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[/b][/h3][/sup][/color][/row][row][cell][sup][h2][color=black][sub]HANNA WILLIAMSON[/sub][/color][/h2][/sup]
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[sup][color=black][b]█  [sup]   [/sup]act one: way down we go[/b][/color][/sup][indent][sup][color=a9a9a9]NYC [color=black]▸[/color] p. johnson's[/color][/sup][/indent][center][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/824488408562794527/970459343667494932/unknown.png[/img][/center][sub][color=#2e2c2c]▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔[/color][/sub][/cell][cell][center][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/824488408562794527/967592442486460476/unknown.png[/img][/center]
[indent][color=dcdcdc][sub]Instances of disruption were far and few between. Perhaps that feeling was a byproduct of mental apathy associated with Hanna’s chosen profession, if one could call it that. Every day was outlandishly stuffed with disruptions to the point that all of it just dissolved into a nasty slush of goo. She barely noticed it, or not until something more robust came along. That dreaded thing—or maybe a much needed relief—of seeing old faces and habits again was creeping ever so closer. Why had she agreed to it in the first place? Not even the most prestigious historian could answer that. Hanna’s manager insisted on participation because it would positively affect her brand. The man knew his trade and the business well enough to make that distinction. Also, the fact that one of the more generous sponsors of Hanna’s online presence was presumably attending indicated that listening to the manager was a wise decision.

[color=72684e][b]“Anything else?”[/b][/color] Hanna asked. The call had gone on for a while. It was mostly a routine meeting with Paul Bateman, Hanna’s manager and PR consultant.
[color=black]“There’s the Delton reunion thing next week.”[/color] Paul said.
[color=72684e][b]“Shit,... I forgot about that.”[/b][/color]
[color=black]“I RSPV’d you and booked a flight to Portland. Can you drive from there?”[/color]
[color=72684e][b]“Sure, and this is absolutely necessary?”[/b][/color] Hanna muttered.
[color=black]“I thought you said you wanted to go?”[/color]
[color=72684e][b]“Yeah, because you said it’s good for my brand.”[/b][/color]
[color=black]“It is. Snap a few grams and do some silly dances with your old classmates for TikTok. It shows that you value those times that everyone has such bizarre nostalgia for, even if they hated it.”[/color]
[color=72684e][b]“I wasn’t exactly nice to people there.”[/b][/color]
[color=black]“That doesn’t matter. You have changed and you’re nice now, even to the nerds and the weirdos. That’s the spin. It will do wonders for your metrics.”[/color]
[color=72684e][b]“Mmkay,... are you sure about this?”[/b][/color]
[color=black]“Hanna, you don’t pay me the big bucks to guess and not be sure—just trust me. Besides, didn’t you and Brigham go to the same school? If she is going, then you almost have a contractual obligation to go. She puts a lot of food on your table. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you.”[/color]
Paul’s usual preaching and delegating began to show its ugly face.
[color=72684e][b]“I know, I’m going.”[/b][/color] Hanna said and hung up, like a spoiled child being scolded about the right thing to do.

That week went by fast. Hanna had managed to speak to her parents about the spectacle she had to engage with. They were elated to have her home again for a couple of nights. However, the offer came with the stern stipulation that Hanna were to be ‘friendly’, as they put it. The faults of young adulthood was a vicious bitch from which there was no escape and Hanna was deep in that vile grasp, being dragged down at every turn. Hanna sighed at the militaristic demand and just agreed. There was nothing she could say that would convince anyone of anything. She simply had to show that things were different now, to some degree. Hanna wondered: would anyone even notice let alone give her or themselves a [i]chance[/i] to notice? All she could do was to think about it herself. After all, her own prejudices and memories of those she did remember were unaltered since that time—they were still in or out, as the old gang used to say.

The flight was uneventful. Hanna had spoken to Freya—or Brigham as Paul called her—a bit leading up to the day of the thing. Seeing as their schedules were hectic and not particularly synchronized, Hanna thought it best to simply meet there instead of traveling together. Portland was as it had always been, it seemed. Hanna had been there on more than one occasion, just as every other kid from the Delton area who wanted to party or hang out in the city. The first bump in the road came with the car rental guy. Hanna had no idea what the fuck he was on about when it came to insurance, so she had to call Paul. It turned out that there was no misunderstanding or problem—Hanna was just plain old stupid, a dumb bitch with no life experience, although nobody said it out loud. However, Hanna was not entirely unaware of this fact. When she managed to get everything in order, the drive to Delton was just as uneventful as the flight. She was not used to this kind of long range driving. Staying awake was a bit of a problem, but some music and a couple of energy drinks fixed it right up.

The first stop in Delton was her parents' house. Seeing as Hanna was an only child, it was a big deal when she came around these days. Her dad, Charles Williamson, took a chivalrous role by unpacking the car and carrying all of his daughter's luggage upstairs. Hanna had the typical chat with her mom, Hillary Williamson, about everything in NYC. There was about an hour before the actual thing at P. Johnson’s. Hanna indulged in some nostalgic things in her old room—pictures, the old diary, a couple of half broken phones that still worked somehow, and other memorabilia-sort of things. Jennifer and Madeleine were constantly on Hanna’s mind. She had not spoken with them in any meaningful way after high school, at least beyond the occasional ass licking on Instagram. Yet, there was some nostalgia there. Hanna does not deny who and what she was back then, but at least she has the capacity to be something else, unlike the other two of the old clique. She changed into a somewhat casual outfit for the event—all black, consisting of tight jeans, a top showing perhaps too much skin, and a leather jacket of some larger size that cut off by the waistline.

Hanna took the car downtown. She was not entirely aware of the time, but she arrived at P. Johnson’s somewhere between early and on time. A parking spot was not hard to find in this desolate shithole, she thought. Hanna had to take a moment in the car after powering down. There was some movement inside P. Johnson’s, which she assumed were people attending the thing, but there was no way to make out who they were. She took a few deep breaths and snapped a selfie. “Here we go” the caption read with the hashtag #highschoolreunion. Her following on Instagram had breached a million not so long ago, so getting a modest few likes within a minute was expected. She avoided looking into the place while approaching it at a fairly fast pace. Her stride was ever so catwalk-y, as you never knew who was watching. Almost barging inside, she caught the atmosphere at an awkward moment and stopped dead in her track. Jack was in middle of having a drink while Meir was standing behind her like a creep, not saying a word and caught up in fiddling with his phone. Everything sort of happened at the same time—the notification, the tagging, all of it. Hanna smirked, almost chuckling at the bizarre moment, swinging her eyes back and forth between Jack and Meir.

[color=72684e][b]“You okay there, Meir?”[/b][/color] Hanna said and allowed that chuckle to escape. Good God, she remembered his name, and hers too. How was that even possible? Especially his, seeing as Hanna had not been the nicest of persons to him. Or, rather, in her own defense, it was the other two skanks who were mean to him—but he probably did not see it that way. Hanna stepped forward in a much slower, relaxed pace and placed herself besides Jack.
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