𝕾𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕾𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 - [𝗦𝘁𝗲𝘃𝗲 𝗛𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘁𝗼𝗻]

𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐢𝐯. 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦, 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯

𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 - late, again

━━━━━━━

 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐊𝐘 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐆 above Hawkins like some picturesque painting had grown dark. The twilight stretched over the entirety of the town, swallowing each home in nothing but shadows; only a few stars managed to break through the thick clouds rolling through the expanse. Little lights glinting, beaming and winking, keeping some semblance of sanity to those still traversing through the dusk.

 But if all of that meant one thing, it meant that Jim Hopper was late.

 His Chevrolet K5 Blazer practically stormed down the road. Dust and dirt kicked up, leaving behind a trail in the form of a smoggy little cloud. Jim swore... then he swore again... Actually, a string of curses fell from his lips as he peered through the windshield and glowered at the dark sky.

 He hoped that maybe, just maybe, his gruff stare would turn back the hands of the clock.

 Still, the sky stretched on, and Hopper continued to let his eloquent words tumble free into the air.

 "Shit, shit, shit." He paused, a cigaratte perched between his lips as he blew out a hearty puff of smoke, "Crap."

 He'd gotten into a routine over the past months; he'd awake bright and early — and make it everybody's problem that he was still tired — to make sure breakfast was cooked; bacon and eggs would be fried in a pan of oil, bread would be toasted with a thick layer of butter smered to top it off... three Eggos would be ready and waiting with a river of maple syrup for El.

 Then, exactly twenty minutes after he'd quite literally rolled out of bed, his girls would toss and turn and groan as light streamed through their windows. He knew everything off by heart; Scarlet would wake first — and surprisingly, she'd appear even more of a grouch than he — and get herself ready for the day. She'd sling water at her face, hoping to God it'd wake her up, she'd pull out those outlandish rollers from her hair, yawn and sigh as she wrangled the long strands of oil-black hair into her new style before tying her curled pigtails with colourful bands.

 She'd slog back to her loft, all without saying a single word to him and throw her colourful clothes onto her body. Then she'd creak down the ladder, pad towards Eleven's room and rouse his youngest from her sleep.

 Finally, the two would appear side by side. Eleven had grown in the past six and a half months; shooting up like a little sprout — it irritated Scarlet to no end when she'd finally realised Eleven would be just as tall as her in a few short weeks.

 Eleven would be a mess of frizzy brown curls, her eyes narrowed from a sleepy haze, all while Scarlet appeared picture-perfect, but held a very deep grudge for the summer sun that begged for her to wake before she deemed it at all necessary.