Under A Spell • •

[otis dodge forrester]

Otis found that he could think better late at night. He got wrapped with work in the evening, though the times varied depending on what his workload was like each day, and then he headed home. Some nights he could just keep himself occupied with things around his apartment or magazine subscriptions that came with his mail, but other times he needed to get out of his confined space. He needed to feel the air on his skin, and let it sting his lungs when he breathed it in deeply. Not many people would wander around New York alone at night. Those who did were often looking for trouble, or they had no other choice. Otis knew them all at a glance. He worked with their types. He tried to help them change their lives, though not all of them were capable of it. For some of them it simply wasn’t the right time. Their support networks, their inner strength, and other factors just didn’t line up. Without those things working in harmony there was no way someone was going to get clean and stay clean. Other people simply couldn’t care less. They didn’t want sobriety. They went and spoke to Otis because a judge said they had to. They went through the motions, but Otis knew that at the first chance they’d be lunging for that first hit of that fix – whatever it was.

He worked with them all, and surprised many of them. He wasn’t some clean cut, suit wearing preacher of a social worker. He came from a rough home, had been tempted by trouble too many times to count, and he looked like he’d shank someone in a prison corridor rather than extend them a hand and a dozen offers for various rehab programmes. He was used to it, shrugged it off by now. He knew that not everyone who looked like a thug was one. Sometimes the guys in the suits with the perfect white smiles were the bad guys. They could be the ones who came to him with the withdrawal sweats, desperate to burn the money they worked so hard for. The guys who looked like trouble had kids they wanted to give better lives, girls they loved with all their hearts, but society condemned them because they looked rough. Otis did his best to change that, often by simply being himself.

One of his quirks though, was to grab a late dinner and find a quiet spot in the city to eat it. Tonight, he fancied Hawaiian pizza, and walked the thirty minute walk from his apartment to his favourite pizza place. They sold other unhealthy junk food, too, but Otis only liked their pizza. It was busy tonight, but he joined the queue and checked his phone to make sure he hadn’t missed anything important after switching it to silent when he locked up his place. It was rare that he did, but he’d rather check than be sorry about it later. Otis ordered his pizza and then stepped back to wait for it, looking up at the small television they had on the wall above the counter. Some trashy reality show was on that he knew nothing about, but for him it was better than engaging with the drunk college kid to his left who seemed to be having some kind of trouble remembering that he had ordered fries and a burger.

• • •

TAGGED! Bowery Carnegie Maine
WORDS! 572!
OUTFIT! Ordinary Otis!
LYRICS! Walking By - - - Good Charlotte
NOTES! <3 <3 <3

[Bowery Carnegie Maine]

Bowery loved New York at night. She always had and probably always would. She could remember as a small child sitting out on the back patio, they'd been lucky enough to have one in the city, watching the stars in the sky on those rare clear nights. Her father would sit with her and attempt to teach her about the stars though he knew next to nothing about them himself. In the city, they weren't so easy to see in the first place so he made up almost all of the tales he'd told her on those nights. Bowery had never minded though because she hadn't known any better and it was just fun to be spending time with her dad. They were all precious moments for the entire family because they never really knew how long they had with their little girl. Bowery had known she was basically living on borrowed time, never quite knowing if or when she would find herself in another hospital bed. She did eventually go a good chunk without any serious visitations to any of her doctors, just her regular check ups and that had been good.

She was a stubborn girl who had been told dozens of times that she had the heart of a tiger, never willing to give up. The nurses and doctors that had said that to her were right. She was a stubborn as a mule and as brave as a lion. She fought for her life and she would continue to fight for it though that path seemed a hell of a lot easier now that she'd had her most recent transplant. All her doctors were hopeful that this would stick for the long haul and though Bowery believed it would last, she wasn't about to put rose coloured glasses on and think it would last her fifty years. Eventually, she might need another, might need something but until then she was going to continue living as she did. And almost every night, whenever she had trouble getting to sleep, she would change into some street clothes, throw her oversized headphones on her head and head out onto the city streets. Bowery felt alone and alive when she walked the streets at night. Sure, there was always potential for trouble but that was a hazard of New York. And she knew her little area of the city so well that she was usually left alone. She was most certainly not hassled.

Bowery was a recognisable face in the local crowd. She was the "heart girl" though she was positive she wasn't the only heart patient around. She was however, to her knowledge, the youngest so the nickname was fitting. It also meant that she was left alone to do her thing, most of the "bad seeds" figuring she wasn't good for nothing and she was a dead girl walking anyway; no point in shortening her life further. She walked aimlessly that night but headed towards one of her favourite late night places. The owner was a friend, one that used to sneak her in some good food when she was in hospital. And now when she walked at night and stopped by, he chastised her for being out but still handed over her favourite before telling her to get back home again. The bell chimed overhead as she entered and waved to Carmine. To Bowery he was exactly what you would expect an Italian man named Carmine to look and for that she loved him. A little intimidating but really all about the food. Her usual spot in the corner by the kitchen was vacant so she paused her music as she made her way through the waiting crowd.

♦ ♦ ♦

Tag || otis dodge forrester
Words || 621
Clothes || Coming Soon!
Music || Twentysomething --Russell Dickerson
Notes || <3

[otis dodge forrester]

There was no way that Otis would allow himself to be another sob story. He knew his story read like a tragic street tale, but so did the majority of the people he worked with. What he did was made them see that they weren’t so alone. He didn’t want them to use their stories as an excuse for their behaviour or their addictions. He knew it could be tough to get away from that life, but at the same time, Otis knew just as many people who had been able to resist quite easily. Like himself they had careers that supported them well, and no one would think that they came from the broken homes or the bad neighbourhoods on the wrong side of the tracks; at least, not unless they opened up about it to someone. Otis looked the part of a hoodrat who belonged behind bars. Put him in a prison uniform and they probably wouldn’t be able to tell him apart from most of the other guys in the prison wings, but his record was clean. They wasn’t even a parking ticket that he was aware of. He was no angel, but he wasn’t about to spend a night in a prison cell either.

He wouldn’t begrudge anyone who wanted to have a good time. There was nothing wrong with kicking back and forgetting the nine to five responsibilities every once in a while. What he didn’t condone was those who lived like they had no responsibilities when there was a family back home relying on them to put food on the table, or kids who were waiting on that bedtime story they had been promised that morning. Otis knew the hell that came with a broken home. He had been part of the broken dreams, forgotten wishes, and he didn’t even understand the point in promises by the time he hit his teenage years. It was no way for a person to spend their life. That was the message he tried to drive home to the people he helped. Yeah, get clean for yourself, but think of the long term and how you’ll help everyone else around you who’s been ruined by the mess you’ve turned yourself into. Otis found that emotions were the best way to get through to even the hardest of men. They all had their weak spots and often it was their families, their kids. His success stories came from those who were driven by loved ones.

The box was warm in his hands when Otis took it from the guy behind the counter. There was something he loved about carrying warm take out on a cool night. It smelt so good, but he resisted pulling out a slice straight away. He wanted to find a spot to sit and enjoy the pizza. Eating on the go was too much a part of his normal day to day routine. Otis rarely got to enjoy his food that when he actually had the free time to sit and eat, he liked to do it. Such a small, tiny thing that most people took for granted, but when his job had him stuffing a sandwich in his mouth and washing it down with half a bottle of water between appointments, enjoying a whole pizza was practically unheard of. He took a spot on a bench overlooking the harbour, sitting on the back of it and letting his feet rest on the actual seat. He might be a grown man, but some habits from his past were just hard to let go of. He pulled out a slice of gooey, cheesy pizza and took that first delicious bite. Chewing it slowly, savouring the warm taste on his tongue, Otis only turned his head when he heard footsteps approaching. He raised an eyebrow, his body tensing up every so slightly with caution.

• • •

TAGGED! Bowery Carnegie Maine
WORDS! 647!
OUTFIT! Ordinary Otis!
LYRICS! Walking By - - - Good Charlotte
NOTES! <3 <3 <3

[Bowery Carnegie Maine]

Bowery loved her neighbourhood. She could get away with murder around her street and all anyone would say was "leave her alone, she's got her own troubles." As in she'd had a bad heart that needed to be replaced. If it weren't for the scar she happily showed off whenever she felt like wearing a certain top or decided a swim was in order. Tonight might have been a baggy hoodie and a pair of those boyfriend shorts but it wasn't always. Sure, it might mean she got weird looks or awkward questions but she was usually good to answer them. The whole reason she was alive was because awareness was spread, money was raised and new scientific advancements were made all so she could have a new heart beat in her chest. There were perks to having grown up in the neighbourhood as sick as she was but she didn't usually take advantage of them. She didn't see a point when she was fine now. But every once in a while, she'd go into the bodega owned by Mr Khan for a bottle of water and he'd brush off her money and the restaurant she was waiting at now always offered her up a plate of her favourite whenever she was in if that's what she wanted; or a pizza.

Outside of her neighbourhood though, Bowery kept her health issues to herself because she didn't want to have special treatment. She was just fine and dandy. Sure, there would always be monthly visits to the specialists and the lot but she could lead a relatively normal life. Bowery knew how to handle her stresses, knew what her triggers were for those snaps and made sure to steer clear when she could see something happening. She gave full disclosure to her bosses because she needed to but no one else knew. She heard her little pet name called out and smiled at it. It was just too busy for him to stop and talk to her so she grabbed the bag that held the container of food, the drink she knew would be in there and the utensils she would need to eat, said her thanks and pushed herself out the door once again.

Normally, Bowery walked around for a bit until she found herself settled and ready to eat, then she set about finding a spot to actually sit and eat her meal, whatever it might have been that time. This time, however, she had a spot in mind and headed that way after making sure her headphones were firmly set on her head. There was barely any noise coming out of them, she couldn't actually tell which song was playing at any given moment but that wasn't the issue. She wanted to be able to hear what was going on around her. She was pretty safe in her own neighbourhood, people knew who she was and what had happened to her so even the troublemakers, drug dealers and gangbangers gave her space; no one wanted to be the one around if something happened to her. She didn't give a shit and happily continued on her way, seeing from the corner of her eye how they all just stepped back a few paces, giving her physical space as if she were contagious. She was almost to the electrical box or whatever it was when she realised there was someone sitting on the bench across from it. She smirked, watching the man tense at her presence and pushed her headphones down around her neck. "Promise I won't bite... you." She said, lifting her food a little higher so he'd notice it.

♦ ♦ ♦

Tag || otis dodge forrester
Words || 610
Clothes || Coming Soon!
Music || Twentysomething --Russell Dickerson
Notes || <3

[otis dodge forrester]

Otis knew that he didn’t look the part of a substance abuse counsellor. He also knew that he didn’t always act like one either. There were times when he was abrupt with the people he supported. Sometimes he found that people trusted him more if he dropped a few f-bombs or told stories of his own past transgressions. He wasn’t just some guy in a suit preaching to those beneath him. He very well could have been one of them if he had given up hope on his family, on who he wanted to be. It was difficult to break the cycle, especially if you had grown up in it, but Otis didn’t want to be another body in the gutter, a needle in his arm and looking the stereotype that were plastered in bad cop shows and cheap ass movies. He wanted to flip that look on its head. While tattoos were becoming more mainstream with each passing day, Otis knew there were people who still read them as a sign of rebellion and trouble. He was covered in them, and probably looked like he’d fit a mugshot on Dateline in the late hours.

People didn’t believe that he held down a respectable, paying, job. There were times when others had assumed his role was voluntary. They believed he was one of those “victim stories” prisons used to show criminals the error of their ways. Otis would admit that for a few inmates they were effective in rehabilitating their thoughts, but others were already too far gone. A lifer wasn’t going to give a damn about the outside world if they knew they would never see it again. Otis had a few of them in his files and they were the ones who left him with a headache. They tired of the programme he offered, and only showed up so they could have the time out of their cells, sometimes it even counted as “good behaviour”. Otis didn’t want to ruin a man’s chance at redemption, but if they didn’t put the effort into his suggestions then he did tell the warden that they weren’t playing along as they should be. Drug rehabilitation wasn’t an easy road to take, but he admired those who tried damn hard to make it to the other side. He had no pity for those who mocked it or those who tried to get clean.

His story was shared with those he counselled, but he didn’t broadcast it to the rest of the world. There were people in his neighbourhood who probably assumed he was a drug dealer with all the late night excursions. If only they knew he was going to get junk food and breathe in the New York air when there were less exhaust fumes floating around in the air. Otis didn’t see why he needed to explain himself to anybody unless he was being accused of being guilty when he was innocent. He kept to himself and got on with his life and his job. He didn’t trust people with secrets, especially in this age of social media. “Isn’t that what everyone says before they bite you?” He asked, taking a bite of his pizza, chewing it thoughtfully while he waited for her answer. Otis was always on his guard. He worked in prisons after all, and lived in a city that had a pretty high crime rate. He didn’t believe in being overly cautious in either scenario.

• • •

TAGGED! Bowery Carnegie Maine
WORDS! 580!
LYRICS! Walking By - - - Good Charlotte
NOTES! I feel like this just repeats, but WHATEVER! >.>

[Bowery Carnegie Maine]

Bowery loved New York City; especially when everything calmed down at night. She often found herself imagining the world of Men In Black was real and she was living it because there were just so many weird little things that really did feel alien. They weren't, maybe they were, she would certainly never know but it made her unbelievably happy to even be able to imagine it in the first place. If it hadn't been for her doctor's taking damn good care of her, she wouldn't have seen the world past seventeen and that would have been the real heartbreak of it all. Bowery wanted to see so much more of the world but she needed to sort herself out first before she boarded a plane and jetted off to some random country. She couldn't wait to go explore the world, gain new experiences and meet new and interesting people. Bowery loved her neighbourhood but she was known and it was frustrating. She couldn't get away with anything. Already she knew her parents knew exactly where she was because someone else had told them.

It was a sad day when even the known drug dealers in the area kept eyes on her in case she wasn't doing well. There was looking out for the community and then there was suffocating. Bowery knew there would come a day when people paid less attention and she would miss it but right then, she wished it didn't happen. She wanted to escape. She didn't want to be the little sick girl as though she were the only one. Bowery wasn't the only one but she was the only one in the area that people knew because she'd been a fairly active kid when she could be and their neighbourhood was a fairly quiet one. The dealers were mostly kids she went to school with who had known because they'd been there, just how bad she'd gotten. Some of them had even been to her house as kids because they'd all been friends at one point or another. And all the rest were parents just looking out for a sick kid in the neighbourhood. Thank all those damn doctors and nurses and everyone else who was part of her team for making her all better. Bowery was a strong kid who managed to continue doing her school work even on her deathbed so she could get out of the hospital and graduate with the rest of her friends. She had needed to keep busy otherwise she would only have been able to think about just how serious her situation was.

Getting out of her house and away from her safe zones at night were her times to really think about everything. Bowery knew she got some of her best ideas. It was also the best time for her to work through any issues she's having; no matter what it was. Her therapist, a requirement with the transplant team because she was so young, was great and Bowery really did enjoy going but she needed to try and work it out on her own before she went into the office to talk about it. If she had a plan then she didn't need to talk about it as much until she's executed the plan. Then she needed to tell her how well it went. Bowery loved her therapist actually. She was quirky and a bit wild and nothing that one would expect from a doctor. The young patient expected that they suggested Waverly as her doctor because of that very reason. Bowery wasn't going to complain; Waverly understood her need to attempt to fix herself before she went for help. These walks usually preceded a meeting with the doctor, though usually, her topics ran the gamut from things at work to being frustrated that she couldn't really leave the city for long. Her next appointment was going to have a new character talked about because in all the many times she'd walked through the city at night, she'd never run into a man who didn't know her before now. "Maybe but I can promise you'll definitely be able to outrun me." Because she couldn't really run. Most of her exercise was minimal at best. She took to the elliptical or a bike over the treadmill and lifting weights was something she only did when her trainers suggested she try a little bit. Her new heart might not have been all that new but it still kind of was and she was still in the trial period of working up to being able to do anything really impressive. Right now, it was just stuff to keep her active. Bowery had been lucky that one of her doctors knew a personal trainer who would be willing to meet with her team of doctors to set achievable goals.

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Tag || otis dodge forrester
Words || 810
Music || Twentysomething --Russell Dickerson
Notes || <3

[otis dodge forrester]

The problem with a guy like Otis wandering the streets at night was that he looked like he was shady. Yes, his tattoos were a personal choice and there wasn’t a single piece that he regretted having, but other people out there were quick to assume he was a wayward criminal or part of a violent gang. Thankfully, his work took him through law enforcement buildings on the regular so if there was a “concerned citizen” who called the cops, there was a chance that the responding officers would know him from court appearances, or from stopping in at the local jail to help out someone going through withdrawals. There were guys who were free now who would ask for him when they were re-arresting and coming down from a high that had left them feeling guilty and ashamed. They wanted the guy who understood them, who had helped them in the first place. Otis had no problem whatsoever being that guy. It was a mediator role that kept the cops from being too hard on a struggling human being who had wobbled in his rehabilitation.

It was just unfortunate that Otis preferred to take his mind clearing strolls when the sky was dark and even the most innocent of people looked suspicious. Shadows did that to you, and paranoia made it worse. He personally thought that the fearmongering promoted by news stations should be held responsible. They did nothing but incite panic into a peaceful time. He wasn’t going to say that bad things didn’t happen, but they exaggerated events or used unreliable sources before the story broke in full. Anything for that exclusive break, right? People should be warned about the dangers out there, but it shouldn’t be so definitely apocalyptic like so many made it out to be. Something bad would happen, something else would change, and the earth would still continue to rotate around the sun. The world was a big place after all, and one town’s tragedy meant little to a suffering society on the other side of the world. It was hard for a person to understand that when everyone was starting to think that their lives, their grief was the most important thing on a global scale. Forget about the starving, disease suffering children in Ethiopia when Stacey in California was angry that a kid she didn’t know was shot in her neighbourhood.

Otis wasn’t unsympathetic. He knew people didn’t get through life without going through grief and experiencing trauma. It was when people turned tragedy into a one man show with themselves at the star that Otis walked away. He had been called out for it in the past too, but he had no remorse for it. Too many people used grief to make themselves the victim, to demand the spotlight. He saw it a lot in his work when people would blame a single incident for their spiral into drugs and crime. He would simply ask if they were forced to take drugs then. If they had been told that reliance of a substance would be the only way to make it through. If crime had been forced upon them because of one moment in the millions that made up their lives. He didn’t try to be harsh, but he didn’t want people to have their excuses for the choices they ultimately chose to make. It only made it too easier for them to fall back there once they were clean. “Running might ruin my pizza.” He said casually, pulling out a gooey, cheesy slice from the box.

• • •

TAGGED! Bowery Carnegie Maine
WORDS! 599!
LYRICS! Walking By - - - Good Charlotte
NOTES! <3 <3 <3

[Bowery Carnegie Maine]

Bowery was well aware that she had been given a second chance at life; that the Fate's had already spun her life's thread and cut it but much like Hercules in the movie, it hadn't snapped in two. When they'd cut hers, they'd missed a sliver of a thread and it held strong, providing her with an extension that could go at just about any moment. That was one of the many reasons why she never took anything for granted. She woke up every morning and thanked all the doctors and nurses who had cared for her that she could have that new day. She thanked her parents and her community for continuing to fight for her when it had all seemed so hopeless. Bowery didn't quite believe in God per se, she believed there were things out there that could be explained but a single force controlling it all just seemed to be too damn much.

It also meant that she did things she probably shouldn't, though she almost always consulted her team of doctors beforehand. She spoke to them about the tattoos, she spoke to them before she did anything where her heart rate could skyrocket. She knew she'd been given extra time on Earth and she wasn't about to fuck it up by skydiving without permission and having a heart attack on the way down. While doing something like that did interest her, she wasn't about to risk her life for the thrill. Truthfully, she was quite happy to walk around late at night like this, often later and just explore the city she called home. Hell, moving away terrified her to the point that she was still living at home because she feared something happening to her in her sleep and no one finding her for a week. She was too damn young to have fears like that under normal circumstances but hers were not normal and that was a very real fear to have. At least they let her have the same freedoms as anyone else her age, didn't ask her too many questions if she spent the night away, only asked that she was being careful and safe. She could accept these concerns though there was usually nothing to report back. Bowery was quite picky and a little self-conscious about her scars. Like with anything, she had different feelings about the scars in different moods. Some days she loved showing them off and others, she didn't want people to know they existed; those were usually the bad days. At least her boss understood and gave her quite a bit of freedom to deal with her health issues as they came about.

"Oh, it most certainly would. Pizza and running just don't mix. Neither does pasta." She said, holding up the container she'd been carting around. Bowery probably should have been scared, walking around, alone, at night. But, with everything that had gone on in her young life, walking around at night seemed like the least scary thing she could do. She could wake up in the morning with heart failure, or, even worse, not wake up at all. Though that was hardly going to happen thanks to the pretty, new ticker in her chest. She was mostly out of the woods, though there was always a chance, which meant she needed to be extra careful with life in general. Nothing too rigorous, nothing too exciting and nothing that would raise her heart rate too much above normal.

♦ ♦ ♦

Tag || otis dodge forrester
Words || 583
Music || Twentysomething --Russell Dickerson
Notes || <3

[otis dodge forrester]

Otis believed in second chances more than he believed in most things. He had seen people change their ways, overcome demons that they never thought possible. He helped some of them, held their hand when times were tough and was the number they called at two in the morning when they were standing at the edge of a very tempting abyss. Otis couldn’t accept anyone who didn’t believe people who were willing to try to fix themselves deserved a second chance. He saw how they hurt the ones they loved, but if they wanted – truly wanted – to get better then they needed their support, not their abandonment. He tried his best to understand everyone’s view when he met them; some had been burned too many times, others were scared of getting hurt again, more simply couldn’t forgive them for what had happened in the past. Otis tried to show those people the struggle, the pain. One of his main focuses in his job was ensuring those he helped had the people there to support them and pick them up should they stumble and fall. It wasn’t always loved ones, but volunteers and shelters where they could be safe and pointed back in the right direction to stay clean and sober.

He knew not every story was a success, and that hurt him more than he ever really let on. Otis hated receiving the news that one of his referrals had ended up back in jail, or was in the hospital – worse was the morgue. It took him a while of working in this position to understand that he wasn’t the failure. He did his best never to let them down. He worked long hours, left his phone on, and was always available should they need him. He’d seen addiction first-hand, and he wasn’t the type of guy who could push someone away when they were struggling like that. If he was the only person a former addict felt they could talk to then he would listen, regardless of the time of day or how long they needed to bend his ear. He understood it could mean the difference between sobriety and a total relapse for some of them.

Otis led a healthy lifestyle, which meant he forced himself to jog after work three days of the week. He wasn’t a gym fanatic, and he didn’t really enjoy running, but it cleared his head after a heavy day. He wasn’t a fitness nut, but he had counselled plenty who had found a regularly workout beneficial to the changes they made in their lives. Otis would never knock something when it worked for someone else. He understood that everyone was different, responded in different ways, and thrived with different things. “I think most people will agree that food of any kind isn’t the best partner to running.” He suggested, trying to keep the conversation from going in a direction that listed every possible food type. They would still be sitting there at sunrise two days from now if that started.

• • •

TAGGED! Bowery Carnegie Maine
WORDS! 510!
LYRICS! Walking By - - - Good Charlotte
NOTES! I’ve concluded that Otis writes strange posts <3 <3 <3