fletcher-braley
neither lost nor found
⛺ Fletcher BraleyThirty Two years oldBartender at Crane Bros. DistilleryBighorn Hillsjust trying his best, really
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Fletcher shrugs. It’s why he found a place in Bighorn Hills, right on the edge and close to the trails. He can step off his back porch and get right into a walk around the woods. It’s so much easier than it was in Philadelphia when the Poconos were a decent car ride away from his (shady) neighborhood.
“A seal in recovery? What happened to it?” It definitely can’t be a catch and release situation, not this far inland in the country, unless they have some transport program…
Fletch doesn’t know, that’s why he works behind a bar and not in an aquarium. “Yes, just a coffee. Two cream. And a croissant,” he tells the waiter. “So, your job definitely sounds more exciting than mine, right now.”
@liloumilani
❝God, I don't have that energy. I swear, if I have 2 extra minutes before work, I'll be sleeping❞ she replied, laughing softly. ❝The day was hectic today. We have a seal in recovery, and it requires much more attention than usual❞
Lilou tried to disguise it, but she was also more tired than usual that week. She had dark circles under her eyes, softened by her attempts to hide them with makeup, although she had never been very good at it. Her hair was a bit disheveled too, but that might have been due to the short run she had made from the car to the café. ❝Do you want to order anything?❞ she asked, while signaling to a waiter to order a coffee for her.
@fletcher-braley
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Fletcher thinks so, wants to say he knows so while he watches the way Boone sprawls out on his back, belly-up, to Walter. The corner of his mouth curls up in amusement with a short internalized chuckle.
“Yeah, he’s fine. Just clingy, and a little unconfident at points.” So long as he does his job to guard the house at night, Fletch can’t complain. His only weakness has seemed to be thunder and the vacuum cleaner, but neither have provided an instance of immediate danger for Fletch to be disappointed about it at all.
“You have to. I’m not a liar. Promise, I’m fine, and if you doubt my word, then that’s just insulting.” Fletch feigns a pout, pushing his bottom lip out and batting his big blue puppy eyes to Rachel. “Oh, right, I forgot about the laundry. Definitely paid for the wash and fold service every now and again. Excusable, because I have to take time to iron my work shirts, so if the laundromat can take care of my outside clothes…”
How could he pass up that option when the mound of dirty clothes turned into a mountain?
“Carrots, hay, maybe they’re like rabbits and like bananas.” Either way, Pete’s well fed and paid in his groundhog terms. Happy as a clam, not having to lift a paw to forage. It must be the life, but definitely very unfulfilling. “Personally? No. No plans. Well, my birthday’s in the Spring, technically, but nothing important. What about you? Anything exciting? I hope so, so you’re not as painfully boring as I am.”
@rachelhargrove
"Well he's turned out just fine and sociable even if he didn't get out much when he was a pup." Rachel shared reassuringly as she felt like there was no real difference, though she also had spent a lot of time with her own dog when she first got him too. It was partially because she was also in a dark place when she'd gotten him and now he was just used to her being around most of the time. It was a rare occasion where she wasn't hope a majority of the time. It was just part of her work anyway and Walter looked at her with suspicion when she wasn't home all the time now.
Rachel was glad that Fletcher wasn't actually suffering too much, just sharing more than anything else about his aches and pains. "Technically...I'll believe you for now." She teased a bit, giving him another small nudge before watching him move in a way that made it seem like there was for sure more than he was letting on. "I think that absolutely is one of the various reasons why I'm looking forward to it too. Layers are great but also the amount of laundry I do a week? Insane." She shared with a laugh at least glad that she didn't have to share the machine with anyone. "I have no idea what Phil eats if I'm being honest. Or any groundhogs for that matter. But carrots sounds right maybe? Veggies perhaps?" Rachel really hadn't gotten that far when she'd done research about the famed groundhog. "Got anything to look forward to in spring though?"
@fletcher-braley
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Routine is safe and secure, and it’s been something Fletcher has been finding himself growing accustomed to in the last few years. The itch to move and find a place to land long since dissipated. It’s a new feeling, one he finds he likes — one of belonging.
He looks to Phoebe with intrigue. “Anyone?” Fletch parrots back, humming thoughtfully to himself. “Boone, uh, well, Reggie isn’t a part of the routine so much as cleaning up after him is. Not in a bad sense, not at all. He just chases his new thoughts faster than finishing the previous ones.” It also means Fletcher can’t be sure where he can be found around town, and half the time he considers the possibility of Reg flying overhead to some impromptu adventure.
“But I got a feeling you’re thinking of anyone in terms of the romance category, in which case, no.” Not since he and Dean teetered toward something until he told Fletch about his personal conflicts (fair and respected) or whatever he and Cynthia almost got close to whatever that was before he felt himself put on the outside of whatever the problem was.
Fletcher doesn’t speak up about it, he’s the bartender at this moment. He’s supposed to be the emotional scratching post. He does choose to pry, “What about you, you got an 'anyone'? Is that why you’re Smiles McGee? That’s not all the shots you took, you got a glow.” It could be, but it’s fair to take a stab at it.
“It’s 2024, Phoebe. Children are living at home until their thirties in this day and age. The phrase will stop applying to Seb when he puts down his fists and stays out of trouble,” he responds, digging beneath the counter to find the pretzels. Two mini bags are drawn out, some simple generic brand of salted mini twists that are placed down in front of Phoebe.
“It doesn’t get better. Thirty one year old me seriously questions how nineteen year old me survived any nights out.”
@phoebeyates
Phoebe had always hated it when people were too happy, too self-fulfilled, seemingly bragging about the good times in their lives. But she realized, it was just jealousy on her end. That now she felt the same wave of happiness, she just wanted to shout about it from the rooftops.
She noted the way Fletcher sucked in a breath, deciding not to poke at it as she was tempted to, instead just nodding at his answer. “Routine’s good,” She agreed, always finding herself at her worst when it had been disrupted in any way. Probably the whole tumultuous childhood, but she wasn’t dwelling on that with alcohol in her system, lest it reversed the giddy tipsy feeling she was basking in. “Does the routine involve anyone?” Because it was Phoebe, and she really couldn’t help but pry. “Yeah, you don’t want to piss off the Cranes.” She had yet to meet Freddie, but by the sounds of it, his reputation certainly preceded him. And Nate was an intimidating figure, the few times they crossed paths, despite Aslihan’s friendship with him. Still, Phoebe didn’t like the idea of being in anyone’s bad books, much less the two brothers in business together.
“Doesn’t that phrase apply to children and not idiots pushing thirty?” She asked, half-teasing, though the worry about Seb was completely valid. Maybe one day he’d eventually grow up, stop the whole fighting thing, focus on his Etsy store. But that would mean it’d be something not causing the assistant stress, so it’d probably never happen.
“Thank you,” She said, the first sip of water almost unbelievably refreshing, grinning at his offer. “You know I can never say no to pretzels.” Her favorite savory snack, after all. “Yeah, I’m just tired of feeling like I’ve aged fifty years after a night of drinking. Rather quit whilst I’m ahead.”
☆ @fletcher-braley
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“I am, by seven years,” Fletch confirms with the sheepish nod of his head. “Seven years from Max. I think he felt a sort of way about not being mom’s favorite anymore.”
Something that Fletcher will always be proud of, even though he knows he shouldn’t, and the way he captivated his mother’s attention. There was always something about the way she held onto him, coddling him and trying to find each and every way to keep him close. She held onto his hand, didn’t let him run far, and truthfully, Fletch never felt his time with her split. After all, her other three sons were old enough that they would refuse to be doted on..
(Fletch would argue that they didn’t put the effort in to spend their days with her once they were old enough to get into trouble, but they never wanted to hear it.)
“Twelve years from Hunter, my oldest brother. He was the nicest to me.”
Fletcher’s amused smile at the thought of sharing a home with Reggie widens when the word McMansion escapes Roman’s mouth. He can’t hold his laugh back either. “That sounds lonely. But I guess not for you if you’re not the sort to like housemates. I shared a bedroom until I was thirteen, until Reg moved into my spare room my place felt too big.” Reggie and his specific brand of chaos has and always will be welcomed in Fletcher’s life.
“Oh yeah? Sure! I bring Boone with me in case there’s any coyotes out, they stay away. There’s this real pretty spot, it’s up a bit but not a hard climb, heads out to a ledge that oversees the river. Too high to jump into the water from, there’s different spots for that, but it looks real nice during sunrise.”
@rcmandaniels
Roman didn’t know much about Fletcher. Granted, he didn’t know much about most people, due to his own apprehensiveness to open up, which most people picked up on. It was always more uncomfortable when there was less willingness amongst all parties to share. That said, the younger man intrigued him in a way he couldn’t quite explain. “You’re the youngest?” He confirmed, grasping at the context clues in front of him.
The distillery didn’t seem like a bad place to work, all things considered. A part of him wished he could do bar-work. But with his hand, and the obvious knowledge of all the Falvey’s plaguing the town, he’d most likely see more of them in more of a social space; the bloody record store being bad enough. “I don’t think I’d cope with a housemate. I’m staying with my sister in her stupid…what do you Americans call them? McMansions. Yeah, and it’s big enough we barely see each other yet the idea of her presence irks me.” Roman laughed, though it wasn’t necessarily funny. “I haven’t hiked since I lived in L.A.,” He admitted, “But maybe I’ll take it up again. You could show me that trail sometime.” It wasn’t often Roman threw such a bone but, then again, his interest in the younger male was piqued.
☆ @fletcher-braley
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Fletch steps back from the bar where he previously leaned over the menu, viewing it upside from where he placed it in front of Foster. “Lagers came about with the discovery of yeast that fermented at lower temperatures - less bitter and less hoppier than stouts.” The three flight glasses are placed on the board, two taken to the draft spouts to fill with the aforementioned beverages.
“Stouts, being that they are dark, are kilned longer, but they fall within the ale category as they are fermented at or close to room temperature, but you know as well as I do that ales aren’t limited to just stouts. I’ll make your number three a blonde ale. Some brands are arguably similar to lager, but that’s what the tasting is for. For you to decide that.” Once the flight is placed in front of Foster, Fletch also grabs a piece of paper and pencil for him to take notes, should he want.
The spiel is a practiced one, just as the one earlier about the different tasting options, but this time less enthused sounding, and finally does Fletcher ask, “We’re both a long way from Philly, aren’t we?”
@foster-notmatty
Maybe he just wasn't that memorable, Foster thought, because now that he thought about it, he'd never actually gotten confirmation that Fletcher even knew who he was. It was obvious this speech was one he'd rambled off a million times before, and maybe Foster really was just another customer...
"I'll start with three," he decided, looking over the list of options. "I prefer more like a stout or a dark lager, but I'll defer to your suggestions." He assumed Fletcher wasn't a brewer — not the way Foster was a chef — but he'd give the man some credit for being the professional in this circumstance.
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Fletcher openly cringes. Grits his teeth, squints and sucks a breath in at his mistake. “Just saying. I don’t know the parameters of your relationship back then — back when the grudge of the convenience store clerk began.” Was the fight verbal or physical?
“Sure it is. He’s not here to tell his story, but you’re my friend, I take your side.”
Fletch almost suspects the latter, but he allows CJ the grace of not having to say so as well as not having to reveal the victor in that.
(Even if he does want to know, had it been physical, the number of sale displays fell in their path.)
He chuckles at the idea of fish people, and the thought of ghost stories around a campfire definitely feels nostalgic. He's too old now for that stuff, the talks around his firepit tend to consist of nonsense or booze-fueled heart to hearts, but he can appreciate them all the same.
“Yeah, dead. Like, body temp already dropped dead. Not ice cold, but you know it’s been a minute since the heart’s been pumping.” Fletch shrugs nonchalantly about it. It hadn't been his word D.O.A. call. Not by far.
“I don’t know, I don’t think so. Guy went out in a body bag on the stretcher, seemed pretty dead to me. It's kinda hard to miss a pulse when it's your field of expertise.” Or in Fletch's case, his field of study being he was a cadet at the time, but he doesn't tell CJ that.
@cjwelford
It clicks into place and CJ dismisses Seb from earning any criticism from Fletcher about the matter. The tension between him and the convenience store clerk still not fully explained, which Fletcher is fine with, and there's no worry of letting his own imagination conjure up an entire tale.
"Todd's fault. You were just collateral damage? Or his partner in crime?" Fletch does nudge, but it's mostly to just tease him. It's always amusing to poke at CJ.
Not as amusing as it is to see him perform a vanishing act with that honey roll. Fletcher feels like he blinked and the plate became empty. He only chuckles, biting down on his bottom lip to keep it from becoming a louder laugh. His shoulders shake with the sound, though, along with his head.
"Not really. I'm not much into horror movies, but these threads are just interesting. We all had our own share of ghost stories we shared when we camped." By camped, Fletcher definitely meant just running around the woods and finding a place to carelessly pass out in among the twigs and leaves. His mother would have had a coronary if she'd known…
"No. I've seen something scarier — someone who was D.O.A. on scene, sit up. But your muscles contract and do weird things after death, so your body can move even if you're not alive. It's interesting, but the first time you see it, it's terrifying."
@cjwelford
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@cjwelford
Stand By Me (1986) dir. Rob Reiner
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It only takes the smile on her face to light up the room and draw out his own. Her cheer was always something so infectious. “Love to hear it, Phoebe.” Fletcher looks to her with pride weaved into his words. Then she asks about him, Fletch sucks a breath in through his teeth, but the facade of disdain wears off as quickly as it appears.
“No complaints on my end. I like the routine I have," he answers while getting back to popping pourers off empty bottles and grabbing the drip mat to throw into the sink. “Wherever there’s liquor, there’s stupid to be found. Not as bad as when I was a barback at the old gig, but you still get some chaos.” Enough for him, but he figures phoning Freddie if anything gets that wild is an easy fix.
(It would seem his name is known well enough that even if mentioned, the troublemakers quiet down, so sometimes Fletcher doesn't even have to pick up the phone.)
“I’m glad we have a network of helping hands with him. I tell you, it takes a village…”
He sucks in a sharp breath and shakes his head, boring wide, worried eyes into the bar top as if he is reliving flashbacks of all things Seb-related. He's a good guy, but the street fighting bit is enough to give Fletcher heart palpitations.
As mentioned, Fletcher scoops ice into a glass, then fills it from the tap to slide over to Phoebe. “Fair enough, water it is. We love hydration after a night of cocktails. Want some pretzels, too? The mini packs are withing the expiration date — promise.”
@phoebeyates
It's not exactly last call, but it is nearing the end of the night. Fletcher is popping the pourers off of the top of the empty liquor bottles to soak overnight. The glass clinks in the recycling when they're disposed of, but it doesn't drown out the clear call of his name. Fletcher throws a glance over his shoulder to catch Phoebe at the end of the bar.
"Phoebe! Hey, how's it going?" He heads up the length of the bar performing his due diligence in running a clean, damp rag up it to clean any stray drops and spills. "Four nights a week. It's most nights, so your chance of running into me here is pretty up there."
Even if his shifts aren't always the most consistent, but the variety keeps him from growing bored. Different customers, different levels of busyness, and all nights give him plenty of opportunity for tips to stash in his cash jar.
"Aw, cut Seb some slack. But now that you mention it, I don't think he's thrown me a 911 text in a while. Could this be character growth?" He teases the man in his absence, and it's all out of an adoration that's grown in the time Fletch has resided in Providence Peak. "What brings you out tonight? Need a top off on your drink?"
@phoebeyates
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“When isn’t he?” Fletcher laments with a feigned sense of disappointment and mourning for Freddie’s lack of presence in the distillery. Topped off with the slight bow of his head and his hand to his chest, Fletch plays the part up until Carla insists on offering her assistance. “If you’re done with your work, why are you wanting to keep working? It’s five o’clock, somewhere. Sit, get a drink. Even just a water, and enjoy a free evening.”
@carlavillanueva
Weekdays were always quiet in the morning. It didn't mean the bar would be empty, but especially during the off-peak season when less people were visiting town and coming over to view the distillery as an attraction, it was expected. She offered a smile towards the customer, reassuring them that the tasting menu was an excellent choice to go with, before returning her attention back to the bartender. "Yeah, I know he's busy. I wasn't looking for him. I get to see enough of him already," she pointed out with a chuckle. Not that she would ever complain about seeing him too much. The months she spent away from him had torn her heart in ways she did not think it ever would be. She'd rather be fed up of him spending every minute with her than the alternative. "I'm done from my work so if you guys need help with something, I'm free."
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No matter what fashion statement Reggie is or will be trying to make, all that Fletcher knows is he is halfway out the door and waiting for Reg to join him. He laughs, much unlike their cashier, amused at what sounds more like a promise than a warning.
"Ask away. If I had to chance a guess, I'd say you'll be a fan of Darry. I'm more of a Squirrely Dan kind of guy."
Because 'thats whats he appreciates abouts' the show the most.
(A reference he won't say now as it will be lost on Reggie until he watches.)
"You don't have to, if you don't want. I'm grown up, I can watch shows by myself. And I won't guilt you about me being lonely or anything, or about how Boone isn't a great conversationalist."
Whether his teasing guilt trip worked or not, Fletcher would find out when they settle in, but they have a walk ahead of them. One he enjoys. How can he not? His teeth might be close to chattering and his fingertips holding the Arnold Palmer can feel frigid, but it's moments on nights like this that bring him back to Philly nights when Reg came rolling through.
Minus the apartment buildings reaching to the sky with rusted fire escapes and back alleys lined with trash — he figures he had a couch and that'd been Reggie's standard when he crashed with Fletch there.
"Mm, yeah. Well, at least we won't be disturbing the neighbors with our screaming when we're inevitably murdered. Too far out, you know?" He gives Reggie a quick glance and a taunting grin at the prospect of being murdered, allows the thought to settle for a moment, and finally reaches for his keys to unlock the door. "We'll get killed by a cougar before anything out here. Not the hot mom type, the ones with whiskers and claws that hunt you. But—"
The door opens, and Boone is right there to greet both of them, tail wagging and excited whines escaping his muzzle. "That's what Boone's for. He'll keep serial killers away from the house. He's good for it."
@reggiefalvey
"I think I could bring wallet chains back as a trend if I really committed to the bit."
The bit was about all Reggie could sincerely commit to, evidenced by way he nudged the side of Fletcher's shoe with his army green croc, the very same color he imagines his roommate must be with envy to be taking shots at his shoewear.
"The croc speaks for itself."
In this case, he meant that literally, his 'If you ain't crocin' you ain't rockin'' jibbitz discernible on the front of his right shoe. He doesn't wait for the offer of a bag that he knows isn't coming his way given how unimpressed the cashier was growing with the pair of them, taking each of his drinks in hand and cradling his Takis at his side as he follows Fletcher outside to the cool evening air.
With no other plan decided for his night, there's no real reason for him to decline, other than he hadn't watched any Letterkenny despite Fletcher's recommendation of it several times.
"Fine, deal. But don't get pissy if and when I ask you a bunch of questions about who's who and what's going on."
He has to manoeuvre his items in his hold so he didn't lose the can when he opened the Mountain Dew to take a swig of it as they made their way to their shared home in Bighorn Hills, the traipse passing with a variety of idle chat, including a question that left Reggie's mouth as soon as it crossed his mind upon their place coming into view.
"You ever think to yourself, damn, we live in the exact kind of spot where if someone wanted to do their own version of The Strangers, this would the exact door they'd knock on?"
@fletcher-braley
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“Philadelphia counts, even if it’s borderline New Jersey. We have cheesesteaks and Gritty, and surprisingly enough, not Danny DeVito.” In Fletcher’s opinion, he’d keep Gritty over Danny any day of the week. He figures the surprise comes from him starring in It’s Always Sunny, and in his accent.
(Every day, Fletch thanks his mother for his lack of Philly accent, even if ‘wooder’ tends to pop up anytime he asks for a glass of water.)
“Flea markets give you the wildest mix of things. You never know what you’re getting into,” he muses aloud while snaking his arms through the straps of the baby carrier. Fletcher is careful, placing his hands against the babies for fear of them slipping off, and turns for Dylan to tug the straps to her preferred tightness.
Instantly, Fletch is caught in silent awe of them. These two little lives bundled and seeing so much of the world for the first time, strapped to him. He almost misses the end of what Dylan says because of it. “Hm — what? Sure, can’t be running you into the ground. They feel light, but I just put them on. No doubt they start to feel like cinder blocks once you get further in a trail, huh?”
@dylan-westwick
Dylan smiled softly, although not happy to hear that Fletcher overthought a bit but glad that he could understand what she was talking about. "I do know Pennsylvania, not super well but I've been to Philly for work before." She was at least familiar with the area and when he told her it was handwoven it sounded rather impressive. "Y'know flea markets really can be cool like that though where ya never really know if it was or not, but either way it's a good steal." She said honestly as she sat down.
She couldn't help but laugh when Fletcher shared he loved babies. "No I know what ya mean, it didn't sound weird, promise. And you're right I could sit to take a break." Dylan teased as she moved to slide the carrier off her shoulders carefully as she felt Fletcher watching the twins. Leda seemed to be just observing things while Lysander seemed to be just focusing on staying awake at this point. She watched Fletcher's features change as he looked at them. "Alright, so you just wear it like you're wearin' a backpack backwards. Ya got it?" Dylan asked as she carefully turned them around so he could put the straps on.
As he explained what the distance was, her eyes went in the direction that he shared they would go. "Okay, yeah that sounds like it would be a good idea then to do the fifteen minutes. Hopefully just for today, thanks for understandin' though, Fletch. I wanna have nature babies, but maybe next big purchase I make is a good hikin' stroller."
@fletcher-braley
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It would make sense. Nathan and Freddie Crane wouldn’t do anything half-assed, and that includes running a distillery with well liked liquors. Various blends and types, all worth a chance. They are great for a gift basket. “Good gift idea, if my opinion means anything. You can stick to a single bottle, but we do have pints if you want to mix and match a gift basket together.” Not that he’s putting too much force behind the suggestion. It is merely that: a suggestion.
“What’s her spirit of choice?” Fletch asks, leaning down to grab one of the tasting menus that are stored beneath the bar to slide in front of her.
“We have three, four and five tastings, but if you’re unsure even after five, I can throw an extra in.” Fletch winks to her with a sweet smile and holds a finger up to his lips as if it is some ‘big secret’. “I can also throw you my preferred liquors.”
@carmencarrillo
Carmen wasn't an alcoholic by any means, in fact, in most cases she barely drank at all. But, in the off chance she did, she'd always loved the idea of visiting local businesses, breweries or distilleries when she did want something alcoholic. Granted, today she was there primarily for a gift, however, she wasn't opposed to the idea of doing some shopping for personal usage as well. "No worries at all, hon, take your time." she countered, looking at the other with a soft smile as she scanned some featured options plastered on different advertisements around the bar. She was certainly unsure of what she wanted, but she at least had an idea or she wouldn't be there. "I actually am here getting something for a friend mostly; one of my long time friends just recently bought a house and I'm putting them together a little basket; and I thought what better way to top of the gift than with a fancy bottle of whiskey." she smiled. "I'm also kind of looking for something to share with the wife once she can drink again." she spoke. "I'm typically more of a wine girl myself, so the harder stuff isn't really up my alley, but that taste sampling seems smart, can I maybe get some of your most popular flavors?"
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“The descriptors could change, depending on who you’re asking,” Fletch is quick to tease. He knows, though. Freddie’s not the sort of personality to attract most people. Hell, even Fletcher isn’t sure how they get on so well.
(The odd father-role fill in still doesn’t meet the standards of what a good parent should be, but Fletcher knows if he calls, no matter the time of day, the phone will be answered.)
He shakes his head. “Won’t be necessary. He’s at the warehouse.” A place that Fletcher doesn’t frequent often, but he knows of it. “And vent away. It’s what bartenders are for. We’re soundboards to your problems, we give advice that most people don’t take.”
And more importantly, they can put together a drink, as Fletch demonstrates with how quick he is to grab the ingredients, fills the shaker with ice, and gets to work.
“I’m not going traditional whiskey sour, skipping on the egg whites on account of not having a chicken back here, or eggs for that matter, but…” The golden mix fills the glass, and he sticks a toothpick through a cherry and an orange slice to lay over the rim. “Now, the previously mentioned bitching. I’m all ears.”
@ingridlczano
"The cool one, not the jerk," Ingrid clarified, not mincing words when it came to Freddie. She made it clear that she had no interest in interacting with him, especially after his disrespectful behavior. "In that case, I better be fast. I don't think I am welcome when he is around," she admitted, showing that she wasn't bothered by his attitude. For her, respect was a two-way street, and since Freddie didn't seem to understand that concept, she saw no reason to engage with him unnecessarily.
"Sure thing. That's only if you don't mind me bitching about my long day," Ingrid joked as she settled into her seat. "Whatever keeps me warm enough at this point. Surprise me. I know everything here is good, so you can get as creative as you want. It's been a while since I've had a proper drink."
@fletcher-braley
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“Where would you have gone? If you did, that is?”
Anywhere, he assumes, unless she had a place to land like he did. Like she does now. He leans back in his canvas camp chair, stretching his leg to toe the side of her shoe with his boot. “But then you’d be in Michigan.” Fletch winces at her with a frown, until he relents and scratches at the curls of hair on the nape of his neck.
“In all seriousness, you’re not stuck anywhere. I get when money’s an issue, but if you have a place to land in Michigan, and you want to get out of here so bad, what’s holding you back?” The simple answer would be nothing, and she just needs the right push. He does assume there might be something anchoring her here in Providence Peak. Whether it’s his business to know, he’ll find out with how she answers.
Fletcher sinks more in his seat, leaning his head against his shoulder in his new slouched position to direct his gaze back to Esther’s.
“Can’t say I’d want to figure it out now, in all fairness. It’s scary. I was young and dumb, not skilled in the forethought area, but even here? I came out here because I was familiar with it. It’s not such a wild leap. Not like the kinds Reg makes, I’d never keep up. He’s—” Fletch lets out a puff of air, his eyes widened in a form of disbelief. “I’m not sure if he’s brave or compulsive, but both of those go hand in hand, don’t they?”
@estherclements
Estie raises her eyebrows. Asshole still seems like too nice a word for Fletcher's dad, but she doesn't say that.
"Good for you," she says instead, nodding. "Even having your aunt's place to fall back on, it's not like it's easy deciding to just up and move when you're that age." She laughs. "I certainly couldn't have, and I definitely would have liked to."
"Honestly, I'm just...really mad at myself for still being here," she says, looking down at her can of cheap beer. When she looks back up at Fletcher she gives him an ironic grin. "I do have friends in other places now, and I've got family in Michigan I guess I could stay with for a while if I really just wanted to get the hell out of here, which I do, but..." She lets out a frustrated noise, then laughs. "I dunno. I can't get myself to do it. I wish I was more like you and Reg, I can't imagine, like, just going places and figuring it out as I go." @fletcher-braley
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Fletcher squints his eyes, tilting his head back in the slightest and rocking toe to heel to let the thought tumble around there in his head. “I’m not so sure I’d say I’m tortured, just more so entertained? At least we know nothing will hold Reg back from anything.”
Even if sometimes Fletcher would like to tether him in from time to time. He’s accepted the spontaneity of his close friend and taken his tendency to disappear in stride. But since Fletch has been in Providence Peak, he’s seen more of Reg than he’s consistently seen before. There is the silent wonder of when he might bounce to somewhere else, one he chooses to never voice.
“It does! And I like the cold until it’s too much. I’m also itching to go out on the harder trails once the snow is gone, and when summer rolls around, I want to get into the river.”
Boone steps in with the wag of his tail, extending one front paw to smack Eli on the shin in his own form of greeting. Fletch only directs his attention from fixing Eli’s coffee to him when he passes to touch his nose to Fletch’s knee next. One pat to the head, then Fletcher is crossing the space between them to hand over the mug.
“I hope that’s enough cream.” He’d done just a bit, as asked. “What? Yeah, of course! The door’s always open to you. All of you.” Almost as if Fletch has found his own pseudo family outside his own. They’d made Providence Peak more of a home to him. "Just promise you don't forget to turn off the tap."
@elifalvey
“Well, y’know, as weird as it sounds, I’m glad that his family's not the only ones constantly tortured in this game of where the hell Reg could’ve gone,” Elijah said with a laugh, setting the box gently down on the floor now that he had gotten Fletcher’s approval. “Pretty sure the last time I tried checking in on his location it showed up that he was in the lake — haven’t really bothered checking, after that.”
Although, he had to admit, the airtag sounded marvelous. He could understand why it’d be creepy from a roommate point of view, but as his eldest brother, he was definitely snatching that idea for his next overly aware and extremely undervalued Christmas gift. Giving him new, ‘just in case’ phones was slowly getting old, anyway. They never lasted as long as he hoped they would.
“Good, good. I’m glad you’ve been good. I can imagine it feels about ten times colder out here than it does more in town.” Boone’s bark caused his head to snap in the direction of the back door, presumably where the dog had been eagerly waiting to be let back inside. He chuckled a little, already moving towards the door to do so before he answered, “Oh, uh — just a little bit of cream’s fine. Or milk. Whatever you’ve got. Honestly, I’m not picky.”
His face lit up excitedly at the sight of Boone — because even though he was notoriously a cat person, and would probably have to deal with all three of them sniffing his clothes angrily once he got home, he could appreciate a cute, happy dog. He let him inside and gave a few gentle pats to his fur. “Hello. Hi. How are you? Guessing you haven’t seen my brother either, huh?” He laughed, diverting his attention back to Fletcher and saying, “Thank you, by the way. I appreciate letting me stay and all.”
( @fletcher-braley )
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Fletcher blinks a few times, catching her first question and knowing it isn't meant for him. He's just trying to flip through his own memory log to figure if he knows of a Monica and Sam who might've been dating. He just draws a blank.
Well, whoever Sam and Monica are, he hopes they're doing alright.
"Corona and lime," he parrots, spinning around to pull open the small fridge behind him, then back to face Asher with the bottle held steady in one hand while the other reaches into his apron from the bottle opener. "Offense withdrawn, being I know nothing of the bachelor. It is a fun nugget of information to know Sean is into it. But…"
Fletch shrugs, tossing the cap into the bin and placing a lime into the mouth of the bottle for serving. "I'll use my discretion. For your sake. Corona and lime." It's placed in front of Asher, but not without a bar napkin beneath it. "Couldn't you just Google the answer? It probably says whether they broke up. Those Monica and Sam people."
@ashfrank
"Shit. I wonder if Monica broke up with Sean?" Asher thought to himself. The last time they texted, it seemed like Sean and his difficult girlfriend were on the verge of breaking up. Asher believed that it would be better for Sean in the long run anyway.
"Unfortunately, it's not a cocktail," she sighed. "Just get me a Corona with a lime and an order of fries, please." Manners were important, and she didn't want to upset Fletcher. The last thing she needed was for him to ignore her for being rude. "The two-on-one is from the bachelor. I didn't tell you this, nor did I mention Sean's name in that context."
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