Fuck Your Feelings

[Whitney Herald]

Prompt List

• Saint Patrick's Day
• Annoyance
• Reunion
• Carnival
• Sunshine
• Bet
• Hay
• Loyalty
• Dangerous
• Birthday

[Whitney Herald]

R E U N I O N

Whitney was seriously in the zone. She'd gotten a bunch of actual real adult shit done during the day, and it was a Friday, and she deserved a drink. For once, the other gaggle of Fae and various magical friends weren't in her company - Puck and Blaise were up to something, and Roxy wanted a piece of whatever mischief they were getting into, but Whitney had declined. She was moody, for whatever reason, as pixies tended to be, and so she found herself craving time on her own more and more. An entire weekend with them, plus whoever they dragged along (Marisol, Cassidy and Reese, she suspected), just sounded like more than she wanted to commit to.

At any rate, she blew right by Hellcat's Hollow, fully intending to keep moving along and get a drink from a bar that was significantly less populated with Supernatural beings, but stopped just short of passing the last window. It wasn't completely dark yet and whoever was on shift hadn't pulled the shades down to block the tables closest to the windows from view. She walked backward a few steps, and then her mouth fell open with surprise. Like a jackrabbit, she was darting back towards the entrance, nearly mowing down the man checking IDs in the foyer.

"Whoa there, turbo," he said, holding a hand up.

"Relax, Cujo. I'm far from the legal drinking age," she said.

The big man raised an eyebrow at Cujo, but didn't comment on it. Instead, he smirked a little and folded his arms over his massive chest. "Alright Tinkerbell, go on, then."

They stood like that for a minute, Whitney's hand on the door, and his arms folded, both sets of eyes locked in a sudden staring contest. Whitney grinned after whatever she'd been thinking had rattled its way around her brain long enough to let her decide what retort she wanted to give back. "You're alright, Fido. You're alright," she said. She went inside, leaving Cerberus at the podium, shaking his head.

"Fucking fairies," he muttered to himself, though unlike the majority of people who said that near-constantly, he didn't say it with malice.

Whitney got inside and looked to where she'd spotted the thing that made her re-route her path from chosen bar to newly chosen bar. With a purpose, she marched over to where the man sat, and dropped down into the empty booth seat across from him, sliding her bag off of her shoulder as she did so and depositing it next to her

"What's the story, morning glory?" she asked, eyes bright.

"Holy shit," the man replied. "Whitney Herald.  I would have thought you'd have long moved on. How can a city as small as this one contain the sheer chaotic energy that you and your sister bring?" He sat back in the booth a little, smiling at her.

"Well, imagine my surprise when the last time I talked to you, you were in Seattle with no plans to come back, and then I clock you sipping on a happy hour beer at random," she countered. "Seriously, Dez, what brings you? I thought you'd left this place far behind in the rearview."

Dez signaled to the waitress that he wanted another round, with a nod from Whitney that she'd just take one of whatever he had. "I thought so, too," he admitted. "But, things have a funny way of working out, I guess. It's good to see you. You look - well, radiant, of course. Must be all that natural charisma," he teased.

"So do you," she said, a nod to the growing up and filling out he'd done over the last few years. "You go to the gym much out there or what? I thought FBI was all brains and no brawn."

He chuckled. "Guess I'm double dipping, then. I actually transferred back, though. I'm going to split my time between lecturing and working with a new division within the bureau."

"New division?" she parroted, brows raised. "I'm intrigued."

The drinks arrived and they both tapped their bottles together (carefully). "It's just getting feds a little more involved in the - ah, unique challenges that this rapidly changing environment present."

"Like fairies?" she asked playfully.

"Shit, you guys are low on the spectrum right now," he scoffed. "I don't want to talk about work though - I literally transferred because the normal work became a little tiring in day to day life."

"I'm guessing you mean tiring as in fatiguing you, not boring you," she clarified. "Well, allow me to be the first to officially welcome you back, then." She was changing the subject obviously so as not to press him for details about something he'd plainly said was causing him strife. It might have been a little surprising if someone didn't know her well, but Whitney could turn the antagonism off every so often.

"Thanks, Whit," he said, and he meant it. That was just one issue on top of many that had been piling upon him for years, honestly, but he wasn't sure coming out of the gate by saying "I have so many problems" was a good look. Still, it got a little tiring. There was a comfortable silence as they both drank and let themselves just exist in the moment, but it soon passed. "I hope my return home is as well received by everyone else as it is for you," he mused, and though he said it with a twist of humour, there was apparent truth that it was a concern.

"I'm going to assume by that statement that I'm the only one who knows you're back," she guessed.

"Well, my family does, obviously. My brother was thrilled to see me, but he became inconsolable when I left. It's going to take a lot of reinforcement with a visiting schedule to try and curb that," he admitted. "He thinks I'm going to just leave again. It super sucked watching my mom try to get him to calm down. It's kind of how I ended up here. Comfort at the bottom of a bottle and all that." He paused. "Don't worry, I'm not turning into an alcoholic. I just needed a change of scenery from something where people were depending on me to one where I could just sit and exist for a while."

"Makes sense," Whitney said. "As much as I don't want to be a downer on our happy reunion, have you considered talking to someone? Like, someone qualified, I mean," she added. "You can talk to me but I'm absolutely not qualified to give you advice on the complexities of your life. Pixies are like, the worst at getting our shit together."

Dez smiled, the remark unexpectedly causing him to laugh more than normal in the sudden tonal shift from depressing to funny again. "Noted. And, I'm sure I'll get around to it, I just want to get settled right now. But, if you're not busy, I could do a few more drinks," he said, giving her an open invitation to sit and exist with him.

"Nope, my whole night is yours," she offered. "I might need to step my drinks up a little, though," she warned.

"That's fine, just so long as you catch me up on what I've missed in the meantime."

"Deal," she replied. She looked across the room where their waitress was in the middle of serving another table, and cupped her hand to her mouth. "AYO GIRL, LEMME GET A DOUBLE VODKA REDBULL!" she yelled, broadcasting her order across the entirety of the establishment. Step one of catching up was obviously demonstrating that she herself had not fundamentally changed in any way that mattered. After all, stability was paramount, was it not?

[Whitney Herald]

H A Y

Whitney rolled her eyes, kicking back in her chair. Honestly, after working in a costume shop with her sister for the last year or so, which strangely was the longest job they'd held together that actually earned money and wasn't like, illegal somehow, she was kind of over dressing up. She was never over parties, so while she wore normal clothing instead of something cute or sexy or clever, she definitely had a drink in her hand. And besides, this wasn't even the Halloween party, this was some autumn festival bullshit. She was supposed to be running a game, but she decided to get drunk instead, leaving Roxy to do the heavy lifting.

"Hey, lazy bitch," her sister said, slapping her on the shoulder and forcing her to plant all four feet of the metal chair firmly down in the dirt with a creak.

"Mm, think of the devil and she shall appear," Whitney muttered fondly, tipping up the brim of her cowboy hat. No, she wasn't dressed in costume, but she was dressed adequately. Jeans, flannel, a hat. Pumpkin picking, hay rides, and Jack Daniels all had a theme, right? Farm trash? Something like it.

"Come on, it's your turn. I'm tired of making kids cry," Roxy insisted, pushing Whitney out of the chair. Whitney was standing as she was pushed, Roxy sliding into her place, and picking up the bottle of liquor to pour herself her own drink, brushing dirt off the edge of the red cup as she did so.

"You look like Wendy," Whitney said, finally getting a good look at her sister for the first time that afternoon.

Roxy looked up, blinking rapidly. "The pigtails get me tips from gross dads, okay?" she said matter-of-factly.

"Hey, I'm not knocking it. Just, think you exposed some middle-aged mens kinks out there today in front of their families, is all," Whitney joked, holding her hands up. "Okay, I guess I'll go make some kids cry, then. Hey, did you sling any bottles at all?" she asked, before she stepped around the tall bales of hay that blocked their little den in the booth from prying eyes. She meant, of course, if Roxy had sold any vials of dust or other random shit they'd whipped up, which they had been expressly told not to do by that fucking Triste after they'd dusted his girlfriend.

"No," she said bitterly, rolling her eyes. They just keep asking where I got my necklace, but, nobody knows what it is. Just a bunch of humans. Oh, and some shifters. And like, a random Strigoi vampire? Yeah, looks like moonchild just out there vibing with a very human man who is probably going to be her lunch later."

"Strigoi, huh? Ugh, okay, I'll keep my eyes out."

"You do that," her sister said. "I'm gonna keep ol' Jack here company."

Whitney rolled her eyes and shook off, then downed the rest of her cup before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "It's showtime, bitches," she said to herself, before walking around the hay to the booth front. She flipped the sign from closed to open, and set to shuffling cards. Her time in Vegas had been well-spent; she was able to fill her tip jar with money off of stupid card tricks alone. But then, of course, she had to actually do the shuffling game, wherein someone would have to watch their card, and if they could successfully pick it out of the mix when they were layed out, they won a prize.

Except she and Roxy were just using magic so that mostly, nobody ever got their card. Hence, making kids cry.

Admittedly, Whitney did hand out a few more dumb plastic prizes than Roxy did, but it was mostly because she was already feeling good from the drinks, of which she'd had several. She wasn't drunk, just slightly buzzed, but for Fae, that was enough.

She flipped the closed sign back up after about two hours, then stepped behind the hay wall to count her tips down.

"Hey, let's get some cards goin' out here!" she heard a male voice call.

She looked up, locking eyes with her sister, who stood, ready to go out and handle it.

"Nah, I got it," Whitney said. She tossed her the roll of money. "I know how much is there, so I'll know if you take any. Count it again," she said. She turned back around, muttering, "Yeah, I got your fuckin' cards right here, buddy."

"Hey stranger," the man said to her, a grin on his face. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Well, well, well," she said slowly, doing well to hide her shock. "Look who's back from Hell."

"Hell would be a fucking picnic compared to where I was, sister," Joey said, and though he smiled when he said it, there was no amusement in his voice. "Now, let's cut the bullshit, and get right to it. You owe me a favor, and as I can say I am firmly educated in Fae rules after my lovely vacation, I'm pretty sure that I can still call on that favor, even though it's been - oh, I dunno, forty years? Four hundred years?" he laughed, passing a hand through his unruly hair. "Who can really tell, these days."

"Hey, what's taking so long dealing with the assho-----ly shit, Joey fuckin' Dawson," Roxy said, interrupting herself. She'd come out ready to rage at whatever was still keeping Whitney from her break, and definitely didn't expect that. She crossed her arms, looking surprised, but not unwelcoming. "What's up, man? He finally let you out of there?"

"Roxy," Whitney said sharply. She looked over at her, and shook her head slightly.

"Oh," Roxy said, suddenly re-reading the situation. "Oh. Oh... shit," she hissed.

"And your sister's here too? Perfect! One big happy family," he said, holding his hands up in amazement. He saw Whitney reaching up to the little vial around her neck, but Joey shook his head. "Don't do that. That's not gonna help. That's just hostile, Whitney."

"We can't help you," Whitney hissed. "It isn't our fault you got thrown into Fairy Jail, and we can't get involved with anything having to do with You-Know-Who." The air around her crackled a little, the scent of ozone present.

"Whit, there are people... everywhere here," Roxy said quietly. It was suddenly dawning on her how much collateral damage was going to be had if her sister decided to go nuclear.

"Whoa, whoa," Joey said, like he was talking to a nervous animal. "Whitney, I didn't even ask for my favor yet," he reminded her. "And I wouldn't ask you to mess with that anyways. Either of you. Regardless of if you deserve it," he added sharply.

"Then what?" Whitney demanded. She didn't look any less calm, but at least she didn't look like she was about to burst into lightning.

Joey looked at them both for a minute, and then smiled. "I forgot, actually. But, it's good I found you. Glad to see you both look... well, the same," he said, making a face and tilting his head as he spoke. "I'll remember eventually. Don't worry, I'll come find you. And, hey, in the meantime ah, you guys still sling dust? I don't want any, just curious." He paused. "By the look on your face I'll take that as a yes. Man, you two just... never learn, do you? Alright, ladies, have fun cheating people out of their money. We'll be in touch." He wrapped his knuckles on the counter, and then turned around and wandered off.

"Yo, what the fuck just happened," Whitney said, turning to her sister.

"Uh, which part? When a dude we knew from like 84 who got sent to the Mines of fucking Moria just showed up at our booth or the part where you almost electrified a bunch of mortals or the part where he seems to think we owe him a favor, Whitney? Which part, exactly, are you asking about?" Roxy demanded.

"Yes?" Whitney said, making a face. Roxy grabbed her by the shoulder, practically spinning her in a full circle as she whipped her around, and lead her by the arm towards the parking lot. "Hey - wh - what about our shit?"

Roxy stopped for a second, then motioned for Whitney to keep going. She said something in their native language, and the booth just ceased to exist. She turned around, giving Whitney a shove as motivation to walk faster. "There was dust all over it," she explained, after a long moment of silence. "Come on. Let's get to the shop. Whatever he's going to ask for, it'll be easier to make him come to us first.

"I never got to pick out my pumpkin," Whitney said, defeated.

Somewhere across the lot at the cider booth, Autumn glanced up quickly, almost knocking the freshly poured drink out of her husband's hand.

"Careful," he warned her, stepping out of her way as she stalked by him and walked a few feet out in the opposite direction, looking left and right. "Autumn, what is it?

She narrowed her eyes, looked at Frederick, and in the most Gareth thing he'd ever heard come out of her mouth, simply said, "Fucking fairies."