I'll burn a little brighter tonight [bailey]

[Cass Winchester]

i used to waste my time dreaming of being alive

[/font]
now i only waste it dreaming of you[/center]

The air was thick with the newly-found heat of Spring, dense and tangibly muggy. Everything seemed to happen a little more slowly than usual; the birds glided laboriously through the sky, small fish sluiced through the water lazily and even the breeze seemed sluggish. A squirrel nibbled delicately on a nut it had found, but soon discarded it in favour of climbing the closest tree and settling in a shady spot. The few clouds that were present moved incredibly slowly, barely inching across the sky, and providing next to no relief from the intense midday heat.

Cass ducked into the closest cafe hastily, fearing for her pale skin. Being from England, she really wasn't used to this heat; even in the height of Summer, the temperature was rarely this unbearable. She stood for a moment, looking blankly at the counter, then selected a chocolate brownie and absentmindedly ordered some kind of fancy cold drink. A brief look around the cafe lead to her choosing a window seat; it wasn't too crowded, and she enjoyed people-watching. The people out on the street didn't seem to be as bothered by the heat, and she cursed her typically British sensitivity to any kind of warmth. Back in England, she used to -- the sharp clatter of a cup being set down on the table broke her free of her revery, and she looked up to thank the waiter. Thankfully, she lifted the glass up to her lips and sipped the cold, lemony drink as gracefully as she could, considering her extreme thirst.

Cass couldn't help but notice that every other person in the cafe had company. Some sat in groups of 3, sharing jokes with each other, and some were sat as a couple, looking longingly into the other's eyes. She turned towards the window, sweeping a lock of brunette hair over her shoulder, and for the first time since she'd moved to Duke Hills, she felt homesick. Generally speaking, Cass didn't like to pity herself - after all, she was pretty privileged. She had a job that payed the food bills, a lovely house in a nice part of town, and - most importantly - her beloved horse, Chicago. Even so, she couldn't help but feel the pang of loneliness in her chest; in between working and looking after Chicago, there was very little time left over for being social. Last night, she'd come so close to ringing up her parents and telling them that she was moving back to England, and sitting in this cafe just reinforced the idea. But no - she couldn't do that. The thought that had saved her last night was of Chicago; of his earnest face when Cass tried to teach him new things, of his goofy expression when she hosed him down, and of his never-ending ability to listen to her and not cast judgement.

Having a horse as a best friend wasn't exactly socially desirable, though. Looking at her own pitiful expression in the window, she rolled her blue eyes and took another long sip from the tall glass, wincing as the ice hit her teeth. Wanting to take her mind off of her predicament, she rummaged in her bag for a moment and pulled out a slightly battered copy of "The Great Gatsby". Looking around furtively, she slipped off her sandals and sat back in her chair - which was, as it turned out, surprisingly comfy - letting herself relax. She smoothed out the soft fabric of her teal dress, and delved into the alternate world of high-end parties and lavish lifestyles.

ooc: i'm sorry if i didn't give you much to reply to bub! don't worry if you can't write much in reply <3

[Nicholas "Nick" Harlow]

The gun shot rang through the air as if death himself were singing. An audible thunk! sounded in his stinging ears, and confused emerald eyes sun around the room, searching for the source of the peculiar noise. He didn't find it. Instead he saw something much more sinister. Crippled, bloodied bodies strewn in a disorderly fashion about the room. There were screams of both agony and outrage. It hurt his eardrums. They thudded with the unusually fast paced beat of his heart. Panic swelled within him at the sight. Thunk! The force blew him backward, and he slammed into the floor, cringing at the impact. So that's what that sound was. Those hypnotizing golden streaked eyes fell toward his shoulder. Crimson bloomed there, dyeing his light green shirt a disturbing shade of vermillion. Remain composed. He was trained to keep his cool. Panic wasn't an option. Oh, but the pain. The pain. Incomprehensible, utterly mind blowing, searing pain. No one could describe that feeling. Like a shark bite. As if his entire arm had been sawed halfway through with a jagged, ice cold blade, and now something was working at twisting and turning the threads of muscle fiber and bone loose.Composure, Nick. He reminded himself, letting his head fall back against the floor as he drew in a deep, steady breath. Be dead. Be dead. Green eyes full of life drifted closed in the most sickeningly horrific fashion. For a moment he was counting, focusing, forcing himself to be dead. But suddenly it wasn't such a hard masquerade to put on. True, lifeless darkness began to close around the forced lack of vision he had made himself. It drew around him, blurring the edges of his life and a very real, very scary new one. Was it the alcohol? Was he dying? And all at once, the only thing important in the world was opening his eyes. Seeing. Seeing the world around him, the small wooden cabin laced with the sight of death. He needed to open his eyes. But he couldn't. That abyss kept getting closer, as if taunting him-- teasing him. Fight it. He begged himself. Fight it. Harder. He instructed him protesting mind. But the blackness wouldn't stop. It was stronger. The darkness would win. The darkness always won.

Beep. Beep. Beep. If only an alarm had opened those eyes on that day. A tired hand flopped over to the alarm clock, pressing a button -any button- to make the obnoxious, screeching machine shut up. The black lab sprawled beside him gave a groan of displeasure. Even the dog didn't want to get up. But reluctantly, Nicholas pushed back the covers, climbing from the bed and double checking to be sure he'd turned off the alarm, not just silenced it. And his day began. It was a routine. The same, comfortable routine he'd created the first day he'd moved in. He needed the consistency, something constant and unchanging, if anything for his own sanity at the very least. Unfortunately for him, the nightmares had become very much their own routine as well. They haunted the precious hand of sleep, warping his perception of what had happened. He relived that moment every night. In the year since it had happened, he'd never beaten what his exhausted brain called 'the darkness'. Nick was ashamed that he couldn't beat the dream. How could you protect anyone else if you couldn't even protect yourself? A grimace slid over his lips. Some soldier he was. His eyes shifted to the window, and he sauntered over to pull back the curtain, the sun just peeking out from it's resting place at 7:03 in the morning. His gaze jerked to the clock. 7:03!? He should have been gone three minutes ago! Spinning on his heel, the young man jogged through the house, tossing a tin of dog food into Camo's bowl as he finished getting himself put together. Three minutes later, he was out the door, the obedient black lab at his heels. The tailgate on the silvery F350 was dropped and the canine loaded in the back before Nicholas himself slid into the drivers seat, key gliding into the ignition just like everything else-- routinely.

But today was a day worth breaking the routine. Exhaustion was still written across his tired features as the twenty two year old male pulled out onto the familiar road. Coffee. He needed coffee. A year ago he would have simply downed a beer to brighten his day. No more. Never again. Coffee would do just fine. So the truck hummed along the roadway toward the small shop, music along the lines of “Like Jesus Does” and “How Country Feels” blaring, keeping him awake as he made the short drive. In just a few minutes, he'd parked and exited the truck. ”Stay, Cam.” The command was spoken in a deep, firm tone, though it was laced with a unique gentleness as he patted the lab's head, and Camo in turn plopped down in the back of the truck like the well trained dog he was, and with a heavy sigh, Nick turned and entered the shop. He hated the stares. He didn't know what others were thinking. He was new here, a story no one had heard. He had a story he'd never tell. But with his lack of admission, came others writing up his past for him. He was almost okay with it. They didn't normally come up something as horrific as his real history. They could think what they wanted. The stares were the worst. He could almost see the wheels in their heads turning, formulating new gossip. His gaze traveled over the entirety of the little shop. Every eye was on him. Every eye but one. Nick's eyes rested on the girl for the most brief of moments. Nose in a book, she's was stunning. That was all there was to it. Dark tendrils framed her porcelain, flawless face. Though too far away to determine the color of her eyes, he could see the kind nature in them from where he stood. For once, the smallest of genuine smiles crossed his lips. It was refreshing, seeing someone in her own little world, pleased with her own company and not in need of another. She didn't have a care in the world what he had for supper. He wanted to thank her.. But how awkward would that be? If she asked why, he would have to explain. Sometimes explanations weren't worth the trouble. His eyes fell to his watch, noting the time. And occasionally, there just weren't enough hours in the day to truly explain.

”Just coffee, please. Black.” He nodded with a small, this time not nearly as true smile to the clerk before him. She nodded and turned, filling a cup and passing it to him. ”That'll be 3--” Nicholas held up a hand, and she silenced immediately, tilting her head. With that, Nick tossed his head in the pretty girl's direction. ”Put her on my tab, please?” He asked, and the young woman smiled dumbly, shocked. ”May I ask why?”. Explanations. People always wanted explanations. ”It's a way to say thank you.” He informed her dismissively, and she gave a curt nod. ”Is that all for you today, sir?” Nicholas gave a small tip of his head to say 'yes', and she smiled a bright, fake smile, as if her job were the best thing in the world. ”Have a wonderful day!” Nick gave her a mock salute in the most respectful way he could manage, but he was already making his way to a seat in the back of the shop by the time she greeted the next customer.

STATUS | Complete
TAGGED | hayyel's Cass
WORD COUNT | 1291
NOTES | when in doubt, ramble!

[Cass Winchester]

i used to waste my time dreaming of being alive

[/font]
now i only waste it dreaming of you[/center]

Jay Gatsby's party was in full swing. The elusive man himself had made his appearance, and nervous murmurs about his somewhat shady past were circulating the garden. The clink of champagne glasses and the jovial laughter of the rich party-goers was the soundtrack to the evening - coming only second to the mellifluous sounds produced by the orchestra which played on the marble steps that led down into the garden.

Cass was completely absorbed in the story; totally immersed in the splendour of the 1920s. Something in her peripheral vision piqued her interest, and she tried to ignore it - wanting to get back to the vibrant world painted by the battered novel in her hands - but found herself distracted. She glanced up from the book, and her eyes landed on a tall man stood by the counter. He tipped his head in her direction, and Cass could have sworn that she heard him say the words "Put her on my tab". Her blue eyes widened a fraction; had she actually heard him say that, or was it just a product of wishful thinking? No, she reassured herself - he had said it.

The corners of her lips curved upwards at the ends, and she tried to stifle a full-blown grin. Her gaze followed the man as he walked straight past her table, and took a seat at the back of the cafe. His features looked as if they had been chiseled out of marble by the most talented stonemason; each one had been delicately crafted to replicate those of an angel. His tousled, brown hair was complimented by his eyes; they were flecked with gold, and utterly hynoptising. Cass found herself beginning to blush, and knew that - considering her lily-white skin - it wasn't a good look. She looked back down at the pages of her book, and rejoined Gatsby's party - desperately trying to quell the heat in her cheeks.

After reading the same line five times and not taking any of it in, Cass realised that it was pointless pursuit. She sighed, and stuffed the book back into her back with agitation. The man - the man who may or may not have committed an entirely random act of kindness - was still at the forefront of her mind. Perhaps it was because she needed to thank him still - yes, that must have been it. She stood up slowly and smoothed down the folds in her dress before shouldering the strap of her handbag. With determination, she began to walk to the small table that he was seated at. She could do this; he was just a man.

Cass stopped in front of his table and was suddenly at a loss for words. The god-damned blush crept back into her cheeks, and she found hereslf nervously wringing her hands behind her back. She opened her mouth, about to ask why he had been so kind, but then closed it again; after all, what business of hers was is if this guy liked to go around allocating free drinks? After a moment's deliberation, she chimed "Thank you." The sentiment was warm and genuine, and an equally warm smile followed her speech. But - crap - she now had no excuse to be stood over here. She'd said thank you, and she should go back to her table now, like any normal person would. Like any person that wasn't magnetically drawn to a stranger they didn't even known the name of. Ah! The name! "I'm Cass." She offered this small tidbit of information with great trepidation, not knowing if the man actually wanted to associate with her. The fact that he looked like a freaking angel wasn't helping her nerves. "Do I get to know the name of the kindest stranger I've ever met?" She asked, trying to mask the nervousness in her voice, cringing at every break of her British tone.

[Nicholas "Nick" Harlow]

For the longest time, or what felt like the longest time, he sat. Completely silent, he watched the steam curl and twist into the air. It was hypnotizing, as if watching a miniscule wildfire smoke uncontrollably, minus the embers and ash. Why did they make is so damn hot? He understood that people liked their coffee hot. He liked his coffee hot. But, tolerably hot, not ridiculously scolding hot that burned the taste buds off of his tongue. Only when the tendrils of steam began to pool within the confines of the cup and no longer climbed toward the ceiling did Nick lift it to his lips. The heat was still assaulting, but no longer unbearable thankfully. The bitterness of the coffee burned his throat, warming him all the way down to his very core. He could feel it, igniting his sense aflame with a rush of caffeine. Following the first drink with a second, smaller sip, he set the cup back down and leaned back in the booth, eyes falling down to the table to study the wood grains as his mind began to process what exactly he needed to do today. First on his list was of course to head to the barn-- that's where he spent nearly his entire day. The lovely liver chestnut mare A Novel Romance, affectionately nicknamed Roe would be the first to go to work. Being the more experienced of the two, Roe knew exactly how to get into gear the moment Nicholas hit the saddle. Just sitting in the cushioned booth now, Nick could feel exactly what the mare was like. She was soft and forward. Both sensitive and attentive to the aids, light in the contact. She was a dream to ride. He'd memorized the enthusiasm which oozed from her when faced with a fence. The ping! of her bounding off of the ground, knees snapping to her nose as she popped pole after pole, only jumping better as the fences grew higher. Then there was the silly black gelding, Inspirational, who was probably only truly inspirational to himself. The young mutt was every bit as impish as his nickname implied. Despite his rather unrefined breeding, the gelding was graced with expressive, showcase movements. A ground covering walk lead to an elastic, engaged trot, which is turn flowed into an uphill, balanced canter. Though Imp adored jumping, he wasn't quite as graceful as his stablemate, Roe. He still wasn't entirely sure of how to manage his seventeen plus hand legs over fences. It would come though, and the handsome white faced gelding always put in a valiant effort. The thought of the goofy, uncoordinated horse made a genuine smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

Lately, his horses were the only thing which made the military brat's harsh exterior crack. Smiling took such an effort these days. Nothing was truly worth it anymore. After seven men died because of his happiness, it would never be worth it anymore. ”Thank you.” Green eyes snapped upward, taken aback by the gentle voice. It was her. And suddenly, it wasn't his choice to speak anymore. He couldn't, even if he wanted to. Gold flecked gaze roamed across her porcelain, nearly breakable features. She was gorgeous. Dark locks fell in loose, natural waves framing her mesmerizing, electric blue eyes. She was small, petite, perfect. And her voice, shined like an angel's. She was heavenly. He was better off keeping his distance from this one-- he couldn't bear to drag his eyes away from her with the pretty girl so close to him. What was he supposed to say in response to that? He didn't want to be thanked. All he'd done was pass out more paper. Money meant so little to him, he had practically done himself a favor. But to say that was the only reason he'd done it would have been a miserable lie. It had been a thank you all his own. A jumbled up mess of words began to build in his mind, a nervous pit deepening in his stomach despite how composed he remained on the outside. Just as he began to worry she expected an answer, she spoke once more, honey sweet voice rendering him thoughtless once more. ”I'm Cass.” A stunning name for lovely girl. It seemed to portray the very innocence he was sure she acquired. She shouldn't speak to him. He wasn't good for her. Nick stayed fairly silent, averting his eyes respectfully as if his very gaze meeting hers would taint the beautiful stranger called Cass.

”Do I get to know the name of the kindest stranger I'm ever met?” Shit, now he had to answer her. Fingers drummed quietly against the wooden table top, almost anxiously as he forced himself to stay rigidly still. He didn't enjoy the feeling of uncomfortable insecurity he got around her. She was out of routine. He didn't know how to handle talking to the woman at the cash register, let alone such a striking young lady. How did he not fumble and stumble when he opened his mouth? How did he sound calm, cool, and collected? Maybe he shouldn't bother holding it back. Maybe if he ruined their encounter, she would back away and never give him a second glance. It was safest for her. He couldn't bare the thought of hurting her. He didn't even know her, and he didn't want to hurt her. He was running short on options. His gaze pulled back up to her, glancing toward her eyes, and then slipping elsewhere, unwilling to make constant visual contact, though a cordial smile slid to his lips. ”Pleasure to meet you, Cass.” He began. Good going-- original choice in words-- go Nick. ”Please, don't thank me.” He stood, dipping his head toward her in respect, and holding out a hand. ”Nicholas. Nick.” He introduced, fluidly, before taking a seat once more. What was he supposed to say now? Eyes darted over her elegant face. ”Please, have a seat.” Crap. Why the hell did he say that!? Immediately he drew his coffee to his lips, silencing himself further. What on earth was he supposed to say next? He couldn't hold a conversation if his life depended on it!

STATUS | Complete
TAGGED | hayyel's Cass
WORD COUNT | 1034
NOTES | failllll.

[Cass Winchester]

i used to waste my time dreaming of being alive

[/font]
now i only waste it dreaming of you[/center]

Stood there in front of this stranger that somehow encompassed every trait that she found desirable, the passage of just one second seemed to take an eternity. Her mouth went dry, and she began to nervously rotate her pearl bracelet around her wrist. Smooth, her subconscious murmured; she wasn't exactly the most subtle person when it came to being apprehensive. She banished the thought from her head after realising that it only accomplished making her more nervous, like some kind of vicious cycle.

This pause was definitely taking too long. She wasn't even being paranoid now - or at least, she didn't think so. Maybe she had got it wrong, and the man had actually been buying a drink for somebody else - or maybe she had just imagined the whole thing. Cass began to question whether or not she could make it to the door quickly enough, without causing a scene. She mulled the idea over in her head for a few minutes before deciding that she would stick it out. Just last week, Chicago had spooked into the woods, thrown her into a patch of nettles and galloped for home; she was more than capable of coping with some stupidly good-looking man.

She began to notice that his eyes never lingered on hers for long. It was ironic, really, because she couldn't take hers off of him; there were something completely hypnotic about the angle of his features, the green of his eyes, and the subtle expressions that swept over his face like gentle waves. So absorbed in admiring him, Cass almost didn't notice the man reply; she shook her head almost imperceptibly to clear it, and her brunette curls bounced as she did so. She almost had to refrain from shouting a small hallelujah as the husky reply finally came. Finally, she had a name to put to the angel's face; Nick.

Delicately, Cass reached out and took his hand, shaking it with a firm but gentle grasp. Apparently, you could tell everything about a person from their handshake; all Cass knew was that just holding his was a cause for near hyperventilation. "Thank you," She slid into the booth beside him as she spoke, leaving a small gap between their bodies. Nervously, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and frowned as she pulled out a small piece of hay from one of her curls. Mortified, Cass turned to Nick with an embarrassed smile. "I'm sorry!" She blurted out, placing the small piece of dried grass on the opposite side of the table as if it might offend her new acquaintance. "I suppose that's what you get for owning horses." She expained bashfully, looking down at her hands and allowing her hair to fall over her shoulder and act as a curtain between them. People that didn't own horses tended not to understand the way in which hay and straw would end up everywhere about one's person after just a half hour spent at the stable. She hoped that Nick would be understanding, and not assume that she was some kind of hippie.