charlene 'charlie' roseanne was never all that fond of socializing, a sentiment compounded by her ardent preference for solitude; but working at a beachside bar on long island did somewhat force her to interact with other people. perhaps her passion for mixology overpowered her disdain for other people, she herself had no idea. but one thing she did appreciate amongst the tedium of her job was the fact that she could get you little trinkets.

shells from the beachside, specifically.

charlie typically visited you in your flat further uptown after her shifts-- grey tee and mutilated jeans donned haphazardly as always, entering through the fire escape and lounging on your bed even if you were late in returning home. your casa was her casa, as far as she could be concerned.

"afternoon, dingus." she mused, her tone humored as she propped herself up by the elbows when she heard the familiar click of your door opening, with that subtle squeak of hinges because you still had not oiled the joints yet. "don't look at me like that, i got you something," she added, your exasperation only fueling the lazy smirk that flitted across her features whenever she looked at you.

"a bitch-ass crab nearly cut off my nail, but here." she added, handing you a pristine pink clam shell, along with a few blunt pieces of seaglass, which caught the mellow light of your room. colourful little reflections danced across your skin, an apt mirroring of the casual mirth in charlie's eyes.

"don't you think i'm not paying up for stealing your time, sunshine." charlie shrugged, the corners of her mouth quirking lightly. she was adorable in a tousled, just-got-here sort of way; that much you had to admit.