sunburn.

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SUNBURN. -- THE hollow sound of his aluminum ladder rattles against the white of the boat's plexiglas. They are the one of the last remaining boats on stilts, still out of the water from winter, Before Beth on land like a great white beached whale. She was out of place there, on the land, the young man grunting with dissatisfaction that she had not been returned to her slip. The gravel, white rocks of all the same size, shifted under his feet, but he planted the ladder firmly, rattling it around until there was no room for error. There was one time, in the murky water of childhood, where he could remember his father falling like a wounded soldier from the same activity. The older man had laid there for a few seconds, and Britt had thought he was certainly dead, before his father stood up and clapped him on his back, and advised him never to make the same stupid mistake. -- THAT of course, was before Beth. -- BRITT paused his activity, turning to the young woman, the girl, behind him. Instead of speaking to her, his smoky fingertips pulled out a cigarette from his back pocket, the paper wrinkled and the tobacco threatening to break free. He stuck it between his lips, like the stereotype that he was, and regarded Julia for a moment. "This part isn't all that interesting. But I'm gonna need some help with the toolbox. If you don't mind handing it to me once I'm on the ladder, that would be great." He grins, inhales the dirty air, exhaling out between his teeth and he stubs out the cigarette on one of the stilts, sticking the remainder behind his ear. He rubbed his palms together, then on his dark jeans that fell into a pair of motorcycle boots at his ankles. His wardrobe never changed and he always wore the same grimy grey tee-shirt, stained with bourbon and ash. -- JULIA posed a great deal of trouble for him. For she represented the dichotomy of wounds he was nursing: the loss of his littlest sister, and the ache for a sexual closeness. His gaze lingered too long on her mouth and her cheeks, the salty air of the marina sticking to her arms and her neck. He saw the shine and glow of her youth, but the curves of her body meant she was a woman, and that fact terrified him. Women always had the capacity to undo him. TAGGED @julia NOTES literally awful MUSIC nada

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The day is overcast, the clouds powder through the sky with purple undertones, like water-coloured brushstrokes over a blinding white palate. The sun comes in and out between the clouds, a golden medallion teasing the skin of the world's inhabitants with it's warm rays. Julia has thought about what to pack for her trip to Newport for a week and in the end she threw just about everything in her suitcase, the legs of her long johns and multi-coloured strings of her bikinis piled out of her leather pack. Today she's a reflection of pure indecisiveness, she's changed her outfit several times on the way over. She's winter from the waist up and summer from the waist down, with a big knitted turtleneck on top and little khaki shorts slipped over her voluminous bottom, Birkenstock sandals to boot. As Britt tends to his one true love she finds her long toes getting chilled and she scrunches them within their spongy sole, a failed effort to warm them up. Julia plops down on the sandy ground and presses her fingers to her toes – like ice blocks. The girl digs a pair of woolly socks from her purse and scoops her tanned feet into them. She sits there in the sand like a child, digging her heels into the crumbled rock with her big soupy eyes watching her companion. Though she's not really watching or paying very much attention to what he's doing, she's more daydreaming. Those eyes glaze over as she wonders what exactly it is she's gotten herself into. “Hm?” she's jostled out of brief daydream, “oh! Sure.” She scampers up from the sandy nest she's built herself and shoves her socked feet into the sandals, that classic dad look. “You won't fall, right?” She asks, grasping the silver leg of the ladder. The stench of tobacco lingers in the air and she doesn't disguise her displeasure, she's almost tempted to flick the cigarette from his ear. “Why isn't she out yet?” notes // crap coded, i'll edit later music // we can be strong by willy mason

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SUNBURN. -- THE carmel skinned girl looks like a little warm sun below him, his legs flexing as he lifts himself among the rungs. He blinks a little too long, the picture of contemplative as his gaze lingers on her face. His ruddy mouth stretches around a laugh as she moves to put her socks on, allowing them to bag at her skinny ankles. He likes the way she mastered the art of glamour queen and granola college school girl, all beautiful limbs and mean eyes. The young man turns away from her dreamy demeanor, tinkering more with the ladder until he is happy. It rattles only briefly as he then puts his entire weight on it, but it doesn't bother him enough to climb down. He continues his ascent, the tin cold against his ashy hands, wind threatening to rip the cigarette from behind his ear. -- HER movements are quick when she graciously does what he asks of her, her warm little hands under his as he takes the toolkit from her. It's heavy enough, and he sighs heavily as he places it on a rung above his head, momentarily looking back down on her as she asks her question. "I won't promise you anything, but I'm gonna bet all my money on not falling. Stand there though, you might have to catch me." The skin of his rough fingers curls around the ladder, and he and the toolbox go up one rung at a time. Britt takes his time, taking great care not to drop the heavily weighted box on his much more attractive companion. -- I dunno to be honest, Jules. It's been a long winter. The snow's barely melted. She'll go in some point next week. But until then, we can dream. I've got some tinkering to do." The young man lifts himself into the boat, then his body turns in place and he holds the ladder sturdy. Get up here, I won't let you fall." TAGGED @julia NOTES womp womp MUSIC nada

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The metallic ladder rattles in her fingers as the boy's thick boots adjust on top the gripped steps. Julia is as usual filled with the naivety and wonder of a young teenager, her tongue whirling with questions. “Oh, be careful, wouldn't you?” big moon sized eyes stare up at Britt as he climbs the ladder, she can feel it ache and buckle within her palm and she grasps it tighter, legitimately feeling that if it were to collapse that he would fall down into her spidery arms. The tool box is modelled much like he is, a little blue and rusted, it's heavy with baggage and she can feel the weight of it when she takes it in her right arm and hands it up to him, still holding onto the leg of the ladder. “But there's other ones on the water?” she retorts with a question, he disappears into the boat. Both hands are now on either size of the ladder and she rocks between it. He is swift to reappear, a piece of his thick hair falling out of place and waving perfectly feather-like, such an imperfection makes her smile. “God, I won't fall,” she laughs, a long limb raising gracefully to the second step and pulling her body along with it. Despite claiming confidence in her words and finesse in her initial step, she's clumsy as she climbs into the boat. Her fingers are quick to grab the sleeve of shirt as she spills into the boat and only when her balance reassures her does she let go, dropping his arm for the wall of the boat. “See, I have it.” The first thing that catches her gaze is the water, the gigantic wavy masterpiece that lays before them. “Can't we take her out? Just for a minute?” her words plea rather than ask, knowing right then that it's a bad idea. In her head she is recalling a horrifying canoe trip she took at age seventeen, where the choppy water made it almost impossible to make it back to shore and instead kept pushing her and her friends further into the body of the lake. “We can use an anchor, maybe.” notes // lol bad..  music // my annoying brother playing annoying music