to heart so much, but he did. Besides, he had other employees that need the money and a room full of customers anxiously waiting some food and a drink to end their hard, bullshit day. Who was Dutch to ruin that for them?

So, after finishing up the thin white line he’d laid out for himself, the male puts a couple of eye drops in his eyes to get rid of any lingering glassiness or redness. Then, he makes his way out from his back office and heads behind the bar counter.

“You need another one?” he asks the closest patron, who’s glass appears to be empty except for a couple of melted ice cubes. “It’s on me. Mondays are the fuckin’ worst.”

x

 “I suppose it’s against your code to drink on the job, but by the looks of things, I’d say you need it more than I do -  I will of course, gladly take you up on my offer. Moscow mule number two, can’t hurt on a Monday, right?” Atticus is grateful for the free drink, along with the reprieve from his rather depressing solo drinking; he’d grown accustomed to being alone in most places, yet couldn’t shake the the sadness of the image, of a married man chasing something in the bottom of a glass, at six pm of all times. 

  He drums his fingers against the counter, trying to find way to appear less lonesome, and more reflective - then again, the man is a bar man, and probably has a total disregard for the images his cliental projects; a customer is after all, a customer. “There’s probably something to be said about the similarities between bartenders, and high school teachers.” 

johndoesmith​:

John’s mind’s eye unfocused as the characters were described. what is a Darth? and who is yodar? he thought to himself bemused. The mask stepped in. “Yes! I loved Portlan in that movie, she was an excellent princess. I remember the scene where her head got cut off by the revolting peasants. Too bloody for me, personally.” John stuck his hand out. “But enough about that, my name’s John Smith, Its very nice to meet you!”

    “I think that was The Other Boleyn girl with some possible revisions you’re describing but all the same - we can agree on the prowess of Miss Portman’s acting skills.” Atticus shook the other man’s hand amicably, finding his words bemusing; there was a familiarity to his voice, that he couldn’t quite place. “How long have you been in Pleasance? I’ve only been here about eight months myself, so I’m still meeting new people all the time. Plus I don’t exactly meet many outside the parents and students age range, given my work.” 

johndoesmith​:

“I didn’t get that chance, I was roped into this shindig from the beginning.” John half joked to the stranger. “The mayor almost had me dress up as someone named…” John scratched his chin. “Obadiah I think. Had a plastic sword and monk’s cloak ready to go as soon as he thought of it. Uncomfortably quick on the draw.” John pointed at an armored man with a baby wearing green ears. “I like that guy’s costume though, I wouldn’t mind dressing up in that. Say friend, I have no idea who to vote for in this competition. Who do you think has the best costume here?”

   “Obadiah? Sounds biblical - though I’ll probably wager it was Obi-wan. Obadiah feels more powerful though, doesn’t it? Regal.” The other’s assertions were as bemusedly clueless as his own; to be blindly commenting on the aspects of a franchise you barely knew, was all well and good in Pleasance. “Color me crazy, but that’s the most hulked-out Yoda I’ve ever seen - must be from one of the newer films I’ve missed. I wouldn’t have figured so many locals were major fans, but here we are.” The question posed makes Atticus take pause, as his eyes room the scene - apart from a dozen Darth’s and a few handfuls of Leia’s, he can barely place a name to any character, or figure. “Someone’s dressed up as the Princess from the prequels, who I just know as Natalie Portman’s character. Giant headpiece, theatrical make-up - not much more I can ask for, as a humble English teacher turned critic. I’m Atticus Malik, by the way; I teach up at the local highschool.” 

johndoesmith​:

Open Starter

WHO: John Smith and anyone

WHAT: Starwars Costume Contest

Where: Town Hall Conference Hall

When: May 4th 2021

Why: John is a judge for the competition

How: John has never seen Starwars

John looked out at the crowd of people lining up to go on stage. He squinted his eyes at armored aliens wearing bright body paint of every color. Am I supposed to judge on merit or authenticity? John thought to himself. He was slightly frustrated, like a buzz from a very weak beer, that he had been “voluntold” into organizing the mayor’s pet project.

John walked over to a table covered in snacks and desserts brought by families and volunteers. He ate a cookie. He saw that there was another volunteer next to him. John turned and the mask asked, “I know how I got stuck with this gig, how did you get trapped here?”

 x

 “I was standing too close to a poster of Han Solo at the bookstore, and got mistaken for a fan - not that I um, mind Star Wars you know. Carrie Fisher was amazing, wasn’t she?” Atticus takes a quick look around, scanning for any zealous fans who would threaten him with intergalactic violence, for his poor knowledge of the franchise. He wasn’t against it, per say; but like anything in this town, participation didn’t begin or end, with a desire to be there - you were simply told to show up, and you did. “A lot of body paint - who knew everything in space, was green or blue. But you got roped into this too, right - what’s your deal? You don’t strike me as a devotee, though I’ll admit, I can probably picture you running around in one of those Jedi costumes.” 

captainxkj​:

x

It had not been very long at all since Atticus first invaded KJ’s diner booth several months earlier. But by now, this meeting was, at the very least, a willing engagement. He raised an eyebrow at the question, making something of a face even through a mouthful of stale pie, which he then swallowed hard. “Nah, I don’t go around there.” He shook his head, fork clattering back into the plate. “But…I mean I’d believe it if someone told me they saw it. Don’t get me wrong or nothing. I feel, like, people can be mean. A lotta of the rumors about that tree are sorta cruel. But…you don’t gotta see it move to know things happen in this town, man. Take my word on that.” KJ shrugged his shoulders weakly, sipping his own coffee. “Figure you’d have a sense of that by now. You want to see something, which, for the record, I don’t recommend, go to the ranch. Active there. Something came at me once.” He trailed off. “Spring means summer, though, and summer means work. Gets a little more crowded around town. That’s all. It don’t ever really get bright around here, per say, so don’t hold your breath.” He bit his lip. “S’funny, though. I haven’t ever seen Spring anywhere else. So what do I know, hm? Say, you read. Can I ask you about a book?” 

x

“Do you know them, at all? The family behind it....anyway. I guess it is cruel, no matter what - even if it doesn’t move, a child is well .... gone. But that’s the thing, what you’ve just said now; that’s the thing that’s driving me crazy about this town. Because I can almost believe it, just on face value. Never in my life, did I think I’d be a tree moving devotee.” Atticus has heard of the ranch, which on principle, makes his blood feel cold; maybe it’s the Westerns he consumed with a vicious appetite as a kid, but he can’t picture anything good, laying for him out there. “The ranch? Yeah I’ve never been for that reason - you’ve got me curious though, despite myself. One of my students said they saw a ghost out there, once; not that I would believe most of anything, that comes out of a ninth-graders mouth.” He’s glad for KJ’s simple, straightforward approach to his most melodramatic musings, to his desire to drum up a fuss, about anything Pleasance. “Back in New York, spring meant blossoms, but also, tourists - which are a more benevolent thing around here, then back in the city. I guess they’re your thing, tourists - us out of towners, love a good boat.” He’s unsure if he qualifies as such, anymore; he’s been around long enough, that his mail doesn’t misdirect anymore. The question earns a glowing smile from the teacher, who looks like he’s been offered a million bucks. “Ask me about a book? I’ll buy you a whole pie, for asking me a question like that. Go ahead, make my day. “

roarkecohen​:

“I suppose,” he grunted, glancing outside the window, “but after 10 years I’ve never felt any sort of creeping desire.”

Which was an outright lie, but one he’d stuck to over many years now. No matter what desires he felt, he never obeyed them. His every move in this place had been at least somewhat calculated in an effort to maintain a mundane exterior none would find particularly worth knowing or investigating. It was lonely, but then so was New York, just in a different way.

“Nah, not a local, though. I’m from New York, actually. Got caught up on my way through to LA and just never seemed to get up and leave again. I’ve had my fair share here. Maybe one day I’ll move on again.” When I’m dead.

x

“I admire your tenacity, then; I consider myself an unflinching man of science, but the general Twilight Zone atmosphere, has started to make me wonder if I’m the one off my rocker.” Atticus shrugs, finding a confession which would have normally colored him shameful, rolling off the tongue with ease. 

  He perks up, at the thought of a fellow out of towner - one so alike himself, who drifted so far from the city, to a town such as this. “Shit, really? Me too .... my wife inherited a house, and we got dragged back here. I guess people don’t really leave though, do they? I’ve got to hand it to our dear Mayor Hancock; he’s doing something right, to keep a dedicated population.” 

roarkecohen​:

There was a real answer to this question, but that was most certainly not the answer Roarke was going to give. He frowned a bit more pointedly than was necessary, sipping his own coffee. Normally he liked something simple, a macchiato maybe, but today he’d tried to emulate the starbucks he so missed by having a measly two shots pumped full of syrup. Every drink of the thing made his teeth feel like they were rotting, but that was exactly what he missed.

“Nah, never seen it. It’s just a fuckin’ tree, so what if it moves? Trees move with the wind and shit. It’s all rumors to scare kids on Halloween.” Roarke leaned back, taking another drink and swirling the sugary, syrupy mixture around his mouth for a second before swallowing. “You get used to it. Ever season, this place is some other classic version of Americana. It’s like a fucking Thomas Kincade in the winter. In the spring it feels almost like a romcom. Makes more sense once the season sets in.”

Roarke reaches for common sense, levelling Atticus’ head with reason; he’s lost sight of himself, caught up in the mystic air of Pleasance. A tree is, a fucking tree after all - there was no ghostly spirit, to be found within its roots. “Never thought I’d hear the phrase ‘a tree is a tree’ and feel sobered up beyond measure - I don’t buy any of this stuff, mind you. But living here, month after month? This town’s desire, it starts to creep into your head.” With all things considered, Atticus had grown fond of Pleasance; its stark contrast to his old home, New York, which felt akin to an ex-flame now more than anything else, comforting. Yet he still spoke of the atmosphere with trepidation, eyeing local folklore with a stern eye. “Every version of Americana - I can’t find any other way, to summarise the town better. I’m guessing you’re a local then; or you’ve been around long enough, to weather every storm.”

wispykatsopolis​:

“mine’s younger by three minutes. she acts like she’s three decades younger, though,” she said with a small laugh. it wasn’t that her sister was immature, but she was definitely naïve in some places. “my sister’s a medical examiner. thinks she’s tough cause she can handle seeing gross and horrific things — but she forgets that so can i and a lot of the cases she gets come to me right after,” whisper explained. she snorted lightly at his pun, taking a drag from her cigarette. “i practically live here,” she said, exhaling. “whisper. mortician. also private concert performer in the morgue.”

“Three minutes? Ah, twins - I won’t bore you with the usual line of questioning, though I’d love to know.....did you guys ever have a secret language?” The idea of a twin was always alluring, in Atticus’ eye - to have another you were irrevocably tied to, a person bound to have an understanding, of your most disguised feelings. “A mortician and a medical examiner - there’s something poetic there, isn’t it? Or morbid, but I suppose they’re often one in the same. In a place like Pleasance, I can’t imagine the cases she gets.” Atticus tries to picture the latest crime to be splayed across newspaper headlines, but they’re often so muddled with notions of hauntings and ghouls, that flesh and blood gets buried. “Private concert performer - so uh, what’s your setlist look like? It’s nice to meet you, though. I feel like I’m finally settling into town.”

jaxriver​:

Jax didn’t like this conversation, she didn���t know why, but trees and lakes, both of those, nope, she wasn’t having that. She had pushed her shoulders inward, her hands near her body, gaze on the piece of brownie in front of her. The sugar didn’t do much for her now, it almost tasted sour. But she tried not to let who she felt get to her too much. She took a deep breath in and pulled her legs up till she was sitting crossed legged on the chair. “It sometimes feels like it is snowing all year round,” Jax said, taking another small bite from her brownie. “I haven’t seen the tree movie,” she admitted. “I try to stay far away from it, it feels eerie.” 

  “I know what you mean - strangely, I really do. Which doesn’t even make sense, right? Six months ago I would have told you, I was totally lost.” Perhaps he aspired too greatly, to make every action, every interaction, a prodigious one; yet Atticus was earnest in his assertion, and steadfast in the idea that their words made perfect sense to him. And he had slowly begun ceasing to be horrified, by the notion that he was no longer a man, to whom the words would have seemed entirely foreign. “The concept of the tree, feels me with so much sadness - even if well, as a resident Scully, I don’t believe in the idea. Unless of course, we go with some notion that we can create, purely out of belief - which is beyond terrifying, isn’t it? No matter how beautiful, in theory.” 

location: all-timer diner 

for: open ! 

   “I’ve been meaning to ask you, if you don’t think it’s weird I haven’t yet - but the tree, the tree, have you ever seen it move? I stare at the Mason tree sometime, almost willing it to flail about, so that one of Pleasance’s fabled mysteries, could prove itself to be true.” Three cups of coffee in, half a plate of pie gone, and Atticus feels at ease; he’s grown more comfortable, six months (or was it seven? time, amongst many other things, had begun to allude him) had made him shed any misgivings or shyness, regarding probing the supernatural interests of those around him. His own skepticism had begun to grow thin, but Atticus, by no stretch of the imagination, was not a believer; there was reality, and fiction, in his mind still. Yet, the tiniest shreds of doubt, had begun to take root. “I’ve never seen Pleasance in the Spring before; the town seems so suited for fall, leaves and pumpkins - kinda feels weird, doesn’t it? Seeing flowers, brightness, poking through.”

wispykatsopolis​:

location: outside faccone funerals & cremations status: open

normally, she’d be inside actually working. but she was on a momentary break, waiting for a coroner to arrive with a client. until she had something to work on, she had no work to do. she’d already finished all of her paper and computer work and cleaning up she had to do, so now all she had to do was wait. she wasn’t sitting directly outside of the building, rather a little bit away from it so she wasn’t choking arriving families with her cigarette smoke. that, and she found it unprofessional for an employee to smoke near their work place. so she was sitting on the edge of the grass that connected to the sidewalk, in the perfect position to be able to see when the coroner’s van pulled in to do a drop off. whisper took a drag from her cigarette and flicked the ashes, rolling her eyes at the words of her sister, who was on facetime. ‘you’re already on borrowed time wispy, you’re just gonna speed up the process with those nasty things’. she exhaled, shrugging. “well, when it’s my time, then it’s my time. don’t dress me in anything stupid, alright? aren’t you supposed to be doing something other than criticize my personal choices? like… watching your niece? have you actually been watching her? cause she’s behind you and she’s climbing the outside of the banister. we’ve been lucky with no broken bones for almost two years, don’t let today be the day that record gets broken. no pun intended.” 'oh my god! absolutely not, young lady!’ her sister’s voice shouted. “okayyy, have fun with that, make sure she’s using the big girl potty, i love you, bye,” whisper said before she ended the call. “she’d lose her head if it wasn’t attached,” she said aloud, to no one in particular, just thinking out loud. “she’s already the human form of a headless chicken.”

 “Siblings, right? I’ve got a sister, she’s younger then me - except she’s a hell of a lot smarter. She’s a doctor back in New York City ...I guess that makes me the headless chicken, right?” The funeral home was not a place which called to Atticus as an amiable resting spot, nor one he would visit when blessed with free time; a hunt for familial records had led him to Sonny’s office, swaying awkwardly as he made small talk -- searching for records, of his Emma’s family. Satisfied with the taste of penny’s in his mouth and a promise he’d stop by again, Atticus had stepped outside, walking aimlessly back towards to his car. It was then, that’d he’d been drawn to Whisper’s voice; her face, shrouded in in a veil of smoke, became clear as she tapped her cigarette free of ash. Their acquaintance was loose, at best -- he knew she was a local, that she had a child, and that she harboured a love for the Falcoen’s. He was unsure what drove him to make contact, but he did so all the same. “So, you come here often? Kidding really, I know you work here - I’m Atticus, in case it’s rather awkward of me to carry on, and you didn’t know. I teach up at the highschool; English lit.”

giofyd​:

open starter. anytime, anywhere.

“That is not true. At all. Like… I’m pretty sure you just straight up lied to me,” he said to the other, laughing. “Give me one good reason why I should believe you.”

x

“Yeah I know, most people don’t want to accept the fact turkey’s used to be worshiped like gods, but I’m telling you, its true!” Atticus is due for a reassessment of his life; he’s gone from pleasantly aloof New Yorker, to the hapless and eccentric local teacher, making pleas on the behalf of strange historical facts. “I’ve got a powerpoint about it somewhere....tell me again, why that’s harder for you then the Great Pumpkin being real, or whatever else you crazy Pleasance kids believe? I think I’m getting another slice of pie, by the way, so you’re stuck with me for at least another twenty minutes.” The atmosphere for the diner is pleasant, something welcoming and kind, in leather booths and laminated menus.

for: @hildahenyork

location: ​the daily grind

   “Valentines Movie Marathon looks promising - have you ever seen My Man Godfrey? I don’t think it’s a typical pick, but there’s something about Carol Lombard and Will Powell, that brings me back. Grumpy aloof man falls for twittering, love sick and earnest lady - it’s nice, isn’t it? When things to fit so perfectly.” The words fall from his lips with near sickening ease; Hilda hadn’t accepted his coffee-shop meet up, in pursuit of a direction of a classic thirties film. But something about her presence fills him with an ease, and he speaks unencumbered -- sense comes flooding back, however, and he adjusts his glasses, seeking a more coherent line of conversation. “Winter always makes me ramble, I swear - that, and the post-winter vacation slump that makes my classes dead, so I’ve got to fill the air with something. Your work never slumps, does it? I’ve been meaning to stop by more...I’ve had some research I’ve been putting off, actually. Is it weird, to dig into your inlaws?” 

captainxkj​:

x

KJ rolled his eyes, giving something of a good-natured scoff. “Yeah, Mrs. Greene was, like, ninety-eight when I was here. So good on her for still showin’ up, I guess.” Turning his head, he glanced down the hallway from the doorframe, as if genuinely frightened the woman might show up to smack him with a ruler. “I’d bet most of my teachers forgot about me, man. Class participation wasn’t my forte. Except maybe Monsieur Smith. My mom spoke some Louisiana French, so she used to help me with my homework, yeah? Turns out it’s a completely different dialect.” He let out a snorting breath of air, stepping farther into the classroom. But still, it felt odd being back after so long, and in too many ways, he found he felt just the same as he had back then, out-of-place. He narrowed his eyes at the mug. “That’s dangerous, dude. Teenagers read shit like that, they’ll start honking at you mid-lecture. And then say, ‘Oh, I just love you, Mr. Malik.’”

He lingered near the chair and crossed his arms. And as Atticus lit up, he had to make a genuine enough not to smile, committing to this unfazed routine. Still, he was glad the guy did not take it badly and was glad, privately, the odd present seemed a success. “Yeah, no, don’t do cowboy. That’s weird. Makes me think of that one cop with the…never-mind,” he scoffed, nostrils flaring. “Captain’s weird too, I think. I mean, one day. I’ll have my own boat. Not Alby’s. But KJ is good. I can be KJ, and you can be Atticus. Hey, don’t knock socks, Atticus.” This banter brought him back to the diner, but at the very least, he could appreciate that each standoffish remark did not seem to dampen the other man’s spirit. Perhaps that was why they didn’t quite annoy one another; they could volley their energy levels back and forth. 

With a nod, KJ sunk into the chair as it was offered. Nevertheless, he made a show of checking his watch despite having nowhere in particular to be. “Nothing wrong with same old. Same old’s good. But, yeah, I’m there all the time, man. Some idiot jumped into the water back in December. Did you hear all that thing?” He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Like, actual submarines, or just that movie you like?” He pursed his lips, but Atticus’s words seemed to now to genuinely grab his attention. “Whatta you lookin’ for down there? I mean, Northy goes deep. You ain’t gonna find her. Even I couldn’t,” he replied with a completely straight face. “But…you serious, though? Like a dive? It’s dark under there. Can’t see more than a few feet in front of you, but I still got some air tanks from way back when. If you knew where you were looking, we could….” 

   “Pretty conducive to my theory she’s one of the Furies or something - you read Percy Jackson? I’m regressing to a thirteen year olds tastes, but I have to say, I’m really enjoying it.” He relishes the details about KJ’s life -- so much of the other man, lay in lingering stares and well-crafted silences; a fact, a slight piece of information dropped here or there, was a detail to be treasured. “I could see you besting some kid at debate, but I’m not sure if Pleasance is ready for that to become a course. I don’t think we’d ever get past the ‘are ghosts real or not’ portion. Louisiana French, huh? I’ve only been once, but it was pleasant on the ears. Less throaty.” Student adoration had been a long-awaited dream, until Atticus had found himself too entrenched in grading papers and preparing lectures, to continue working on crafting his long gestating masterpiece. “I’d say I’m fairly in the running for most not the least, popular teacher -- the only I love You so far, was from a mom whose son didn’t fail, for once. Once of those Alby adjacent relatives, actually - do you know them, much?”

  Everyone knew the Alby’s to an extent, but the degree of entanglement, varied greatly between residents. “You gotta finish that story -- I’ve been in a western mood, I suppose. They shoot ghosts, don’t they? Pleasance adaption.” With KJ, Atticus is allowed to playfully jab at, and reference, the mystic fanaticism that held their town in a vice grip. What was it - eight months in? Seven? Time had begun to slip away, now. The oddities nearly felt normal. “There’s some some you just reminded me of, but it feels so far away now - I’ll be your something, and you’ll be my something else. Eh, I suppose I’m just getting old; unless we’re the same age, in which case, we’re both very young. Socks are pretty great - you ever been to NYC? Amazing sock shops.” Their good humoured banter, is slightly broken by the revelation -- he’d heard a whisper about a jumper, but the Mason case had distracted him, from seeking out any details.” 

    “Someone jumped in? Jesus Christ.....I’d say everyone’s unwinding for the worse, but I guess that’s the usual.” He tries to picture something piercing the steely surface, hands desperately clawing at murky waters, trying to will themselves to find air once more. “Real submarines I suppose, though I am always thinking about Red October. As for what I’m looking for.... it’s a good question.” One that makes Atticus pause, and take stock of his own motives, the gnawing feeling in his belly, that made him need to touch the surface; he toys with lies, has a dalliance with the truth, before settling for an in-between. “I don’t know why, but I need to go as far as I can; try and find some bottom. Because if I can find it, I can anchor everything else. It’s crazy I know -- but do you think it’s possible, to at all try? I don’t have that much to pay you, to make you go down; I can offer mainly, socks.”

for: @ofhoneyblood​

location: red hot 😼liquors 

“Thanks again for letting me set up here...I know I’m probably not your more desirable customer, but the atmosphere is stimulating. And errm, I mean that in the non weird way -- I can think here, totally in opposition to the way I can’t quite focus at the coffee shops.” He’s been babbling to the Irishman for nearly thirty seconds, staring at him over the top of his laptop; seated at a back table, with a couple half finished drinks covering the table, alongside a series of manilla folders. Atticus had taken to working at the burlesque bar since the first of January, finding solace beneath dimmed lights, the clicking of heels, the sounds of cheering patrons. 

  Bryce had seemed bemused by the prospect of the teacher spending a night a week, typing away on his laptop, talking to no one besides the waitress. And for this, Atticus felt grateful; though he felt like his attraction to the place, was beyond his own control. Something about joy in unusual places, a Pleasance pass-time, had snuck beneath his skin -- and with Emma rarely asking where he went, visiting was all the more, easy. Nearly natural. “How long have you owned the place? And when, where, did you come up with the name -- was this a lifelong passion project, or a stir of the moment thing? Sorry for the twenty questions; nervous habit, though I am dying to get an answer on at least the name thing.”

captainxkj​:

Closed starter for @atticusmalik​ Location: Northwood High School Time: Lunchtime 

“Oh. Sorry. I was just…uh, passing by. Thought I’d see if you were around.” KJ himself had, on the contrary, gone to the school in search of Atticus, and this fact was evident enough by the visitor’s sticker clinging to the front of his shirt. And to that end, the little excursion had taken him fifteen minutes of shooting the breeze with the front desk clerk, who remembered him and knew his mother, and well, having wasted all that time, he supposed he could not turn back now. A few weeks prior, Atticus himself had invaded his booth at the All Timer Diner, but after going back and forth over coffee and pie, he supposed the guy really wasn’t all that bad. For a newcomer anyway. And KJ forgot to talk to people for the sake of talking to people; maybe it wouldn’t be bad to have a dude around his own age he could tolerate.

He leaned in the doorway, trying too hard to look casual. “I, uh, well…I was gonna throw this in the garbage,” he said hurriedly, extending a book in his hand. “It’s the one about the submarine, yeah? Someone got me a second copy for Christmas, and I don’t really need it. I guess I’m hard to shop for. You can only get a person socks so many years in a row. Thought maybe you’d…be interested? I dunno. Books. School. You read. That’s your job.” 

 x

  “Dredging up old memories, huh? I think some of the teachers from your hay-day are rolling around here...Mrs. Greene refuses to retire, on the threat that she’ll haunt us all.” Atticus warms beneath KJ’s influence, glad to see his companion, of sorts; friend felt like a stretch, but he can’t help but feel some bonds had been forged, sharing sentiments over a slice of pie. He had to give that to Pleasance -- it had a way of bringing you to people, binding you to their side in ways, that were perhaps beyond your comprehension. Atticus was drinking from a mug that said Honk If You Love Teachers, which, considering it was a mug and thus unlikely to be seen by anyone in a car....felt like an odd choice. But his I Read Brontë and I liked It mug had been stolen, and so he’d settled. 

   He waved KJ in, pulling the chair he kept near his desk, to the side; he didn’t think the other man could even fit, in the tiny metal contraptions his students napped in. “No way! Really?” Atticus brightens with genuine excitement, at the prospect of being gifted the book; being thought of, and being bestowed a book, one of his greatest comforts in this world, was amongst the highest pleasures. “Dude - is dude, weird? Cowboy, Captain. Captain, I can’t say thank you enough, really; a book is worth a thousand socks to me, really. If you have a minute, take a seat, and I’ll bore your ear off.” He’d like to drift back to their conversation, where they waded between talk of boats and the town’s misty air, which in recent weeks, had grown all the more thick, as if the fog was mutating. “I’d ask how you’ve been, but I’m sure your answer will be the same as mine -- same old, same old. Have you been out to the lake, at all? I’ve been thinking about submarines a lot and .... I don’t know, I’ve been wondering what it’d be like, to head down to the bottom. Dispel the rumours once and for all, you know?” Atticus clung to reality with an iron fist -- but his desires stemmed firmly, from a belief that he’d seen something move. And he had to know, needed to confirm, it was just a trick of the light.

Gone Girl - Gillian Flynn (2014)