Categories > Original > Drama > Pocket Change
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Pocket Change
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[06: /I don't intend to let you down/]
"Hey, hey! Up and at 'em!"
Chale tosses some clothes at her and tells her to get dressed. He's wearing his black jeans and nothing else.
"Eh?" Groggy, Joss tries to rub the sleep from her eyes and peers down at what he's thrown to her- her baggy, black cargoes and a yellow tank top. "What's going on?"
Chale finds his hoodie and his green-and-white striped polo. "Come on, we're going for ice cream."
Joss jumps out of bed and is changed in a flash. She dashes into the bathroom and brushes her teeth at the same time as she ties her hair up. By the time she's out, her breath is minty fresh but her pigtails are terribly uneven.
Chale laughs, and it's infectious. She laughs, too. He takes down both pigtails and runs his fingers through her short tresses.
"Let's go," he says, holding out his hand. She takes it, and they descend the stairs in high spirits. She'll get chocolate and he'll get strawberry, and they'll watch the clouds or scare some park-goers or just talk. They haven't had any chances to just talk in a while.
"Chale!"
She feels him tense; that's Fiorel's voice. His hand tightens around hers. In the bar area, Fiorel and Edson have pushed a few tables together to accommodate tons upon tons of papers. Fiorel has her chocolate curls pulled into a high ponytail, a few straight locks framing her pretty face. She smiles at Chale, and only Chale.
"There you are! We've been waiting for you- Edson wants you to be one of the groomsmen!" She pulls at his arm and leads him to the tables; he lets go of Joss' hand, bewildered. Fiorel sits him next to Edson and shoves magazines under their noses, spitting out rapid-fire instructions.
Joss shifts uncomfortably. She doesn't care about the ice cream, the day lost. She cares about how he let go of her hand so readily. She cares about how Edson's getting married, but she's not in the wedding.
Joss runs up the stairs
-and crashes into Takeo.
He catches her before she falls on her backside, and pins her with an inquisitorial look. "Whoa, Jay- what's the rush?"
She looks away, avoiding his stare. Lying is second nature to her, but she can't seem to fathom it when it comes to Takeo. "It's- nothing." She winces inwardly, knowing the split-second hesitation is like a siren blasting her untruthfulness mounted on her head.
The way he frowns in silence is only a confirmation; it tells her he has an idea of what's wrong. The way his eyes narrow tells her he has the right idea of what's wrong. His grip on her arms tightens by a fraction.
"Mancini?" It sounds look he's spitting poison from his lips.
"No," she says in earnest, insisting the way one insists /he's just a boy who's a friend/, "he- he didn't do anything, it's just..." She shakes her head. It really isn't Chale's fault- it's Edson's /wedding/. It's important to Edson.
And Fiorel.
Takeo sighs.
"Come on, I'm taking you out to eat."
"What!?" Joss' eyes widen; the thought of simply walking through the bar makes a bloody gauntlet look like a stroll down the street. "No, no, it's alright- I'm just going to go... back to bed!"
"Jay, it's one pm."
"Well- /hey/!"
He grabs her around the waist and throws her over his shoulder. She latches onto his upper arm with a death grip, cheeks flushed.
"Takeo!"
She hears him laugh, a silken chuckle. He carries her through the bar as though such a task is a regular occurence. Joss glares determinedly at the wooden floorboards, as though they had wronged her terribly, to avoid the stares of the wedding three.
"Where're you, uh, going?" Edson tentatively asks.
"Out for lunch. Be back later."
Takeo gives a little salute and exits the inn, Joss in tow.
Pocket Change
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[06: /I don't intend to let you down/]
"Hey, hey! Up and at 'em!"
Chale tosses some clothes at her and tells her to get dressed. He's wearing his black jeans and nothing else.
"Eh?" Groggy, Joss tries to rub the sleep from her eyes and peers down at what he's thrown to her- her baggy, black cargoes and a yellow tank top. "What's going on?"
Chale finds his hoodie and his green-and-white striped polo. "Come on, we're going for ice cream."
Joss jumps out of bed and is changed in a flash. She dashes into the bathroom and brushes her teeth at the same time as she ties her hair up. By the time she's out, her breath is minty fresh but her pigtails are terribly uneven.
Chale laughs, and it's infectious. She laughs, too. He takes down both pigtails and runs his fingers through her short tresses.
"Let's go," he says, holding out his hand. She takes it, and they descend the stairs in high spirits. She'll get chocolate and he'll get strawberry, and they'll watch the clouds or scare some park-goers or just talk. They haven't had any chances to just talk in a while.
"Chale!"
She feels him tense; that's Fiorel's voice. His hand tightens around hers. In the bar area, Fiorel and Edson have pushed a few tables together to accommodate tons upon tons of papers. Fiorel has her chocolate curls pulled into a high ponytail, a few straight locks framing her pretty face. She smiles at Chale, and only Chale.
"There you are! We've been waiting for you- Edson wants you to be one of the groomsmen!" She pulls at his arm and leads him to the tables; he lets go of Joss' hand, bewildered. Fiorel sits him next to Edson and shoves magazines under their noses, spitting out rapid-fire instructions.
Joss shifts uncomfortably. She doesn't care about the ice cream, the day lost. She cares about how he let go of her hand so readily. She cares about how Edson's getting married, but she's not in the wedding.
Joss runs up the stairs
-and crashes into Takeo.
He catches her before she falls on her backside, and pins her with an inquisitorial look. "Whoa, Jay- what's the rush?"
She looks away, avoiding his stare. Lying is second nature to her, but she can't seem to fathom it when it comes to Takeo. "It's- nothing." She winces inwardly, knowing the split-second hesitation is like a siren blasting her untruthfulness mounted on her head.
The way he frowns in silence is only a confirmation; it tells her he has an idea of what's wrong. The way his eyes narrow tells her he has the right idea of what's wrong. His grip on her arms tightens by a fraction.
"Mancini?" It sounds look he's spitting poison from his lips.
"No," she says in earnest, insisting the way one insists /he's just a boy who's a friend/, "he- he didn't do anything, it's just..." She shakes her head. It really isn't Chale's fault- it's Edson's /wedding/. It's important to Edson.
And Fiorel.
Takeo sighs.
"Come on, I'm taking you out to eat."
"What!?" Joss' eyes widen; the thought of simply walking through the bar makes a bloody gauntlet look like a stroll down the street. "No, no, it's alright- I'm just going to go... back to bed!"
"Jay, it's one pm."
"Well- /hey/!"
He grabs her around the waist and throws her over his shoulder. She latches onto his upper arm with a death grip, cheeks flushed.
"Takeo!"
She hears him laugh, a silken chuckle. He carries her through the bar as though such a task is a regular occurence. Joss glares determinedly at the wooden floorboards, as though they had wronged her terribly, to avoid the stares of the wedding three.
"Where're you, uh, going?" Edson tentatively asks.
"Out for lunch. Be back later."
Takeo gives a little salute and exits the inn, Joss in tow.
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