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Realistic or Modern Cities Never Sleep

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OCTOBER 31ST.

The do-gooder had stumbled upon an unfortunate situation; victim to not one, but two unreasonable individuals at Queens Bar. Lifted with no amount of struggle, now suspended like a limp cat for interfering.

Simba.

Observing rage that pingponged around like a kernel in a hot pan, Ratthew, still on the ground, had turned onto his side. Propped on an elbow with all the comfort of a French girl ready to be drawn and dressed in blatant disregard to Aurelian’s anger, behaviour bordered audacity as wrath flickered between conflicting targets.

From Rat, to Pete, to Rat again— they gave a twitch of their head to jingle the jester hat in unspoken greeting, hello! —it appeared he, marvelous Ratholomew and now affectionately named fucking demon, was accused of being ungrateful.

That didn’t sound correct. Rat was very appreciative of Pete’s presence.

Who else could pull off being so greasy and sad looking? Like a crumb kicked and forgotten beneath the fridge? There was a gloss that coated them, almost overlooked in drowsy club lighting, of an unconscious mind oozing red. Cast as a vision unlike their first reasonable encounter, a mediator turned faraway echo.

Sad Simba.

Rat was not a kind person, he would preach this. It was not kindness, how he’d frame his actions; pity, he’d reassure himself for a membrane of comfort. Eyes fixed back to Aurelian, a smile spun to impish features that were ready to distract the heat from Pete.

“Don’t be mad pookie, we can works this out, ya?” Summoning energy to bounce upright, the jester would jazz-hands a splendid offer: “polyamory!”

To no avail, little crumb Pete was hurled into onlookers. Grace of a meteorite, colliding into all in its path. Reason built likeliness of meeting the same fate, Rat could heed this call, make intention to divert to other passages.

Sudden enough that there was no time to react, the curve of Aurelian’s knuckles met another marauder. Unspooling remaining civility that hung by loose threads, wreckage blossomed with all the likes of an active minefield. Proximity meeting limb, a small insignificant thing that could prosper under meagre conditions.

Oopsies.

It was Rat’s first instinct that pulled at veins and muscles like puppeteer strings– to move. Ducking under a thrown bottle that shattered somewhere unseen as he weaved through the clamouring crowd for safe outskirts, a shark leaving sea shoals for darker depths.

They’d only draw to a still on shadowy outskirts to withdraw something from his pocket. Light gracing the crescent of an evil smile, the motion of holding the phone to ear bled sly nonchalance as the background swarmed with hysterical violence.

“Ya ya, police?”

Rat could register the fact he caused all of this– and oh, how proud he was, albeit had to smother a pang of disappointment that javelined the cage of his chest upon glancing back to the wild brawl:

“I’d likes to report a fight.”

He’d lost his M&Ms.























now playing...







GREATEST SHOW UNEARTHED



CREATURE FEATURE




























































♡coded by uxie♡

 



















may gu



heavy metal high school girl












May now had "single-handed ruiner of Spin the Bottle" as an award she could wear with pride, or perhaps, slight shame. She understood why Mallory didn't want to kiss her, but now everybody was giving her sideways glances like she'd destroyed the fun. Nothing was stopping them from going back to their drinking and partying. It was only when she took a second glance that she realized Josh and Abigail had gone missing.

Max, too.

She didn't mind Raevlyn, really. Might even consider her a friend. But something about being more or less by herself in the home of her newly sworn enemy was making her skin crawl. Her eyes trained on the door of the kitchen, where she could vaguely see Max standing near the door. And then he ran.

Something was wrong.

Even the average person's voice couldn't break through the wall of noise, let alone May's sickly little rasp, birthed from her damaged vocal cords. Her eyes darted towards Raevlyn, not wanting to seem rude but also feeling like she was somehow running out of time. Was the night getting shorter? Was something sucking her in through the bottom of the floor like a sinkhole beneath a sandpit? Was there any end in sight to the madness?

She turned to Raevlyn, briefly.

"I have to use the bathroom."

Then she darted off, attempting to follow Max's drunken pattern of staggering. Her long robes stepped on, her hat knocked askew by dancers with frantic elbows. One of the halls finally emptied out, so she could peer into a door.

Max was obviously flopped down on Mallory's bed. A gorgeous and clean room, most likely left untouched out of respect. May had respect, but she also cared too much. She slipped inside, not wanting to alert anybody of the situation. Unsure of how to alert Max of her presence, she tapped on a desk in the hopes it'd rouse him from his weepy drunken stupor. She should've brought a cup of water. In all honesty, she wasn't particularly sober herself.

"Hi." She paused. "What happened?" No fanfare -- no need for it. Just the question.











































♡coded by uxie♡
 






Max




filler



filler



filler



filler



filler



filler






  • home (filler tab)
















































Spin The Bottle was nothing more than a silly teenager’s party game.
To be kissed during a game of Spin The Bottle meant nothing. It wasn’t a token of genuine affection, it wasn’t destiny, and it certainly wasn’t true love.
But it was the closest Max had ever come to any of those things, and he saw no reason to believe he’d ever come so close again to being cherished.

That was it. That was his one chance to kiss a boy without fear of mockery and harassment, his one moment to play-pretend that he was free to love and be loved, and it was over. All over.
He was left as nothing but sad, drunk, broken Maximilian Berkowitz.
Like Cinderella at the stroke of midnight, the spell was broken, the prince no longer loved him, and he was alone.
Maybe that would’ve been a better costume than Beethoven.

“You’re a good kisser, too.” Josh signing those words to him replayed over and over in his alcohol-soaked brain, repeating incessantly like a scratched piece of film. If he was such a good kisser, why did he immediately leave Max discarded to go passionately make out with Abby in the kitchen!?
That, too, played again and again in his mind, the image haunting him, making him sick with jealousy and with grief.

It was wrong of him to be bitter and envious of his best friend, and horribly immature too. Even in his drunken heartbroken state, he knew it was wrong of him to fault Abby, and feeling guilty over that just dragged him further down into despair.
He was 16 years old, more than man enough to suck it up and get over this...
Instead, Mallory’s soft pink pillows were soaked with tears.
He wanted the bed to swallow him up and let him disappear forever.

But instead, he felt a knock resound against the bed frame.

Reluctantly, he pulled himself upright, drying his reddened eyes on his sleeve, looking very much like bad taxidermy.

“What happened?” Asked May… it was May, his friend, who came to find him. As soon as he recognized her under the ridiculous face-paint she was wearing, he instantly felt himself grow all the more embarrassed of his disheveled and intoxicated condition. He looked like crap, he really did. Absolute crap. What kind of a friend was he to let himself get like this in public?
For shame.

“I… It’s nothing. It’s fine.” He pushed his hands away from himself dismissively, as terrible a liar as always. “I just…” he sniffled, tears catching at the back of his throat. He forced himself to laugh at himself. He’d never know how bitter and morose it sounded. “I’m just really pathetic, aren’t I?”
He paused– a long, regretful pause, in which he suppressed a shaky sob. His hands, no longer signing, resorted to woefully wringing at his 18th-century ascot.

“I should never have come here.”












♡coded by uxie♡
 
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Zachary Carpenter​
"Oh, thanks." Zach took the cup from Jenny and was hit with the sharp scent of cheap booze before the liquid even made it to his mouth. Upon taking a sip, it was like the Kool Aid man bathed in Sharpie ink. "That...that is a drink alright." Zach continued drinking despite the flavor.

Zach's dad had let him drink alcohol with him on a few occasions. His dad collected some kind of brandy, and he knew it was expensive just by looking at the bottle. Sometimes, when school had Zach down, his dad would sit down and have a glass with him. It made him feel more mature, and almost like an equal in his dad's eyes. But apparently, he hadn't been. Considering dad left them to start a new family.

"So, did you come here alone?" Zach asked Jenny. She had been carrying two cups, and he really didn't think she had gotten one just for him. He also really wasn't sure what to say next. Did he ask about school? Or would that be a downer at a party? He didn't attend enough parties to really know.

From behind Jenny, he could see Cassidy on the dance floor. Looked like Darth Vader had rejected her advances and she was taking her anger out by thrusting her body in ways she must have thought were sexy.

"I don't even know a quarter of the people in this room. My sister thought it would be a good idea to hang out here since our grandma kicked us out for the evening." The words rushed out of his mouth. Absolutely the alcohol at work. He always had loose lips when alcohol was involved. Maybe that was why Dad would give him alcohol when he was upset...to make him talk. "Turns out, our grandma's a swinger and she didn't want us to ruin her party."

Realizing what he had just blurted out, Zach choked on the sip he had just taken. Shit, did he really just say that to Jenny? His face flushed with both drink and embarrassment. What the hell was she going to think of him now? The first person to really try and make a connection with him and he blows it by mentioning his grandma's kinks.

"Ohmygod, I'msosorry" Zach hurriedly said to Jenny. "I should just...I should just shut up now."
Location: Mallory's Party
Interactions: Jenny Qwertycakes Qwertycakes Qwertycakes Qwertycakes​
 
MOOD: Content

OUTFIT: Mongrel chic

LOCATION: Jolexei apartment, the streets of Joplin
basics
MENTIONS:


INT:

Josephine tamarapasek tamarapasek

tags
TL;DR:
tl;dr
Alexei Milyukov
Chin up and we'll drown a little slower
"You are?" Alexei frowned at the sight of his girlfriend shivering, and her admission she was indeed cold in her sleeveless dress. He'd spent so much time trying to wrangle an unwilling kid into bundling up over her costume, he didn't even have time to suggest that perhaps Josephine should grab a sweater before they left.

He wrapped her up in a tight hug in hopes of transferring some of his warmth. "Wait..." Quickly shrugging his vest off, Alexei swaddled the brunette's shoulders in the furry garment. Luckily, it was much too big for her, so even though it bunched up around Jo's angel wings, it still covered her upper arms a bit. Making her look like she had on a very cheap and rather mangy-looking fur stole.

"Oh, I'm Lassie, huh?" He laughed, pulling Josephine towards him to kiss her forehead, but of course forgetting the limitations of his costume. "Crap, sorry!" With a laugh, he rubbed Jo's forehead instead where the cone had lightly bumped her. "This frickin..." Taking care not the swear in front of his niece, though she was already toddling up the steps of the next rowhouse, making a beeline for the bowl of candy left out with strict instructions to take ONLY ONE.

The inconvenience of this thing around his neck had grown more than tiresome, and as soon as Alexei was left alone for five seconds, he ripped the lampshade along the edge where he'd taped it up. Tearing it open like the Hulk in order to free himself. He then tossed it like a basketball at the nearby trashcan on the corner, doing a little "Yeeess!" celebratory hand gesture to himself upon making the shot.

"Yeah, totally! You're eating for two," Alexei called back to Josephine as she fished a candy out of the bowl for herself, after she'd wondered aloud whether carrying a baby was grounds for taking two candies instead of one.

"Good job, Tink!" He chuckled as the little girl scampered back over to him. Ruffling her soft brown hair while Katinka triumphantly dropped the piece of candy she'd just picked out for herself into her pumpkin-shaped pail with the rest of her haul. Alexei just shrugged with a grin when Jo returned asking what the hell happened to his costume, as he was left there standing in the street in jeans, a striped button-down, and his nose painted black for seemingly no reason at all now.

Jo didn't complain though, when he could freely sling an arm around her and press a kiss to her temple before they continued on, keeping his arm around her as the trio wandered off to the next house.
code by valen t.
 
Last edited:
MOOD: PARTYYY

OUTFIT: Yeeee-haww

LOCATION: Hawke residence
basics
MENTIONS:

INT:

Zachary thorspuddingcup thorspuddingcup

tags
TL;DR:
tl;dr
Jenelle Kennedy
Let us be young, let us be wild
until the summer's over
"Oh, I came with Leah," Jenelle smiled before taking another sip from cup, trying not to grimace at the taste. "Leah Gallinger?" She added; actually unsure if Zach, a newbie to Marsha J. Clark High School, had ever actually met the other girl.

"She's...around here somewhere. You came with your sister?" Jenny asked, turning around to follow his glance over at Cassidy. She chuckled, watching the brunette girl dance her ass off for a moment, then turned once again to face Zach. Giving him a shy smile before taking another swallow of punch, attempting to appear coy and graceful as she sipped.

Unfortunately, Zachary had decided to spill a bit of tea at that very moment, and the girl nearly sprayed punch across the room. She had to cover her mouth to keep from doing so, accidentally letting out a snort as she choked down her mouthful. "Omigod, what??" Jenny couldn't hold in her laughter at Zach's statement. Her face flushed, fully scandalized by the revelation. "Omigoddd," She repeated, chortling until she regained her composure. "Is she really??"

"I'm sorry," Jenny shook her head, supressing any remaining titters that threatened to bubble out of her. She silently prayed she hadn't offended him, and decided not to ask any follow-up questions in hopes he didn't think her extremely rude for laughing. "God...I wonder if my grandma's secretly a swinger," The redhead added with a giggle. Picturing all of her grandparents, she tried to conjure up...some sort of mental image to support that idea, but quickly decided nope, there was just no way in hell.

"So, Zach, are you too cool for Halloween costumes?" Jenny teased, flashing a playful grin at the boy. Lifting a finger off her cup, she pointed it at his form clad in regular, everyday clothing. She'd clearly missed the bit of rolled papar stuck behind his ear, obscured as it was by his fluffy mane of dreamy, dark locks.

code by valen t.
 







joshua jones



  • .



Her smile was contagious, only prompting him to return it with his own toothy grin. There it was again, that bubbling feeling sitting in his chest. It made him feel light and airy, and it pulled on the edges of his lips to bring his mouth into an upward smile. The only other time he could remember feeling this way was when he was five years old. He could remember sitting by the pier with his family. Like every year on Independence Day, the pier was smothered by the presence of people as they ventured around in search of food and entertainment. The Jones family, like every year, stood by their sign with guitars and pamphlets, singing praises to Jehovah. They were convinced that the city of Joplin would come to know about Jehovah and join them in their eternal afterlife in the Garden of Jehovah.

The night sky began to blanket the warmth of the day, and Mrs Jones wanted to ensure that the babies and Joshua would be home in time for bedtime. The brothers and Mr Jones were to stay on and continue Jehovah’s work. As Mrs Jones was placing Mary into her car seat, Joshua overheard something; a large explosion! Widened eyes scanned his surroundings to figure out exactly where the sound came from, and there it was. Lighting up the sky with an array of colours and flares, a firework swirled in the air before exploding in a spectacular display. Joshua stood there in absolute awe. The colours, the raining sparkling light and the adrenalin, rushing through his body at that very moment; his very first time witnessing fireworks.

Looking at Abby was just like that moment; looking at her was like experiencing fireworks for the first time. It was experiencing a sense of joy for the time. It was experiencing a love that he didn’t think was possible for the first time. As they stood there, eyes locked and their bodies close to one another, the adrenalin continued to flow through his body. Each passing second of gazing into her eyes only fueled the fire that was burning the inside of his gut. And it was at that moment that the desire to go swimming once more overwhelmed him. The memory of diving into the depths of Abigail Hargreaves played in an infinite loop in the back of his head as he gazed down at her.

Seconds felt like an eternity, and in a moment of utter and complete weakness, Joshua gave in to temptation. Slowly, he drifted downwards and closer to Abigail until their noses met. Gently gliding his nose against hers, caressing it, he took a moment to breathe. Even just touching like this - her hand in his, her body against his own and those noses touching - it was painful. Painful because he could feel his body aching for the girl. Never had he ever felt this before with anyone, and it made him question; was he meant to feel this way about someone?. The countless nights lying in bed at night, telling himself that his wandering thoughts about Abigail would not please Jehovah at all. But Jehovah had been the one to bring his parents together; He had been the one to bring his brothers to their wives. Why would it be any different now? What if Jehovah brought Abigail to this town and to have met on the pier that faithful day if it wasn’t for his plan? After all, did Joshua Jones not deserve love too?

The bubbling sensation in his chest only swelled in size as he concentrated on the feeling of their noses once again. He knew that there was only one way to really relieve the pressure that was building up inside of him. And so, at a substantially slower speed than he had done whilst in the kitchen, his lips finally met hers. Their kiss in the kitchen had been a dive into the deep end; an exploration to the depths of her ocean to see what he could discover before he ran out of breath. This kiss, however, was a gentle paddle as his lips captured hers, moving in gentle unison. He was in no rush to dive straight to the bottom of the trenches but rather wanted to spend time relaxing in her presence.






/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.
 
1669672746330.png


Zachary Carpenter​
Jenny's giggles were contagious. Although embarrassed, Zachary was laughing along with her. The fact that her initial reaction hadn't been to go "Ew gross, get the fuck away freak!", made his whole body feel warm and fuzzy. Or was that the alcohol? What was in this cup to be working so quickly?!

"I mean if you wanted to go back to my place and see if your grandma's there we could, but to be honest I would rather not see another naked old man tonight." Zach said in response, smiling into his cup, not even realizing he had just technically invited a cute girl over to his grandmothers apartment. Talking with Jenny had been the first real human interaction he had had in Joplin. You see, Zach was not the type to go instigating conversations. He wanted the people to come to him, just as Jenny had. But when you were a semi-depressed teenager, not a lot of people approached you. Thus, leaving him lonely.

Jenny's comment about his outfit made Zach look down and take in the plain tee shirt and jeans ensemble he had thrown on this afternoon. "Oh, that?" he said. "I kind of winged it?" He pulled the rolled piece of paper out from behind his ear that he had stuck there while Cassidy was in Spirit Halloween. Unlike his sister, he didn't catfish older men on the internet, and thus did not have any disposable income to spend on a costume. But he didn't want to tell that to Jenny. Especially since she was dressed up. "There's this character in a book, Fault in Our Stars. Its actually pretty popular, it has a movie coming out next year. The character walks around with a cigarette behind his ear to make a statement about society. I just sort of...did that..." Zach felt sheepish talking to Jenny about it. She would probably think he was a weirdo for reading books targeted towards teenage girls, and then never speak to him again. "Unlike you, I don't think I can pull of the cute cowgirl look. I don't have the hips for it."

He was not aware that he had just flirted with her.

Zach took a deep breath and psyched himself up for what he was about to do. "You've lived here longer than I have right? Do you think you could show me around sometime? Like, to all the cool non-mainstream spots? I uh...I'm kind of tired of spending time after school by myself..."

Location: Mallory's Party
Interactions: Jenny Qwertycakes Qwertycakes Qwertycakes Qwertycakes​
 





























OCTOBER 31ST.
Yes this way then.

“Yes,” shepherding his feline-wearing friend by the hand towards their unknown destination, “this way.” Hansel & Gretel once did the same thing, and they got to eat a house.

Ren wanted to eat a house.

Intoxicated and stranger to rationale, he’d been given no reason to doubt Auguste’s ability of feline communication. And how could he? When buttered with a compliment; very brave, Ren was not about to protest or accuse insanity.

“I am.” Ego petted, the whispering klepto was puffed with a pride that could not be easily silenced. “Did you know,” cinder eyes would trawl molasses speed to look up at the stranger, “sometimes I can open water bottles without hurting my hand.”

Behold, brave and talented.

Shuffling along and unsteady to a tilt, agreeable hums met their moral compass on fist-fighting ghosts. A topic of intense proportion soon found an answer that seeded an undercurrent of safety; I think I’d punch a ghost. Wagering festive survival on the large fellow, Ren had garnered all the information he needed to know.

He was going to beat Halloween, because Abraham Lincoln would protect him from all malevolent spirits.

God bless America.

“I think some people deserve to get punched.” He’d share matter of factly. In the pause that ensued, afterthought arrived with haste. “Not me, though. I should never be punched.” Just in case Auguste got any wild ideas. “Actually I– everyone should be very nice to me all of the time.”

It’s a subject that kilters him off-axis in a concordant manner, the ghosts. Lining of his throat scorched, the klepto dared not breathe too heavy lest he weaponized the burning concoction. Colour draining and leaving him as a blank sheet, he’d have launched himself in the opposite direction if not convinced abandonment would mean certain death.

“They’re probably busy,” voice cracking, an anxious weight ensnared his chest, “busy floating, ‘n’ stuff.” Typical evil ghost hobbies. Fluffy or not, Ren would not be so easily won over at the idea of finding dead animal spirits. But for the animal that was alive, Ren had the perfect name.

“Melon.”

Another one. Both instances with too much substance, too little cognitive ability, and a stranger who was probably capable of ending his life.

Ren felt so comfortable right now.

“Spelled with an M.”

Pulled along by strings of fate through clouded vision, he’d never intended to stumble upon the little habitation. A coercion of magpie instinct, perhaps, that drew iris to glass and steps to a slow stop. Always a victim to forbidden appeal, temptation overthrew need for caution. Eyes round with novel infatuation, hands and face pressed against the window that fogged beneath his creepily close encounter.

Ren wanted it.

Where were they going? Finally an answer was procured. In there.

A costume hire shop, display featuring a wedding dress and matching necklace— no secret to what Ren had become enraptured with. Undoubtedly counterfeit, worth mattered nill, for in this moment the gem swallowed all surrounding light and coherent thought.

Ren needed it.

Willing glutton gaze away from the jewel, Auguste’s presence pulled attention back to the present.

A blink, a faint smile.

“Hey.” Oh no. “Hey big guy.” Run. ”… You wanna see a magic trick?” Saccharine soft tone was never a comforting octave from a man of his own selfish undoing. “I’m gonna make the glass vanish."

He didn’t need to have morals, he had long hair. Auguste would understand.

Or learn to, as after Ren turned to grab something nearby and hurled said brick through the shop window, they were now criminal accomplices. Albeit just for the moment, successful ones.

With no amount of grace did he teeter up to the, indeed vanished window, grass crunching undersoles as he stepped up to the mannequin to hook the tacky costume jewellery from the slope of its neck.

His.

“Surprise!” He turned to Auguste and gave the necklace a shake. “Shiny.”

They were winning.

Until the true horror of Halloween arrived, a shop alarm.























now playing...







I HATE HALLOWEEN



YOANN TURPIN

































































♡coded by uxie♡

 
crime-scene-investigation.gif


8:45 AM, November 11 2013.
Joplin, Washington.


“9-1-1, do you need police, fire, or medical?”

“Police. No, medical. No, no… police. Definitely the police.”

“Alright, what’s the address?”

“The Chalamet Building, across from Chalamet Park… Joplin, Washington. My uh… well, my brother says he found a, um… a dead body.”

“Okay, ma’am, I’m going to need you to slow down. Can I have your name? Do you live at this address?”

“Lori Dreyfuss, L-O-R-I, short for Lorraine. Yes, I do live here.”

“Okay, good, good. Now, can you see the body from where you are? Is it an adult’s body, a child’s…?

[to companion] “Oliver, how old’s the…? Oliver!! Pay attention, god damn it!!”

“...Is that your brother there with you? Can you put him on the line?”

“You don’t want him. He’s not right in the head.”

“...”



On the morning of November 11th, the police are led to find the corpse of their chief, Patrick Allen, face-down and partially buried in a large trash dumpster behind the Chalamet Building. Rigor mortis has set in, rendering the corpse stiff and inflexible, and purple-red livor mortis fixed in the lower extremities, indicating the death took place between 12 and 24 hours prior. The trash surrounding and concealing the body is all soaked in blood, emanating from the fatal stab wounds which include penetration of both lungs and severing of the carotid and brachial arteries, as well as severe internal bleeding from the other 12 wounds centering on the lower abdomen. Contusions present across the whole body make it clear that Chief Allen was conscious during the fatal attack.
The chief was murdered.

Chief Allen’s corpse was initially discovered by one of the residents of the Chalamet Building: a 15-year-old boy who went by the name of Oliver Dreyfuss, who was, by all accounts, aggravating as hell to question, and at least partially at fault for the case quickly turning cold. Not only did Oliver spend his police interrogation babbling incessantly about turtles and ocean ecosystems, the boy had failed to report the discovery of a corpse right away to the authorities: instead, he had simply closed the dumpster back up and pretended he had not seen anything until interrogated by one of his older sisters about the smell of decay on his clothing. It was her who finally had the idea to phone 911.
Or, at least, that was the version of events that the Dreyfuss family was sticking with.

Whether the Dreyfusses were trustworthy or not was a matter for later debate (why was Oliver digging around in the trash, anyhow?), but as the days bled on, more pressing suspects crept onto the case… people who had real motives for murder.

  • Mia Potemkin, a young student at the high school, formerly the girlfriend of Chief Allen’s son Rufus several years ago, when she was far too young to be involved with a man his age… surely a girl like her who had been used and watched her abuser get off scot-free on daddy’s money would want to seek out revenge.
  • Kazimir Milyukov and his younger brother Alexei, who some suspect are associates of the nefarious Russian Bratva that is known to operate throughout Joplin– but can anyone prove their relations to the crime syndicate? Perhaps Alexei’s pregnant girlfriend, Jo, would be willing to impart some information for a price…
  • Cooper Attenborough, a young bartender with ties to illegal street-fighting and other trouble. Would he have wanted to silence the man out to ruin his fun?
  • Trevor Tate, one of the police’s own men... oh my, what a bombshell indeed. Would he have resorted to such a bloodthirsty crime to get a leg up in the force?
  • Auguste Cortes, a young man of many trades, including independent musician and waiter at the local diner. Word on the street is that he’s a former member of local gangs… who knows what a man like that is still capable of?
  • James Gallagher, whose high marks in school had saved him from a criminal record as a teenager. Some say he’s often spotted loitering nearby that very same alleyway where the body was found.
  • Kennedy Porter... now she has a bit of a record for herself already, as a scammer. Not that low-brow criminals are hard to come by in Joplin, but witness reports hint that she may have been in the area around the time of the murder, and some are just itching to pin her for something.
  • Aurelian Fiocchi, a chef and a volatile asshole with a recent arrest on his record... for attacking one of his former employees in the streets, if you'd believe it, and then only a short while later, there were reports that he was involved in yet another bar brawl. Perhaps a man so prone to blind rage and violence, especially one who already has reason to be angry with the police force, would take one of those sharp kitchen knives of his and leave a cop in a dumpster.
  • Lyle Lapointe, "Little Rusty"... this burnt-out child star may have been out of the spotlight for years, but it's possible that he'd pull a stunt like this gruesome assassination to gain back that sweet sweet attention... right?
  • Isaac Sun-Hee Lee, a seemingly nice kid with a plethora of little part-time jobs and side hustles. Would he turn to murder to rake in a little extra cash, or did he have a personal bone to pick with the chief?

In the following days since the report, a handful of cityfolk came forward as witnesses to the crime: Aurora Underwood, Teo Choi, Quinn Lee, and Kenzie Gallagher (the latter of which was the younger sister of one of the suspects… very interesting, indeed). Hopefully, one of them will be able to shed some light on this grisly murder and bring the killer to justice.

Because if the police stall much longer in solving this case, the talk of saving the day might just have to fall to some teenage gumshoe sleuths...
 







joshua jones






The week following the Halloween party was… it was different.

As day broke, Joshua had awoken with a spark in his step as the memories of the night prior played repeatedly in his mind. Despite the evergrowing pounding headache that had awoken him, he had been in high spirits. That was until he had the realisation that not everyone recollected the night as he had; Max, for some reason, was grumpy, and when he would respond to questions, they were short and half-hearted. Abby, on the other hand, acted as if nothing had happened. That their friendship was how it had always been. He wasn’t sure what hurt more; the silent treatment from the boy that he had dubbed a friend (something which he had never done in his whole life), or that Abby lacked the same memories of the intense feelings he had felt the night prior. And as they gathered the courage to attempt to eat breakfast, Joshua gazed over at Abby only to conclude one very important thing; the ocean he had been diving head first in was nothing more than a mirage. What he had once seen to be refreshing clear waters was nothing more than a desert.

Tensions with Max only seemed to linger as he was nowhere to be seen during lunch while at school. Of course, it meant that Joshua and Abigail could spend more alone time together, discussing random topics (“Oh, it looks like it might rain later?”) and finding things to fill the silence. But no matter how hard he tried to keep the conversation going, Abigail just seemed to be… away. Her mind focused on something else. Something that wasn’t him, he was sure of it. He had to remind himself that nothing could come of it anyways. He wasn’t even meant to have friends and here he was; one of them giving him the silent treatment and the other not acknowledging the memorable night that they had together. Was this why they weren’t allowed to have friends? Maybe, for once, his parents had been correct about something.

It had been a Saturday night when Mary Jones walked into her brother’s room to find him sitting on his bed, his school books spread across the sheets as he was in deep thought. She had passed his room enough times to know that he had been staring at the same page for the last twenty minutes. Their parents had been at a church meeting, leaving Joshua in charge of the house for the night as per usual. It wasn’t like he had anywhere to go, anyways. Mary approached his bed before flopping down onto it; her free fall had finally caught his attention, snapping his gaze from the paper to his sister.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, using her elbow and hand to prop up her head as she gazed at him from her side

“Nothing.” Joshua was quick to respond, looking back at his book “Just studying”

It wasn’t the answer Mary wanted.

She released an exaggerated exhale, groaning in the process; it caught the boy’s attention once again, glazing over the top of his book to see just what the heck she was doing. “No, I mean…” she began, using her free hand to swirl in the air “This week. Something is off this week. You look so mopey. Like, you always look mopey. Well, not mopey. What’s the word? Ah yes. Brain empty. You always look brain empty. This week you look brain empty and mopey.”

“Was that meant to be some kind of compliment or-”

“It’s Abby, isn’t it?” The question had caught him off guard. How did she know?. He could feel his cheeks already starting to redden, which Mary caught on quickly as she raised her brows at him. “So, I’m right then” she said gleefully. Instinctively, Joshua’s eyes trailed to his open bedroom door; after all, the Jones family always had an open-door policy. Once again, Mary quickly caught on, dismissing his thoughts before he could even think them himself. “Don’t worry. The other two are downstairs studying at the dining table.” She waved in the direction of the door before bringing her attention back to Joshua “You never told me how things went. You know… Bible study. Or whatever you want to call it. Because… everyone wears suits to a Bible study”

“It went… fine” Joshua mumbled his response, looking back at his book.

Mary’s brows furrowed. “I see you around her at school. You follow her around like a little puppy who lost his bone. Something happened. Didn’t it?” She paused, staring down her older brother as he continued to ‘read’. “You told her you liked her?” No response. “You held hands?” It was true; they did. But once again, no response. “Did you… kiss?”

His face automatically flared up, spreading across his cheeks and to his ears. That was the answer Mary was looking for. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell in pure shock. “Joshua Jones!” she hissed, reaching over and whacking the boy’s leg. A smile spread across her face, her own face radiating with joy and excitement as if she had been the one who had kissed the person she liked. “You need to tell me everything! What happened!”

“It wasn’t… that much. We just… I dunno… kissed a couple of times?”

“A couple of times!” Mary was going to explode, pressuring her shrieking into a hiss; she was kettle filled with excitement and ready to tip. “Oh my gosh, I thought you were a dweeb but oh my gosh, I’m seeing you in such a brand new light! Hold on! Hold on!” She shifted her body to a seated position, crossing her legs and scooting closer so the pair of them sat opposite each other, leaving only room for whispers. After all, they couldn’t let the others hear them. “Tell me all about it” Mary squealed with joy, smacking her hands upon his knees as she wobbled back and forth in pure ecstasy. “I want to know everything!”




He had told Mary everything; well, he left out some things like having alcohol for the first time, potentially having illegal drugs (which he still wasn’t so sure about), and kissing Max for spin the bottle - twice. But after telling her everything that had happened with Abby, Mary just had to ask why he was so down lately. He explained to her about how things were just… weird now. Honestly, he probably shouldn’t have said anything at all. Because for that week, Mary decided that she wanted to join them for lunch. Every. Single. Day.

Sure, she probably was trying to help her brother. But while she was around, he couldn’t help to feel some sort of tension. What if she told Abigail about all the things their family did? Or told her about all the stupid things he did as a child (like believing tomato sauce could help plants grow)? It was like walking in a minefield; you just didn’t know when Mary would explode with some random, embarrassing fact. Thankfully, it had reached Friday, and the girl had managed to keep all those stories to herself. In fact, by the end of the week, Joshua could feel himself starting to relax a bit. It wasn’t until Mary brought up the weekend, asking Abby if she was up to much.

“I’m going to be heading to this like… woman’s weekend in Seattle with Mum, Alexandra and Martha for Sunday.” Mary explained to the girl, rolling her eyes at the thought of having to spend a whole weekend celebrating women within a Kingdom Hall “Can’t wait for them to whip out the be good wives and learn how to cook speech they do every year… Anyways… And Dad left for New York this morning. He’s got some big conference or something with all these other elders.” She took a large bite of the apple that she had been holding in her hand, taking a couple of chews before her eye widened. As if she had just gotten a wonderful idea there and then. Oh yes, she definitely didn’t plan it this week at all. “You know what? Joshua is going to be home alone this weekend! You guys could totally hang out together!”

What?

Joshua’s eyes widened, quickly glaring at his sister, for multiple reasons: fear, disbelief, and shock. They weren’t allowed to have friends. And here was Mary, trying to encourage Joshua to break the rules even further to bring a friend over for the day while their parents were away? Mary turned to Joshua with a wide grin on her face, continuing to chomp of the apple in her mouth. “I mean, you weren’t planning on doing anything or going anywhere, anyways” she said to her brother before turning back to Abby with high hopes.

Her response, however, wasn’t exactly what Mary had been hoping; “I’ll have to see, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to or not”

Just like an ongoing rollercoaster ride, Mary’s suggestion had been the high, but Abby’s response had been the child-like plummet. When had he joined this child’s ride; he was obviously far too old and tall to be allowed on. “Oh, well, in that case” Mary was quick to respond, pulling out her notebook from her bag along with a pen. She quickly scribbled down not only the address of their house but their house phone number. “We live on Peterson - the white double-story house about three blocks away from the Petersons petrol station” she explained as she tore the page out of the notebook before handing it over to the girl “If you can come over, ring the house phone to let Josh know. Give a ring tomorrow morning on the home phone if you can come; Josh will be home after like… ten? I’m going to assume Matthew will drag you to the Kingdom hall for a service. But we won’t be home until super late, and Dad will be home on Tuesday”

He didn’t know if Mary was a genius or absolutely crazy. Either way, there was a slither of him that felt incredibly thankful for her bonker schemes.




Sunday Morning; it felt so weird being home by himself.

Matthew had rung the house phone to alert him of a murder that had happened near the Chalmet Buildings. In all honesty, his heart had missed a couple of beats, thinking it was Abby ringing. Only to be let down by the sound of his older brother telling him that they’ve been advised to stay indoors while they search for the murderer. This mean, oddly enough, no church. He couldn’t remember the last time he had missed church on a Sunday morning. Walking around the house, he had to find something to do so he wouldn’t go absolutely crazy. He cleaned his bedroom, did two loads of washing, cleaned the living room and kitchen, and then was thinking about attempting to do some study.

That’s when the thought dawned on him.

Obviously, Abby probably wasn’t going to call. There was a murderer on the loose, after all. Even if she did call, he probably would’ve told her to stay at home where it was safe. But something he did remember from their lunches together was how she mentioned how her birthday was approaching. Now, Jehovah Witnesses don’t celebrate birthdays. There were a lot of things they didn’t celebrate and birthdays was one of those things. But… was he not breaking all the rules as of lately? So, Joshua Jones got an idea. An idea that would be considered rather sinful in the eyes of his parents; he decided he wanted to make birthday cupcakes to bring to school for Abby. How scandalous.

The aroma of batter filled the kitchen as Joshua focused on getting the cupcakes into the oven. The recipe had been one that his mother had taught him as a child; all the Jones children had been taught how to cook from a young age and were often the ones to create dinner for the whole family. After placing the batch of cupcakes into the oven to cook, placing a timer on to remind him to check them, he heard the doorbell chime. Who- he began to think to himself, standing up straight and throwing a curious brow in the direction of the door. Abby?

No, Abby was going to call first. Then… who was it?

Curiously, Joshua made his way from the kitchen to the front door. Taking hold of the door handle, he slowly opened the door to find a familiar face standing before him. It wasn’t the familiar face he had hoped for thought. Instead of Abigail standing there, Joshua found himself staring directly at Mallory Hawke. “Oh,” automatically fell from Joshua’s lips, all a sudden feeling extremely underdressed in the presence of the girl. A plain white shirt and black shorts didn’t seem a risque outfit choice, but as he stood there before Mallory, he almost felt naked before her. “H-hey…? Uh… You… ok?”






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© weldherwings.
 





























NOVEMBER 11TH.

Dante was drunk. Like. Really fucking drunk.

Like, hauled upstairs, arms tied behind his back and forced to drink line after line of shots, drunk. But something that surprised nobody was that despite his, kindly, lithe build, he was a heavy drinker. He’d gotten through law school, and passed the bar within a month in a new, foreign country. That didn’t come without a lot of parties. Like, a lot of parties. A lot of ragers. A lot of drinking.

Damn, he felt like he was back in university, to be completely honest. This was fucking great in comparison to what the mafioso had put him through.

Completely shitfaced, he was only getting sloppier in his shot-taking until he was slumped off to one side, head lolling, but still somehow kneeling upright as he recovered from the final round.

And then he straightened back out with a roar of victory.

And then Alexei and Silv were giving him a funny look. Apparently, they wanted him to dance on the bar top…

… That sounded like a FANTASTIC IDEA!!!!!

So with an uncharacteristic amount of enthusiasm. Dante danced along to the club music on top of the bar.

He was drunk, but he was a natural performer. He’d wanted to be on Broadway as a kid, and he did know how to sing and dance.

The result was… a surprisingly okay improvised dance routine that showed off a surprising amount of flexibility, and a definite background in some kind of formal dance training… ended with him tripping and falling into the arms of one of the enforcers.

“Wow you’re… very strong.” He slurred as he was dumped on the ground. “He must lift like… a lot.”

Dante, though, did not get back up when he was dropped to the ground and had to be peeled off the ground. “I need to text someone”

—------------------

And so the lawyer was initiated into the bratva.

Russians. Nicer hazings than Italians. Who knew.

He lit a cigarette as he got his papers together, breathing smoke out the window as he clipped it all nicely into a binder and stood. The deal had been struck, it was now just time to go fetch his client.

Eugh. Why was everyone getting arrested? It was so much more paperwork for him, and it also meant that he couldn’t see his…

Well. Dante had decided on “boy toy” as the term he felt most…. Least concerned by.

Long term boy toy.

That sometimes gave him mangoes for some weird fucking reason.

It was fine.

There was nothing to worry about there.

He wasn’t gay.

Even if he was actively fucking a dude, but like… He was usually on top. So. Yeah.

Not gay.

Woo.

Anyways his new boss or whatever had managed to find himself as a suspect in a murder investigation and they’d decided that they had enough evidence to arrest him. Well, fuck you for that, thanks. This was unlawful imprisonment and he could sue the police force for everything they were worth but…

See, they probably didn’t want that. That would be a lot of paperwork, and bad publicity, and a huge trial. Nah, the last thing the police wanted was to have a huge scandal on their hands. So, instead, Dante could just pass along a small… payment and have this entire thing wiped clean from the books.

Done.

Clever, wasn’t it? But the murder of one’s own, the chief nonetheless, meant that there was a little bit more greasing done, a couple more hints dropped here and there to some detectives that Dante had a lot more range and power than he truly had.

Really, dealing with cops was always difficult. You never knew when you’d gone a little bit too far and Dante was fairly certain that he was about to hit the mark. But he’d found an in, a detective who desperately needed gambling debts to be forgiven.

Boom. Debts quietly paid off, fetch quest complete, let his boss off the hook please, thank you.

All he had to do now was just deliver the paperwork and he could finally have some… recreational time with Ren. Hooray!

So he drove to the police station and smiled at the receptionist without revealing what he knew to be slightly messed up teeth.

Hair greased back and straightened, it aged him from a twenty something year old into a guy that looked like he was pushing forty-five. Which was good, because the lady (Susan, her name plate said) who worked the front desk looked to be pushing eighty with that cardigan and brooch combo she was wearing but was probably only pushing sixty.

Pictures of three cats decorated her desk, no ring on her ring finger, but there was a tan line there. And three romance novels pushed off to the side. You know the ones, with a man with a six pack on the front and an outrageous title like “Bad Boy Billionaire”

“Hey there, Susan, how’s the prettiest face in the precinct doing?” Made sure to lower his voice, make himself seem older. Take on a bit of swagger to himself.

“Flatterer, Dante.” Though, Susan, however, did seem to be blushing. “What’re you here for.”

“Only to see you, of course. When do you get off?” He leaned against the desk, initiated a small bit of physical contact, drawing a small circle on her forearm with a finger.

“Aren’t I a bit old for you?” You had no idea, Susan.

“Age is just a number.” Another convincing, winning smile and a purr. “And besides, I like a bit of maturity.”

She looked around and whispered to him “This is highly inappropriate for the workplace.”

“And you think I care?” Thoughts crossing Dante’s mind while he flirted with this incredibly lonely woman: Kaz better fucking appreciate the amount of effort Dante was going through here to get him freed. “One drink, on me. You must get plenty of offers, I know. But… Consider mine.”

“Nothing’s ever free with you, what do you want in return?”

“Well, because you asked, I do need… a small favor. I need to see Detective Jordans. He knows I’m coming. We don’t have a formal appointment though.”

“That’s all?”

“Well, I’d hardly call that a price. I just need you to not write down that I was ever here.” He said, moving closer to her in a conspiratorial whisper.

“... Just for you, baby.” She said, leaning in just a little bit. And Dante leaned in and gave her a very chaste kiss on the lips.

“7PM. Let’s make it a date.” Dante said softly.

“You got it.” She slipped him a visitor pass.

And so Dante got in without any mention of it on any records.























now playing...







Naked



FINNEAS





























































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mia



the battleship potemkin












(TW: Rufus and all things associated with Rufus (CSA mentions and misogyny mostly), police being terrible to a black teenage girl)

The day had started normal. Mia had gotten dressed in a loose neon sweater that was perfect for autumn. She looked decent. But then her mother came running in, asking if she'd done something bad. Mia knew better than to implicate herself -- of course she'd done something bad. On Halloween, she snuck into Queens by crawling through the window, got a few compliments on her Plastic Beach-era Noodle costume and watched some gay dudes fight each other. She even had a cosmo, and it was delicious.

But that hardly seemed worth a police visit. Her hands were shoved in her pockets. Maybe that dickhead Mateo tried to convince the police that she was helping Oliver Dreyfuss conceal a gun? That was fucking stupid, everyone knows the Milyukovs are in shady business. He probably has a gun, too.

No, it instead had to do with a dead body found in the Chalamet dumpster. The bloated, stinking remains of resident pig chief Patrick Allen. His name alone made her head swirl a little bit. Rufus' dad. Good old Roofie Allen. Her eyes could have bored holes into the floor as the officers said they just wanted to take her down to the station for a few minutes, since they had reasonable suspicions. All of Mia's training went out the window and before she could stammer out "do you guys have a warrant", she was shoved in the back of a police car. It would be kind of cool, almost like a rite of passage, if it wasn't so scary.

She then waited in the lobby of the police station while a bunch of other suspects were being processed before getting shuffled into one of those interrogation rooms with the two-way mirrors and the long table. Clearly they believed she could be guilty of something, otherwise they wouldn't bother. Either that, or they just didn't have enough rooms to discuss the case in.

Her eyes darted towards the figure on one side of the table. Her heart froze.

"I can't." she stuttered, almost unrecognizable to anyone who knew her. Rufus sat there, picking his teeth.

"You're safe here, Miss Potemkin. Please sit down."

"No. I'm not. I can't..." Her legs wobbled underneath her, and she was ushered into the one empty chair, unable to do anything else. Her mouth was dry and she felt like she could puke at any second. Rufus Allen, mere inches away from her. Last time they'd been this close, he was...

You're so mature for your age. Has anyone ever told you that?

"Now, can you repeat why you brought her up to us, Mr. Allen?" Rufus nodded, adjusting his watch a bit.

"She and I used to date. She was a real fucking basket case, though. Got pissed when I left--"

"That's not- you know it isn't..." She gulped. "He's a fucking child predator. I was- I--"

"Can you shut up? Jesus Christ." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "She was old enough, my dad would've told you."

Mia tightened her fists in her lap, trying not to think about anything. Every thought only led back to the bed they shared. Herself, a stupid, naive 14-year-old and him, 19. The way he made her feel like an object, tossed her aside, obsolete. How much it hurt. How much it burned. She was never supposed to see him again. The officer asked her questions, and she answered them to the best of her ability. She had no reason to lie -- she'd been home all night. Her parents could corroborate.

"But if you could have killed him... Would you?" the officer asked, clearly trying to get at something. Being honest, Mia would.

"No. Of course not."

Rufus snorted, but didn't say anything.

"Do you think she would, Mr. Allen?"

"Probably. Vindictive bitch."

"No. I wouldn't. I don't- I don't wanna be in here with him anymore." Her shoulders hunched, the best possible attempt to shrink into nothingness. Rufus' hand fell on her thigh, and she shrieked like a cat getting it's tail pulled. "DON'T TOUCH ME! DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME, YOU SON OF A--"

"Calm the fuck down." He rose his hands, like he was innocent. The officer opted to call Mia's parents in. The two visitors waited in silence, predator and prey. His lips sneered around his words, on the rare occasion that he spoke: "You got fucking hot." Mia wished she had gotten the chance to bring a CD player so she could just fucking tune him out. His grinning, yellowed teeth curled up in some attempt to look passively pleased.

Her mom and dad arrived. Mom immediately shot a glare at Rufus, the cradle snatcher who broke her little girl. They made it clear that Mia was at home all night, and they could even prove it -- though whether or not they actually could was up in the air. Her dad brought her favorite blanket and wrapped it over her shoulders -- he read that medical workers gave out those safety blankets to help with shock. Not that he'd been expecting to see a statutory rapist in the room -- perhaps two, if the cop had any inclinations. The officer tried to push for some kind of confession, but Petr Potemkin was a master of stonewalling the police -- he used to be in a bratva, after all. (Not the local Joplin one. A different one.)

"Can she come in tomorrow for follow-up?"

"She has school." Her dad answered. And she was shuffled back into her parents' car, marking the beginning of a very long day for Mia Potemkin. She crossed the station lobby, ugly crying and wrapped in a blankie like a two-year-old.

It couldn't keep being like this.











































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The Rebel





Kenzie























mood


Ugh Emotions





















outfit


Hoes dont get cold



















location


Peaches





















interactions


Interaction: Teo/ Mentions: Drew, Mateo and DJ






















tags


weldherwings weldherwings






























It had been a very interesting and busy few weeks for Kenzie to say the least. She had managed to not only bump into two of her ex's around Halloween, separately off course, but had also managed to rekindle what they once had, well, at least for the night anyway. Her current "will they won't they" situation with Mateo was getting tricky and all of this melded together was hurting Kenzie's head more than she'd ever care to admit. She had always thought that not committing would be easier, leading to no pain in the future but was gravely surprised to find that her current flings of bouncing around with no real communication or security was starting to get fairly messy. While she enjoyed the flirty nature, there was something to be said about the talking part of a relationship and knowing exactly where she was with a person, something she didn't really have with Mateo at present. A part she found she also missed from her previous relationships.

God its exhausting being a hoe

To be honest she didn't know what to do or think anymore when it came to her relationships both past and present. Seeing both Drew and DJ had stirred up some old feelings that she had buried deep down and trying to shove the same feelings for Mateo in to that box to lock up was proving a difficult task.

What is wrong with me?

She needed a break for it all, to forget about her abundantly clear abandonment issues, her commitment problems and apparent daddy issues. Issues that she knew herself she would never work on or try to fix, rather she'd bury them deep beneath the surface with all the rest of her trauma gift boxes. Gift wrapped, chained and padlocked deep deep down never to be opened or explored. The girl held so much unsorted trauma locked away that if the parcels were to break open they would surely break her too, it was safer to close and ignore, especially after all this time.

Even witnessing a murder had not been enough to break her mind of her troubles, well to be honest Kenzie was still unsure what she had witnessed having been both drunk and high at the time of the crime. Her mind was still trying to figure out if it was all a psychedelic fueled hallucination resulting from having the song Cop Killer by Body Count stuck in her head most of that day or if she had actually witnessed something she definitely shouldn't have. She knew she needed to speak to Teo about it but she also wasn't sure if she wanted to actually know the truth.

What is it was just an Hallucination?... I'd look like an idiot.

Deciding somethings are better left forgotten, like events that happen during a blackout drunk night, Kenzie shook the thought from her mind as she knocked back her vodka and stood up to exit the bar. She had to say, the fake ID she had purchased only a few days ago was working excellently and Kenzie was in the mood to push her luck until it expired these days.

Is this off the rails? Maybe, possibly, probably .... but fuck it

As Kenzie walked down the street smoking a cigarette, she tried to decide on where next to put her ID to the test. She looked up at the bar in front of her and bit her lip. The name of the establishment Peaches was familiar but in her current tipsy and hazy state she couldn't place how she knew the name. Flicking her cigarette onto the ground, Kenzie almost shrugged to herself as she decided to try it anyway. Kenzie got in without so much of a problem but stopped as she stepped in the door and into the club. Realisation hitting her like a ton of bricks for why the name sounded so familiar. She giggled to herself as she realised where she had just walked into. A strip club. She, a 16 year old girl, had just walked into a strip club for a drink.

Deciding it was too late now to turn and walk out Kenzie decided to stick it out for a drink and walked towards the bar where a familiar mass of blonde hair was sitting in front of her. Almost like deja vu, Kenzie walked towards the bar and Teo, a grin lighting up her features. At least she wasn't bar hopping alone anymore. "Hey" She exclaimed happily as she approached him.





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teo choi



  • .



The bleached blonde-haired male sat at the bar, sprawling his top half across the counter. His head rested against the sticky wooden countertop, mouthing along the lyrics to the song currently playing as he struggled to keep his eyes open to look somewhat sober. After all, if they were to question his sobriety, they would cut him off from his drinks, would they not? He had already asked the bartender for another shot to which the lovely worker had informed him maybe take a rest for a moment or two before walking off. And so, here he was, having a moment or two by himself. Empty glasses surrounded him, echoing the triumphant, victorious defeat he had over the liquor throughout the duration of this night. This place wasn’t his first bar of the night; it was pit stop number three.

Pit stop one had been to see his supplier to pick up some extra juice to get him through his week. Pit stop two had been to the bar just three blocks from his new apartment (one of the main reasons why he had decided to rent the place out); he had been promptly kicked out after spilling almost a full jug of beer in the bathroom. Why had he been carrying a jug of beer in the bathroom? Who knows at this point? He had been desperate for both a wee break and to keep his drink safe, so he had opted to the single-hand method which had only caused a giant mess. And that’s how he landed here. By some grace of God, the security guard had thought he was sober enough to enter the establishment and not cause any mayhem.

Now, Teo Choi was always a heavy drinker. There was no doubt in it. A drinker and, sadly, a drug user. He was always searching for that high to ease the pain and stress that had crippled him during his childhood and teenage years. But the last forty-eight hours? It was a different kind of high that he had been searching for. No matter how much he drank, how much he inhaled, or how many pills he took, the memory was still attached to his brain. Had it been real, or just a figment of his imagination? He wasn’t completely sure, but it haunted him. It was like a nightmare crawling out from the darkness of the day and painting itself over daylight.

What exactly had it been to cause him such horrific memories and visions? Had it been the shock of his roof caving in? The sheer terror as he poured out his cereal in the morning to find a stiff, mummified rat fall into his bowl instead of his Lucky Charms? Had he screwed something up with the mafia when he had been their little mule, selling drugs to minors? Surprisingly enough, it was none of those reasons. The thing that was causing him so much distress was the memory of his face. The way his skin flushed white within seconds and his eyes widened, knowing that death was very much so on it’s way to kiss him goodnight. The way he had fallen to the ground, gasping for air as the blood pooled around him. The helplessness that Teo felt, and then when he finally could feel his body once more, all his brain could tell him was run. He should’ve gone to see if the guy was okay. He should’ve gone and attempted some sort of first aid or something. But his body did the exact opposite. His body betrayed his initial reaction and ran in the opposite direction.

And so began the ongoing spiral of shame and regret. Something that he could only cover up and push deep down with alcohol and drugs. Or… so he thought.

“Hey” a cheerful voice came before him.

Squinting his eyes towards the direction of the voice, Teo attempted to focus on the face. Did… did she know him? Slowly he arose from his position, feeling his bones crack and ache as he sat up straight - all the while keeping his eye on this girl before him. Almost as if if he took his eyes off of her that she’d disappear and it would just confirm that he was really starting to see things. Looking at the grinning female beside him, Teo’s brow rose as he examined her features. She looks… familiar…? I think? he thought to himself. Well… say something?

“Heyyy…?” His response had started off with a friendly tone, only to finish off in a higher pitch, a transition from an acknowledgement to a question. As if to say Hey, do I know you? but in the most politest format he could possibly muster in his un-sober-like state.








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Ivy




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the birthday massacre



calling










“You'll be swell! You'll be great!
Gonna have the whole world on the plate!
Starting here, starting now,
Honey, everything's coming up roses–”​


Peppy vintage Broadway showtunes blasted at a volume that rattled the cheap earbuds Ivy wore as she cheerfully roller-skated down the cracked sidewalks of Rosenberg Street towards the Industrial District of Joplin, where the Chalamet Building towered wearily over the city with an ominous and gloomy presence.

Ivy, though, was as far from gloomy as a girl could get. As she careened down the streets at reckless speed, she sang at the top of her lungs, her long dark ponytail racing behind her, no helmet on her head to protect her if she fell on her skates pelting downhill at something like 20 miles an hour. It was like she wanted her little chaos-hungry brain to be a puddle on the pavement.

As soon as she saw the sunny yellow crime scene tape plastered like birthday party streamers over the alleyway, her eyes lit up and she let out a diabolical giggle. Her purple-and-pink glittery skates screeched to a breakneck stop, and she hurriedly plopped down on the curb to yank them off and trade them for a pair of faded purple high-top sneakers. Her last song ended, and she turned off her cheap mp3 player, tucking the earbuds into her denim jacket. It was time for business.

Ignoring the “do not cross” warning on the crime scene tape, she got down on her hands and knees to scoot underneath the barrier and skip into the alley. This action, in and of itself, was multiple crimes all at once. Obstructing the police, disturbing a crime scene, not to mention the trouble and tomfoolery she and her gremliny friends were bound to cause while they were down here. Ivy did not give a single solitary fuck. Besides, the cops were nowhere to be seen right now. The crime scene had been abandoned for the day– maybe they were all done collecting evidence from the dumpster that had recently served as the old Chief of Police’s coffin, and they wouldn’t be back for a while.

Ivy grinned happily, walking up to the old green trash dumpster and attempting to push open the lid, her skinny arms struggling with the cumbersome weight. She wasn’t quite strong enough to open it by herself, and quickly gave up, panting and groaning and sliding to the ground as though recovering from a Herculean task. Surely with the help of Ashleighieghie, Dustball, Bug, and Raven, the five little goblins would be able to do it together.

The power of teamwork. The magic of friendship.
This would surely be the most fun Ivy'd had since she was messing up the sound system during Carol's theatrical anti-drug manifesto performance.







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Max




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(TW: Internalized homophobia.)

Almost 2 weeks had passed since Halloween, leaving the city submerged deeply in auburn November, sleepily preparing for the coming winter.
But for Max, the passage of time had crashed to a complete stop at that moment that he saw Josh kissing Abby.

Haunted by the memories of what he had done that night, Max floated like a ghost through school and work and activities of daily living, wishing that by shrinking far enough into himself, he would eventually become invisible.
Almost as soon as the violent alcohol hangover abated after the party, it had morphed into something even more nauseating: shame. Regret. Was it possible to be hungover on humiliation?
He had barely spoken to Abby since then, and even less to Josh, who he could hardly even bring himself to look at without wanting to break down in tears all over again… he’d convinced himself that both of his friends were no longer interested in having someone like him around, after what vile crimes he’d committed against their morals and their sensibilities. They both knew now, if they hadn’t guessed it all months before, what shameful and unclean secrets he had been hiding from everyone all this time.
Avoiding them felt like the only right thing to do; like quarantining with a contagious disease.

After all, Joshua had said it himself, straight to Max’s face, back at that fateful Bible Study group all those months ago:
“to be friends with anyone that doesn’t believe or follow Jehovah’s laws… it’s… It’s not really what… we do… I suppose.”

And in all that time of self-isolating, consumed to the core by shame, Max had become a shell of what he once was.
As though this was the only way he knew how to communicate his internal pain, superficially externalizing it, he’d gone full emo: replete with black skinny jeans that seemed to make him incredibly uncomfortable… he had to admit it, he didn’t look nearly as good in tight pants as Josh had.
The only thing missing from the ensemble was a heavy dose of raccoon eyeliner, but apparently that was too frightening for a boy with such crippling self-loathing around his own sexual orientation. The thought of being even remotely gender-nonconforming seemed to give him panic symptoms.
Everything from his wardrobe that reminded him of his authentic self and genuine preferences had been cast aside. All his favorite flannel shirts were shoved to the back of his closet (one could say that at this point, it was far from the only part of his identity hidden in the closet.)

He looked at himself in the mirror, scrutinizing his reflection with a hard blank stare. Something wasn’t right.
He roughly raked his fingers through his shaggy brown hair, letting it droop over his forehead until it nearly hid one of his tired blue eyes.
Max no longer looked anything like himself.
Perfect.
The last thing he wanted to look like was himself.

Just as he turned around, ready to return to his bed for another hour of staring despondently at the wall, Max felt his phone buzz in his pocket. His eyes lit up just as fast.
As fast as he could, he pried the phone out of his skinny jeans and flicked it on, assuming the notification was another message from Graham… who was, so far, the only person he’d confided in as to what he was going through. The giant ginger landscaper had become someone Max felt safer telling things to, being the only one of his friends who wasn't still in high school. Even with Graham, though, Max couldn’t share everything that happened on Halloween– he couldn’t even bring himself to use the word gay.

But it wasn’t Graham messaging him just now.

It was a notification from the local news network. Instantly disappointed and preemptively bored, Max rolled his eyes, slumping backwards onto his desk chair to read the update, expecting it to be something boring like a weather update or a car robbery downtown–
“CHIEF OF POLICE FOUND DEAD IN DUMPSTER - EVIDENCE INCONCLUSIVE”

What!?
Max nearly stopped breathing right then and there.
Nearly a dozen suspects, four supposed witnesses– but no solid leads, no conclusive evidence. That was what the article said, as of 8 AM that morning.
Of course they had no leads. The Joplin police were useless schlubs. Max was sure that if he was in charge of the case, it’d be solved in just…
Wait a minute.
Max Berkowitz got an idea. A surge of adrenaline- and testosterone-fueled impulse that seemed to promise to yank him out of his spiral of self-hatred and give him a purpose. He could see it now: the whole city buzzing with excitement about the teenage detective who solved the unsolvable homicide case, the new chief of police pinning a badge to his flannel shirt, all his friends running up to hug him and congratulate him, Josh taking him by the shoulders and–

Before he could talk himself out of the delirious and more-than-slightly delusional compulsion to go out there and investigate the case himself, he was packing up his school backpack with note paper and pens and a camera and charging out the door onto the street, texting a few friends along the way… he was going to need a team, especially if he was going to get into a few of the places he was going to need access to in order to conduct the search properly.

Hopefully someone with a car could come along. If Max had to sprint to all these different corners of the city on foot, he was probably going to end up passing out.







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lyle



starfall king












(TW: this bitch on cocaine, descriptions of vomiting)

November 10th, 2013. Lyle Lapointe was sitting in his crappy apartment after a long day at work. Waiting tables had to be the worst job in the world, and it paid peanuts. People treat you like shit, like you aren't even human. It was even worse when people recognized him, which wasn't often since he'd changed a lot from his TV days, but sometimes he'd get a wayward comment like hey, didn't you run over some lady awhile back?

It was an ACCIDENT.

Fucking hell.

But he managed to scrounge up enough extra money in his designated Special Treats Jar that he could buy one of the few things that gave him pleasure. Sweet fairy dust. Nose candy. Colombian marching powder. Es la cocaina. After two lines, he was feeling great. Ended up leaving the house in a suit jacket, and got absolutely fucked by some... woman? Now he couldn't remember, but hopefully it was a woman. They had long hair... probably. Maybe? Whatever, it felt fucking incredible. He pounded midori sours and danced and pissed in an alleyway, some chick asked him "aren't you Little Rusty" and he definitely said something like "girls call me Big Rusty now" and she either scoffed and walked away or did unspeakable things with him in the bathroom.

November 11th. Lyle Lapointe woke up with his eyelids crusted together. His nose had been bleeding all night and left gross red stains all over his pillow. He staggered to the bathroom and hurled up a relative ocean of gross green midori sour puke that looked like Ecto-Cooler. His head throbbed, and he laid on the bathroom floor for a minute.

He was just about to call out from work when someone knocked on his door, so he threw on a stained white shirt, some jeans and some flip-flops. His head swam with angry little fish and his belly rolled with the remains of all that green melon liqueur he slugged back. He answered, still wiping blood off of his face and realized it was the police. The police? Are you serious? Do people ACTUALLY care if you do cocaine in this fucking city?

"Hubwuh?" He rubbed his eyes.

"Mister Lapointe?"

"No."

"It says right here you are Mister Lapointe."

"Uh-uh. Didn't do nothin'. Fuck." He bent over, feeling another potential onslaught coming on, but nothing happened. "Please leave me alone."

"Well, uh, why don't you come down to the station with us?"

"Please don't. I really... Not today. Tomorrow?"

One of the cops tugged him out from his doorway, and he immediately leaned over and bit the officer on the shoulder. He was quickly shoved against the wall, and some kind of crime muzzle was tugged over his face. Not the cool kind like Hannibal Lecter wore, though, it was some dumbass looking piece of hard plastic. He was also handcuffed -- safety measure. Out of options, Lyle let out a rather undignified scream as he was hauled down the stairs of the Chalamet and into a car.

"Did we really have to cuff him?" one of the officers asked. The other replied,

"He fucking BIT me, Stevens, YES we had to cuff him." He groaned. "Remind me to get tested for rabies later."

On the drive over, Lyle rose as much hell as he possibly could, though that mostly involved flailing around like a lunatic and kicking everything. He at the very least got them to remove the stupid bite mask after he vomited inside of it. (Some got on the seat, which meant this bad boy was out of commission for cleaning. Score one for Lapointe!)

He was stuffed into a cell and told to wait there until it was his turn.

"My turn for what? Why the FUCK am I here?"

"Suspicion of murdering a police chief."

"I- are you fucking serious?"

"Sure, you've done it before."

"That was- that was a mistake! I wouldn't... I mean, come on..." The two officers looked at each other and started walking away. "Fuck's sake, at least uncuff me, come on! You stupid- HEY! ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME? GET BACK HERE!"











































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NOVEMBER 11TH.

Ren’s expression and hold on a ham sandwich made it no secret;

he found them all weirdly pathetic.

Cutting a figure of ink, disavowing gaze slipped over each mourner. Icy as northern wind that would strip warmth, curiosity bled to a taste of masochism upon seeking out the memorial. From regolith upheaved a rogue vessel of his own grief, sails of seafoam and planks of salty suppuration anchored to the white-spun framework of his bones; a bitter longing.

After spending childhood trying not to need someone, it didn’t stop the feeling of want.

Attitude and teeth whittled into blade-point javelins at the city’s clamour of cop talk, he rationalised that indulging impulsive temptation wouldn't unburden these feelings, the sour palate and malaise of discontent. Knew trashing the memorial of candles and flowers wouldn’t complete a missing piece, wouldn’t secure a bleeding wound of an absent parent.

A ghost-ship plagued with chronic paucity, he’d look past the emptiness that penned letters and monitored phone calls couldn’t furnish. Ignore former ages where he’d spend nights verging on prayer for him to come home. A hollow each birthday, each extended sentence, each disappointing substitute that would settle at his mother’s side; not my dad.

He could make the hurt something false, lacquer bronze over rust. Knit the wound with an illusion thread if it meant he could pretend indifference.

Honesty was one of the few luxuries Ren had no interest in having.

Outside of personal grudges with law enforcement, he found that cops asked too many questions. They never laughed at his jokes shared from the back of a patrol car, and somehow made getting handcuffed an incredibly boring experience.

Stripper cops would never treat him like that.

And a stripper would never receive a memorial such as thus: framed photo encircled by wreaths and an amber puddle of fire. Ren watched from a distance as civilians syphoned down the waterfront, successors of sympathy setting bouquets and candles in twilight swells of performative grief.

What misconstrued little people.

In the company of nobody with a focus on his sandwich, Ren’s mind roamed. Weaving both aimless and purposeful to a daily siege upon body and mind. He’d never been the type to torture himself with mindless optimism. But in quiet solitude did it stir, basking childish in the returning hope he might get to spend time with Dante later.

And just like the Joplin pigs and young detective hoodlums running amok, Ren had been conducting his own investigation. Equally as important—if not more so, searching for answers not even Einstein himself could decipher; Theory of Relativity rendered child's play in comparison.

How to know if a guy likes you.

It was completely unrelated to any suit-wearing lawyer he’d frequent.

It wasn’t about Dante.

It wasn’t.

Stop.

Ren just loved to learn. It was good to know the weaknesses of the male species, lest they attempt despicable behaviours such as not wearing deodorant or punching holes in walls. And since Ren loved learning, there was nothing wrong with using the Italian as a lab-rat.

The mangoes? An act of seduction. And dare he say in his highly educated opinion, incredibly romantic.

Done purely for the sake of analysis, of course.

He’d failed to notice euphemism when drunk googling “DO MEN LIKE MANGOES” at 2am, and began a weekly task of finding the most voluptuous fruit he could give to the lawyer.

Because men prefer large mangoes.

Google said so.

Ren had also failed to notice giving someone a mango every week was rather strange, but ignorance was bliss.

A newer complication, the paranoia that would occasionally flutter his chest like moths around a streetlight. Fear of becoming a stupid homebody waiting on calls and texts from a man who, on all accounts, appeared straight to the public eye, definitely did not bother Ren at all.

Nope.

Not at all.

He was handling it all very fine and normal and soon he’ll go buy another perfect voluptuous mango that Dante will love and enjoy having and everything will be good and—

It took a moment to register someone nearby, a phosphorescent blur of strawberry blonde that stained the periphery. Palette of dishwater, built skeletal with all the joy of a microwavable meal.

A homeless person.

Not a rare sight in Joplin, and not an experience Ren was a total stranger to.

“Hey Scruffy,” caught in a charitable mood and anticipating a question of spare change, the klepto decided he could relinquish some sandwich. “If you wanted to schmooze, at least be discreet about it.”

He tore the bread in half and offered a piece. Giving his hand a gentle motion like tempting in a stray pale dog.

“Here, just so you quit sulking.”
























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Kenzie























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As Kenzie approached Teo she could see the confusion on his face and heard the tone shift as he greeted her. He had no idea who she was and it was obvious even though Teo was clearly trying to be friendly about it.

Her eyes shifted to the bar in front of him as she tried to gauge how much he had to drink already, it was hard to tell how drunk he actually was tho and she couldn't help but wonder if he had already taken something else, or continued to since they bumped into each other two days ago.

Kenzie smirked as she took a seat beside Teo trying to decide whether to be honest or to mess with him. Being drunk herself Kenzie decided on the latter and the smirk on her expression turned into one of betrayal and shock. "Teo, my love, do you not remember me?" she asked a tone of hurt and despair in her voice as she spoke, she allowed her lip to quiver to really sell the act as she took a shaky breath and looked down at the counter in front of them, playing with the sleeves of her jumper to fake nervousness.

"I should have listened when they warned me... " she continued as though talking to herself "I thought you loved me too" with big doe eyes Kenzie looked back up at Teo, fighting of the laugh threatening to errupt as she watched his expression. "Forever and always you know" she said quietly her eyes pleading with Teo to remember her as though he was her one true love. She fidgeted with the ring on her left hand, while it was not on the marriage finger, she was assuming that if he was drunk enough to not remember the girl he partied with two days ago, or had lit bottle rockets off with in summer, the girl who had dated one of his friends, well then she assumed he wouldn't recognize the wrong finger.

Was she going to hell? Yes.

Was she going to have fun to get there? Most definitely.







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Oliver




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syml



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Life in the Dreyfuss household had more than just turned upside-down; it had collided like a hurtling asteroid into another asteroid of equal narcissistic-abusive mass and exploded into unimaginable chaos and fiery debris.

Metaphorically, that is.

Oliver didn’t love metaphors. Why make things more confusing and less clear? If one were to ask him what had happened to his family over the last week, he’d simply say, in his usual stilted stammer, “My mom is marrying Ashley’s dad now, which means that now Ashley’s dad is MY dad and my mom is Ashley’s mom and Ashley is my sister and I’m her brother and all three of my sisters are Ashley’s sisters too and Ashley’s baby brother is my brother and I don’t even like babies.”

It went without saying that Oliver hated change. Always had.
The status quo was painful enough, but at least it was predictable. He had developed ways to manage his everyday problems, that couldn't always be applied to new problems. So, naturally, he’d been extremely on edge: anxious, argumentative, fidgety. The school had noticed this sudden shift in his behavior as reflected in his declining grades, and perhaps his friends had noticed too, but no one could do anything to intervene in this most unholy of matrimonies.
The only shred of good that had come out of this whole disaster is that his mother had been mostly ignoring him all week to canoodle with her new fiancé.

That did leave a developmentally-challenged 15-year-old almost completely responsible for his own welfare and safety, though… he had some support in the form of saved-up cash from Kaz’s “errands”, and he could always reach out to his surprisingly strong network of friends from school and around the neighborhood (the Chalamet Kids were an odd but inseparable bunch), but, in the interest of not blowing through his savings or becoming too dependent on anyone else, he more often than not resorted to doing a little of his own foraging for necessities…

…And that’s exactly what he was doing when he noticed a purple, bloody dead man's arm lying partially buried amongst the waste in the trash dumpster.


To say that Oliver's meeting with the police to discuss what he'd found was unhelpful to the investigation would be something of an understatement.
At the very least, he was smart enough not to bring his own knife to meet with law enforcement, so thankfully he wasn't arrested himself; just yelled at and berated by impatient adults, which is something that he was more than used to.

They had brought the boy into the same small, uncomfortable room where they question all the other suspects and witnesses... something like a little cell plastered floor-to-ceiling in white linoleum, with metal chairs that screeched horribly on the floor every time they were moved.
From the very beginning, he had been uncomfortable and uncooperative with their attempt at a gentle interrogation. Leading questions like "What were you looking for in the trash?" were answered either with long-winded ramblings about the foraging habits of juvenile Loggerhead sea turtles, or with pleas to get up and leave the room, or with stubborn silence. They let him leave three or four hours later, releasing him back to the custody of his furious mother and future stepfather, having learned nothing useful about the crime.
They would not be questioning him again... not for this case, at least. But if the notes they'd taken were any indication, there was reason to keep a closer eye on him from now on.

And all that unbearable disaster circus, from the engagement of his mother to the dead body in the dumpster, and the tension it was already causing around the Dreyfuss apartment, was why Oliver had decided to ditch his home down the fire escape and spend the rest of the evening out on the streets: maybe run some supplies for Kaz and his company, or just mill around the city docks and try to score some cigarettes. He certainly wasn't going to risk being around his family tonight, now that they were all angry at him for screwing up his investigation.
Comparatively, a few hours out wandering in the bitter cold November wind felt far safer.







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mallory hawke



  • .



tw: mentions of drugs/drugging
The week had gone by without any significant events happening, Mallory spent most of her week home alone, wasting the evenings away on social media. All was quiet until one day while at school, passing by a table at lunch, she overheard that someone would be home alone during the weekend. They had invited over someone, but there was no definite answer whether they would be arriving at said house or not, so Mallory took this as a perfect way to get alone time with him finally.

Alone time with Joshua Jones, that's all she needed to finally get the kiss from him and the bet would be over between her and her friends. There was absolutely no reason for this thing to be going on for such a long time, but Mallory doesn't back down from a challenge, she would be successful. By the time the weekend had come around, she still hadn't come up with a reason that she would show up at the boy's house. That was when a notification came across her phone, almost like it was divine intervention.

BREAKING NEWS
"A body has been found at the Chalamet Building, all residents are recommended to stay home until further notice."

A smile spread across the girl's face, this was the perfect excuse to just randomly show up at his place. Packing up her bag, she placed a few Xanax in a baggy and crushed them up, she didn't really want to use them, but she was getting desperate. After carefully placing them everything in her purse, she grabbed her car keys and prepared herself to face what was about to happen. Would he even open the door? That was a risk that she was willing to take honestly.

Pulling up into the driveway of the Jones' residence, she grabbed her bag, and hopped out of her car, approaching the door. She adjusted her outfit and proceeded to knock, waiting only but a few seconds before it opened. There he was, she was face to face with the boy that was making her seem desperate. "Oh," that's the first thing that he says? How fucking rude.

“H-hey…? Uh… You… ok?” He continued.

Mallory adjusts the look on her face, giving a slight appearance of shock as if she didn't know he had lived here. "What a coincidence, I didn't know this was your place." She leans in a little to see the inside of his house, "Anyways, I was driving home, and my car just broke down out of nowhere. And the mayor said that nobody should really be out since there's a..." Her voice drops to almost a whisper, as though the perpetrator would be able to hear her. "Murderer on the loose."

With a light push, she makes her way into the house, moving past Josh without saying another word to him. She makes her way to the kitchen, setting her purse up on the counter, practically making herself at home. "Do you have anything to drink?" She speaks as she continues to look around the house, taking in all the decorations and design choices. It looked as though nobody even lived at the place, like it was set up for a viewing to be sold, it was the most awkward place that she had probably ever been.






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teo choi



  • .



“Teo, my love, do you not remember me?”

I’m sorry, what?

Panic set in through his body as Kenzie spoke. What had he done?! The boy made a quick glance around himself to confirm if the girl before him was in fact talking to him and not someone else. There must’ve been at least three other Teos within this place, right? He couldn’t be the only one. She had taken a seat next to him, her body language resembling someone who had just had their heart thrown into a bucket full of glass and buried with sand. The more she spoke, his eyes only continued to widen in panic despite thinking he was keeping it all together so calmly and cooly. When she mentioned that she thought he loved her too, he couldn’t help but involuntarily gulp.

“I-I mean…” he stuttered over his words, “I… do... love you?”

Dark eyes flickered from the girl’s giant doe eyes to her hand to see what she was fidgeting with: a ring. Just when he thought he couldn’t get his eyes any wider, pure shock and horror fell upon his face. His eyes almost pinged in pain as they widened as far as they possibly physically could, followed by a giant, deep inhale, as if his brain went into evacuation mode, pressing the autopilot before abandoning ship. His vision snapped from the ring on her hand to her face and then to his own hands, examining them. Where was his damn ring? “Oh fuck… she’s gonna kill me” he whispered under his breath as he examined his fingers and found a lack of some sort of wedding ring that he was apparently meant to have?

Slowly, scared that moving too quickly could set off some explosion, he turned back to the girl to examine her face. The first thing he noticed at that moment was how she did look somewhat familiar. The other thing was… wasn’t… wasn’t she too young to be in a place like this? And then it hit him; she was friends with Drew. She was too young to be in a place like this. Oh God. His face went completely white upon the realisation. “Tell me we’re not married. I’m not a pedophile” he muttered in a full breath, almost too scared to say it any louder. It was at that moment a bartender approached them, obviously to ask the girl what she would like to drink. Without any hesitation or second thought, Teo swung towards the worker and blurted out to them.

“I’m not a pedophile” he said confidently and in a determined manner to the tender. “Because that is… very wrong. Pedophiles deserve to not, you know… fuck… uh… Shit - what is it called when you live near like a school and shit?” He paused, his little brain ticking over as he attempted to discover such a word. And then, a light switch flicked in his head. “SURBURBIA!” He cried out, his hand shooting into the air as if he was a child in desperate need of answering a teacher’s question. With his waving hand, he brought it back down to the countertop and smacked it with a flat open palm. “Pedophiles should not be allowed to live in suburbia areas!”






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joshua jones



  • .



What would Jehovah do?

It echoed in his mind as he watched Mallory push her way through the door and into the house, her heels clacking against the wooden floor. Deep inside, he was internally screaming. There were so many rules he was breaking right now from just having Mallory come inside like this. The first rule: No visitors while his parents were away. The only people allowed to be in the house were family or church members, and even with the church members, there had to be more than two at a time. The second rule was he technically wasn’t allowed to be with girls by himself. His parents would have an absolute field day if they came home to him not only having a visitor with no one home but if it was a girl? He'd be grounded for life, regardless of age. And finally, the most significant rule of all - no shoes inside. It was a grounded rule within the Jones house, established and demanded by their mother.

As Mallory made her way into the house, each click clack sound that her heels made against the flooring was like being pinned down in a Chinese water torture machine. His eyes flickered towards the rack of slippers next to the door, all aligned perfectly and ready for use. Now it was the guessing game; what size were Mallory Hawke’s feet? Did she have the same size as his mother, or maybe as Mary? Or maybe even… Joshua glanced down at his own feet, which were nice and snug in their own pair of tanned slippers. Did she have the same size foot as him…? Would it be too rude to ask her? It wasn’t like he spent his days staring at her feet to know her foot size.

Still somewhat dazed from this whole situation, Joshua closed the door and reached over to the slipper rack, pulling a pair of Mary’s. He was just going to have to assume that they were the same size. Now… Wait… Where did Mallory go? Slight panic ran through his chest, anxious of what the girl might actually do walking through his house. Like a bull in a Chinaware shop, there was a fear that the girl would go about touching things that even he wasn’t allowed to touch. After all, despite the Jones family being here since their eldest was born, it felt oddly untouched. There was a great lack of ornaments and clutter within the household it was almost like no one lived there at all. The only room that brought any substance to the house was the living room which had a large bookcase expanding across the wall, filled with religious texts, and a rather large family portrait hanging over the fireplace.

Following the sounds of the clicking heels, Joshua entered the kitchen just in time to witness the girl place her purse on the countertop and ask for something to drink. “O-oh, sure. We… only have water, though, if that’s ok?” he stuttered. Where were his manners? “Uh… by the way,” he watched as she began to gaze around her environment, taking slow steps next to follow her. “Really sorry but uh…” He gazed down at her shoes before looking back up to her. Why was it so hard to just ask her to take her shoes off? He began to fidget with the slippers in his hands, running his fingers over the fabric. “We’re a shoes off house” There we go. You finally managed to spit it out. “So… no shoes inside… Um… I have some slippers? If you want to put them on?”

And then it dawned on him. What if she was insecure about her feet? What would Jehovah do “I mean uh… You - you don’t have to take your shoes off if you don’t want to?” he was stumbling over his words more than a tumbling gymnastic at the Olympics. “Just… you know. Family rules”







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weldherwings weldherwings































It was a difficult task but Kenzie managed to keep the hurt look on her face throughout the conversation, pretending that her heart had just been ripped out her chest by the very man sitting beside her. She watched as he appeared to panic looking from her finger to his own and lowered her head so to stop Teo seeing the amused smirk break across her lips as he seemed to realise he didn't have his ring.

His face went white and Kenzie raised an eyebrow as she decided she may have gone to far and should probably come clean but the next words out of Teo's mouth completely shocked her and she couldn't help the laughter that erupted. Her eyes were wide in pure amusement laced with confusion as to why he was screaming this inside Peaches and particularly at the waitress.

After what felt like hours, Kenzie finally regained some control of her body as she got her laughing under control. She turned to Teo, tears rolling down her cheeks and a pain in her stomach from laughing so hard. Seeing the still horrified expression on his face almost brought on a new wave of laughter and she bit her lip hard to stop it from happening.

"Your not a pedophile" a tone of amusement was still laced in her voice as she tried to sound serious in that moment, she realised she may have gone a little too far but also decided that if his brain went immediately to pedophile then she could not be held accountable for the way he thinks.

"Teo, its me, Kenzie, we're not married" she confirmed before a smirk broke onto her lips "and you can continue to live in Suburban areas" Kenzie looked back at the waitress with an apologetic look "sorry, he didn't take his meds this morning, has no control over what he says, just ignore him" she said before ordering a vodka coke and turning back to Teo "now stop shouting that or your going to get me kicked out" her voice barely more than a whisper as she said this a tone of seriousness present as she looked around to see who had actually heard his meltdown.






♡coded by uxie♡
 
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