[IC] What would your oc do to the above oc?

"What... Are you...?" Gautier mumbled as he circled around Goldilocks. "I've never seen anyzhing quite like you before, mademoiselle..."

He peered up at the dumblotraight, the slightest bit intimidated by her stature. And a bit by the seemingly bony protrusion that was placed where a nose would be on a human. ... And also by her hair, which he supposes could easily pick him up and completely restrict him. Okay, he was more than a little bit intimidated, but his intrigue won out.

"If you don't mind, chérie... May I study you? You are... Fascinating..." He tentatively reached for her arm, and after a quick "And, again, if you don't mind..." he gently bent her arm, mesmerized by the rubberhose nature of her limbs, quietly mumbling "Do you even have bones...?" as he did.

He quickly retracted his hand. "... Er-hem, ah, I'll compensate you if you'll let me study you! You seem to have rich taste, and zat is no problem to me, money is no object!"

--

Gautier met the man with a scowl, initially, but as Noel commented on his hair, Gautier had to exert all his willpower to not bark out a derisive laugh. Instead, he merely chuckled.

"Oh, mon ami, are you sure you aren't talking to yourself?"

He turned his attention away from Noel, taking a long sip from his drink. He paused for a moment before turning back to Noel, a smile on his face. It's dubious if it's genuine or not...

"You flatter me, mon chéri. About my age, I mean. I've been feeling my age a lot, lately... Your accent is, ah... Interesting. Where are you from?"

Two Frenchmen [...almost in Noel's case?] walk into a bar. One got way too drunk. He looked at the man some stools down the counter from him, seated mostly quietly, not minding the vacant space between them. And, well, Noel decided that he was in the mood to harass a twink, and there was only one seat next to Gautier, who caught his eye mostly for his disheveled hair, though the darker man's wasn't much better.

He pushed himself out of the stool, walked three long steps towards the other party, and plopped down in the seat next to him.

"You've got a baby face..." He mumbled. His words slurred heavily. "Even with grayed hair, you look awfully young." His eyebrows furrowed and he scoffed.

"..You can't be as old as you were saying you were." He said with a nod. "A fucking look like that, I'd find it easier to believe you're still in year one... And who brushes your hair? Gods, Gods, what a mess."

He scowled.

"You look like a mess..."

follow-up........ rifp noel--

Pacing around the older man and leering at him, Brown hissed, "You know... You do seem like the intriguing individual, are you not?" She chuckled and gave him a coy wave of her hand. "I would almost want to make you just like my husband, but..." she teased while tracing a finger over her throat, with significant emphasis being placed on the very slight bulge that indicated her jugular. Wow, real funny. "I do not think it would be worth it for either of us. You sure do not seem like him, at the very least..."

She trailed off as soon as she stopped pacing and settled on trailing by his side. It was obvious that she was still trying to pick at this stranger, to try finding something interesting that she could use to her advantage. Perhaps... The middle-aged woman raised a brow before abruptly quickening her step and shuffling her hands.

"I am sure that it would be a great disgrace to you if you end up with someone like myself," she admitted with a melancholic roll of her eyes, "but all I reckon is a drink or two. We are simple people with simple needs, yes? Let us not make it more complicated than it needs to be. You can get sloshed, and so can I. It is a win-win for both of us. I sure do think the alcohol would make it easier to deal with this type of surrounding..." Absinthe danced in her mind, the green drink nagging at her conscience. She did need an excuse in case things went south and... You know... Made a second Skinner.

However, the arrangement was all just for kicks to Brown, who shrugged and added with a scoff, "Of course, I doubt it would be a big loss to me if you decline, but... One shot does no harm, sir. So how about it? A talk over some drinks, yes? It will do no harm, it will do no harm..." The last words were almost sing-song, and her steps quickened again into little hops from here to there, here to there... He certainly lagged behind her at this point, but she didn't exactly care. "The next bar," she called out, "is just a block or so away! Feel free to race me if you are no coward!"

And with that, she was gone, having started to skip off into the horizon without a single reckoning to the world around her.

it's time for a quick follow-up to the post below...

Finally. It had been a long week, and Terry rarely had any time to himself. But it was the weekend now, and in his hands were a fountain drink and a bag of burritos from the gas station behind him. His stomach rumbled eagerly. He'd nearly forgotten how these tasted. He was tempted to eat them right here, right now, but it wouldn't be as great as eating them at home with Seinfeld on. A happy sigh left him. A night to himself, he couldn't wait!
On his way to his car, he paused at the sight of a nearby woman who seemed to be lost in thought. She looked angry. Upset? It was a negative emotion, though he couldn't really tell. What's more, she was in front of the driver's door of his car.
"Excuse me," he grunted, motioning to the car. "Sorry, I just need to get in here real quick." When she gave him the distance, he unlocked the car and started putting the food in before looking back at her. "You okay?" he grunted again. "Probably not my place, but you look like something's bugging you." He looked at his car then at her. "If you need a ride, I can help you out. You can help yourself to a burrito, they're really good," he said, hiding the disdain of losing one.

She walks backwards, right into him.

With his bat slung over his shoulders and jersey unbuttoned, he glances down at her form. It's not completely uncommon for someone to do this, as the world was a tight place and people did stumble, but nevertheless; he is entertained by it. His free hand, which was pocketed in his jacket, reveals itself and places a palm gently on one of her shoulders, steeling her. From above her head, he leans over, his bangs draping against the top of her hair and her face, given she tilts her chin up to glance at him. 

"Busy day?" His voice is charming while he shifts his body around her, sliding fingers along her the blades of her shoulders and back to himself. He says nothing more as he continues his path down the sidewalk, however he does offer a glimpse backwards with a quick, playful wink.

They bumped into each other on the street, Joanne immediately apologizing and smiling as to leave and get home faster. 

“I’m really sorry, I should’ve been paying attention.” They met eyes for a moment, almost locking into each other’s gaze. She wanted to look away and never see him again, buy the more she looked, the more she stared.

He looked perfect. Every thing about him was... indescribable. Hair, eyes, even the way his eyebrows were shaped while he they continued to look at each other. But, the baseball bat over his shoulder made her think about more than his looks. There his cute looks, his absolutely drop-dead handsome physique and strangely calming presence. But Joanne couldn’t think of anything that he could be hiding. Maybe it was best for it to be that way.
Her hand reached for his bicep, caressing and slowly wrapping around his arm. “Are you busy right now? Maybe we could sit down and get a coffee?” 

Ayre wasnt exactly known for subtlety, especially when it came to his advances towards people... strangers, mainly strangers. He hadn't acknowledged whether the girl was on her own or with somebody else, if she was busy or simply meandering along, but he moves to her with a delicate subtle grace in his steps, bowing slightly, perhaps a little obnoxiously, before catching her eye with the confidence of someone who doesn't feel fear. "I'm sorry, miss, you caught my eye..." He mutters, accent strong in his polite words. The grace, however, seems to falter from his actions and he stands up straight with a flustered chuckle, pulling a pair of earphones out of his pocket and plugging them into his phone. He shuffles for a second, his actions rich with intent to continue on whatever conversation he had started with the girl in front of him. 

After a moment of fiddling, he holds out his phone to her, offering an earbud. "The music is good, I promise you will like it-" He assures, the confidence dripping back into his voice "-Perhaps you would like to dance with me?" 

Nicole read over the large stack of papers, glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose. "So, if I'm reading this right, you've been accused of petty theft, and what are you pleading?" Her eyes rose to meet his, mouth in an unchanging straight line. "If you plead guilty, I could most likely ease the sentence. Nobody likes to spend their Friday afternoon in a stuffy courtroom, so as long as you aren't a complete idiot we should both be able to get out of this fairly quickly." She gave a long drawn out sigh, pushing her glasses back up her face. "However, your criminal record isn't much help to this case. You haven't been charged with anything, really, but being a suspect in a cold cannibalism case really doesn't make you look like a golden boy. I could probably argue for community service, though this all might land you in house arrest. Which, isn't ideal, but it isn't prison, so it seems like a win to me." Half lidded, Nicole reached for her coffee cup, fumbling around for a straight minute before she was able to get a real handle on it. She lifted it up to her lips and cringed. Room temperature black coffee. Gross. "I'm going to be honest, Mr.Ayre, this doesn't really look good for you at all. I could probably get you an easy sentence for now, but it'll still be breaking my back. So, once this is all over with, you either have to turn yourself around, or," She took another sip of coffee, gulping it loudly,"Don't get caught again. Because if I see your name on my desk again, I'm throwing whatever it is in the trash. This entire experience has been a headache, and we haven't even entered the courtroom yet." She slammed the cup down, making her point clear.

((hdjkdfhg i hope its ok a y))

Smithson frowned at the younger woman, although his feelings were more ambivalent than truly peeved. She reminded him of his son, thanks to that haughty temperament and desire to stick to that one special interest... Despite - in his eyes - said interests being completely invalid to him. They baffled him at best, actually pissed him off at worst. He couldn't see how either of them would be productive in the long run, but it wasn't like he was going to get out of that bubble anytime soon.

He crossed his arms while eyeing her, his mouth clearly in a pout as he did so. It was the same look he would've given Fitzgerald - back when the latter talked about research in front of him. Already, that little reminder... It made his heart skip. Slightly. It wasn't the good type, because it made him wince and shake his head. You can't go back now; you did what you did, and now you have to face the consequences. ... But why do I have to keep seeing him everywhere? Why can't I just make decisions without worrying about someone watching over my shoulder?

"I don't know," the middle-aged man murmured to nobody in particular. An eye drifted over to the blank-faced brunette. Did she know? She was a stranger, but... One could never know these days. Younger folk had always confounded him; sometimes for good, sometimes for bad. It made him shake his head again. "I really don't know," he repeated before turning to face her, "I don't know what to feel about you, or do when it comes to you... You're an individual who strikes me as familiar, which I welcome and abhor at the same time-"

Too much.

Smithson was quick to shut up and turn to face away from her; his pout had turned into a frown again. It was as ambiguous as before, and so was the emotion in his eyes. Ever since my son left... he wanted to add, but he already felt he was revealing so much at once. Of course it was so much. That was why he was meant to be secretive.

And secretive was what he was, as the man abruptly pulled out a satin tunic from somewhere, before offering it to her. It was a silent exchange because Smithson felt that words would only build up the snowball that had started to form. All because he had dropped his son into the conversation. But she wouldn't know about his son, right!? So why the hell was he acting this way?

Finally, he broke the silence by saying oh-so flatly, "You like something comfy, yes? Then this tunic might do you good. It's made of the softest fabric around. You'd like the texture, but I'm not sure about the style..." Suddenly, an absolutely terrible idea came into his mind. "By the way, miss, would you mind a chance to discuss more about fashion later?," he asked, "I may not look like it, but I do have experience in it myself. Perhaps we can exchange perspectives on the subject, hm?"

annnnd here's a follow-up for the post below!!

It was uncommon for Henry to find himself in the company of anyone other than Lyall, and a part of him would even admit to being a tad frightening. His familiarity  had been turned on its head in a mere seconds at the approach of Smithson. Still, despite feeling the urge to shrink at the behest of the stranger, Henry rose to meet Smithson with the same cordial practice he had received in his prior training to become a rather high political figure- though it was rusty and his footwork betrayed uncertainty.

"I was told to be expecting a visitor, but I certainly did not anticipate someone so... unique," Henry found himself smiling, examining Smithson's posture and attire with an approving glint in his eye. A very curious fellow, of which the spirit did not know how exactly to feel. Yet Smithson had made the effort to traverse the forest of spirits and fog and meet Henry in his clearing, and for that the phantom could not help but be impressed. An ambitious person, perhaps.

"I have been told you practice the study and training of spiritual monsters...? Correct me if I am wrong, for these topics are new to me, and I know little of creatures outside of the odd creations the fog conjures in your exhaustion. B-but anyways, I am curious as to what they are, and if I could be of any service to you. I may not exactly be a creature, but I am a ghost, and if that is what you specialize in then I am sure we can learn a bit from each other."

A pause, and then Henry gave Smithson a bow, trying to quell the wisping of his light form.

"My name is Eider Layton, but you may call me Henry. In life I studied the supernatural, and you seem to be a spiritually-inclined individual. I would love to know more about what you practice with those odd creatures."

Despite his best attempts at making acquaintances, Henry noted with sadness ghosts like him did make things a bit cold around Wickerden, and it probably did not help that his voice sounded like a melodic flute played in the deepest crevices of an echoing abyss. Making  friends and connections was a talent he wore in life, but in death, he had nothing but his wits- which were gradually slipping away the longer he had been bound to this clearing.

With every relationship comes compromise. Tonight was no exception, as Chris had begrudgingly agreed to go camping with his boyfriend - on top of that, Peter dragged his boyfriend along for the ride as well. The first half of the day was  fine, but the night was a different story. Chris's nights were already sleepless anyways, and lying at nature's mercy did not make things any better. His mind constantly found reasons to keep his eyes open, heart jumping at every call of a bird or mere midnight breeze. From the corner of his eye, a pale blue light began to shine through the tent, growing closer and closer. Hesitantly taking responsibility as the only one awake, he approached and opened the zipper with caution and saw a man on the other side, glowing in that same pale shade of blue.

A ghost?

Chris zipped the entrance closed, taking a groggy moment to process. No, he had to be dreaming... right?

Once again, he peeked outside. The man on the other side took a seat by a tree, marked by the thin mist emanating from his silhouette. Perhaps it was a benevolent spirit he was looking at, one his mind conjured for the sake of comfort. Maybe that was why he brought himself outside, drawn towards the figure. Chris's steps brought himself in front of him, close enough to see now that the stranger looked to be about his age, dressed in an attire from a bygone era. The other man smiled up at him, patting the grass to make room for another.

Chris found their exchange to be oddly comforting, each word leading him to see more of himself in Henry... or perhaps, vice versa. Pressures of chasing expectations, the complexities of love and loss, the struggles towards success - all kinds of stories and experiences beyond their respective areas of study. The only difference was that Henry was taken from the world far too soon, and Chris still had a life left to live. After all these years, he was still bound to the earth, which left Chris wondering about the unfinished business that he had yet to finish. What he already knew, though, that it was best not to pry further.

"...I hope you find your peace."

(i hope this wasn't too ooc :'^y i like henry a lot and would like 2 give him a hug somehow)

"What would I do? Well, I never finished high school, honestly, so I can't even begin to understand the stress your classes are giving you. But I DO know how to fix stress!" Jackson swung an arm around Chris playfully and beamed. "You, me, and a few of your friends. We'll go out into the city and party it up! I know a few hole in the wall kinda bars that have good music, and it's not too crowded either. Let's see, what's today... Oh! Perfect! One of those bars is hosting a comedy night, we HAVE to go! I'm not taking no for an answer." He began to walk away, taking Chris with him. And when Chris was distracted enough Jackson took the wallet sticking out of his back wallet. 

What? He didn't have to say EVERYTHING he was going to do.

He observes Jackson from afar, keeping a singular eye on him. By the looks of it, he's talking to someone. Chris, was it? The name was vaguely familiar and it belonged to a person he knew some about. Chris was a college student who spent most of his time absorbed away in his books, or so that's what he assumed and had gathered from soliciting information. Jackson was a man who didn't have time for dabbling in reading, a person who was always on the go and charismatic. Which makes him question to himself; why was it they were together right now? 

Had Jackson's relationship failed? Did he move on this quickly to some DELETE, DELETE and DELETE? Was his chance missed?

There's a stinging sensation in his chest as he forces a smile to his conversational partner. Now wasn't the time to be dabbling in a frivolous scenario like this. Not with Jackson and Chris moving. He had to go. He had to leave. He had to find out the details and see for himself if he'd been betrayed or not.  Politely, he excuses himself and after them he sets, following their every movement. His attention is sharp and around the city he follows, even waiting until after whatever comedy show had gone and passed. 

It's only when Chris is no longer in the picture does he surface, seemingly showing up by Jackson's side out of no where. A faked expression of casual content rests on his face, though somewhere in his eyes, a doting admiration can practically be spotted when he looks up at him. 

"You know, I was just thinking about you..."

[i couldnt bring myself to insult poor chris like he was thinking..
run Jackson..just run, don't walk]

The prior encounter at the supermarket did little to deter Dolores, who was fazed by little in the first place. Ever since that time, she had heard rumors of the young man "always watching, always knowing" (unfamiliar but still ominous terminology), and as much as they made her shiver... There was also that feeling of familiarity. One that she appreciated, instead of reviled. Yes, she had gotten to know these types of fellows before, back when she was a working woman. Retirement had sent her into a spiral of unfamiliarity and uncertainty, the elder's version of a midlife crisis; at this point, she would've done anything to latch onto something that vaguely resembled structure... Even if it was essentially a blast to the past.

Oh, Dolores, when will you learn...?

She neatly folded her hands together while eyeing what she thought was a glimpse of her acquaintance, before coughing quietly into her sleeve. Great, this was already getting a bit awkward... What if I'm attracting the attention of a complete stranger? The tension related to that particular inconvenience caused her to take a step back. It wouldn't have meant much, if what they told her about him was true, but... Even then, the impact of such a decision wouldn't alter significantly. I'm not new to this type of interaction, after all. I should be fine if I don't reminisce too much. The elder took a deep, unusually sharp breath before going back on her previous step.

"You know," Dolores broke the silence by muttering just loudly enough for him to hear, "that film you recommended me a while back? I happened to watch it a few nights ago. It's not normally something I'd consume in my free time, but..." She trailed off to chuckle; a faint flicker of amusement in her eyes ignited as an accompanying sign. "It was admittedly quite the flick. The facets of how the killer worked was admittedly quite... Riveting, to say the least. People are such enigmas, hm? Especially when they appear to 'malfunction...'" The older woman cracked her knuckles while nibbling at her bottom lip. Those were the appropriate words to say, right?

Adding onto her shame was her next request: "If it's not too much of a bother for you, could you recommend me more films to watch? Preferably those like the one you told me about the last time we met?" Discussions about it wouldn't be bad either... She left the last part unsaid; boundaries were already broken, regardless of how arbitrary she felt that they were. Only give, never receive. Already she regretted her statements, wished she could take them back... But the musings of another friend made her remember the futility of her wishes.

Time only goes forward, never backwards. You reek of desperation if you wish that you can go back and change things.

annnnd here's a follow-up... rip Dolores tbh *pensive*