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I mean thereโ€™s a certain hardship in remembering to tip. Or that not everyone was able to go to Coachella. It feels bad when you remember everyone else is poor.


"I don't know why you don't have enough money to go to France. Uh. Ask your dad."

"We're lower middle class, Ambrose."

"Look, you're traveling with me. I'll get you bumped up to first on the plane. Don't worry about it."

I was just making a joke. This is why I need to emoji everything. Eevverrrryytthiinnng.
Cheeseman and I aren't popular. That's a bummer.

What. You guys don't like someone that has never known hardship in their life?
I endeavor to be the best space lawyer and crew face you have ever seen. I take this job with the utmost seriousness and complete sincerity.

@psych0pomp I'm correct in presuming Ambrose's car isn't an old beater, right? Something new, shiny, and brilliant white?


Yep! It screams "a teenager definitely doesn't need to be driving this car, but his uncle owns a car place so it doesn't matter."
@psych0pomp You can survive two days. I believe in you!


That makes one of us. I'm kidding. I'm just interested to see if I make it. I was trying to shake up the usual mold of "face" by going "what if their charisma was just arguing with you reddit-style until you quit?" Also, I've been replaying Phoenix Wright for some reason. It's fully infected my brain.

Iunno. Maybe I need to get out and touch some grass... I mean... sleet.
So the deadline for sheets wont be for another few days- I'll just say wednesday and call it at that, however there are enough for me to start making handing out some invitations and whatnot.


"I just wanted to make sure he was receiving attention at home." She said at last. "To let you know that he needs support."

"I assure you. Ambrose has everything he could ever want, and more." Maryann coolly assuaged. "He has never known want."

"That's what I'm afraid of." Violet murmured, acquiescing defeat and leaving the socialite woman to her wine.


Hot damn. Ambrose should apply ice to that burn he doesn't know exists, but I'm sure he can feel it in his soul.


Everything ached but in a good way. Ambrose couldnโ€™t say that was usual. The only thing he didnโ€™t care about was the few scratches on the palms of his hands from handling the wood. Theyโ€™d heal quickly enough, but for someone that had a โ€œmoisturizing routine,โ€ it was a nuisance. After Freyja vaulted off, the child in toe, he found himself swallowed by the night of festivities. The goings-on of the day had distracted him from whatever his brain could pry out. Silence was the crowbar of discontent for him.

He wasnโ€™t paying attention to anyone around him or anything that might have been said in his direction as they were abandoned by his car on the outskirts of the festival. He hit the key fob and opened the backseat, peeling off his dirtied and sweated-in shirt. It was then he realized that the guy from earlier was still loitering around. More so, that he was talking to Ambrose.

Ambrose stood there without a shirt on, the coolish air picking at his bare skin. It was without a blemish, scar, or other imperfection, and perfectly crafted like itโ€™d been sculpted out of marble or some other slick, sexy rock. โ€œUh. Why would I know your mother?โ€ Violet Cheeseman raised no alarm bells in his brain. She sounded like a character out of a childrenโ€™s book with that name. Then again Brown Cheeseman sounded like a rare brand of some hard cheese served at one of his motherโ€™s wine tastings. Heโ€™d gotten blitzed at a young age thinking it was a weird grape juice and scarfing all the cheese his little mouth could hold. Heโ€™d been a solid circle of a child.

He pulled his shirt over his head and slid it over his chest, it was form-fitting, allowing the warm light of the festival to leave little to the imagination regarding his musculature underneath. His shirt was a deep blue, and on it was an anime character of some kind. He didnโ€™t know who it was. One of his friends back in New York had mailed it to him for his birthday. Heโ€™d tossed it into the back of his car as an โ€œemergencyโ€ shirt. It layered with his distressed khakis and sneakers quite well. As if Ambrose could ever wear something unattractive.

โ€œAmbrose,โ€ he said, โ€œAmbrose Hightower. Iโ€™m sure youโ€™ve heard of me before, or at least my mom.โ€ He shrugged. โ€œSure, I can hang out with you. Iโ€™m surprised you have friends.โ€ He paused, realizing how that sounded. โ€œConsidering I donโ€™t know who you are or your mom for that matter. Are you new to town?โ€ He gestured to himself. โ€œIf we donโ€™t find your friend, we can find some of mine. Miโ€ฆ uhโ€ฆ friendsโ€ฆ esโ€ฆ suโ€ฆ friends.โ€


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