Orders Taken, Wine Appearing On The Table, It Was Easy To Pretend For A Few Moments That They Were Anywhere

Orders taken, wine appearing on the table, it was easy to pretend for a few moments that they were anywhere else. California perhaps, cosying up in Spago or Nobu, the warmth of the Los Angeles air ready to wrap them up in greeting, instead of the chilly fall evenings that Illinois had to offer. But it was only as Madi reached the tail-end of her story about her relocation did her smile morph into something more somber, reality crashing into her. But time marched forward, or something. She wondered if Max felt the same way, seemingly disinterested when it was obvious that for once in her life there had been no drama associated with her purchasing Meadowview Farm.

A giggle escaped her at the teasing — being compared to Paris Hilton was of course the highest of compliments to an influencer — and how Max was in disbelief about her sudden pivot of career. “I mean, expect the unexpected, right?” The tone shifted when he brought up her failed business venture, and whilst she was sure Max didn’t mean it, it came off as unnecessarily cruel all the same. “Don’t. That’s not funny.” Her stomach turned at the idea of her run-in with Grace, if her former partner was still in town. If there had been any crossover between her and the Mohan enterprise. “I like the farm.” She further added, addressing her wine glass with an air of petulance.

‎ PSYCHIC INTUITION. if only madisyn could've told him about how his marriage would end, he probably wouldn't have stood in front of that altar in the first place. she also could've probably used psychic intuition when the internet feasted on her online carcass, but here they are: not-quite divorced, elbow-deep in horseshit, and reincarnated into marginally less broken versions of themselves. which is, to their respective credit, entirely of their own doing. fuck psychic intuition.

she mocks his being fine as if he can get any better (which he can, in theory, but 'fine' is the best he's been in a long time and he'll be damned if that gets taken away from him) and he responds with a huff, takes another sip of his drink as he listens to her tell him about how she managed to dig her perfectly manicured nails across the country and have her autograph on a deed of sale for a farm lot. he half-expected something insane like she'd been scammed into purchasing abandoned property when she thought she was buying a g-wagon, or whatever story would generate the most clicks, but it turns out, the truth is much more underwhelming than he'd anticipated.

his fingers tap against the moist surface of his glass, mostly silent, his eyes narrowing towards madisyn as he waits for her to order and hand the menu back to the waiter. "and how is the simple life, paris?" the makings of a smirk appear on his lips as he makes the joke. he's much more interested in talking about her life than he is about his. well, at the moment, anyway. "you must be the last person i imagine living on a farm." he shakes his head, remembering a tiktok video of hers that his sister had shown him. "madisyn huang is actually holding a fucking chicken. what is this, some sort of pr stunt to bring the bakery back, show 'em it's all organic?" he wouldn't put it past her.

≈ aurora, bathroom. with @laineycaldwell

Look, unfortunately Aurora was the better club of the three this tiny, lifeless town had to offer. All love to Max, of course, but Static was a bit too dancey for her, and The Vault — ugh, talk about if toxic masculinity was a bar and a dancefloor combined. She was Madisyn fucking Huang, she wasn’t wasting a Saturday night hanging around fighting men and sweaty walls. So, Aurora it was. It had Drag Queens and absolute bops of the pop persuasion, and fruity cocktails. The unfortunate bit?

Whats-her-face the fucking annoying bartender. 

In fact, after their last interaction, to which Madisyn was oh-so-definitely in the right, the disgraced influencer found herself storming to the bathroom, angry and tipsy and smearing her lipstick across her face in the mirror as she ranted to anyone who would listen, even if most people were flat-out ignoring her.

“God, she thinks she’s so fucking great, like she has power or something. Like fuck off she’s a bartender. In Nowheresville, Illinois! And she dresses like a toddler got hold of a fucking Black Amex card. And the blatant favoritism? I was waiting for like, twenty minutes to get served and she fucking passed me over for someone else. I swear if I get my hands on Jen-Jamie….whatever the fuck her name is, not even the grimiest little shack of a bar would hire her.”  

MADISYN: i mean i am thinking of some like, fall type activities and could do with some more helping hands MADISYN: i guess it depends where outdoors, can’t imagine it’d be very beneficial when ur like…lost in the woods.

RAFAEL: Whatever work you need around the farm would be great. RAFAEL: I think for a few months at a time. There's been great research about time spent outdoors and I think it would be very beneficial.

Did this stranger really have the audacity to get mad at Madisyn right now? She huffed, crossing her arms tightly over her for both warmth and a way to contain her anger on the chance that they were someone dangerous. They didn’t seem it, but looks could be deceiving after all. A lot of people thought that Madi was more stupid due to her love for a more bubbly fashion sense and career choice, but it took a lot of smarts to get to where she was.

It was just the blinders in her love life that caused everything to come crashing down. The thought was more sobering than anything else, and she stood up straighter, to be more powerful and intimidating than she looked or felt in that moment. Madi had been feeling harassed enough, spying on them in the mornings, and now they had been caught out, she was going to make sure this interaction was enough to keep them off her property.

“I don’t give a fuck about who’s warblers those belong to,” She snapped, “Maybe I should give Lawrence a heads up, hm?” Whoever he was. She pictured some little old man who was maybe a widower, adopting a bunch of birds out of loneliness. Like the woman who fed pigeons in Home Alone 2: Lost in New York. Ugh, she was already stressed worrying about the llamas and those were pretty stationary creatures. Now she had to worry about birds who constantly flew off at the slightest noise in the background too? When the fuck did she become Snow fucking White of Blue Harbor?

“Where to start again? Iunno, the public woods beyond that fence?” She gestured to the parade of trees beyond the rolling green of the farm. “You are aware of how creepy this is, right? Stalking around early in the morning with binoculars?”

The fall migration was afoot. All the more reason why their relocation to the Midwest could not have come at a better time. Thousands of bird species have called this region as constituting their respective migratory paths, particularly in the spring and fall seasons, but some species could be seen more than others. 

Now, yellow-winged warblers were not quite rarities in the Midwest. They had found either species in the Great Lakes, close to the coastal wetlands, nestled, almost burrowed, at the heart of an alder tree. Finding them in the state and outside of the peak of the breeding season was not a particularly rare occurrence–but it was so displaced from their own memory that they’d felt the need to observe it, over and over, lest their eyes were seeing the wrong thing. 

Even more curiously, Terry found, the birds had settled at a farmland not far from where they lived. Lifting the binoculars to their eyes, and casting their gaze above the trees, they noted how the female’s plumage appeared to be a bolder yellow, with the olive green of its rump and nape not quite extending to its crown, as was typical of the species, its bill darker and more pronounced. Had they misidentified it, then? Unlikely. Or, they thought excitedly, it even be a Lawrence’s warbler, a hybrid species between the golden- and blue-winged warblers, and—

—and then the birds flew. 

“Fuck!” A rare expletive shot through their mouth, and they lost their grip over their binoculars. They had been so quiet, they thought, and it did not take long to figure out the source of the noise that had spooked them most—for a dark-haired woman had stepped out of the porch, her bellowing cutting through the stillness of the forest clearing. 

With a huff, they marched forward, poised in half-defense. As far as they recalled, they had followed the birder’s etiquette. Though the farm was privately owned, portions were available to the public, and they’d made sure to stray away from the residential areas. Had they violated the protocol and stepped on a boundary they should not cross? The questions were lost to the wind and their own petty anger, however.

“It’s not your farm I’m interested in. I was looking at birds,” they huffed, lifting their binoculars as if it constituted some form of defense, “And those were Lawrence’s warblers you’ve potentially scared away.” Their expression went sour, looking back at the tree in which they were perched, “God, I wouldn’t know where to start again…”

She nodded as Jack explained about the ivy upkeep and the idea of planting trees. Hey, he was the professional after all. Whatever he thought best. If Madi didn't know too much about something, she tended not to care very much and often trusted the judgment of those around her. It was probably a habit to break, remembering Grace and Dominik and the people in her past life who swore they had her best intentions to only fuck her over after she fully pledged her loyalty to them, the world painting her as the villain in the process. "Looks like you have an eye for this sort of thing." She hoped the compliment towards him would ease her as well. Of course, she wasn't naive enough into thinking this would be a friendship, but she didn't want to seem like a hoity toity bitch either. "What got you into like, all of this?"

When he questioned her request about no water, Madisyn shrugged. "Those water features give me the major ick and honestly, the sound of running water kinda freaks me out." She'd never admit it to the full extent, but there was something extremely anxiety inducing about the sound, which was ironic considering it was a major feature of prime relaxation. "That's like, not an issue, right?"

A desire for colour made sense—a space to match the energy of the person dwelling in it. It was exactly how his garden had been back home in Burlington. "Something to keep you going in the dark. I can do that," Jack agreed. Though the winters were harsh out here, there were plenty of plants he could install to combat the dreary season. He'd always loved the splash of pink provided by cyclamen as they poked their heads free of snow on the ground. Edgeworthia with its frilly skirt-like flowers provided both scent and a pleasant few, even when the trees were bare. Hellebore, iris, and pansies all did the trick nicely too. They were all hardy perennials too, which would make life easier and save him from replanting entire beds every year. "Ivy's good, but it'll take some decent upkeep in the spring. Might be worth planting a few more trees down there too," he suggested, looking towards the bottom of the garden.

The request for no water took him by surprise. People with this much space often took it as an opportunity to add in some kind of water feature. He raised his eyebrows at her. "Can I ask why?"

➥ tagging @themadisynhuang

BROOKLYN NINE-NINE 1.03 | The Slump