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The Changingman | Annie & Christine Teen AU 

lieutenantralston:

anniewyatt:

lieutenantralston:

"Ah, but you’re so much closer to having my mum’s casserole, lassie." Christine’s joking smile lingers for only a moment, and then she echoes Annie’s sigh and puts her own apron away. With all the customers gone, the place seems quieter and slightly neater. Christine almost likes it. "You shouldn’t have to settle for ‘not all that terrible’," she says more seriously.

Annie rolls her eyes lightheartedly, and makes her way behind the counter to hang her ghoulishly pink oinking apron on a coat hanger. “I’m young, I don’t have to settle for anything. Besides, I guess girls with fishnets, messy eyeliner and crazy curly hair is what attracts people to me.” She pushes her curls off the the side of her shoulder with her hands on her hips in a change of subject. Annie doesn’t want to talk about it. “And you’re totally fucking right, I really want Claire’s casserole.” 

"See, and that guy couldn’t pick up on your obvious hunger for hot homemade foods. Not very perceptive of him." Christine locks up the cash register, gives the counter one last wipe, and dims the lights. "Did he at least tip you for those horrid fishnets?" The light smile on her face signals that the comment is a joke.

"No, he tipped me for the terrible apron." Chris’ coat flies from Annie’s hands and smacks her at the back of her head, laughing as she puts on her own coat. Her fishnets are 100% practical in frigid Scottish climate. It’s not. ”He’ll come back, they always do.” Annie wraps her scarf around her marshmallow hair as she locks up one of the diner doors, and slides on her bag so that one strap is clinging to her arm. 

The Changingman | Annie & Christine Teen AU 

lieutenantralston:

anniewyatt:

lieutenantralston:

anniewyatt:

lieutenantralston:

anniewyatt:

"Ah okay, that’s no problem" Annie says nonchalantly, flashing a smile back at Chris before turning back to scrubbing. She lets out a great sigh of relief, or at least it’s what she contains. Thank god for leftovers.

It’s about 5:55— shift’s almost done, and Annie’s just about done wiping down one of the table booths. That is, if she doesn’t left her ass off the fella’s lap. It’s the same one whose been eyeing her since noon, and he probably stayed in hopes of talking to her. Which he did. And it’s a wonder she did. Green hair? Little spikes on his jean jacket? Plaid shirt indicative of 90’s grunge? He certainly looked interesting, but much like the other people she’s laid, so this is more of a flirt. But even so, she now has one arm around his neck as she whispers something into his ear, turning the dishrag absent-mindedly on the table with her free arm. The boy clutches her thigh around the hem of her skirt, chuckling at whatever Annie’s whispering to him. It’s 5:56.

Christine ignores as much of Annie’s flirtation as she can, doing her own share of the work with only a small amount of disapproval in the set of her shoulders. It isn’t any of her business, she keeps telling herself, but her worry for her friend wears the politeness thinner and thinner with each day. “It’s about closing time, sir,” she calls coolly. “Would you like your bill?”

Annie turns her head towards Chris with an attentive, bright smile, laughing and biting her lip. “Hmm? Oh! Sorry.” The punk clicks his teeth together as Annie slides his hands away and gets up, taking the rag with her. “Yeah…” The man responded to Chris with a more than sour look on his face. Annie waltz up next to Chris, throwing the rag into the sink basin. “His name is Z, and he’s from Leeds.” She nudges her friend with a slight nod of awaited approval.

Christine plops the bill on the table without ceremony, shooting a meaningful glance at the clock. “Here you go, Z from Leeds. There’s no need to linger, Annie’s busy tonight.” It’s a polite, firm refusal to encourage any interest from the man. But she doesn’t let the full force of her disapproval show — it’s something that shouldn’t be witnessed by the object of Annie’s misguided affections.

Z pauses for a second, rolling his eyes and taking out a wallet, quickly slapping down a tenner before dragging himself and his heavy leathered boots up from his seat, making his way out the door. “See ya.” Annie watches him go with a little wave, and once the door slams shut in lieu of November wind, she shrugs off her apron with a sigh of pride. “C’mon, I was so close to having him, Chris. He wasn’t all that terrible.”

"Ah, but you’re so much closer to having my mum’s casserole, lassie." Christine’s joking smile lingers for only a moment, and then she echoes Annie’s sigh and puts her own apron away. With all the customers gone, the place seems quieter and slightly neater. Christine almost likes it. "You shouldn’t have to settle for ‘not all that terrible’," she says more seriously.

Annie rolls her eyes lightheartedly, and makes her way behind the counter to hang her ghoulishly pink oinking apron on a coat hanger. “I’m young, I don’t have to settle for anything. Besides, I guess girls with fishnets, messy eyeliner and crazy curly hair is what attracts people to me.” She pushes her curls off the the side of her shoulder with her hands on her hips in a change of subject. Annie doesn’t want to talk about it. “And you’re totally fucking right, I really want Claire’s casserole.” 

bookmania:

Gonville and Caius College, University of Cambridge. “This is, w/o question, the hottest library in Cambridge.” — Rachel Leow

bookmania:

Gonville and Caius College, University of Cambridge. “This is, w/o question, the hottest library in Cambridge.” — Rachel Leow