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a part of Notting's, by SuckOnMyJuiceBox.


SuckOnMyJuiceBox holds sovereignty over California, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

559 readers have been here.


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California is a part of Notting's.

12 Characters Here

Dante Knox Pike [3] So, what did you do to make people think you need therapy?
Nalin Spear [1] ..stained fingertips and a voice that's lost it's destination.
Thyme Sinclair [1] Stupidity is a contagion that should be treated with quarantine, but, since government officials are well aware they have already caught it, it is not.
Linus Finnley [1] I'll be here to hold your hand, 'cause you're my queen and I'm your lionheart.
Coraline Marlie [1] "The difference between me and you is outrageous."
Benitsubasa "Benny" Bennett [1] ~Life is full of beauty. Notice it.~
Strawberry Halo [1] See the world through the sightless eye.
Sire! [1] ..with grounded toes and a head full of sky.
Ellie [0] My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations.
Adam Monroe [0] "Lonely. I am so Lonely."

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Character Portrait: Nalin Spear Character Portrait: Sire!
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It would not be terribly farfetched to conclude that the absolute main repercussion of Sire!'s introduction to the modern, civilized human world was the waste copious amounts of electricity. Sire! would very frequently have outright and ongoing feuds with the mother of the house, with the latter combatant turning televisions, radios and general lighting off, and Sire! insistently, irritably turning them back on immediately afterwards--or else after the briefest of delays to allow her to think she'd won. This once was one of the few times Sire! surrendered the battle (but not the war!!), retiring to the Young Master's bedroom, plowing headfirst into the nearest lacey pillow like a dolphin returning to water. But somehow more pathetic and far less graceful.

"I wanna go out. You wanna go out? Because I do." said the Notting, not missing a single beat. Such was the awesome thing about not having to breathe through a circulatory system. It didn't stop the sound from coming out muffled though, which was curious. Sire! sat up when Sire! realized the noise output wasn't the best, tussling at the funny conceptual hair attached to Sire!'s own head... then, after musing over the idea a bit, meandering over to roughly tussle Nalin's funky rebel hair. For no reason other than to be a jerk, really.


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Character Portrait: Benitsubasa "Benny" Bennett
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The streets are filled with people, walking with their children or carrying briefcases. The variety was incredible as the city blended cultures and defied the normal way of thinking. However, to the blonde girl walking aimlessly down the sidewalk, it was the loneliest place in the world. Her two cascading ropes of blonde tumbled from her tilted head, as she stared down at the ground. Her arms hung in front of her, her hands clutching a golden locket whose chain dangled down from her fingers. Teardrops fell from her face leaving little disks of wet sorrow on the collar of her uniform.
The people shrugged past her as they walked, none taking any notice of her. Only when she slid down the face if a brick apartment building did she lift her gaze, resting her amber eyes on the tiny gold locket, Why can't I remember my real name... her thoughts wretched for an answer, but none came forth. Only the name she was given when she was abandoned. The steady stream of tears continued down her cheeks as she pressed the locket open, revealing a a photo of a pair if twins smiling back at her.
I know that I love you...but I can't remember...your names either....
As she sat on the street and tried to recall the memories of her life she realized, This must be the fate of a forfeited Notting, ...loneliness
It had been three days since they had given her up, the twins. However Benny hadn't told them her fate, and only hoped they never found out. Though if they did come across her, she wasn't sure if she would even know who they were.
All she could do now was sit, and wait. Without the twins, she wasn't sure how she even existed anymore. She couldn't help but notice no one looked at her, or even moved when they waled into her. Humans couldn't see her of course, but could anyone else? Maybe she didn't exist anymore after all...


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Character Portrait: Strawberry Halo
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Since when does sightless mean brainless? Strawberry sat alone now twirling some sort of flower in her hand. She felt its stem and wished that she could just look at its color one last time. Beauty used to mean so much to her. Now it means nothing. Nothing, like wind whistling through the broken-hearted trees. Like her life that she couldn't enjoy now. Not even a bit.
She stood up, though. She knew that she wouldn't let herself lay down and die. Life could be adapted to fit her condition. Weak of sight, strong of mind. The girl felt for her cain. Finding it, she grasped it tightly. Then she walked. With the loss of her sight came hightened awareness and bettering hearing. The birds could be her friends. She had to have a friend. Someone...
Someone to care and help her now that she was so alone and lost in the world. The cain moved from side to side, hitting every crack and stone in her way. She found her way home and into the house. Up in her bedroom, she sat with a brail book, just trying to figure out where it began and ended.


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Character Portrait: Dante Knox Pike
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… spouse of the four victims was found sitting on the soiled carpet floor, staring blankly at a wall that had been previously covered in blood. Mr. Thomas, the suspect, is now in questioning and has also been put through a psychological examination. There was a bit of doubt for the examination, but when the autopsy came back saying each victim had their heart removed shortly after their deaths the judicial court issued a psychological examination. The results were shortly released stated that Mr. Thomas suffers from a brief psychotic disorder….

Fucking alarm clock and their fucking need to use public new radio to fucking wake people up. The voice grated against his poor, sensitive ears due to lack of use over eight hours of sweet oblivion. Knox growled in the general direction of the fucking radio, but didn’t bother do things like open his eyes or get out of bed. How dare that clock wake him from his beloved unconscious state. Oh, yeah…Knox was needed at work in a few hours.

He mulled over the idea of preparing, or trying to prepare in his case, for another day at work. Instead, Knox snuggled into the over feather stuffed pillow he was currently hugging against his bare chest, drowning out the annoying broadcaster’s voice with the warmth and comfort his beloved bed graced him with. The warmth that his body gave off was soaked into the blankets and pillows, which lay precariously around him; rebounding the warmth back at him. Knox allowed a sigh of content vertebrate from his larynx.

Knox really didn’t want to leave his beloved bed. All he wanted to do was let his mind wander, which it was at the moment. He wondered what triggered the Thomas to have a psychotic episode. What made him carve out his family’s hearts? Maybe he found his wife cheating on him…or maybe one of his daughters got pregnant. Maybe his son turned out gay and he walked in on—Oh wait, there were only four victims…all of which were his family. But those were only possible triggers. In this case this vat of slimly, negative emotions slowly compounded over a long period of time. Every stressful event poured in a bit more of bitter emotion, until the human succumbed to it.

It was funny how people reacted to stress. It was also sad how easily people can snap, but, on the other hand, the human mind can take quite a bit of emotional/mental trauma. The human mind was so fucking fickle in that way, it could endure witnessing a person in next to nothing slaughtering another human being and not give a shit. Yet, something as insignificant as dropping a cup could cause someone to go ballistic. The indifference could easily be explained that the person had no attachment towards to victim, hell; Knox didn’t feel copious amounts of empathy towards the heartless, nameless victims. On the flip side, a person reacting so vehemently for something that seems nugatory likely used the insignificant object as a representation of another human. Or they’re just a touchy, cantankerous person. Either way, it flaunted the fact that humans were selfish; what a surprise there.

The beginnings of a gnawing, stinging pain skirted the edges of his mind as he continued on with psychoanalyzing the murderer when it was much too early to be thinking clear, coherent thoughts. Knox growled in annoyance when the aching sensation decided to make itself known to him.

Pressing nimble fingers against his temples, he exhaled slowly before cracking open his eyes. The piercing brightness bore their way through his poor retinas causing him to wince and silently begging for his pupils to adjust to the unforgiving intensity of the light. Once his pale eyes became accustom to the harsh lighting, due to the lack in curtains, Knox glanced at the still going alarm clock. It displayed, in the customary red, the cruel numbers: 7:46 AM. He narrowed his eyes into a glare as he attempted to fire the clock on fire for the offensive time it proclaimed loudly.

Abruptly, Knox was reminded that he still hadn’t turned off the radio once it started playing an obnoxiously, artificial song.

He sneered in disgust at the alarm clock before slamming his hand violently against the snooze button. Yanking back his hand Knox muttered incoherent curses towards the odious clock while clutching his poor hand against his bare chest that could easily melt the prudeness off of the prudeyest prude ever known to mankind. After a few moments of nursing his now bruised hand, Knox unceremoniously extracted himself from the millions of blankets and pillows that found their way onto his back. He shivered slightly once the frigid air hit against his shirtless body. Surprisingly, the unreasonable, Siberian temperature didn’t cause the slightest smidgen of annoyance.

Walking over to the chestnut closet, Knox cautiously peered into the dark container of clothing and possible harbor of arthropods. Once he deemed it pest free, he then continued onto the perilous task of finding decent work clothing, while trying not to fall back asleep and get hypothermia due to the drastically low temperature. Finally, the droopy-eyed, thirty year old man located a slightly wrinkled white button-down shirt and a pair of gray crumply slacks.

There is no need to inform you of what occurs in the next boring ten minutes, filled with walking into inanimate objects, mumbled curses, and mundane tasks of getting ready for work. But as a result, Knox is completely dressed with his button-down shirt in a disastrous state of being buttoned incorrectly and leaving buttons alone in the cold without their counterpart. Currently, the almost comatose male was struggling with his boring blue tie. After a few moments are awkwardly twisting and turning the evil piece of cloth, he gave up and let it rest around his neck.

After the tie fiasco, Knox accomplished in getting his stubborn silver hair into some semblance of order. At last, he could go to the diner and get his daily dosage of caffeine….oh wait, he still had to find his suit jacket and briefcase, which should both be near the door. Venturing out into the small living room, in a manner that would trick anyone into thinking Knox was besotted, much to his annoyance he noted that only his briefcase was in its proper position. He grumbled to himself about stupid fucking little things all having their fun annoying the shit out of him.

In his half asleep stupor, Knox trudged through his small apartment in search of his stupid jacket. Stupid social rules demanding professionals to dress up like stuck-up bastards. Yes children, adults also have to follow stupid rules on attire so that they don’t get yelled at or fired by their jackass bosses. Moronic adults and their desire to have a say on every minor aspect on life, it’s as though they want to infuriate him.

Oh, hah! There was his gray suit jacket…laying on one of the shelves of his refrigerator…How the hell did it get there? Maybe a ghost had decided to take part in the “LETS ALL ANNOY THE SHIT OUT OF KNOX FOR HIS WHOLE LIFE” game and moved it while he was dead asleep. Or it could have been the government testing Knox’s memory by changing its position in the middle of the night. Whatever reason it was, Knox had his jacket.

Shrugging it on over his poorly put on shirt, he picked up his briefcase as Knox lazily sauntered out of his messy apartment. He got out of the apartment complex without having to deal with other humans or annoyances; he was also able to avoid falling completely asleep while he was in the elevator.

Once outside, Knox dragged his feet in the direction of where he had parked his car yesterday evening. His pale gray eyes glared at the piece of junk known as Kereta, name dubbed by Harper during her linguistic phase. One of the corners of his thin lips curls upwards remember how she listed all of the reasons why he should listen to her ingenious idea of naming to scrap of metal. He traipsed towards the sun-bleached red car. Myriad of dings and scraps marred the paint on the car; there were also a number of dents from Knox’s absolutely amazing driving. No one knows how he got a license with his skill. No one knows how he still has his license.

The tiniest of smirk played on the edge of his lips as a memory washed over him. It was of him driving his siblings to some zoo and their expressions were priceless. Knox dug around his pant pocket for his car keys; luckily, he found them with ease and unlocked the car. Sliding into the car he tried to find a place of put down his briefcase. Knox glared at the piles of random paper and books before shoving them off of the passenger seat and set down his case where it will hopefully stay safe.

He maneuvered his way out of the parking lot and began to weave his way through morning traffic. Due to his lack of complete alertness, Knox had to swerve out of the way a few times when he started to nod off. He also almost ran a red light, but luck decided to help him for once and he noticed the blazing red light. After a few more miles of him artfully driving like a madman on crack for the past month, Knox had finally arrived at the diner he visited every weekday morning. Pulling into the tiny parking lot, which only had a few other cars, he glanced around the familiar background.

The small building was covered in windows; it had a retro feel to the place what with its trapezoid-shaped sign and neon words “Eye-Opener”. Knox walked in through the side entrance and settled himself in the vomit pink colored, corner booth away from the sparse elderly people who were chattering loudly and chomping on their soft foods. There were a few fake plants hanging from the ceiling and all of the shades for the windows were completely pulled up letting in annoyingly bright light.

Knox sneered in the direction of the old coots when they noticed him and started collectively snickering at his disheveled appearance. The evil, white-haired humans often took it upon themselves to annoy him about his love life or lack thereof and criticized his attire. Unfortunately for Knox, these old people weren’t shy or shameless about how much they torment him. They were lucky they weren’t younger or else he would have punched one of them by now.

As if on que, a woman who appeared to be well in her seventies walked towards his table. She has a wild hairdo that fit well with her insanely colorful outfit, filled with patterns that would make the disco era cringe in fear. The old hag had an evil smirk splayed across her wrinkly face. “Hey dearie! I see you still haven’t fixed up your appearance! In my day, working men weren’t allowed to look like a hobo when they went to work. They wore clothing—”

“Shut up old lady. You’ve recited the same fucking lecture a million of times,” Knox growled out while he rested his forehead against his closed hand.

The old lady’s smirk fucking widened and went on in an annoyingly nauseating tone, “That’s no way to speak to your elders, you ungrateful brat! I was giving away perfectly good advice! But yooou! You and your rude manner! Hmph. You really need to get laid.” With that, she walked away trying to hold in laughter when she heard a thud from where Knox was sitting.

Knox couldn’t believe his ears. Did that old lady really tell him to get laid? Please tell him he was hallucinating. Anything would be better than knowing at the old lady really said that. His face was planted on the table in an attempt to erase that horrid comment from the old lady. After the initial shock wore off, irritation settled in its spot. He sent a glare towards the old people table that could cause a 5 ton pro wrestler to cower in fear, clutching a teddy bear in an attempt to ward off the evils known as Dante Knox Pike.

Scowling in annoyance, Knox closed his eyes and allowed his hand to support his head. Vaguely, he wondered where the waitress….Wendy? Whitney? Wilma? Her name started with a ‘W’, but Knox couldn’t quite remember. Anyways, where was she and why hasn’t she poured him his coffee? She was always diligent in making sure he never had an empty mug, not after how he scared her to death when she left him un-served for half an hour. He shook off the uneasiness that had settled itself in his stomach and rested his eyes.


3 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Dante Knox Pike Character Portrait: Linus Finnley Character Portrait: Coraline Marlie
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She gnashed her teeth. Her fingers clicked, subconsciously clawed and dangerous. White molars mulled tirelessly against adjacent molars, dragging clear as if they were grinding ivory dust to trade off to toothless-beggars loitering black market streets. It sent a dull ache through the connecting intersections of her jaw – an ache that made her want to throw the blaring fucking alarm clock clear through the spattered window. Whose bright idea was it to buy a machine that sounded like an incoming ship, blaring it's fucking sirens? Oh yeah. Linus bought it. Initially, she'd thought it was endearing: poetic, even. Throw her a life jacket. Sweep the lighthouse' light across her before she was completely overcome – somewhere she'd be safe. More than that, it reminded her of soft touches, fingertips dipping across bird-bones and a jingling laughter she was hard pressed to forget. She was foolish. She was tired. Her sleeplessness shuttered her eyes closed, tightly. When did it become so hard to drag her lazy ass out of bed?

Wooden bracelets flashed on her thin wrists – probably the only bird-like thing about her. Everything else screamed something else, something inexorable and bawdy: firecracker. She swam in a sea of beautiful women with bigger tits, plumper lips, blonder hair, but still she crackled with an energy they lacked. It didn't matter. She didn't belong in the gender-spectrum. Those women never interested her, anyway. A half-snuffle half-snort puffed from her nose as she dragged her knuckles against the laminated flooring: click-lock boards, installed herself. She was handy like that. Her eyes, like two pieces of rusty pennies, glinted in the darkness of her three-bedroom apartment, in search of her half-empty packet of Cordon Bleu smokes strewn across her nightstand. Cardboard righteously massacred from her many attempts to calmly extract one of the damned things and carelessly tossed on the floor in front of the rubbish bin. She'd clean up later.

Behind the tightly closed curtains, she could feel the time passing and her thoughts drifted back to the blaring siren invading her ears. A tightly-wound snarl rumbled from her throat as she immediately shifted forward on her belly, much like a beached seal, and slammed her hand across the alarm's snooze button: off off off. “Y'know I'm gonna' throw your dumb ass out, right?” She threatened groggily, rubbing casually at the corners of her eyes to instill some kind of wakefulness. She wouldn't. She knew she wouldn't. Clearly, it was her fault. Her eyes rolled, then met squarely with her curtains. Small tubes of light filtered through a myriad of burnt holes littering it's front like a smattering of unwanted freckles, ugly ashen brown at the edges. If anyone asked, she'd blame it on the imaginary moths. Admitting that she often investigated the burning properties of matches and cigarettes would only raise eyebrows, and even if she didn't particularly give a shit about what people thought of her... it wasn't something she'd want to get into. Oh yeah, lady, burning holes in your curtains? Perfectly normal.

The tattooed woman clucked loudly, rolling her tongue ring against the inner ribs of her teeth. It sounded like rosary beads running down the corner of a table, comforting, rhythmic, a xylophone of repeated noises. Instead of resuming her hourly routine of staying-the-hell-in-bed-and-not-moving, Linus heaved herself up like an awkward sack of potatoes and swept the curtains open to reveal the full effect of the blazing sun, straight in her face. She probably would've hissed if she were some pansy vampire from Twilight. Wasn't she supposed to schedule an appointment today? Or was she supposed to attend something important? Return a call? Whatever. It'd come back to her if it was important enough. She moved away from her bed like a zombie: all limp limbs and a vacant, droning expression. She wasn't a morning person – didn't even want to experience “waking up.” It was a waste of time. Where the hell was Coraline, anyway? It hit her. Suddenly, like a freight train. Oh yeah, Linus was supposed to contact her therapist. That was Dr. Pike, otherwise known as Knox. They were on a first name basis because they got along pretty well, but she didn't like calling him Dante. Too stuffy. Too biblical. Linus knew Knox was some kind of therapist badass or whatever. He understood that she wasn't some damage, kicked puppy who was feeling sorry for herself. If it were her choice, then she wouldn't even attend the mandatory sessions. But, like all things, it wasn't in her power. It wasn't her choice. They both played their parts, perfectly. Nobody deserved to know. But she gets lonely. A lot. She wasn't taking nothing at all out of the sessions. At least, Linus was learning more about herself – maybe, more than she'd care to know.

She doesn't like people much. She supposes it's rather obvious. She would get tired of hearing someone's voice. She hated people who talked too much. It's like people who overstayed their welcome – but, it's not really like that with Knox. They had a mutual understanding and mutual dislikes. With him, it felt like there was a balloon in Linus' chest cavity, swelling and filling with air. It's not so bad a feeling. With him, it's confidential. With him, she doesn't need to put up any fronts. It's unnecessary. Her lazy limbs automatically carried her through the motions of her morning routine: quick shower, brush teeth, scarf down a bagel with herb and garlic cream cheese and get her silly ass dressed in whatever was conveniently in arms reach. Blue All-Star chucks? Check. Oversized grey band T? Check. Pair of ripped jeans? Check. Old leather jacket? Check. Linus didn't bother checking how she looked in the mirror: didn't really care, not one bit. She snapped her phone open and stomped down the stairs, flicking through names and numbers and addresses until Knox' name came up. Then, she promptly dialed and announced that she'd be meeting up with him later. Split coffee or something.

She never bothered to ask if his schedule was clear.


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Character Portrait: Dante Knox Pike Character Portrait: Thyme Sinclair
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#, as written by Cayleen

You know how everything always goes your way? Neither does Thyme. That’s why it didn’t come as a surprise when the insistent, loud, and overall obnoxious banging that roused him from his sleep continued on and left his practically pleading prayers of silence left unanswered. An audible groan sounded from the tangle of sheet and limbs as the blunette stiffly turned in bed to sandwich his face and blue locks between mattress and pillow; a futile attempt to ward off unwanted sound and hopefully earn himself a few extra minutes of a much needed, and very much desired, unconscious state. The irritated noise resounded off the fading walls, mingled with the ever persistent din that served to be the bane in the Scot’s existence at that given moment, and then thundered back to the disgruntled heap that was Thyme.

“Thyme! I know you’re in there!”

Thyme groaned louder as he recognized the annoying and terribly feigned American accent. “Fuck off, Nessa.” Was his intended response to his sister’s irritating antics, but, considering his face was pressed into the mattress, came out as unintelligible garble.

The insistent thundering continued undisturbed, but was now accompanied by a very unwanted addition of an American poser’s voice. “Don’t make me break this door down, Splendid!”

Thyme’s eyebrow ticked at the insufferable nickname. Did she really have to go there? Don’t get him wrong, Thyme loved his kid sister, but sometimes -most times- he just wanted to kick that stick already firmly implanted up her arse so hard it pierced through her skull. Honestly. All she ever did was nag and complain to him about how he’s wasting his life or how he’ll never get a job looking like that or how he should eat this or shampoo with this and blah, blah, blah. The list goes on. But really, it was His life. And fyi, he can to get a fucking job looking like he did. In fact, he started his first day today. Pause. One beat. Two. Shit. Thyme pulled his green gaze from the welcoming embrace of the back of his eyelids and glanced at the bedside clown-clock. Flashing across the admittedly creepy piano-key grin of the clown in digital figures the time read 7:52. Had he really slept through his alarm? Oh, wait. He hadn’t even bothered to set it. Looks like he’d be late to his first day of work... Meh.

As he was readying himself to succumb to the sweet temptations of sleep once more, the banging at his door suddenly stopped. Huh. She had given up a lot faster than he would have thought. Usually she’s so stubborn and hell-bent on getting what she wanted… Thyme blanched. There was no way she would have given up this easily. The sheets were untangled from his limbs as he quickly dragged his disgruntled frame towards the door. He flung it open and was greeted by a smug smile. Thyme frowned as his evergreen orbs searched his sister head to toe. No gun or hammer to smash the knob off… No wrench or lock pick… She was just standing there in her stark white blouse and pinstriped skirt as if she hadn’t been threatening to break down his door moments ago.

“Finally.” Nessa smiled dryly up at her elder brother as he leaned against the doorframe in nothing but an off-white T-shirt that hung loosely to his frame and a pair of navy boxers. “We need to talk.”

Thyme made no notion to reply or even show he had heard his sister, but instead reached out and snagged the thin glasses from his sister’s face. He examined them lightly before perching them on his nose. “Why do you wear these? You don’t even need glasses.”

Nessa scowled up at her brother as he disregarded her last statement and clawed at her glasses. After a brief quarrel amongst siblings, the glasses were returned to their rightful owner and Nessa stood straighter, clearing her throat and freeing invisible dust from her professional-looking attire. She allowed the glare that adorned her face to soften as she took a deep breath and looked to the corner of Thyme’s door. “You know I love you, right? That I only want what’s best for you?” Thyme scrutinized his sister with wary orbs. What was his sister getting at? “Well… I do. And I feel that you aren’t really making any progress in your life,” Thyme let out a heavy sigh. Here we go again… This is where his sister would go on and on about how he should be making something of his life, how he should be out in the world, acting like a grown adult. She would talk for hours on end listing every flaw and habit she felt inappropriate for a grown man to harbor and then continue on to tell him how to fix them; what new habits he should adopt… Like actually folding his clothes and even talking to people… Thyme involuntarily shuddered at the prospect. “So I signed you up for therapy.” …What? Thyme froze mid thought and stared at his sister. Had he heard correctly…? Therapy? There’s no way he had heard her right; she wasn’t that much of a fucking prick. Well sure she always wanted to be in control of every situation, like his life. And yes she always seemed to enjoy getting under his skin, but she wouldn’t have gone this far. Right? Of course not. It had to be her idea of some twisted joke. It was her just wanting to get her older brother all riled up and huffy. “Right, right, right. And I’m a servant to the flirtatious fish god.”

“…What?” Nessa arched a brow quizzically at her brother before shaking her head “I’m serious, Thyme. I signed you up and this is exactly why. You can’t take anything seriously.”

“…You signed me up for therapy -without my permission- because I like to joke around.” Thyme narrowed his eyes.

“Not because you joke-“ Thyme raised his hand in a futile attempt to cut his sister off. “But because you need to grow up. Your bloody nineteen, Thyme! And-“ Nessa bit her lip, effectively cutting off the flow of her worried words, and furrowed her brow. She was not about to tell him why she was so worried about him all the time. At the suspicious arch in her brother’s brow, Nessa averted her eyes to the inside of her brother’s apartment. She noticeably flinched as her gaze landed on the many unsettling clown figurines before shaking herself slightly and turning back to her brother.

“And what?” Thyme’s interest in the conversation was reengaged. It wasn’t often his sister seemed unsure of herself.

“And nothing. I signed you up for therapy and you are going. Your first session is in a few hours. At 10:15.”

“But I have work.” Not that he gave a shit; his first shift ended before ten anyways. But Nessa didn’t have to know that. At the questioning look his sister gave him, Thyme elaborated, “I landed a job at the coffee shop down the block.” He shrugged nonchalantly and began to turn. “My shift starts in… Like 5 minutes. So fuck off. I gotta get into ‘uniform’.” Thyme sneered at the word and began to close the door in his beloved sister’s face but was stopped as a slender arm darted out and knocked his aside. Before he could reach for the door again, Nessa had already wormed her way through the doorway and was standing behind him.

“Your first day and you’re just going to allow yourself to be late?” Thyme shrugged at his sister “See, this is exactly the attitude that’s gotten you fired all those times before. Do you expect to get anywhere in life hopping from job to job constantly? Honestly-“

Thyme rolled his eyes as his sister went off on her ranting tangent and turned towards his room to get changed. He scowled down at the heap of clothing piled on the floor at the end of the bed before stalking over and grabbing a loose T and a pair of well worn, dark jeans. Haphazardly throwing on his ensemble, Thyme turned a look of distaste upon the red-brown apron given to him by his new job. They insisted upon having the employees tie these ridiculous looking pieces of shit around their waists. If it hadn’t been for the conveniently placed pockets, Thyme could have said he detested the thing.

“Thyme! You just walked off while I was talking!” An irritated -well, more irritated than usual- Nessa appeared in the bedroom doorway, hand on hip.

“Hm? You were talking? I must have mistaken your horrible American accent for the bat screeching outside.”

His sister let out an exasperated sigh, “First of all, my accent is just find, and second, its morning. There is no bat screeching.” Thyme just shrugged and halfheartedly responded with his fallback ‘right, right, right…’. “Now hurry up, I have classes later today and if I’m going to drive you to work and still make it to school on time we have to leave now.”

“Drive me?” Thyme frowned at his sister, “I never agreed to that.”

“I have to make sure you actually go to work today. And I want to know where you’re working.” Thyme simply looked at his sister. Why the hell does she need to know where I work. “So that way I can check up on you and make sure you actually go to your therapy session.” Ah… Thyme’s scowl darkened. He didn’t need therapy. He was a perfectly healthy, normal male human. Ha. He almost laughed aloud at the thought. Normal… Pfff. Why the fuck would anyone want to be ‘normal’? Normal today meant wearing slutty clothes and getting drunk off your ass. After all: ‘YOLO’. Whatever the hell that meant… Your ovaries like obscenities? Hmm… Maybe.

His thoughts were once again cut short as his arm was firmly grasped and he was pulled effortlessly from his apartment. He was too busy pondering the meaning of that mysterious acronym ‘YOLO’ to put up much a fight (not that he could if he wanted to… the stick), that he didn’t realize that they had already arrived at the café/dinner he now worked at until Ness interrupted his thoughts –again- . “Thyme, get out of my car. I’m going to be late for my classes.”

“Yorsh or lewd omens?” Nessa stared blankly at her brother before motioning for him to get out. Thyme blinked a few times, gathering his surroundings, before unbuckling and, being the considerate brother he was, sticking a thoroughly licked finger into his sister’s ear and twisting.

“You’re so immature!” His sister wiped furiously at her ear while burning holes through his head with her eyes.

“Only for you.” Thyme smirked, mood exponentially lifted, and slid out of the small black car. He sauntered through the double doors and was greeted by a disgustingly cheerful mood and a flood of stomach-churning, peptobismol-pink. His nose scrunched and his signature scowl returned as the unmistakable ‘old person smell’ wafted to his nostrils. Choking back the urge to gag, Thyme made his way to the counter where one of his new co-workers resided. The painfully average looking girl glanced up from her magazine, popping a large bubble of pink bubble gum, only to look back down, completely disregarding Thyme’s presence. The blunette stared mercilessly down at the young woman, not letting up until she looked back up again. She sighed and looked up from her beloved zine “Who’re you?”

“New.” Thyme gestured down to the ugly cloth tied around his waist. The girl regarded him for a moment, smacking her gum, before instructing him to ‘just go wait tables or somthin’’ and handing him a small notebook and minuscule pencil. Thyme inspected the wooden sliver he had been handed in light distaste; how the fuck could anyone write with this? It was practically the size of his little finger! He disapprovingly shook his head as he wondered over to the only unwaited table. Thyme stood near the end of the distastefully coloured booth, still regarding the pencil and waited for the booth’s only occupant to order. When said order never came, Thyme sighed exasperatedly, “Yee gonna order? Or just sit there and waste all our oxygen.”