* -- four leaf clover.

[steve london]

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“i get knocked down but i get up again, no you’re never gonna keep me down!”

steve wasn’t one of those people who was naturally a good singer. he wasn’t a horrible singer or anything, but he just wasn’t a very good one. sure, he’d been rejected from american idol –

“I CAN’T LIVE IF LIIIIIVING IS WITHOUT YOU –”

– but that didn’t mean he couldn’t sing at all. it just meant america wasn’t ready for his style of singing because it was so different.

anyway, back to the point. steve, basically, wasn’t a horrible singer, but he wasn’t that great either. that’s why, as he drove down rue sainte-catherine in his taxicab, he was sure to keep the windows rolled up so no passerby would hear him rocking out to chumbawamba. of course, the people near his taxi could probably hear him anyway, because he was singing so ridiculously loud…

today had been a pretty good day for steve. he’d woken up and watched a rerun of martha stewart living, then attempted to craft a bird feeder out of a pinecone. when he failed, he moved on to making breakfast – heating last night’s leftover pizza – and belted out “tubthumping” while he ate standing up in his kitchen. then, he’d duct taped his cell phone over his ear and headed to his trust taxicab for another wonderful day of driving people around for money. also, so far, no one had mugged him, and that always made a day good.

“i get knocked down…” steve trailed off, feeling a very unfortable buzzing against his right cheek. he pounded the palm of his hand into the phone resting over his ear, successfully hearing a small click as he answered the incoming call. “yeeeello?”

“london!” uh-oh – it was his boss. while having a cell phone duct-taped to one’s ear could have it’s advantages – not having to invest in a bluetooth earpiece, for instance – it also had it’s disadvantages. steve was reminded of this everytime he answered a phone call without being able to look at the caller i.d.

“o-oh, mr. bennet…hey!”

“got a call for sainte-catherine st and seventieth st. get there now.” his boss, bennet, barked into the phone.

steve, luckily, found himself near the specified location. “okely-dokely, bosserino!” he exclaimed, turning his taxi around and heading in the correct direction.

bennet paused for a moment. “…yeah.”

steve smashed his palm into the back of his cell phone once more, successfully ending the call. it was an art, being able to do that – he’d learned just were to position his palm so his cheek would press against the correct button. many a times, he’d ended up accidentally calling someone or changing his ringtone or sending an incomprehensible text message to someone. but he’d learned much since then.

steve pulled up the a trio of people waiting outside of the location he’d been given, turning down his music as one opened the door. the three slid into the back of the car, each of them looking quite annoyed that they had to be there. oh, and one girl has her hand pressed over her eye…

wait, was that mona proust?

steve eyed her and her companions from the rearview mirror, trying to get a sense as to what had happened to mona. he was wondering if maybe someone had thrown one of the killer cell phone props from the last movie she’d starred in – last call – at her eye because the movie had been so bad, but he immediately pushed that idea to the side. it was kind of illogical.

he continued to stare at them through his rearview mirror, not making any moves to turn around and ask them where he should take them. it was kind of a given that one of them should speak up, so why should he make the effort of asking them? plus, he was curious about what happened and he didn’t want to hinder any possibilities of them talking about it.

in the background, “tubthumping” still played.

status: finished.
tag: sonja, mona, and max!
length: 679 words.
music: west coast by coconut records
notes: this is like, the shortest post ever, but i’m really tired ):

[sonja maly]

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it was hard to believe so little time had passed since sonja had last opened this door, but the sun was still on such a low, early morning incline that it shined in their faces as they stepped onto the curb. she had to resist the urge to swipe a hand over her eyes, although the consequence – mona clattering onto the pavement the very moment sonja let go – didn’t seem like such a terrible option at this point. the hand that wasn’t supporting the melodramatic starlet was spent doing something she couldn’t exactly let go of; awkwardly punching in the numbers of the local taxi company so that they could be whisked away from this little disaster. but as soon as she’d pressed ‘send’ on the touch screen, a yellow cab skidded within nanometers of scraping the curbside. at least something was going a little right so far.

she stuffed her iphone in her pocket, leaving a bulky imprint on the thigh of her yoga pants. sonja began to step into the cab, but mona made a shrill noise of protest. “jesus christ,” sonja rolled her eyes, “max, you grab her legs r’somethin’.” she dragged mona’s limp torso onto the leather seat, crawling next to her and propping the girl up into a sitting position. sonja plopped down in the middle seat next to her, just in case mona had regained her functionality enough to start retaliating against max, so sonja could do her human shield thing. speaking of, max sort of dawdled on the sidewalk, apparently waiting for sonja to slam the door in his face so this could all go away. “max,” sonja barked impatiently, her slender eyebrows furrowing, “get in the goddamn cab.”

once the trio was situated awkwardly in the back seat, sonja waited for the obligatory, “where to?” from what was sure to be either the charming old guy cabby with the tweed hat or the creeper with the eye patch. as it transpired, their driver was neither, so it was perfectly understandable that he didn’t behave in the normal cabby stereotype way. once this had set in after a few seconds, sonja said, “hôtel-dieu de montréal, s’il voux plaît,” since, in all likelihood, they might have been stuck with some french guy. judging by how little he responded to their bits of english conversation, it was probably safe to assume so.

sonja attempted to distract herself from mona (who, naturally, put the moan in mona) by taking a better look at the driver after making so many assumptions. it was difficult to glean any specific details from the bits of reflection that made their way into the tiny rearview mirror, but after about a minute sonja could see that he had some sort of technological apparatus attached to his head and a massive, fluffy ’fro of curly brown hair. she hadn’t quite seen his face yet, but his poofy mane was absolutely adorable. sonja shifted, scooting up to the very edge of the seat so that she could reach through the very small hole in the glass barrier that was probably built to keep this sort of thing from happening. right before her fingertips brushed a curl, she retracted after her hand collided with a swift slap!

she collapsed to the seat back, as if the driver (whose name was steven gerald london, if his the license taped to the glass was any indication [also, his face was kind of neanderthalish in his picture, so she was a little grateful her hand was smacked away from that]), trying to shake the stinging sensation out of her hand, accidentally hitting max and, in the process, suddenly realizing he was still actually there. “whoops!” sonja exclaimed by way of apology, deciding to just fold her hands in her lap for the sake of everyone’s safety. somewhat calmed by the onslaught of embarrassment (but still a little concerned about the possibility of losing her studio if mona was as sensational about her very minor injury as she was about being compensated for it), she took a deep breath, avoiding max’s gaze. now the only thing to take her away from mona’s theatrical whimpering was the ambient sounds of “tubthumping” by chumbawumba.

she twiddled her thumbs anxiously, muttering in sing-song, “pissin’ the night away, pissin’ the night away…”

status. fin.
tag. mona, max, & steve. ELLE-A-THON.
outfit. same as the yoga thread, sillies.
words. 720.
lyrics. “in the backseat” – the arcade fire.
notes. people are getting hit a lot (AND THEY WILL CONTINUE TO DO SO).[/font][/size][/color]

[desdemona proust]

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(if you couldn’t tell by now) mona was a drama queen. she always had been – it was in her nature, in her blood – and that’s why she was such a good actress. she had a knack for acting to ensure that things went her way.

of course, in this situation, her eye actually did hurt. max’s toe wasn’t exactly the softest pillow in all of the land, and the fact that it had come into contact with her eye ensured at least a little bit of agony. but, it didn’t exactly hurt as much as mona was making it seem like it did – and the only reason she was doing so was to make sure that max felt guilty, sonja felt responsible, and so that she could get speedy medical attention because who knew what resided under max’s toenails?

she let out a shriek when max moved to pick up her legs and help her into the cab, and quickly ripped them out of his grip. “don’t you fucking touch me!” she hissed in a tone that would have even scared her had someone else said it. she let sonja help her into the cab, instead, and soon found herself sitting right next to sonja. max, after a moment, got in the cab as well, a development which mona didn’t let go without expressing her utmost dismay with a look of pure disgust. at least she wasn’t sitting next to him.

with her hand still clamped over the affected eye, mona figured she must have been quite a sight for any paparazzi who just happened to be passing by. she could almost see the headline appearing on tmz within the hour – actress mona proust beaten up by boyfriend’s brother and rushed to the hospital! – and miss leading’s blog probably within the day. although, max deserved whatever bad press he received for merely being related to the bane of her existence, topher. sebastian was lucky that he was so different from the rest of them; she wouldn’t have been considering going out with him if he had been anything like his siblings.

she sniffled a little, turning her attention to the window on her right. unfortunately, her right eye had been the one affected by max’s kick, so she kind of had to turn her head a lot to actually be able to see out the window into the bright morning. it was then that she actually noticed that they weren’t moving – and, in order to get the hospital, the ignorant cab driver would actually have to do his job. sonja seemed to notice this too, because moments later she calmly requested that they be taken to the hospital. mona turned her head to survey steve’s reaction, and, much to her distain, it was as blank as ever.

“hey. hey!” mona, with her free hand, reached out toward’s steve and snapped her fingers near his face. “go!” it was harsh, but she was in a lot of pain. oh, and then there was that little fact that she was a normally this bitchy anyway. “and stop staring at me in the mirror, you pervert.” she ordered, her brown eyes darting to the rearview mirror where she could clearly see steve divert his gaze to the road ahead of them.

confident that the message had been received – this was evident because steve began driving – mona leaned back in her seat with a low moan of pain. she wouldn’t be surprised if max’s toe had caused her to contract some sort of fungal disease in her eye or something, his toes certainly seemed dirty enough. fungal disease or not, though, max was going to pay for this – that much, she knew.

various forms of revenge ran through her mind at a million miles per hour, but none seemed to strike her as an appropriate form of payback. what she didn’t think about, though, was that it was likely that nothing would ever strike her as an appropriate form of payback for him kicking her in the face. maybe if she was allowed to kick him in the face…but her toes weren’t gross, so there was no way he’d run any risk of contracting any sort of fungal disease. plus, she had small feet, so they wouldn’t even hurt him. max had giant feet, so of course her face impacting with it was going to cause her some sort of injury.

after a moment, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and, with one hand, attempted to text sebastian. after a few attempts, she was able to get ‘emergency. i’m at the hospital’ typed into her iPhone and sent to sebastian’s cell. there – when sebastian arrived and found out what happened, there was bound to be some sort of confrontation which was, as mona knew, the worst thing ever for max. he couldn’t stand any sort of confrontation at all, let alone with his own brother.

as mona slid her phone back into her jacket pocket, steve slammed on the brakes at a red light. not expecting the jerk from the sudden halt, mona was thrown slightly forward, her face managing to impact with the headrest of the passenger’s seat in front of her at just the right angle so her eye was the most affected. although her hand was still covering it, the pressure alone was enough to make her screech out in pain yet again.

she flung herself back in her seat and clutching at her eye even tighter than before. “i don't…my head is…spinning…” her head was spinning – possibly from shock, maybe a little from the pain. “max, i…” before she could finish her sentence, she collapsed right on sonja’s shoulder.

in case you were wondering, she was going to tell max that she hated him. oh, also, she just fainted from the shock of the whole situation. the last thing she heard before she was completely knocked out was max’s scream and his panicked exclamation “oh my god, i killed her!”

had she actually been conscious, she would have rolled her eyes.

status: finished.
tag: max, steve, and sonja!
outfit: this!
length: 1024 words.
music: the summer by coconut records
notes: mona is such a drama queen.

[maxwell lane]

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this was the worst form of torture for max. not only was sonja, the one girl he’d ever really liked, completely angry at him for his clumsiness, but he was pretty sure that mona was already mentally going over all the ways to make him pay for accidentally kicking her in the head.

although, with all the whining mona was doing, it would be pretty implausible for her be to thinking about much else than the pain. so, maybe he was safe…for now…

the cab finally arrived, although max hadn’t really seen anyone call for one – sonja had begun to, but the cab had appeared before she could even finish dialing – so, it was almost like magic. as sonja began to get into the cab, max’s eardrums were almost shattered by mona’s shrill cry of protest. hey, maybe that was to be his punishment – death by mona screaming endlessly.

“jesus christ,” max glanced at sonja as she breathed out a sigh of exasperation and rolled her eyes. “max, you grab her legs r’somethin’.” his eyes widened as he realized that she was talking to him – and asking him to actually help mona into the cab.

“i…i – okay…” he stuttered, moving to pick up the petite brunette’s legs and help sonja pull her into the cab. mona, however, didn’t agree with this plan one bit – the second max’s fingers made contact with her calves, mona shrieked and yanked her legs away from him as quickly as she possibly could. in fact, it happened to quickly that max was sure that she could have easily ended up kicking him in the face. which, as he thought about it, could have made for a rather ironic twist.

“don’t you fucking touch me!” mona told him in her scary voice, pulling her own legs into the cab and letting sonja pull her to the other side of the backseat. so, it was obvious by now that mona really didn’t want him there – so, why was he being forced to tag along, again? sure, there was the fact that sonja had told him (very forcefully) to, and he was kind of scared of her a little…

he lingered back outside of the cab, as if waiting for sonja to reach out and close the door before he could get in. unfortunately, sonja only stuck her head out and, in her very own interpretation of mona’s scary voice, ordered him to get in the cab with them. “max, get in the goddamn cab.”

part of him wanted to run, while the other part just wanted to flat out tell her ‘no.’ then, of course, a little part of him wanted to giggle at the sound of her cursing with her australian accent. instead, however, he merely shuffled into the free seat in the cab and shut the door beside him. he had a feeling that the cab ride wouldn’t be spent exchanging pleasant conversation and playing twenty questions.

silence permeated the car, then, save for mona’s occasional pained whimper. max impatiently clicked his tongue, looking around the backseat of the worn-down car. max got pretty impatient when he was nervous, and this was definitely one of those times. “hotel-dieu de montréal, s’il voux plaît,” he distantly heard sonja request, as he busied himself staring out the window. it was probably a good thing that sonja had decided to take it upon herself to tell the cab driver where to go – max had been sincerely thinking about jumping out of the car and running away. but the cab began moving, and max was forced to push those thoughts away.

he turned his attention away from the window and diverted it to sonja, who seemed to be busy staring at something herself – steve’s hair. max furrowed his brows as sonja scooted forward and extended her hand, ever so slowly bringing it to steve’s glorious mane. “sonja, what are you – ” he was cut off as steve’s hand suddenly appeared out of nowhere and slapped sonja’s hand away. with wide eyes, max stared at sonja as she moved back to her seat and shook her hand to rid it of the stinging.

of course, sonja didn’t notice this. she was too busy accidentally swinging her hand his way and hitting him in the face. “whoops!” she exclaimed as max brought his hand to his face with a large frown on his feature.

“ow…” he trailed, his voice low. it was no comparison to mona’s occasional yelps of pain, for sure.

he let his hand fall from his face after a few moments, although it still sort of hurt. he didn’t mind, though – it had been an accident…

and speaking of accidents! – steve soon slammed down on the breaks to avoid one. this wasn’t a big deal for max, who was wearing his seatbelt like he was supposed to – but mona, who evidently wasn’t, was jerked forward, her face colliding with the seat in front of her. max’s mouth fall agape as she let out shrill scream much like the one in the yoga studio and fell back into her seat, appearing very, very dazed and sick.

“mona, are you…” max trailed with a concerned look on his face.

despite her pained expression, mona still appeared to be irritated that he was speaking to her. before she could let out any snarky comments, though, she collapsed right onto sonja’s shoulder, completely unconscious.

now, it was max’s turn to scream. “oh my god, i killed her!” he exclaimed, concluding that the injuries from the earlier kick to the face had somehow caused her to die. of course, the thought that she could have just maybe passed out from shock – which is what was actually true – didn’t cross his mind at all. it was too logical.

“oh my god, oh my god, oh my god…” max leaned over sonja and grabbed the unresponsive mona by the shoulders, giving her a firm shake. “mona! mona!” he sobbed, shaking her. “i killed her, she’s dead! oh my god! sebastian is going to murder me!”

…max tended to overreact sometimes, too.

status: finished.
tag: steve, sonja, and mona!
length: 1025 words.
music: lost! by coldplay
notes: actually, max is a drama queen too.

[steve london]

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as steve had assumed, sonja managed to figure out that his silence meant he wanted one of them to tell him where to go. “hôtel-dieu de montréal, s’il voux plaît,” she requested, which actually didn’t come as much of a surprise to him – mona looked like she was hurt.

but, of course, she still had the capability to be a cold bitch. “hey. hey!” she suddenly exclaimed before he began driving, “go!” steve glanced at her through his rearview mirror, an action that mona didn’t let slide. “and stop staring at me in the mirror, you pervert.” since she was a scary lady, he diverted his gaze and began driving.

things seemed to be going smoothly so far. although no one was speaking – which meant he couldn’t exactly find out what had happened to mona unless he asked, and he wasn’t going to ask – at least no one was commenting about the cell phone duct-taped to his ear or anything like that.

wait.

steve went rigid, clearly feeling a presence behind him. the hairs on the nape of his neck stood up; goose bumps rose on his arms. suddenly, as if it had a mind of its own, his hand shot up and slapped away the other hand that had been nearing the back of his head. “no.” he told sonja firmly, staring at her through his rearview mirror, even though he should have been looking at the road. “don’t do that.”

truthfully, he was used to people trying to touch his hair. he’d had the fluffy mane of hair on his head for most of his life, and not a day had gone by without someone going ‘omg!’ and trying to grab a fistful. seriously. sonja joined a group of thousands whose hands he’d been forced to slap away before it made contact with his jew ‘fro. nobody touched his hair.

as sonja shifted back into her seat and shook her hand so hard that it slammed right into max’s face, steve’s gaze shifted to mona. the actress was busy texting someone on her phone (one-handedly, as the other was clamped securely over her eye), seeming to have forgotten about her obligatory periodic whines of pain. that was interesting – only seconds ago, she’d been shrieking about the pain in her eye.

steve turned is gaze back to the road, although his mind was still racing with different scenarios that could have caused her injury – maybe a toilet seat from a space station orbiting the earth had fallen from the sky and hit her? (steve wasn’t a big believer in occam’s razor) – rather than paying attention to the actual driving. fortunately, his focus returned just in time to slam on the breaks before the cab collided with a pedestrian. the passengers in the back of the cab were jerked forward as the car skidded to a stop just inches away from the blonde female crossing the street who steve, as squinted to get a better look at her to see if she was okay, was easily recognized as cora west. her blue eyes widened as she stared at the hood of the cab, which was just ever-so-slightly brushing against her calf. to say that she was in shock was an understatement.

steve was pulled out of his stupor by a very loud scream coming from the backseat, one that he instantly recognized as mona’s. he turned around to look at them, to find mona pressing her hand over her eye even tighter than before, and looking quite worse for wear.

then she passed out.

while max began freaking out and shaking mona by the shoulders to wake her, steve merely turned back around and continued driving. cora was safely on the sidewalk now, heading off on her merry way as if nothing had happened. steve wasn’t surprised; cora was cool that way.

he turned the music up to drown out the sounds of max’s screaming – “sebastian’s going to murder me!” – because, really, he didn’t care, and he was sure that sonja didn’t either. tubthumping was a way better soundtrack for the rest of the ride than the sound of max’s freaking out was.

status: finished.
tag: sonja, mona, and max!
length: 700 words.
music: when you were young by the noisettes
notes: dude, three posts in a row…

[sonja maly]

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suddenly, there was a swift jerk forward, the seatbelt clenching uncomfortably tight at sonja’s waist but holding her in her place. the same, however, could not be said for mona proust, who had no time for safety concerns when there was much whining to be done. and much whining to do, apparently, once her face learned what it was like to be smashed against the back of steve’s seat. mona’s shrill cry banished any notion sonja entertained of actually saying the first thing that came into her head. that thing was, in fact, a hiss of “jesus christ, can you even fucking drive?” but it sounded too much like mona in her head, so she just swallowed it and instead pulled the pale, distraught young starlet back gently back onto the seat. sonja’s common sense again intervening, she didn’t ask if mona was alright – max was doing that for her – but the sweat on her brow and the color evaporating from her face (other than the small, brilliant smear of scarlet blood trailing from her left nostril to the right, downturned corner of her shapely upper lip) made it quite obvious that alright was something she was very much not. although, for the love of pete, it wasn’t that bloody bad. sonja had never witnessed anyone with so little pain tolerance. so far.

“mona,” sonja ordered with the air of an irritated mother, “stay awake, we’re almost to the hospit—jeez.” if sonja hadn’t known that mona was such a terrible actress, she might have thought she just faked it. but, no, mona was really unconscious, using sonja’s bony shoulder as mona’s own personal pillow. sonja felt a sudden stab of moisture where mona’s face rested – okay, she definitely wasn’t faking now. “yuck!” sonja sputtered, turning mona’s face the other way so she wouldn’t be on the receiving end of more drool.

max, however, showed a be more concern. just a bit. “oh my god, i killed her!” he cried hysterically. “oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” he bleated, the exclamation becoming faster and faster until the last oh my god became one syllable – omigod. he crawled over sonja’s lap to inspect frantically mona, but even with max’s panicking sonja couldn’t bring herself to be too concerned. after all, if anyone was getting sued now, it would be that cabby. he technically was the one who caused her to pass out. sonja had just indirectly caused a smidge of pain and suffering – just a smidge! nothing to worry about, right? right. didn’t stop max, though. “mona! mona! i killed her, she’s dead! oh my god! sebastian is going to murder me!”

anyway, so not overly worried was she at this moment that she noticed something about max she hadn’t given too much thought to until he was stretching over her. not unlike their incompetent taxi driver, max had curly hair. unlike steve, though, it wasn’t all curly – it wasn’t this outrageous jewfro (although the undeniable cause of max’s own curls was definitely the overwhelming jewishness of his heritage), but instead was a little wavy on top with the curls expanding outward behind his ears. pretty cute.

it was inevitable that her common sense had to fade away sometime – it had been in an uncommon frequency of use lately – so, despite the fact that the last time this had happened she got a nasty slap in return, she reached out her hand. her fingers brushed the curls behind max’s ears, and despite the fact that she didn’t get a slap this time, a force jolted through her that was not unlike one. max sort of froze in his position over sonja, clearly paralyzed by surprise. sonja suddenly realized she probably needed a really good excuse to be invading her personal space at this point in the game. so, uh, maybe this was just to get his attention? right. “um… max, calm down,” she told him loudly over the sound of “tubthumping,” “she’s just knocked out, probably from the shock, but i dunno anyone who’s that wimpy,” she said with a small smile. she realized she still had her fingers in his hair. she retreated as though suddenly remembering she had her hand pressed against a hot frying pan, and offered what appeared to be she and max’s mantra for the day, “don’t worry about it.”

the cab jerked forward again – apparently even in completely non-emergency situations the only way steve knew how to hit the breaks was to slam ’em. “thank god,” sonja sighed, searching her pockets for fare money now that they were finally, finally here. “tell me what i owe you. you’re probably gonna need the money once she wakes up,” sonja warned in french, gesturing to mona, who had left a blot of window steam and an unflattering goober of drool dripping down the cab window.

status. fin.
tag. mona, max, & steve. well, not so much mona anymore, but still. ELLE-A-THON.
outfit. same as the yoga thread, sillies.
words. 809.
music. “day tripper” – the beatles.
notes. sonja’s all, “lol wat is personal space.”[/font][/size][/color]

[maxwell lane]

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in any other situation, max would have been completely taken over by nerves considering his close proximity to sonja. but not this time – this time, max was too worried that he’d just inadvertently killed his brother’s girlfriend. the love of sebastian’s life. she was the girl that sebastian often played rock band on topher’s wii with! now when sebastian borrowed topher’s wii for weeks at a time, who would he play rock band with? who?! max didn’t want to sing!

“oh my god, there’s blood!” max sobbed, his voice reduced to a whiny squeak. drops of blood trailed down from mona’s left nostril, signifying a nosebleed – and, possibly, a broken nose, but max didn’t want to think about that. “oh my god, she’s dead, she’s dead…” logic wasn’t something that max quite believed in when he was having a mini-breakdown like he was at the moment. “mona! monaaaaaaaa! i’m sorry we never liked you! i’m sorry! it was topher and i who told miss leading you that you were a hermaphrodite! i’m sorry! monaaaaaaa!” all that could pull him out of this was exactly what sonja did next: the blonde brushed her fingers along the hair on the back of his head behind his ear in the same fashion she’d been attempting with steve only moments ago. max let go of mona’s shoulders in shock, hardly noticing the brunette fall back onto the seat and slip towards the closed window. “uh – ”

“um…max, just calm down,” sonja began, her voice somehow remaining soft and still audible over the now-loud music, “she’s just knocked out, probably from the shock, but i dunno anyone who’s that wimpy.” suddenly, she ripped her hand away, as if having forgotten it was there. max slightly frowned and sniffled a little. “don’t worry about it.”

max straightened his posture and moved back to his seat, avoiding sonja’s gaze like the plague. clumsily wiping the tears from his eyes, he nodded slightly. “you’re right…” he trailed, still getting over the shock of what he’d thought had been mona’s last moments.

“can you not tell mona about wh-what i just said a second ago?” he requested quietly, realizing that he’d just totally admitted to something that could easily give mona more incentive to kick topher and him in the face. “i’d r-really appreciate that,” he added, his voice cracking from his earlier sobs.

just as silence (minus the sounds of chumbawamba coming from the radio) permeated the vehicle, mona’s phone began ringing. max glanced at the unconscious actress, his eyes falling on her jacket pocket and the phone that was slightly sticking out of it. the screen was lit, signaling that she was, indeed, receiving a call. slowly – and against his better judgement – he reached over and grabbed the phone out of her pocket.

sebastian lane
mobile

“oh my god!” he practically tossed the phone back in mona’s direction, as if sebastian would somehow know that max was holding mona’s phone and refusing to answer it if he held it any longer. the phone luckily landed next to mona on the seat. “it’s my brother!” he exclaimed. the phone seized ringing moments later, having transferred sebastian’s call to mona’s voicemail.

although max hated to admit it, he was slightly afraid of his younger brother’s wrath. in his opinion, sebastian was pretty much ten levels better than he was – sebastian was confident, great with the ladies, good at sports, strong – and he was sure that, given the chance and the situation, sebastian could easily beat him up. max never really thought he’d live to see the day when he’d find out if that last opinion was true, but he was beginning to think it could potentially be today.

how had everything gone so wrong? he’d had a simple plan today: go to sonja’s yoga class, and talk to her. that was it. maybe, if he was feeling adventurous, ask her out to dinner. never, in a million years, had he thought that going to her yoga class would result in him accidentally kicking his brother’s girlfriend in the face and being forced to rush her to the emergency room where she, on the way there, would pass out. that was just crazy!

yet, it had happened.

the car slowed to a stop outside of the emergency room, much to max’s (and, as it seemed, sonja’s) relief. he quickly unbuckled his seatbelt, eager to rush out of the car and get mona to the emergency room so that he could run away before sebastain arrived.

“thank god,” sonja input as steve put the car in park. sonja began asking steve something in french that max couldn’t quite understand, so he busied himself with grabbing a canadian twenty dollar bill out of his pocket and handing it to sonja. he wasn't sure how much to cab fare was going to be, but he figured that it couldn't be more than that – steve had literally just driven them a few blocks. he quickly got out of the car as sonja (presumably) continued asking steve how much the fare was, and rushed around to mona's side of the car.

as he yanked the door to mona’s side open in an effort to pick her up (even though he could hardly lift anything over twenty pounds and had failed high school gym class numerous times) and get her out of the car, he realized that his idea had been an enormously stupid one – since mona had been propped up against the window, when the door opened she kind of just fell over and out of the car onto the pavement. “oh god!” he exclaimed for about the thirtieth time that day, staring wide-eyed at mona’s form. he quickly attempted to pick her up, but she ended up falling to the pavement again moments later. “no!” he grabbed her shoulders and slightly lifted her off the ground, causing her feet to slip of the cab and slide onto the pavement. “i got this! i’m okay! it’ll be okay!”

unfortunately, it wasn’t going to be okay. because as mona’s feet fell, so did her phone – towards the pavement. max’s eyes widened even more as he saw the phone begin to fall, and he quickly dropped mona in favor of saving her very expensive cell phone. he knew how mad she’d be at him if he broke while she was unconscious, and he didn’t really want to give her another reason to hate him.

successfully catching the phone, a relieved look crossed max’s face. until, of course, he realized that he’d dropped mona onto the hard pavement yet again. “oh no!” he exclaimed, quickly slipping the phone into his pocket and trying to pick mona up again. he surveyed her appearance. although she was still unconscious and now had a dirt mark on her face and the blood from her nosebleed was smeared from the numerous falls and her hair had a few pebbles tangled in it and her shoe had somehow fallen off, she looked like she was okay. “sonja! a little help here – ”

“mona! mona!”

max turned towards the source of the yell, only to immediately wish he hadn’t. a man he’d never seen before holding a camera began snapping photos mona and max, who was in the process of trying to pick her back up. apparently, the paparazzi had found them. and, of course, at the worst possible time.

status: finished.
tag: steve, sonja, and mona!
length: 1243 words.
music: walnut tree by keane
notes: hahahaha. that’s all i have to say.

[steve london]

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steve didn’t pay much attention to the passengers in the backseat, instead focusing his attention on driving them all safely to the hospital. he’d almost run over cora kendall west because he’d been distracted – he couldn’t take anymore risks!

it paid off, because moments later, he pulled up next to the emergency room entrance to the hospital. he shifted the car into park while max hurriedly rushed out of the car and to the other side to, presumably, help mona out of the car.

steve turned down the radio and turned his head to look at sonja as she began mumbling something super-fast in a language that steve couldn’t understand. he couldn’t even tell that it was french! considering her australian accent, though, he could only guess…

“hey, lady! i don’t speak australian!” steve exclaimed, looking at sonja with an exasperated look on his face. “you owe me sixty dollars.” he added, not knowing by saying this, he was actually answering sonja’s question. yes, the price was outrageous, but steve was forced to charge them extra – mona had drooled on the car window.

he put on an intimidating glare and extended his hand towards sonja, waiting for her to give him the cash. he was, however, interrupted by a loud thump! as max ripped open the door to mona’s side of the car, causing her to swiftly fall out of the car and onto the pavement below.

he stared at the spectacle for a moment before he turned back to sonja, looking at her expectantly again. “come on, i don’t have all day!”

as max continued his clumsy ways and dropped mona yet again, steve’s gaze idly shifted to them once more. all this time, he’d blamed the obvious dislike between the elder lane brothers and mona on mona’s obvious bitchy personality, but after watching max accidentally drop her like thirty times he kind of had to give mona a little credit – she did have to put up with a lot.

although, her last film was so bad that it kind of just cancelled his sympathy for her out. seriously, he’d paid money to see that horrible film in theaters.

steve was the first one to notice the paparazzi’s arrival. he figured that the lone photographer had been standing there the whole time, probably just noticing that mona was the person being dragged out of the cab by luck. after he began taking photos, the amount of paparazzi began to multiply until, soon, there were quite a few cameras flashing around them.

“hey, the paparazzi!” he exclaimed, a large grin crossing his face. he waved at the photographers who were more focused on getting pictures of max struggling to successfully get mona to the emergency room. “hey! hey! i drove her to the hospital! i’m the driver!” he yelled as he rolled the windows down, an effort to get the photographers to notice him.

suddenly, he turned back around to look at sonja again. “you. i didn’t forget about you. cab fare is still sixty dollars.” he didn’t want her to forget or try and rush out of the cab without paying – that would be bad.

status: finished.
tag: sonja, mona, and max!
length: 530 words.
music: wake up by arcade fire
notes: i’m sorry this post is so short!

[sonja maly]

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finding a ten dollar bill and a few quarters for the fare, she attempted to smooth the bills out when another one fluttered into her possession. max had given her a twenty – that was – well, it was a small gesture, but chivalrous nonetheless. “o-oh,” she said about fifteen seconds after the bill was placed in her hand, “thanks,” she added quickly and with a somewhat unnecessary loudness to her voice, hoping he could hear her while he occupied himself with getting mona out of the vehicle.

although steve had never – with the glaring exception of that one terrible instance when sonja tempted to touch his hypnotically curly hair – made any real eye contact during the ride when he knew they were looking at him, sonja couldn’t resist throwing a glare at the cabby when he said in brassy sort of voice, “hey, lady! i don’t speak australian!” luckily, though, steve decided to offer an exasperated look and – in the process – caught the look of death that would’ve sent shivers down the spine of a lesser man. as if he hadn’t made his status as a jackass clear enough in sonja’s mind, he added, “you owe me sixty dollars.”

this was invitation enough for sonja’s verbal rage, “fuck you, wanker!” she cried in what would be anyone else but steve’s perfect definition of australian. “that was four fucking blocks and at one of the intersections you almost committed negligent homicide!” okay, it was a tad of an exaggeration, but still. you don’t just plow over poor little cora west (not that sonja knew that she was the person who did nearly get ran over by steve, but if she did, she’d be quite a bit angrier) with your taxi cab and get away with it. “you’ll” – which sounded more like “yull,” to be honest – “be counting your goddamned lucky stars if y’boss doesn’t hear from me about this when we’re through with this!” although, given the drama that occurred so far, it wasn’t completely out of the question that another wave of events would come crashing in and bring steve’s incompetency to the back of her mind.

in spite of her torrent of intimidating curses, steve folded open his hands in anticipation of her payment. “that best be a joke, y’cocky bastard. you aren’t getting bloody play money for that little ride.” as she was about to demonstrate this by getting out of the cab with an unwavering swagger, but was instead interrupted when max eagerly demonstrated his inability to do anything without some sort of terrible accident befalling the person in closest proximity. which, in this case, was mona.

she fell in a heap onto the pavement outside when max was merely trying to pry open the door, which caused max to sputter, “oh god!” again. in spite of this latest attempt to bruise his ego, as well as mona’s face, he tried his darndest to rectify it, picking her up and dropping her several times in the process. but, hey, at the very least he seemed to have gotten over his fear of causing her death. but only by the slightest margin. “i got this! i’m okay! it’ll be okay!” he said, probably not because he felt but because he desperately wanted to feel it. and he most certainly needed all of his resolve when a wall of paparazzi suddenly enclosed the cab.

“hey, the paparazzi!” came steve’s ever-observant observation. “hey! hey! i drove her to the hospital! i’m the driver!” as long as steve was busying himself trying to make himself as included in the hundreds of snapshots coming out of this ridiculous kodak moment, sonja crawled out of the back seat as max cried, “sonja! a little help here!”

like wonder woman herself, only blonde and in yoga pants and polish-australian instead of raven-haired, in costume, and greek, sonja came to mona’s side and promptly hoisted the starlet’s limp body over her shoulder as if she was nothing more than a rag doll. though it seemed at first an amazing testament to the efficiency of her workout routine, she stumbled a little as she actually stood up; it was as if mona gained thirty pounds as sonja’s body straightened up. but – and she hated herself a little for this – she didn’t want to ruin her little amazonian feat in front of the photographers by faltering now. she and max started toward the hospital, when –

“you. i didn’t forget about you. cab fare is still sixty dollars.”

sonja turned around suddenly, not realizing there was a lamppost next to her, and accidentally smacked mona’s head into it. allowing max to fret over her for another moment in her place, she focused on doing what she intended. she tossed a few of the quarters through the open window of the cab and marched away into the hospital. “keep the change.”

status. fin.
tag. mona, max, & steve. well, not so much mona anymore, but still. ELLE-A-THON.
outfit. same as the yoga thread, sillies.
words. 811.
music. “dance anthem of the 80’s” – regina spektor.
notes. eez good to be back.[/font][/size][/color]