[center][img]https://33.media.tumblr.com/f9757e7a5dbfa315f4df194b87b13443/tumblr_inline_o4dcv27Q201u4w32z_500.gif[/img] [img]http://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjgwLjA1Njc5OS5TbUZ0WlhOdmJpQklkV2RvWlhNLC4w/mr-dafoe.regular.png[/img] [b][u]Location:[/u][/b] The Night Before; Mrs. Hanson Down The Street Gave Me Cookies, OKAY? [i]OKAY.[/i] [b][u]Interactions:[/u][/b] Mama Hughes and her Gay Boys[/center] [hr][hr] Alright, so, maybe working on a way to get pies out of an oven without human interaction the day he got little to no sleep didn't seem like the best idea. However - now, he'd like everyone, but particularly his mother, to hear him out on this - actual pies were at stake here. Not just pies, but Mrs. Hanson's Apple Pies - capital A, P. No on in their right minds would turn down that offer, especially when the little old lady decided, 'Why not two?' One look at Jameson Hughes and little old biddies couldn't not comment on his too small waist on those too large, bony shoulders. (Double negative emphasizing required - batteries sold separately.) Boom. Perfect opening for any kind of sweets and snacks from resident baking pros. Everyone in their right mind around here knew about the fabled Biddy Baking Brood, née Club until someone thought alliteration made every title sound better. Hint: it did. So, what better way to get into the good graces of every Biddy Baker in this God forsaken town? Make their Biddy Baking Better. Not only did Jamie go around enhancing little old lady's ovens and appliances, he made it all the easier to use without sacrificing the authenticity. Or at least, the aesthetics. The authenticity went out the window when he got his hands on it - oil stove vs. electric? What kinda wacko--regardless, it still looked like it used propane without the actual hazard of propane. This particular contraption, of which Jamie lay face first on, boasted both sliding to be backed pies into the oven no hands ("Look, Ma! No hands!") needed, and then once it'd baked thoroughly ("Ding!") it'd slide right back under the pies and lift 'em right on top of the stove to cool down. No gloves. No hands. No burns. No problem. Except for the problem. Which came in the form of this goddamned metal arm going ten miles too fast (ten miles? hello amputee! goodbye hands) and flinging everything from the pie to the metal shit clear across the room. Thank god he had good reflexes. Too bad he didn't have the stamina, however, and Jamie soon found himself hours later with his face stuck to his array of blueprints and papers. His mother stood above him, her hip stuck out and her arm bracing her on the table. "You and your uncle have issues," she chimed in, once Jamie's eyes locked onto her arm. "They have a medical term for that." "What, idiocy?" "Insomnia," he rolled his eyes as his hand worked to pry the papers from his face and salvage any he drooled on. Samantha followed that eye roll with one of her own. "So, insomnia's convincing Ryan to jump on the roof with you and watch stars until the break of dawn? And then get up at eight in the morning to work all day on your gadgets?" "You caught me red handed, ma, I'm a troubled teen trying to rebel," Jamie gathered what he could in front of him, arranging them neatly in piles, "gotta stick it to the man. I don't give a damn 'bout my bad reputation, I just love rock 'n roll." A hand slammed down on the papers before Jamie's pencil tip found the surface. Samantha's eyebrows rose and Jamie had an idea of what she meant with the way she leaned her neck back and tilted her head down. "Are you really quoting Joan Jett to me?" "Oh my God, mom. It's not a phase! What am I gay?!" Jamie said, fighting down the grin as he rolled his eyes and stood to let his mother escort him inside. "Yeah, I figured that out when your uncle Eric started playing Take On Me for the ninth time in an attempt to hit the high note," Samantha snorted. "Did he?" "Never. Now, get your ass up to your room; you've got two days before that big trip of yours." "Right," Jamie ducked his head and turned toward the stairs, his face growing hard and distant. His mother knew that face, which was why he'd avoided letting her see it as he stomped up steps. Two days. One starting in a few minutes. [i]Ffffffuuuuuuuuuck.[/i] [hr][hr] [center][img]http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BgGNx50W73I/T_XpU6NYDwI/AAAAAAAABRg/V0me2C6zcss/s640/tumblr_lwpt9xP3f01qh95r3.gif[/img] [b][u]Location:[/u][/b] A girl can do what's she wants to do (like waking up; mornings, gross) [b][u]Interaction:[/u][/b] and that's what I'm gonna do! (like waking up; interacting with people, gross; Riley [sup][@Nallore][/sup], Vanessa [sup][@BeautifulSnow][/sup])[/center] [hr][hr] "Kid, I swear to god-" "I didn't do it!" "-if you put another contraption in our bedroom—what do you mean you didn't do it?" Ryan Harrison-Hughes took up the entire space of Jameson's doorway, holding up what looked to be a some kind of device with two thin, movable pillars held together by a small rod on the bottom and grasping something circular and rubber. A long, thin cord was plugged into the wall beside the door and the two arms kept repeating a downward, diagonal motion with the circular object. Despite the grogginess of being awoken at ten in the morning, Jamie couldn't hide the toothy grin even if he felt wide awake. "You fuckin' [i]didn't do it[/i], I swear to god, kiddo," Ryan's Brooklyn accent came out especially thick when he felt any kind of stress - probably a tick or some kind of psychological comfort thing. Familiar noises and that nonsense, Eric had told him. "Well, Mr. Harrison," Jamie sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before brushing the hand through his mussed up hair - he only said Mister anything when he was being especially cheeky, "when a man and a man get together to do the hanky panky-" "Don't, stop. Stop this. I'm twenty years older than you. Stop. [i]Stop.[/i]" "-there's this thing called a condom and it goes directly on the-" "Please, Jamie. Jamie. I'm unplugging it. Look. Look. See? See?" "-penis and I figured, since Eric's usually the one topping, he'd need the XXLs, right?" "Jesus Christ, KID." "Right? So, I figured why not give them a little help, you know? Hands free anti-baby makers!" Samantha chose that time to pass by with her basket full of laundry and a pleasant expression that immediately turned sour. She stopped and poked her head in behind Ryan, "What!? My son?! Talking about sex? Talking. About. S-E-X?! [b]My baby, boy?![/b] What hussy showed you her lace stocking in school? What little Scarlet Letter revealed her ankles in a lewd display of devil worship?! I'll have the witch hanged!" "Oh, good lord." Ryan blew out a breath and set the Anti-Conception Contraption on Jamie's desk. "Yeah, mom, I'm gonna... I'm gonna just," Jamie slowly slid out of the bed, throwing the shirt and jeans from yesterday on before sliding between his two loving family members. His mom was already in hysterics, dropping her laundry basket and waving her arms in wild, exaggerated gestures. "I oughta have a talk with the PTA. The school board! I can't believe what they're teaching our kids these days," she quickly trailed off behind him as he ran himself through a quick morning routine. By the time he finished, Samantha hadn't yet finished her mock spiel that quickly turned into her goading Ryan into children of his own. "I have enough kids making me motorized dildos. I don't need another trying to weedle themselves into my sex life with my [i]husband[/i]," Ryan's soft voice still came from upstairs. Of which provoked a response from where Jamie currently resided in the kitchen. "Sex with my husband?" Eric came in just in time, a grin on his face and a hand already outstretched with a twenty. Jamie took it as an apology for being woken up by his 5'10" alarm clock and that was that. He took off on one the bikes from the garage and made his way down to the shiny new restaurant to see if they had any kind of breakfast menu set up already. Better than nothing, he supposed. And, well, that held the truth regardless of what Jamie thought. He entered the restaurant not long after chaining the bike up to a post, taking his seat in one of the booths and quietly trying not to stare at Riley not far from him. He wouldn't know what to say. He never really did, to anyone, but especially not about their 'annual get together'. It's not like he didn't ever go, it was just that he never staid that long, much less interact that much. Who knows. This year might be different? Here's to trying.