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( 𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙋𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙏𝙃𝙍𝙀𝙀. ) ▬▬▬∘◦ ☆ ◦∘▬▬▬
THE AFTER MATH of a hurricane was always devastating to say the least. In Outer Banks, the sand near the ocean was covered in sea debris. Branches everywhere you walked, seaweed covering the grounds, pools of water still soaking the green grass. Some homes closer to The Cut were completely destroyed, roofs were leaking or they'd come crashing onto the home itself. Streets were messier than usual, clearly a safety hazard, but people didn't really care. Boats were in desperate need of repairs until they were able to set sail again. Trees had been ripped from their roots and were now blocking roads. Power was gone in most places. Phone calls couldn't be made due to the towers not operating at the moment. The entirety of the island was a complete and utter mess.
If it hadn't been for generators, the Rosewoods and pretty much all the other residents on figure 8 would be left without power for a few days, but luckily that wasn't the case. Power had been restored that morning.
Now, after successfully re-organizing her room to get her mind off of pretty much everything going on, Jaylene was sitting on a wooden lounge chair with a champagne flute in her grasp. Inside of it was brightly-colored orange juice that was equally as bitter as her stepmother. Since all the alcohol had been locked away upon her arrival, she couldn't exactly make herself a mimosa. It was just a precaution, but she absolutely despised that.
"Any plans for today?" Her brothers voice startled her, causing her to jump in surprise, nearly spilling the vibrant liquid placed in her cup.
"Nope. Just sipping bottomless orange juice until I drop." She sarcastically responded, lowering her cat-eyed sunglasses so that everything wouldn't be so tinted. "Why?"
"There's a kegger going down at the boneyard as we speak." Nate informed her, earning a confused look in return.
"Are you serious? You're asking the girl who's fresh out of rehab to attend a party?" Jaylene quirked her eyebrows up in confusion, a quiet laugh escaping from her lips. "I mean, I'm in. Only rule is that you can't tell dad." She motioned towards their father who was too busy helping clean up the mess that hurricane Agatha had left behind.
"Yeah because I'm gonna tell dad that we're underage drinking. Are you an idiot?" He shot her a funny look, receiving a scoff in return.
"That's not what I meant, asshole." She glanced around, making sure that no one was anywhere relatively close to them. "You can't tell dad that we're heading to pogue territory. He claims he doesn't dislike them because the people who help out around this house are from the working class, but I know that's not entirely true. I mean, haven't you ever wondered why we aren't allowed to visit our own grandparents when they're less than fifteen minutes away from us?"
