Writing Sample

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Dave had turned the shower off ten minutes ago, perhaps not quite enough. Maybe this was as off as this particular motel's faucet could handle. The water droplets plinked against his shades, dribbling down and sliding onto his face where they free-fell off the scruff on his chin. Despite the drinking he'd done the night before, he found himself pretty damn clear-headed. It wasn't a surprise; Dave knew his limits. After a shower that took way too long, the Strider stepped onto the bath mat outside the shower, taking his glasses off only long enough to towel his face dry. They were replaced as he systematically dried the rest of himself off, feeling better. He sniffed the clothes he had with him, recoiling. Shit. That needed washing. It smelled like booze, sweat, and travel. He tossed his clothes over his shoulder, peeking out of the bathroom. His guest was still passed out on his bed. After a moment of watching, Dave padded out and stuck his clothes in a bag. He got fresh ones from his suitcase and changed quickly.

The night before, he'd made drunk plans with a stranger he met at a bar. James? Jack? He didn't remember his name, but he was running from something. They happened to have the same destination. It wasn't hard to have the same destination as Dave, seeing as he was never going anywhere in particular. The deal was: his guest would drive, and Dave would take care of all the rest. By the rest, he meant everything. Food, gas, and wherever they stayed, would all be covered by yours truly. Dave hoped the man on the bed wouldn't wake up while he stared. He didn't.

After Dave had shimmied into his clothing, he slipped into the kitchenette attached to the room, putting a pan on the small burner. It didn't take long for the motel room to fill with the smell of cooking food and Dave's soft humming and singing. He had two plates set out on the mini table in the kitchen, and seasoned eggs and toast would meet their maker there.

It wasn't glamorous, living like this. Showering In and of itself was a scant luxury that he could usually only afford when he stayed the night in a motel rather than someone else's home or a street corner. Dave played music wherever he went. That covered /most/ of his expenses. He had his ways, and he was probably one of the luckiest bastards out there. A middle finger brazenly raised to anyone who told him he'd eventually have to settle down and make do with the nuclear family model. The white picket fence and cookie-cutter family just didn't appeal to him in the slightest. He loved the lack of attachment to any place. That's what he told himself. It's so much easier to believe when he's shoving it down his own throat like cough syrup. He brushed near-white curls from his tanned face, pulling the wavy mop back as best he could with a hair tie.

-snap-

"Damn it-"Dave cursed quietly, interrupting his quiet rendition of Sweet Caroline. He examined the now frayed noodle that was previously his hair tie, His lips tightening slightly. Stupid how so much of his attention could be completely drawn by such a small noise. After a few moments of long concentration, Dave dragged his mind back to the present moment, and soon his attention returned to his eggs, which he flipped. He flicked the tie away, puffing out a very soft sigh. "Weak ass hair tie." He mutters, returning to his tune. Dace pulled the last of the bread in his bag out and shoved it into the toaster, wiping the crumbs into the trash can that bordered the dirty countertop. It was around eleven in the morning; Dave wondered when his travel partner would wake up. It might be bold to call the man that just yet, Dave might be stuck finding someone else. Who's to say what the man was going to do, waking up in a stranger's room in the middle of fuck-all nowhere with probably the worst hangover known to man. A poke to his eggs told him they were still runny. Runny eggs were not going to fly with someone already fighting the urge to hurl. He flipped them over one more time, sprinkling a few seasonings into them from a small bottle. Chances are they'd be his eggs.

Dave cast a glance into the other room, watching the slow rise and fall of the other man's body as he slept. It was oddly calming; Dave didn't usually take people back to his. Though usually, his partners had their own place. A home and a substantial location. He didn't know where this dude was from. It was nice to be adrift with someone else for once. Though the chances of him admitting that anywhere besides the shadowy recesses of his mind were... slim to none if he was being perfectly honest. Dave turned back to his eggs, resuming his tune and adding a few curses to it as he realized just how fucking overcooked his eggs were now. Apparently, he'd stared into space for way too fucking long oh well, it was just eggs.

——

Christmas season was always John's favorite holiday. When he'd been growing up back home, it had been a huge, week-long celebration followed by the American new year and then the Korean new year. His grandma was more religious than most of the family. Still, the tradition had stuck around even up until this year. Unfortunately, as he was in college, John didn't have the money to fly or drive back home for the winter holidays. Instead, he surrounded himself with friends and brought a large container of holiday-themed cupcakes to a party one of his closest friends hosted every year. The pile got more and more ridiculous in height, and he was sure he'd outdone himself this year. They had little home-made marshmallow snowmen on top. They'd been friends a long time, and one of the reasons he'd come down to the mid-west for college was to be close to friends he'd made on the internet near a decade prior. Unfortunately, Dave, the friend he'd moved down for, wouldn't be at the party tonight. He was off at his artsy ass college in the middle of some obscure town, not that John could blame him. Plane tickets got hiked during the winter season.

All that said, though, something was weighing in the back of his mind right now. It didn't match the mood of the gathering, but he'd brought it up to a few people. He almost felt comical being so pre-occupied while in the most ridiculous Christmas sweater he could find. (it had an entire plush snowman on the front, and Christmas lights that were on. Was it itchy? Absolutely, you bet your ass.) Over his four years in college, he'd lived in the dorms for two and then gotten an apartment. Unfortunately, his landlord was hiking up the rent, and he basically had until the end of the month to find a new place. It was taking a lot not to be freaked out over it all. He couldn't handle the master's program and pick up more hours at work. His sports scholarship helped him through classes for another year, so he really needed to save money. It was honestly putting a severe damper on his holiday spirit. Usually, he was up and around, chatting and pulling little pranks with holiday decorations, taunting couples with mistletoe, and the like.

It took another ten minutes of stewing in his own situation before John decided he couldn't keep this up. It was going to drive him nuts. Mostly because he wasn't going to find a solution by sitting in a corner nursing a cup of holiday themed punch, something a little bit minty. He pushed himself up off the wall, downing the last of his glass. He made his way back into the party, determined not to let his current situation ruin the rest of his evening. It could wait till tomorrow, plus, Dave had mentioned that there were a few people here that were apparently up for having someone split bills, so he supposed he'd have to chat up more people. Getting information out of Dave was sometimes worse than pulling teeth, so he hadn't been able to get any definitive names. He just had to hope that by some miracle chance, he'd manage to find those few people in the thirty-something percent that were there that evening. That was about a .... six percent chance with the thirty or so people at the party. Fantastic. He'd manage though, he was something of a social butterfly, and it wouldn't be the end of the world if he didn't find them.

Before tackling the crowd of people, John stopped off by the snack table, idle fingers tapping over the candy-cane themed cloth. Too many choices. Growing up with a dad who baked with all his free time had somewhat killed any hint of a sweet tooth that he might have had. Now that he was a bit older (and didn't see cake every day), he could eat some without immediately wanting To gag. Cake was still ruined for him, though; he always made it for friends if they asked. He picked up a few savory bites and one Christmas sugar cookie. It took a moment to select a drink. Still, after picking a mug of hot chocolate, he turned to look around at the people milling about. He looked around for either a familiar face or someone who looked like they didn't have anyone to chat with. It was all family friends and extensions of such, so he was pretty sure he'd know anyone he talked to at the least by only a few degrees of separation.