Plant Native Plants, Y’all!

Following his son into the shop, he took a look around, letting Tali free roam for a bit. Crossing his arms under his chest Lainn started over toward an interesting side not sure what he would find anything of worth in the whole place.

Now that Lainn was getting a better look as he closed in on the items that had caught his interest, he was certain there was nothing of worth. Reaching out for one random item, he paused when a voice interrupted him. Glancing over at the stranger when they brought up fighting for a pair of pants. He glanced away, considering for a moment, how that would go.

Sizing them up, he grabbed the pants and ripped them away from the other's grasp, holding them up to look at them more properly, “Too slow.” As the other started to explain themself to him, he narrowed his eyes on them, tilting his head, “Okay?” Great, a pacifist who couldn't decide to be one or not. Just what Lainn figured he always needed in his life.

Lainn bites on his lips, before making a small popping noise and leaning in a little bit toward the other, “I'm also a pacifist. But sometimes, some people need punched right in the jaw. The human shut off button.” Pulling away a little, he holds the pants out for the other to try to grab if they'd wanted to, before pulling it out of reach again, “Okay. Maybe. I'm not a pacifist. I'm actually an escalator of conflict. Since we are exposing.” He turned away leafing through more of these drab clothes, muttering under his breath, “I don't think you are a pacifist, either.” Probably because he suspected that most of the town was in a violent cult.

where: second chance thrift to: open

—

being stuck in this town shaped prison put a limit on the amount of hobbies mason could half-heartedly start and stop when he got bored. but where there's a will there's a way, and he was in desperate need of some kind of distraction. ever since the storm there was a certain unease that had seeped into his skin, even more prevalent than it had been before. it was growing increasingly harder to sit still.

so he decided to go thrift shopping. there was a feeling of normalcy that came with sifting through racks of second hand clothing, even if the options were considerably slimmer than he was used to.

there was already a vague idea bouncing around in his head of how he'd DIY whatever he could salvage into something he wasn't embarrassed to be seen wearing in public. but the hunt was proving harder than he'd thought. cold and slightly shaky hands came up to rest on a hanger, his gaze raked over the item when he noticed the other person in his peripheral vision. " i'm willing to fight over these pants, " he was joking, mostly. " i'm usually a pacifist but desperate times and what not. "

Redlight king - Bullet in my hand

I came out of the darkness with a bullet in my hand, I got one more shot  at livin, I’m lucky that i can. ‘Cause i got a little roughed up, I really got fucked up. I came out of the darkness with a bullet in my hand.

DÔ VALOR A ESSA BANDA. Mereciam mais reconhecimento do que muita bandinha que se tem por aí.

Reminder: you can't kill them in any way that matters.

Very Busy People - The Limousines

When the other came to stand and looked at him, Lainn directed his gaze away while listening. He watched Tali mumbling about some of the plant life he was seeing before looking back at Lucas, “Really? You encourage that?” Lainn questioned, curious. Then knocked his head toward the other, “Lainn. So, you're Sheriff of this place?” He questioned, wondering how that was established, and why. However, he was not one to go against 'order' over chaos. He very much did enjoy some chaos, too. Lainn twirled the leaf between his fingers on his right hand, “How bad's the crime rate around here?”

Lucas actually looks up to who he's talking to. He vaguely recognizes the face as someone semi-new. Seeing a child helps. Larry? Lauren?

Lucas stands. "Sorry. We just encourage people not to get too close to the woods. Sheriff Lucas Miranda."

He steps forward, offering his hand.

He glances over and smiles toward the kid playing.

bought this gem secondhand and can’t get over how stunning it is 🪐 reblog is okay, don’t repost/use

We need books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like being banished into forests far from everyone. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us. That is my belief.

Franz Kafka

Trying to mind his own business, he was lost in his own thoughts, half listening to Tali talk to a toy dinosaur he had from a batch of his own toys from the back of the truck. Lainn yawned a bit, rubbing an eye as he tried waking up to deal with this…whatever, moment in his life. He suddenly blinked out of his state, realizing, he had no idea what he had even come in here for. Turning his head and he hears a voice speak up, outside, his Tali yapping off excitedly about dinosaurs. Finding the source of the notable accented voice, he locked his gaze on the person sitting in a corner, picking through a book just a couple of feet from them.

“I don't think even the most skilled coffee maker in this place could ever fix whatever is going on over there.” He gestured half-heartedly toward the coffee machine. Especially if the water may have been tampered with, which was his suspicion of what was going on with the people in this town. Again, he had to ask himself why on earth he had even come to wander in this place. He wasn't even looking for coffee. Lainn's gaze moved from the stranger's face to the book they had. Trying to see from where he was standing if he recognized it.

But the person continued and he listened. There was little else he had going on for him at that moment. But it really didn't culminate too much in the end, for him. Nodding his head, he wondered who was in charge of making moonshine around here. Or the coffee, even. Were they the same people? “What's wrong with it, anyway?” Lainn paused pointing toward their cup of coffee.

The late afternoon sun filtered through the grimy windows of the town diner, casting long streaks of light across the cracked vinyl booths. Sullivan sat at the corner table, a half-empty cup of lukewarm coffee in front of them, the faint trace of a smirk tugging at their lips. One hand lazily flipped through a tattered book they’d snagged from the community bookshelf, the other tapping a restless rhythm on the table. "Y’know," they said aloud to no one in particular, their Southern drawl dripping with amusement, "for a place so hellbent on keeping people alive, you’d think someone would’ve figured out how to make a decent cup of coffee by now." Their eyes flicked up, scanning the room with a mixture of curiosity and mischief, as if waiting for someone to take the bait. Sullivan leaned back in the chair, balancing it precariously on two legs, the grin on their face daring anyone to join them—or argue with them. "Either way," they added with a shrug, "it’s still better than moonshine that tastes like it’s been filtered through an old boot. Guess you pick your poison."