Realistic or Modern guess who? (a slasher rp)

[Walliver]

The town of Blackgrove was not often visited by misfortune. It was quiet and undisturbed by the plagues of city life. Or, at least, that was the lie the town sold. In reality, it was filled to the brim with corruption and lies. The recent murder of Darren Russell set this lying town on edge. School was on reduced hours and a curfew was put out. The vice mayor- Darren’s father- refused to make a statement, though the mayor herself stressed the need for so called “privacy.”

Lurch had a secret of his own: how to get annoying customers to shut up and pay. A simple cry of, “get Lurch,” and most customers immediately clammed up and left. He was an intimidating presence around the coffee shop- to the customers and new hires at least. His silence and stature were a bit overwhelming for anyone, especially people who knew they weren’t doing the right thing.

Imagine this:

You- possibly a middle-aged woman named Karen or Deborah- are yelling at a teenage barista for adding two pumps of French vanilla instead of two pumps of sugar-free vanilla. It’s an honest mistake, but your brain can’t handle the existence of such a thing. The new hire quivers beneath your harpy screech, as all people are supposed to do. Another barista sees this and calls for a “Lurch.” Your mind brings up, perhaps, the Addams Family character. The man that walks out of the back rooms is nothing short of it.

He is impossibly tall- why is this kid not playing professional basketball? His face and frame are skeletal, all sharp edges. He is silent as he slinks from behind the counter to face you. He has to lean down quite a bit to meet your eyes- which he does with a deliberateness that makes your knees knock together. He opens his mouth to speak, and a voice like your worst nightmare graces your ears.

“Pay and leave.”

Ok, you can stop imagining now.

Lurch was the beloved manager of Blackgrove’s very own Java Joe’s. He was rarely ever the center of attention, and that was the way he preferred things. Unfortunately, since Darren Russell had once been an employee at Java Joe’s- a part time summertime employee at that- the gossipers of the town were quick to jump on him.

“When did you last hear from Darren?”
“Were there any warnings that something was going to happen to him?”
“Did he have any enemies?”
“Is the 2 for 1 special only on scones or can I add in a croissant?”

Lurch grumbled and moved back behind the counter. Just another day in Blackgrove.

 

[Hvnny-Bvns0]

Jingling the bell that hung above the door, Steph entered the coffee shop. A smart, witty young girl who had never dreamed of leaving Blackgrove. Especially not after what happened to Darren. Steph spent her days investigating cold cases, but today- she had a different research topic in mind. Sure, it was still a murder, but it was one that landed closer to home. Walking up to the counter, she ordered her usual:
”One caramel macchiato with pumpkin spice and cinnamon,“ she ordered, without even greeting the cashier. Despite her wits and light-hearted character, she was often a bit of an asshole to other people. Especially when it came to what she wanted. She wasn’t stubborn, so much as it had to be the right thing or nothing at all. She finally looked up to the cashier- intimidated by Lurch, sure- but she didn’t show it.

 

[ingydars]

thatcher sinclair.

tree-hugging dirt worshipper.

THATCHER SINCLAIR ALWAYS thought of the town of Blackgrove as a second home.

Their original home (if one could call it that) was hostile and terrifying and lonely. When Thatcher thought of her early childhood days up until now, they didn't have happy memories of home. All they could remember was arguments and violence, the blame of it all falling upon their brother, Henry. It was Henry's fault as to why their parents' marriage was so dysfunctional and violent. It was Henry's fault as to why the Sinclair name would forever be stained. But it was Thatcher's fault as to why nothing good could ever come to her and her family.

Their children were a curse, and their parents never failed to remind them of that.

Thatcher hated being home. Despite the Sinclair home being very spacious and having far too many rooms for a family of four, there weren't enough rooms to hide in. There was no escape when they were home. Home was where you were supposed to be comfortable and happy. But those were the last two emotions Thatcher could ever feel. She was always on edge and they were cautious, fearful of the next argument her parents would have.

Most of the time, their arguments were something physical. They'd end up throwing things across the room at one another or they'd actually put their hands on each other. There was nothing more damaging to a child's innocence than seeing your mom threatening to kill your dad from across the dinner table. The fucked up part was that they managed to blame Henry and Thatcher for that too. The even more fucked up part was that they believed them. After all, if you get told something long enough, it's easier for you to believe it.

Because of that, it was easy for the Sinclair siblings to believe that it was all their fault. That if they hadn't been born, their parents wouldn't be so screwed up. There was no reason for them to think, for one second, that they might have been innocent and that their parents were the ones to blame. How could they be?

Their father was the first of the Sinclair family to settle down in Blackgrove, but Thatcher would be the first to actually escape it.

Thatcher already feels like they've made a terrible mistake.

They shouldn't be here and yet here there were, breaking their dad's rules. Thatcher has a feeling, deep down, that it probably wouldn't have mattered. In order for Jonathan to care about his only daughter, he had to love them. And Thatcher had known from a young age that their father didn't even like them. Thatcher had tried for the longest time but nothing they could do was good enough.

Their refuge had been their mom for the longest time.

Whenever Thatcher remembers her mom, she chooses to focus on the best memories first. Them going to the park together or her sneaking them an extra piece of sponge cake behind their dad's back. Whenever Thatcher got a good result on a test or she got any sort of minor accomplishment, their mom would be the first person Thatcher told.

But Thatcher also remembered the bad. Enough bad that made it easier for them to sneak out every morning and return home at some ungodly hour. Her mother always took care of their father when the time came for dinner, made some sad excuse that she was at Candy's, or out at the library too late. She had little idea of her daughter's escapades, and she'd rather have it kept that way.

Walking alone along the backroads of Blackgrove, Thatcher could almost hear their brother now. "What would mom say if she saw you out like this?" Probably lock me in my room and ground me until my 30s. But it was too late to turn back now, too far from home and too close to the town's main square, the brunette stopped at the edge of the road and stuck their thumb out. All that was left was to sit and hope.

walking the main road into town | x |

coded by weldherwings.

 

[Walliver]

Cadenza Moon- or, Candy, as she was better known- did not make a habit of driving in aimless circles. While circles were a comforting shape and, in the aftermath of a gruesome murder, she was in need of some comfort, it was not in her best interests to waste gasoline- diesel at that. But her gut told her to drive, so she obeyed.

Her gut was never wrong. Ever. Her eyes scanned the side of the road and fell upon the familiar figure of her opposite-aesthetic friend, Thatcher. Funny, she usually didn’t see Thatch anywhere other than the thrift store and by the fruit trees in the plaza. Maybe they had snuck out again- their mom was a notorious jerk with some kind of complex. Not that it was Candy’s place to judge, but it kind of was.

The neon pink van screeched to a stop next to Thatcher. Candy winced at the noise, reaching over to unlock the door for them.

“Howdy, friend. I was heading to the thrift store, you can tag along.” She spoke brightly, although a slight frown accompanied her words. “You shouldn’t be out here by yourself after what just happened. The police haven’t released a profile of the killer yet; it could be anyone.” Shaking her head, Candy switched topics. “A-Anyway, there should be a whole new haul at the thrift shop. People have been in and out with boxes all day.”

ingydars

 

[ingydars]

thatcher sinclair.

tree-hugging dirt worshipper.

WHEN THATCHER WAS nine they found a dead bird on the playground. It was an ugly little thing with lifeless, sable eyes that reminded her of two black holes on either side of its head. It was a starling — invasive species, but isn't everyone in America? Some would probably say that it's a good thing for the creature to be dead. It wasn't good, it wasn't bad. It just was.

Thatcher blinks, their youthful features scrunching up as she stares down at the still bird. It looks at her with its dead eyes and she looks back like a reflection. Then they pick it up, feeling it's stiff body in their tiny hands, and lowers it into their backpack. They take it home to their mother, though Dorothea can already smell the rotting corpse that had spent way too much time in the sweltering sun. She throws it out as soon as Thatcher enters, and Thatcher's is left to sit out on the back porch and watch of the bird's body — it's not like it has anyone else to.

They buried it in the neighbor's garden under the veil of night with only the moon to mourn the little bird. Later, from the dirt grows a patch of wildflowers, and this is the closest Thatcher comes to believing in rebirth. Her neighbor rips them out as soon as they appear and tosses them into the Sinclairs' yard. Thatcher presses them between two books — Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar and Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five. The world is ugly and Thatcher learns that people don't appreciate beautiful things.

Now, as Thatcher sits in the hard frontseat of Candy's van, slumped back with their legs stretched out in front of them, staring out the window at anything but Candy, she wants to be that bird more than ever. They knew that Darren Russell's death was something spoken about carefully. Thatcher's parents seemed to enjoy dancing around the topic at the dinner table. Their curious eyes fell to their lap, breathing a deep sigh through their nostrils. They decided to keep their thoughts to themselves, they knew that Candy meant well. She always meant well. Always radiating optimism, Candy was something of a beacon of light for Thatcher. A friend, mentor, and chauffeur.

Thatcher readjusts in their seat, well aware weight of silence in the van, but she only looks on impassively. "Thanks," they paused, as if searching for the words. "For not leaving me to walk. Although I'd be more worried about catching someone's attention in a neon pink van." Thatcher cracked what can only be described as a shit-eating sideways grin, clearly proud of their little remark. This was probably the most they'd talked all week, Candy had that sort of effect on her. Her liveliness was contagious. "Anyway, let's get there before we have to swat off any old ladies."

candy's van | x | Walliver

coded by weldherwings.

 

[Walliver]

Lurch was thankful for the simple order, believe it or not. Some people walked through the door thinking it was a Starbucks and that their request for a venti strawberry cream Frappuccino with extra whip and no strawberries would be honored without complaint. Lurch would have preferred a punch directly in the face to whatever monstrous concoction out-of-towners tended to order. He poured the coffee into their usual to-go cups, sprinkling in the spices as requested.

“One caramel macchiato with pumpkin spice and cinnamon.” He echoed, setting the cup on the counter. “$3.45.”

Any brain well-adjusted to the sky high prices of the aforementioned pretentious coffee joint would call this highway robbery. Less than four dollars for a coffee, with add-ins? Outrageous. Normal pricing for Java Joe’s, however, barely graced five dollars, even if you ordered a large seasonal drink.

I always get hung up on the prices.

Lurch thought to himself, looking out at the rather short line for coffee. Funny, Java Joe’s was almost always packed. People were scared, certainly, but what kind of idiot would kill someone in the middle of a coffee shop? This whole murder thing was beginning to hurt business.

Hvnny-Bvns0

 

[Walliver]

(open for interactions)

Protective parents did not always suck. For example, after the suspicious murder of one of Leonard “Lemongrass” Ross’ classmates, his parents made him stay home from work and school. No work and no school meant a full day of being downstairs and playing the drums. Absolute score.

Lemongrass hummed under his breath, tapping out a more gentle rhythm than the previous song. Whaling on the drums was great, but not every song required a drum solo of epic proportions. It was okay to take a backseat to the guitar sometimes. Only sometimes though. His hand clenched and unclenched rapidly, resulting in the loss of one of his sticks. He winced at the audible clang against the snare.

“Haha, shoot. Haha, shoot. Haha.”

Lemongrass blinked, neck twitching. He waited for the twitching to subside before bending down to pick up his lost drumstick.

“Okay. Let’s try that again. This time, try not to lose the drumstick.” He shook his head, resuming the drum pattern where he left off.

He got bored after about two hours.

“Ma, could I at least go to the plaza? There’s plenty of people there, not to mention the police patrol there every so often…” Lemongrass made a pouty face, the one that had gotten him a PS4 and a skateboard. He watched his mom sigh and roll her eyes.

“Fine, as long as someone we know picks you up.”

“Sweet!”

 

[Hvnny-Bvns0]

Steph picked it up with a hum, taking a sip, and gagged.

”Didn‘t I say almond milk?“ She looked at Lurch. While intimidated by him, her afternoons were spent ghost hunting and watching internet creepypastas. She’d seen horrors beyond human comprehension in her time on the internet. “I’m lactose intolerant,” She stated. “I asked for almond milk in it.”

Walliver

 

[Hvnny-Bvns0]

“Lem!” Jack-Dane called from the kitchen. “You’re out of Goldfish crackers!” He shook the empty bag, stepping into Lemongrass’s line of sight. He was clad in a band shirt, a flannel, mismatched socks, and… a pair of Lemongrass’s shorts. Typical.

He tossed his hair, messing it up. Not that it already wasn’t. His dark hair was wild, and oh, so greasy. He really needed to shower- sometimes he forgot that he could just shower whenever he wanted. He sauntered over to Lemongrass and his mom, making a note of greeting the woman, before turning to Lemongrass. “Where’re we going?”

Walliver

 

[Walliver]

Lurch had an incredible memory. He would have remembered if the teen had ordered almond milk- which they did carry. He turned back to the machines and prepared the drink once again, adding in the requested almond milk instead of the standard order. He set the cup on the counter.

“$3.95.” He held himself back from grumbling. It wouldn’t do any good to be a jerk while there was a murderer on the loose, that would really be bad for business. While he waited for the customer to pay, his phone buzzed. Lem, texting him to pick him up. He rolled his eyes, typing out a quick message to Kieran.

Pick up the small humans for me. Please and thank you.

ingydars
Hvnny-Bvns0

 

[Hvnny-Bvns0]

”Fifty extra cents?” She scoffed. “For almond milk?” She raised an eyebrow, holding her wallet. “I would say that I deserve a lower price because you screwed up my order originally, but I’m not that entitled. I just think it’s a bad business venture to charge more in order to meet dietary needs,” she explained.

She eyed the coffee- she really wanted it, but even more, she wanted to be right.

 

[Walliver]

Lurch pointed to the board with their prices. Coffee flavors, milks, and add-ins were all listed. Scanning down to the row that said “almond milk,” the sign boasted “+50¢.” Almond milk was more expensive to keep in stock and less requested than things like oat or soy milk- hence the increased price.

Lurch did not say that though. The somewhat entitled, rather standoffish customer probably would not have taken that well.

“I apologize for the inconvenience. But I am not making you pay for the first drink.” Lurch typed out a message on his phone, which was underneath the counter, without looking down at it.

Pick me up too. Overstimulated, leaving work early.

ingydars
Hvnny-Bvns0

 

[Loomis]

Sienna

♡

S

ienna entered her favorite coffee shop at her usual time, it was right after her late morning class, and the place was typically quiet. It was her little sanctuary for productivity, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the low hum of machines provided a comforting backdrop to her focused efforts. Her eyes darted to her table, back in the corner away from everyone else, and let out a sigh of relief when she saw it was empty. Last time she was here an older woman had set up shop to have a zoom meeting and the interruption of Sienna’s routine sent her spiraling. She quickly made her way to her table and set down her laptop and book bag before making her way to the counter to order.

Large, iced americano, splash of milk and one pump of sugar free vanilla to fight the bitterness of the coffee. Her stomach let out a cry for food as the smell of the baked goods swirled around her. She bit down on her lip and forced herself to think of what she needed to start on for her paper in hopes to drown out her body's desperate need for food.

“Sienna! Your coffee is ready!”

The barista's voice made her jump, the sudden sound jolting her back to the present. Sienna offered a small smile before she grabbed her coffee and took shelter at her table. Taking a gluttonous sip of her coffee she closed her eyes and let out a satisfied sigh, the coffee here was always perfect. Sienna pushed her coffee slightly to the side and started arranging her belongings; a stack of textbooks and articles, her notebook filled with perfectly written notes, multicolored highlighters, pens and sticky notes peeking out from her bag ready for action.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before the angry woman snapped her out of her trance. Her fingers stopped mid type, and she lifted her icy stare to the back of the woman's head. Who the hell acts like that over a coffee? She tried to refocus on the sentence she was typing but the thought had already disappeared from her head. She could feel her irritation starting to bubble up in her chest, just as she was about to say something to the woman Lurch appeared and handled the situation. The angry woman left in a huff and peace resumed in the shop, but Sienna could not get her mind back onto the task at hand.

“Goddamnit,” She snapped and leaned back in the chair crossing her arms over her chest. Usually she listens to music while she works to keep distractions at bay and it helps greatly in situations like this, but she left her airpods at home. Taking a deep breath in, she stood from the chair and fled to the bathroom.

Gripping the sink she glared at her reflection in the mirror. Focus, Sienna, focus. She pushed herself off the sink and took a step back to fully examine herself in the mirror. Her outfit was more casual than she would have liked, but the Dean kept her out late last night and she overslept and had no time to get ready. Her black shirt she had tucked into her jeans was starting to come undone, furrowing her brow she quickly readjusted the fabric to sit neatly in the waistband of her jeans. Giving herself one final look over she exited the bathroom feeling slightly calmer.

Sienna sat back in front of her laptop and began to read over what she had already typed up in hopes that her train of thought would come back to her. But her mind was already rattled and another wave of delicious scents were attacking her senses. Tipping her head in defeat she once again rose from her chair and meagerly got in line behind the girl at the counter to order something to satisfy the rumbling in her stomach.

location:

Java Joe's

feeling:

Hungry, irritated

sugar coded ♡

 

[Hvnny-Bvns0]

“My point still stands. It isn’t a good business venture to charge extra to meet dietary needs. I can’t stand the taste of other milk alternatives, and can’t spend almost four dollars when I could just spend three-fifty.” She spoke confidently. “Your pricing is stupid.” And with that, she picked up her drink, took a sip, and walked away. She really thought she did something there.

Taking a seat by the window, she pulled out her phone. She continued to shower the internet for leads on the recent murder, mumbling to herself as she did so.

 

[ingydars]

kieran snyder.

god complex, blood sport.

IT IS HARD to forget the past when it is written all over your body, to forget the tragedy when it flows through your veins like when it's emitted into your bones. Scars of nail shaped marks and cigarette burns mark your skin and make you bleed. It's hard to forget when your body language shows others that you've been the long hell and back; shoulders slumped, head down, hands in pockets. When your eyes are tired and your smile is nonexistent.

What is a person to do when they feel nothing?

The October sun was swallowed, flaxen gold with the old of summer, honey combing through the fallen leaves. The heat seller under the skin-surface in swathes of gilded clouds. An ablaze of soft aurelian blanketed the afternoon sky and beamed down on tiny speck that was Earth. Kieran's back was pressed against the rough pallets that was his roof, the warm noon sun glimmered against his face and coated his skin in a thin layer of sweat. Smoke arose toward the clouds as it escaped his lips. He watched as the grayish white aerosol gas swirled around in the sky in a sickly beautiful way.

From below him, he could hear the shuffling and murmurs of people as the walked along the grass by his house. It was days after Darren Russell's body had been discovered. Kieran had no knowledge of the damage on the town till he woke up that morning. He was dead asleep. This cig's for you, Darren.

He took another puff of his cigarette and let the smoke invade his young lungs and let the world go on around him. Climbing onto his roof in the early morming was part of his daily routine. He liked watching the sun peak from above the horizon. It was also the only time of day he could smoke without being scolded by other people.

"Kieran!"

Ignoring the familiar voice, he inhaled more of the smoke and closed his eyes at the releasing feeling. Just a few more seconds until he'd collide with reality.

"I know you're up there, asshole. I can see the smoke!"

Huffing, the blonde rolled over on his stomach and peered down, meeting the eyes of Rafe McCann, his next door neighbor (and first kiss in high school). "The fuck do you want?" He shouted back, his voice sharp and annoyed.

Rafe pointed up at him, the summer sun beaming down on his face. "Don't get snappy. Get your ass down here!"

He gave him the middle finger before carefully slipping back through his bedroom window. The curtains were open and the afternoon sun peered right inside, the floor warm on his bare feet. He threw on his clothes and rushed downstairs, making a mental note to close his window as he walked outside to see Rafe impatiently waiting.

"'Bout time." Rafe commented blankly, popping a piece of gum.

Kieran couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Can I help you, McCann?"

"Yeah," the snively brunette sneered, as if enjoying annoying the shit out of Kieran. "Turn your goddamn ringer off, can hear that shit off my porch. I dunno, close your window or something, cuck."

"Thanks, McCann. Take a hike." He said sarcastically. He watched the brunette walk away and the smile disappeared into a glare. His jaw tightened in anger as he turned back to his apartment door. "Fucking hate that guy."

His feet shuffled through his living room and into the kitchen, where he'd left his phone to charge after breakfast. At the top of his notifications were two messages from Lurch.

 12:34            

lurch    

Pick up the small humans for me. Please and thank you.

Pick me up too. Overstimulated, leaving work early.

Message

His hands were already on his car keys before he finished reading. Kieran put out his cigarette in the sink, tossing it in the trash as he trotted up the stairs. He messily typed out a message as he went about locking down his house to leave- closing his window, brushing his teeth, hiding his emergency box of cigarettes in the metal tin under his mattress. In the years since befriending Lurch, Kieran had learned about Lurch's "rules", how to go about helping him through emotional shutdowns. He rifled through a lower dresser in his bedroom, pulling out a pair of noise-eliminating headphones Lurch had left at his place before. He hopped up off the floor, slipping on the running shoes he'd left in a pile beside the front door. He knew damn well Lurch would hold him back from cussing out the prick that ruined his shift, but that wouldn't stop him from giving the world a piece of his mind.

He found himself cursing under his breath, trudging out the door and half-heartedly locking it behind him. Kieran's thumb slapped the "Send" button as he tossed his phone into the passenger seat. You owe me twenty, dude. $12 for your little shit coworker and $8 for the goddamn parasite basically living there. Hang in there. Turning the key and starting the ignition, Kieran tore down the road like a bat out of hell, driving at least twenty miles over the speed limit towards Lem's house.

The Ross home was something of a short drive through suburban Blackgrove, seven minutes from Kieran's apartment and around fifteen minutes in the wrong direction from Java Joe's. Kieran's Chevy Camaro pulled into the drive, his hand pressing on the horn abruptly. He rolled the passenger side window down, shouting out at the pair when he could see them emerging from the front door. "C'mon, dipshits! We ain't got all day," He made eye contact with them, blue eyes ablaze with annoyance, although his threats were always bark and no bite. "And don't be getting my backseat all dirty, I just cleaned that shit."

lem's driveway | x | Walliver Hvnny-Bvns0

coded by weldherwings.

 

[Walliver]

“I don’t know. Lurch didn’t text back so I guess-” Lem shrugged, turning to Jack-Dane. A sudden shout emanated from the driveway.

“C’mon dipshits, we ain’t got all day!”

“Just kill me now.” Lemongrass groaned, grabbing his go-bag. Kieran picking them up usually meant that Lurch was otherwise unavailable- it didn’t happen a lot, but he knew the drill. There was a spare pair of socks, some sour candies, and a Journey CD in the bag specifically for this kind of situation.

“Hey, Carebear, try not to kill anybody today, alright?” He slid into the backseat with a practiced ease. “At least not before I get a hit in.” He chuckled a bit. Kieran liked to make threats, but rarely followed through on any of them. This rule could definitely be broken for people that hurt Lurch- it was kinda the only thing that they agreed on.

“Ok, all set.” He checked to make sure Jack-Dane was buckled too. “Let’s go.”

ingydars
Hvnny-Bvns0

 

[Hvnny-Bvns0]

“I’m betting on you, Lem,” Jack-Dane grinned. His front tooth was recently chipped, and it showed. His smile was somehow less comforting than a resting face- making him look crazed. He kicked his feet up on the headrest of the seat in front of him: luckily not Kieran’s. Pocketing one of the sour candies, he stared out the window beside him. He was hungry- they were going to Java Joe’s, right? He could get something there. If Lemongrass was feeling nice. He tugged his shorts down, stretching his arms out. He had been awake for hours, but looked like he had just woken up.

He glanced over to Lemongrass, admiring how he looked. The hot rays of afternoon sun made his hair shine, and his eyes sparkle. He often spent car rides doing this. It was easy, as he didn’t have a driver’s license, and tended to just go everywhere with Lemongrass. He leaned his head against the window, sitting position not looking comfortable whatsoever. He turned to look out the window, but kept his eyes trained on Lemongrass. He could admire from afar.

 

[Walliver]

Lurch sighed, trying to shrug off the lingering discomfort from the interaction. He perked up a little at the sight of a familiar face. Sienna was usually kind, unless she was aggravated, and even then he didn’t take it to heart.

“Hello. Back for a pastry to go with your drink?” He questioned lightly, a hint of humor in his voice. It felt fake, plastic. He didn’t mask very often anymore, but he couldn’t exactly go nonverbal in the middle of his shift, even with a ride coming to pick him up. “I would recommend the lemon bars, but the scones are fresher.”

Loomis

 

[Loomis]

Sienna

♡

S

ienna eyed the array of pastries laid out behind the glass shelf. Her body was screaming at her to make a choice but her mind was working against her. She could feel her emotions swirling in her chest, a lump forming in her throat as the panic crept in.

I should have looked up the calories for everything first…

I’m going to have to work out an extra hour to burn off the coffee and pastry…

I had such a large dinner last night too…I shouldn’t be hungry…

I’m disgusting…

“Uh,” Lurch’s humorous voice snatched her attention back. Her eyes darted nervously from the baked goods, to the menu and then to Lurch. “Whatever you recommend is fine,” Sienna finally managed to get out. Embarrassment and regret washed over her as she pulled out her wallet to pay. She was hoping that on the outside she was able to keep a cool, calm, demeanor despite the inner war she had just defeated. Biting down nervously on her bottom lip she wondered how terrifying it would be to tell Lurch nevermind, and go back to her studies.

The smell of the coffee, once enticing and comforting, suddenly felt suffocating. Each sound from the espresso machines made her skin stand on edge, the background chatter bouncing sharply against her ears. She could feel her palms becoming clammy from her heightened state. She needed to ground herself before she absolutely lost it in the middle of the cafe with everyone watching.

location:

Java Joe's

interaction: Walliver

feeling:

Anxious

sugar coded ♡

 

[Walliver]

TW: gore, murder

Velma sat at her desk, contemplating her work for the day. There were some spreadsheets that needed to be updated. Vendors had changed, outputs were increasing, all that baloney. She began to type, but saw something in the corner of her eye. A small glint on her computer screen. She turned around, figuring it was the glare from the lights.

She didn’t even have time to scream. Her throat was slit. Then her lips were cut to shreds. The killer stepped around her body, sitting down in the computer seat. They went to her folders, smirking as they clicked on the one they were looking for. The adoption papers were printed within the minute.

They placed the papers in Velma’s hand and closed her hand around them. Then they left.