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Realistic or Modern ๐ฌ๐ฎ๐ง๐ง๐ฒ๐ฌ๐ข๐๐ž ๐ก๐ž๐ข๐ ๐ก๐ญ๐ฌ โ€” the main, closed.

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minajesty

๐˜ข๐˜ฌ๐˜ข ๐™ˆ๐™„๐™‰๐˜ผ !





















  • intro

















    prologue.



    S
    onder. noun. The realization that each passerby is living a life as vivid and as complex as your ownโ€”populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries, and inherited crazinessโ€”an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you'll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk." โ€” The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows.

    Under a vast sky by day or guided by twinkling stars in the night, what did theirs look like
    ?

    โ–ธโ–ธโ–ธ Welcome to the prologue chapter, my talented writers! Dedicated to writing without restraint, use this chapter to introduce your original characters in a way that showcases who they are. This may look like (these are examples, if you have any ideas of your own, go for it!):

    ใ…คใ…คใ…คโ–ธ An average day in their lives.
    ใ…คใ…คใ…คโ–ธ A significant event that will haunt your character throughout the story.
    ใ…คใ…คใ…คโ–ธ A scene that will transition into the first chapter.
    ใ…คใ…คใ…คโ–ธ The journal entry they're securely tucking against their chest.

    Remember, they are not bound by expectations (the exception being Rpnation rules, of course), and not everyone's day is expected to look the same.































intro



cast








SUNNYSIDE HEIGHTS



an 80's
slice of life.








status



closed







cast count



29







location



various







time



various





















โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 
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josie alvarez
mood
tired, vulnerable.

outfit
garbed in the weekend's sins.

location
1989 los angeles, ca.

tags
n/a.
Once pulsating with energy and surrounded by a kaleidoscope of multicolored hues, it was hard to believe that the City of Angels could transform into something so hypnotic once darkness overwhelmed the skyโ€”especially when the faded yellows and pinks seemed to drain its streets of the vibrancy she had admired days before.

The sun had begun to lick the horizon line, and sidewalks were occupied by suits and ties rather than fishnets and lacey brassieres hugging the frames of women scoping out whichever building outpoured the loudest music. Blaring honks from impatient drivers bored into her skull, seemingly seeping through the translucent plastic of the payphone box she tried to shield herself behind. It wasn't working.

Josanna Alvarez licked the corners of her lips, familiarizing herself with the residue of salt that lingered as her slim fingers wiped away the fresh tears pricking at her cheeks. In her other hand, Washington mindlessly flipped around between her digits, reminding her to drop him into the coin slot with certainty of who to call next.

Her first quarter went tumbling in behind the steel, along with the remaining pride that had kept tears from swelling against her eyes. But after an unwanted response from the one person she had hoped would come to her rescue, her pride dissolved before she could regain her bearings. It gutted her.

All she had left was one last chance to secure some form of comfort, even if it was hours away. Some comfort was better than none. After an exasperated sigh left her lips, she found the strength to push her last quarter inโ€”willing her memory to give her some last-minute grace as she tried to remember a series of numbers.

Rrrrrrring. Rrrrrring. Rrrrrri- "Hello?"

The sound of another voice at the end caused another tear to fall, but this time, it fell with joy.

"Kelly? It's Josie! Y-yeah yeah, I'm okay!" she lied, mentally cursing the stutter she was sure betrayed her words. "You still live at Kowalski's?" Her stomach grew heavy as a pit landed at the bottom, and she closed her eyes at the response she heard at the other end. It wasn't the one she hoped for.

But as if Kelly could hear her thoughts, she provided a warming reprieve again. "Ricky lives there now..?" The beginnings of a smile tugged at her lips at the thought of her brother. Her real protector. He was the one person Josie should have thought to call first, but the last thing she wanted to do was worry him. Nobody could see through her lies like he could, even if her red, puffy face was concealed by distance this time.

Josie startled at Kelly's voice ringing out from the other end again, less-than-graciously pulling her out of her head. "No really, I'm fine," she lied again, this time rerouting the conversation before her long-time friend could ask again. "LA's a drag, I just wanted someone to know I'm coming home soon." At least, it was partially true. Some of her natural confidence began to seep into her tone again the more she talked, knowing that she wouldn't have to stay in a city that traumatized her more than it provided her fun.

Marysville may have been lackluster in comparison, but at least she had familiar faces to put her trust in without hesitation.

Josie's call with Kelly was short-lived, the operator reminding her to feed another quarter she didn't have. But it didn't matter. She could step out of the box with a new stride, despite the chill of an impending fall biting at her exposed skin.

After spending the weekend locked away in an unforgiving cellโ€”with her boyfriend nowhere to be foundโ€”receiving some good news suddenly clouded her reality with a sense of security she didn't know was missing until she lost it. Los Angeles was unforgiving territory she didn't belong in, realizing that too late, but at least, not ever.

She had a home, and would only consider herself lucky that it welcomed her back after all of her failed results of impulsivity.
coded by reveriee.
 
Ephraim Campbell
The Hermit
190 Sunnyside Drive, Apt 301
Annoyed & Groggy
interactions

Loomis Loomis

The flames rose higher, enveloping the vehicle in a strangled embrace. Its heat was nearly unbearable as it scorched tender flesh. Yet, the radio consistently played a song on loop.

Get into the groove
Boy, you've got to prove
Your love to me


He thrusted himself forward to a seated position, the creaking of the mattress springs groaned as they compressed under his weight. Eyes scanning the room in an effort to ground himself back into reality, picking pieces of notable items within the dimly lit apartment. A small framed photograph of two children atop the dingy entertainment center, Lizโ€™s purse tossed on the coffee table with its contents scattered aboutโ€ฆ
A sigh of relief escaped Ephraimโ€™s dried lips. The beads of sweat now chilling across his bare skin, causing an uncontrolled shiver to skitter up his spine. Rubbing the crusts out of his eyes, he took a moment to glance at the pool of sweat that now stained his sheets, frowning at the sight of it happening yet again. As his hands lowered, he held an unyielding stare at the contrast between the two of them. One of which, somewhat pristine but freckled with minor calluses. Whilst the other was tainted with blotches of scars that trailed along his left arm and shoulder. Slowly flexing his digits into gentle fists and relaxing, only to shrug off the looming disgust that shadowed over his thoughts. Still gaining his bearings with clumsy dexterity, he stumbles off the pull out couch and reaches for yesterdayโ€™s t-shirt to toss on for the time being. Only donning a pair of plaid boxers and a day old shirt. Madonna still playing loudly, no longer flooding in his own mind but from the bathroom, harmonizing with the familiarity of his sisterโ€™s voice. Judging by her upbeat song choice, he assumed she was getting ready for work. But the volume of her music would likely be heard by their neighbors, therefore potentially complaining to Kowalski. Having Elizabeth living under Ephraimโ€™s roof was a blessing and a curse, but living separately was next to impossible with their income. Theyโ€™ve already tiptoed around the old man for two years. They couldnโ€™t afford to risk these simple comforts, leaving no room to be so careless. Moseying towards the bathroom door, Ephraim clenched a fist and pounded on the door, โ€œLizard! Lizard, turn it down!โ€ Every word spat with a stern and affirming pause to emphasize his slight annoyance. As he called over the blaring music it immediately dropped to a lull.

Pivoting around, taking in the messy apartment - their messy home. It wasnโ€™t much in comparison to the comforts of their childhood home, but regardless he felt a sense of pride for providing these four dilapidated walls and a roof over their head. The furniture mismatched with patchwork repairs on the fabric, were obvious signs of second hand purchases. Now, taking the time to run through his mundane routines. Yanking the sweat soaked sheets off the pull out and tossing them into the hamper residing by the bathroom door. Beside it sat a console that bore an assortment of items. One of which included a crudely labeled mason jar with the words โ€˜Laundryโ€™ taped across, only about a third of it filled with quarters and other spare change. Moving on to other tasks, such as picking up after Liz, folding the mattress back into the sofa, and starting a fresh brew of coffee. Ephraim approached the sink, thankful for keeping some of his toiletries in the kitchen as Liz was frequently hogging the bathroom. He squeezed toothpaste along the bristles of the brush and peered through the window above the sink, though not much to see other than another brick building looking back at him. Vigorously cleaning his pearly whites as he strolled towards their landline, the red blinking light on the answering machine grabbing his attention. With furrowed brows, Ephraim considered who wouldโ€™ve left them a message. Perhaps Kitty, but then again, she can barely wait to tell Liz anything and chooses to just show up unannounced to share any news with his sister. Tentatively reaching towards the button, he darts a quick look at the bathroom door. The shower sputtered on after a series of clunking and moaning from the rusted pipes, a tell-tale sign that Liz wouldnโ€™t be able to hear whatever the message was. Click. โ€˜Youโ€™ve reached the Campbell residence, leave a message after the beep...โ€™ Ephraimโ€™s eyes rolled, almost in disgust of hearing his own voice playback at him. โ€˜...or page me!โ€™ Immediately following his monotone message, Lizโ€™s little addition never ceased to make him stifle a hushed chuckle - Beep!

'Hi, Ephraim. Itโ€™s been a while since youโ€™ve stopped by the library, I have a book that you might enjoy. You know Iโ€™m free at our time, so stop by, come say hi. Ha, well I have to go. I told Diana I would go to the roller rink with her later so Iโ€™ll see you soon yeah? Call me back whenever you can or want...Bye!'

His widened eyes glared at the machine as Liaโ€™s voice chimed through it. Without hesitation, another click and the message was deleted. Standing idly, still fixated on the machine, 'I told you not to call here, Lia.' A murmur of discontent, as if speaking face to face with her, knowing well enough his reprimand couldnโ€™t be heard. Taking the mental note to speak with her later and gently remind her of his wishes. Ephraim returned to the sink to finish brushing his teeth. The coffee machine dinged cheerily, though he was already towering over it waiting for the pot to finish. Chipped mug in hand, pouring the hot coffee, he counted the minutes until he had his opportunity to shower and start his day.




 
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/* ------ left side ------ */




/* ------ tabs ------ */









  • /* ------ sticky note letter ------ */
    love is like a butterfly as soft and gentle as a sighthe multicolored moods of love are like its satin wingslove makes your heart feel strange inside It flutters like soft wings in flight love is like a butterfly, a rare and gentle thing.

    dolly parton​






/* ------ right side ------ */

Gazing up at him, seeing the reflection of the moon through the window in his glasses, it was like they were the only people in the world inside the tiny apartment. His words echoed through her ears, like his voice was inside her own conscious in that moment, consuming her every thought. Soft and gently, yet with a slight hesitation he spoke, โ€œKitty... I think I love y-โ€

โซท BEEP BEEP BEEP โซธ

Her arm outstretched, she swatted at the button on the clock that was screaming so angrily at her and groggily rubbed her eyes. Kitty never was one for the morning, they were for the birds, not for Kitty. For a moment, she groaned loudly to herself and wondered why she ever decided to take the morning shift at the diner; but then, she remembered she would get to talk to Lizzie and would get to ask her about a certain someone. Her eyelids shot open and she kicked the covers off, maybe a little more aggressively than initially intended.

Automatically she grabbed the blanket and pulled upwards to make her bed, her mama always told her "You never know when a handsome firefighter is going to need to save you, and do you really want him to see your room lookin' like a slob?" the memory made Kitty smile. She made her way over to her radio to turn on her music but as she did, she nearly tripped on one of her unfinished scrapbooking projects. An expletive not befitting of a young lady made its way out of her mouth before she picked up the scrapbook and placed it on her nightstand, cursing silently at her messier, past-self.

As she stood in the shower, she reminisced on her dream that had her turning in bed. Remembering that night with Ephraim. it had eaten at her. As to her, the words were significant, but she knew he didnโ€™t remember a thing he said; his words ignited her yet also destroyed her. He was entirely too drunk to know, and it was apparent the next day on his flabbergasted face when he awoke next to her in his bed. However, this worry was for another day, and Kitty let the shower water wash away her anxieties from the night before and sang along to the music,

"When you left,
You thought I'd sit,
You thought I'd wait,
You thought I'd cry,
You called me a dumb blonde,"


If there was anything in this world that made her feel better, it was most certainly Dolly. As she put a stop to the water and stepped out, the water droplets slid down her leg while she quickly ran a towel over herself. Steam engulfing her senses, she fanned herself for a moment and took a step into her bedroom while she waited for her bathroom fan to finally do its share of work. Kitty was not bashful to walk around in the outfit God had given her, after all, she felt she worked hard to maintain it. She laid out her waitress outfit on her bed and turned around to look at herself in her mirror, admiring her own taut figure for a moment, perhaps two. She waved a hand and muttered to herself, "'nuff of that, you're already runnin' behind," as she slid her work outfit on.

Kitty rushed into the bathroom and started her beautifying process, after all, if she was going to be late she might as well be lookin' good so she could schmooze up to Pops when she walks in. The loud rumble of her old hair dryer roared up as she teased her blonde locks, volumizing her hair. Once she was satisfied she moved on to her makeup, and then perfume, and then earrings, and then finishing touches of course. Kitty posed in the mirror, checking herself out in all angles, making sure she was satisfied with how she looked, "Perfect," she stated to only herself.

She nervously peered up at the clock and winced at the time, "Shit," she breathed out as she grabbed her bag and ran out of the door, ready to start her day.





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

ยฉ weldherwings.
 










Kelly C.















Mood

emotional turmoil, my beloved






Location

Her stoop






Outfit

ugh i dunno something cute






Int/Ment.

N/A






TLDR

Kelly thinks back on her life,
questioning why she's been
staying in Marysville for this
long.










Wake up, go to work, come home, go to sleep, repeat. Those were her days, for the past four years, nothing but working and saving up money. Kelly Cameron, the musician who never stood a chance, trapped in the cyclical, mundane life destined for her in Marysville, California.

There was never anything new for the outcasted, excommunicated, disowned young woman. She knew these streets far more than she ever wanted to. She knew which pot holes on the lesser traveled roads would wreck her shit if she happened to skate over them to and from work. She knew exactly when and when not to go to the diner to avoid the cranky old lady of the neighborhood. She even knew the exact foot paths of most of the church members on a Sunday morning to church, and Sunday afternoon from church. There was nothing about Marysville that Kelly didnโ€™t already know and hate.

She never wanted to stay here. From the moment all the preppy moms gave her the evil eye when her mother dragged her into the salon to get her box dye bleached out of her hair, Kelly wanted to disappear. She wanted to leave the stupid, petty, minuscule town in her rearview mirror and never give it a second thought. Born into such a strict and close-minded family, Kelly never let a day go by that she didnโ€™t ponder how she ended up in this family. Or why she turned out the way she did.

The thoughts and worries of young Kelly constantly plagued her mind. Was she really damned for eternity? Was she really that much of a screw up? Was her entire life going to amount to nothing? As she sat on her stoop, huffing on a cigarette, she tried to imagine her life if she was able to actually get out of that town, spread her wings, become the musician she always dreamed of being. Instead, she stayed put, every year her wings were clipped a little bit more.

As doom and gloom as Kelly tends to make her life out to be, there are definitely some shinning lights in there. Her job managing the Harmony House, for starters. Sure the grind gets annoying from time to time, but she was her own boss! There was also the Pour House, where Kelly always visited after her shift to unwind and catch up on whatever town gossip had brewed during the day.

There was the Underground, Kellyโ€™s favorite venue to play at, and just favorite general hang out spot. At the Underground she never felt like an outcast for all the reasons Marysville had cast her out. There was of course the added bonus of her life-long crush running the place.

Kelly puffed again from her cigarette. Blowing a stream of smoke from her lips her eyes gazed to the town in front of her. It was late at night, the stars were doing their best to twinkle through the light covering of clouds. The city was quiet but her mind was loud.

What was she even still doing here? She was at a point, she had the financial means to move. The goal of her dream college tuition was surpassed well over a year ago, she couldโ€™ve put her house up for sale, bought a car with that money and headed a few hours south to Musicians Institute. But she didnโ€™t. She couldnโ€™t put her finger on it, but for the past six months, she felt like her feet were glued to Marysville. No matter how much she wanted to leave, something was telling her to stay. Every day, she went through her motions, hoping her purpose would be revealed; that whatever it was that was tugging at her heart to stay put would make itself known to her.

Was it her fear of failure? Her fear of truly putting herself out there just for everyone to hate her? Maybe the possibility of bearing her heart to the world through song not being enough to make it? The possibility of HER as a whole not being enough?

With a shake of her head, she flicked her nub of a cigarette out of her fingers and stomped it out. She needed to clear her head.

She needed a swim.




























HELLO AGAIN

The Cars






โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก

 






Liv Holden




filler



filler



filler



filler



filler



filler






  • home (filler tab)


































Cher



If I could turn back time








Stepping onto the soft golden sand, Olivia looked out at the calm blue sea in front of her as a smile found its way onto her lips. A slight breeze surrounded her gently throwing her hair over her shoulders as she stepped closer to the crystal blue water. The only sound to be heard was the waves gently crashing onto the shore and in that moment she felt something that she hadn't felt in a very long time. Peace and tranquility. A hand found its way into hers and Olivia looked down at it in confusion before looking up at the person it belonged to... Bran .. as she looked into his eyes the peace that she felt slowly began to change, the once beautiful sunny sky twisted and changed into dark clouds, a storm threatening to engulf them as the waves became violent crashing into the shore with an ominous sound. Bran was speaking to her but she couldn't hear him, his words being lost somewhere between his mouth and her ears but then the hit "You will never be good enough" . Over and over the sentence was said but with each recital his voice slowly changed until it was the unmistakable voice of Nancy. He ripped his hand out of hers and grabbed onto her shoulders roughly turning her around until she was facing her childhood home. The hands on her shoulder slowly turning more feminine as nails began to dig deeply into her shoulders keeping her in place as she watched golden flames begin to engulf the house, agonizing screams came from inside as Olivia watched on in horror, she was suddenly 10 years old frozen in her spot as her aunts grip on her shoulders pushed her down into the ground. "Time to join her in....."

Olivia opened her eyes as she jerked into a sitting position, her eyes spotted her now white knuckles tightly gripping bunches of her duvet. Breathing heavy Olivia slowly released her duvet and pulled her knees into her chest tightly molding herself into a ball as she placed her head on her knees and focused on controlling her breathing

.... it was just a dream ... it was just a dream ..

Rubbing her hands down her face, Olivia groaned before slowly unfurling her body and blindly reached over to grab the glass bottle from beside her bed. A slight grimace took over her expression as the clear burning liquid flowed down her throat. She knew vodka was not the most nutritious breakfast but with the way her life was going recently she also didn't care. It seemed to be the only thing that kept her going, stopped her from falling into a depth of despair especially on working days when she didn't know if she would be working alongside Bran or not. She missed him and she regretted her decision but she couldn't show that, she could never seem weak and so she had to pretend. Pretend that everything was ok, pretend that she was happy and confident, pretend that she wasn't spiraling. Pretend, pretend, pretend .. it was all she has ever known since her house burned down when she was 10, since her aunt turned out to be a demon in disguise, she almost broke that cycle with Bran by her side but she wasn't ready to loose that armor, to put down the mask and shield and here she was miserable and alone once again, burned by her own decisions.

After a quick shower and change, Olivia grabbed her bag and left the house she shared with her brother, Miles. The house was quiet but it normally was during the day as Miles tended to put in long hours in the Autoshop he worked in to provide for them both. Olivia's job paid well enough for her to contribute to their lifestyle but Miles was definitely the money earner of the Holden Siblings, that much was obvious.

After a short stroll, Olivia found herself at the doors of The Underground, her work and somewhat safe haven from the world. Popping a chewing gum into her mouth to fend of the smell of alcohol on her breath, Olivia placed a smile on her lips and opened the doors. Her eyes scanned the area, taking in the customers and staff alike. As she walked to the bar, she made a mental note of the customers who would be ok and the ones she had no doubt would start trouble at some point during her shift. A groan escaped her lips as she noticed Paul, the towns ignorant sexist alcoholic who had a very obvious beef with Olivia. Granted she tended to kick him out consistently but he always made his way back in and it always seemed to be when she was working.

The first few hours went without a hitch, a few sneaky shots with customers here and there but even with the "happy juice" she couldn't shake the bad feeling that the dream had left her with. Couldn't shake the anger and helplessness that she had woken with so when Paul stumbled towards the bar she groaned loudly but a smirk played on her lips, a good fight was exactly what she needed right now and this idiot always provided.

As he fell into the bar, Olivia raised an eyebrow but stared blankly at him, his words were barely intelligible but the word "bitch" was spoken clearly as she crossed her arms and continued to look straight through him. If he was smart, he would walk away and leave the bar or even just go to a different server but instead he continued to hurl abuse at Olivia but she didn't flinch, didn't move rather just watched as he continued to humiliate himself. It wasn't until he began to harrass the girls sitting at the bar that Olivia moved.

"Right that's it, get out and go home" her voice was stern as she uncrossed her arms and pointed towards the door but Paul had a different intention. As he placed a hand on the girl's shoulder, Olivia moved into action. Placing one hand on the bar she swiftly climbed up onto it and jumped off the other side positioning herself between the girl and Paul. "I said out" . The man was clearly taller than her as she stared up at him with a deadly glare in her eyes. She wasn't stupid enough to start a fight in her place of work but if he hit her then it was fair game and based on previous interactions it wouldn't be long before he did so.

She watched his hand turn into a fist and her blank expression turned into a daring smirk almost egging him on, daring him to hit her and right on cue a sharp sting was felt in her left cheek as her head turned with the force of the punch. Olivia slowly looked back towards him, a manic grin played on her expression as she cracked her knuckles "oh you shouldn't have that done that" she spoke slowly, her tone a mischievous melody.






 
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  • filler


















The morning dawned quietly over Marysville. Birds chirped from the trees, their melodies filtering through the barely lit sky as the sun peeked shyly over the horizon. Despite the early hourโ€”5:00 AM preciselyโ€”Ophelia was already awake, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Her ceiling fan whirred gently, casting a cool breeze that she relished under layers of sheets and her new midnight purple pajamas, a recent birthday gift to herself a few months ago. The first gift she was allowed to get herself in years with a bit of cash she had saved on the side after paying all her needed bills earlier in the year. Ophelia loved gift giving to others but never to herself as she would feel a bit guilty for not thinking of someone else, which in same sense she didn't like people gifting her gifts in return. Almost feeling like a burden that she had to go out of their way to get her something she would enjoy or like to have in her house.

The birds served as her natural alarm clock, rendering her actual alarm unnecessary. As she lay there, thoughts of the day's schedule circled her mind. It was a routine day: rise at 5:20, complete skincare and dental hygiene by 5:30, shower and dress by 5:50, grab breakfast at the Breakfast Club in route to the Community Library 6:00, and start her shift starting almost immediately as Ophelia step foot inside the build. Only able to clock out at 10:00 PMโ€”unless Mrs. Reyes detained her with salon gossip at the Pretty Pink Parlor. Lia loved the lady to death but she knew how to make a short story long and sometimes at closing time, her mind was no where near regular human functions, adding to the fact that her social battery would be well below the tended amount of a socially acceptable human.

Yet a sense of unease lingered with Ophelia that morning, centered around Ephraim. Their conversations had become sparse lately, their schedules conflicting more often than not. She tried not to dwell on it, attributing their distance to mere bad timing. Nevertheless, her affection for him continued to blossom, nurtured by their shared passion for books discussed at the library where they first connected. Their exchanges felt deeply personal, as if they communicated in a language known only to them. Despite his occasional sharp remarks, she found herself strangely comforted by his presence, rationalizing his demeanor as his way of interacting with everyone, not just her.

Frustrated with her own thoughts, Ophelia finally rolled out of bed and sat up, gazing out the window. A sliver of golden sunlight broke through her blinds, momentarily quieting her mind. Memories of the East Coast tugged at herโ€”a longing for Rhode Island, the beach she missed dearly. She's been stopping herself from visiting out of anxious of seeing her father and having to interaction with him once more. Although the two of them are technically on good terms before she went to college but she hasn't seen him since and even had a conversation with him even longer than that. 5 years, what would she even tell him? How she struggled to find a job on the East Coast and took the leap of faith to move to California, only reason being that Gwen had moved down the LA for the time being. It allowed the two to travel to one another much easier to see each other and part of her wishes Gwen could visit her right now. She would know what to do with the mess she put herself in, Gwen always knew the perfect words to say and the exact actions you needed to take to get Lia out of a messy situation. Like Wayne.

Wayne was the only thing Ophelia couldn't seem to forget, even with restarting her dating when she had moved here. He always seemed to play in her mind, partially for the fact that he ruined her, if he had never offer her, No, if she had never met him; Lia would have been able to spend more time with mother, with her family. As well as the fact, that she wouldn't have spiral so low in her life if it weren't for him. Rehab did clean her right up but they never stopped her with alcohol, noticing the empty bottle of vodka she had hidden under her bed. "I have to clean that up..." It was from the last time Ephraim visited her house which was even longer than the last time he had visited the library

A fleeting smile crossed her lips as she indulged in a brief daydream, momentarily lost in a world where responsibilities were distant echoes. Reality pulled her back abruptly as she glanced at the time on her nightstand clock: 5:18 AM. "Maybe I should call in sick," she whispered to herself, the words hanging in the quiet room. She shook her head, picturing Mrs. Reyes's familiar concern and nurturing gesturesโ€”like a second mother, always ready with chicken noodle soup at the slightest hint of illness. Yet, she hesitated, mindful of the potential consequences. Another wave of grief might loom if she dared to take the day off.

Ophelia sighed, feeling the weight of indecision settle upon her like the morning fog. She pushed herself up from the bed, limbs stretching toward the ceiling in a futile attempt to grasp at resolve. "No, I need to get up, have a good breakfast sandwich and tea from BC, and I'll be fine," she murmured to herself, her fingers combing through tangled strands of freshly dyed black hair from the day before. She glanced out the window, where the morning sun spilled through, casting a warm glow across the room. Despite her attempts to convince herself otherwise, an unsettling sensation tugged at her heart, a reminder of unresolved feelings she couldn't quite bring herself to confront about Ephraim. "I'll give him a call..."








ophelia angelos




renter











none

















โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 
mood :
Excited/nervous

location :
The Breakfast Club
outfit :
mentions :
@M4R5 @nova.the.alien

interactions :
N/A
campbell
;; elizabeth

The peaceful quiet of the morning settled over the Sunnyside Heights apartment complex like a warm blanket, the faint sounds of the city waking up breaking through the stillness. Sunlight crept through an open slit of the curtains hanging in a dusty apartment window, casting soft beams onto the cluttered bedroom floor. The stillness of the morning offering a brief respite before the day descended into its usual chaos.

Robotic screeching from an alarm clock cut through the silence of the small apartment, Elizabeth flinched awake as the relentless beeping surrounded her. Letting out an exaggerated groan she wrapped herself tighter in her fluffy comforter and buried her head under pillows in a futile attempt to escape the noise. A mumbled curse fell from her lips as she hastily kicked herself free from the little cocoon of her blanket, reaching over and harshly slapping the snooze button on the alarm. Flopping back against the plush mattress Elizabethโ€™s eyes narrowed as a scowl crept across her face, her gaze blankly staring up at the ceiling as she contemplated going back to sleep.

Finally, with a grunt of frustration, Elizabeth pushed her body up from the bed, sliding her feet into the slippers by her bedside. Her eyes scanned over the absolute disastrous state of her room, clothes and shoes scattered about the floor, stacks of half read magazines toppling over, empty shopping bags and other junk she just tossed into her room to organize later. Making a mental note to tidy up after work to avoid another lecture from Ephraim she shuffled towards her bedroom door.

Heavy footsteps carried her into the living room, her eyes scanning the dim space. There, on the pullout couch, lay her brother, tangled in a mess of his blanket. His face was contorted in a scowl, his eyebrows furrowed as if he was fighting an unseen foe in his dreams. His chest rising and falling quickly as his breaths came in heavy, uneven pants, occasional murmurs escaping his lips. It was obvious he was having a bad dream.

Elizabeth felt her heart twinge seeing him in such a troubled state as he slept. She quietly walked over and bent slightly to reach out and brush back damp locks of hair from his forehead. The touch seemed to calm his mind, his face softening slightly. Satisfied that he seemed to be at peace she adjusted the blanket on his exposed chest and continued on to the bathroom.

Flipping on the bathroom light she squinted as her eyes adjusted to the sudden change in brightness. Elizabeth desperately needed to get into the swing of her morning routine, so she turned to her trusty CD player that sat on the bathroom shelf. Pressing play she cranked the volume nob up as far as it could go, the bathroom quickly being overwhelmed with the upbeat melody of Madonna. Losing herself in the music she began the process of her morning routine.

โ€œLizard! Lizard, turn it down!โ€ Ephraimโ€™s gruff voice and the heavy pounding of his hand against the bathroom door broke through the loud music. Rolling her eyes she rinsed her mouth out, placed her toothbrush back in its place and reached over to turn the music to a respectable volume. She waited by the CD player until she heard the soft shuffle of his feet retreating from the door, appeased by the lower volume. Elizabeth extended her arm out and turned the shower handle, the pipes sputtering for a few moments before releasing a heavy downpour from the shower head. As she stripped out of her pajamas, she slowly turned the music back up, not by much but to at least shower singing volume, before hopping into the warm embrace of the shower.

After what seemed like an eternity later, Elizabeth emerged from the bathroom ready to take on the day. Her blue diner uniform held snugly against her frame as she tightened her apron around her waist. Sitting down on the edge of the pullout, she noticed the sheets had been stripped from her brother's makeshift bed, cocking a curious brow in his direction, she said nothing. She quickly laced up her roller skates, her favorite way to get around town, grabbed her sneakers and purse and gave Ephraim a quick goodbye before dashing out the door.

As she leisurely skated towards the diner she felt her heart flutter with excitement. She hadnโ€™t checked the schedule to see who else was working, but she was hopeful that Zeke would be working this morning. Of course Kitty would be there, they always made sure their shifts aligned with one another, and she had so much to tell her best friend about her most recent hangout with Zeke. Her cheeks flushed with warmth as her mind drifted to the memories of her and Zeke, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Before she knew it she was rolling up to the diner, she spotted a few of her regulars patiently waiting in the parking lot for the diner to open. A large smile spread across her lips as she gave them a wide wave as she skated past the parking lot to the back door.

โ€œMorning!โ€ Elizabethโ€™s voice chimed as she entered the diner, the smell of brewing coffee instantly wafting in her face. Making her way to the front she flipped on the lights, illuminating the cozy booths and gleaming countertops. She quickly falls into her routine at the diner, checking the coffee machines, setting up the cash register, checking that the menus are clean, silverware is rolled, and doing any finishing touches before opening the doors.

With the diner now ready exuding its usual welcoming warmth she positions herself behind the counter ready to greet anyone who came through the door.
coded by reveriee.
 
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rise and shine...





X
The morning mist thickened the five a.m. air, the shimmery edges of dawn wavering as light dispersed amongst floating dew drops. It wasn't quite light outside, and a couple stars still shone beside the early morning moon. Thin silvery whisps of smoke curled and danced in front of Charlie's nose, rising from a tightly rolled joint that hung lazily between his lips. This morning had begun the way most had for as long as he'd resided in Marysville; with a nice solid wake and bake on the wooden back-patio as Xena raced laps around the backyard, expelling any fresh energy she'd built up as she slept the night before.

A hefty cough rattled forward, an unfortunate consequence of the hit he just took, thc filling his airways. Xena paused in her current pursuit of some sort of bug to tilt her head curiously Charlie's way. She was well trained in that regard, and was always avidly paying attention to any shifts in Charlie's behavior. Once she deciphered that his cough was not a threat, she returned her wet, black nose to the ground in an attempt to relocate her new friend, the beetle.

After making a rather quick recovery from his coughing fit, Charlie took another swift puff from the joint, then mashed it gently on the side of the damp wooden railing he was leaning on. A barely audible sizzle reached his ears as the charred red tip pressed against the surface, putting the joint out with one last curl of skunky smoke. He closed his eyes, breathing the cool autumn air deep, as if he was cleansing his lungs of the smoke he'd just packed it with. He exhaled, sighing contentedly as he did so. These quite mornings were so important to him, giving him the space to wrap his mind around the expectations of the day, and a moment to be well and truly alone. Well, aside from Xena of course. But Charlie could never find it in himself to be overwhelmed by her.

The light filtering through his closed eyelids changed in hue, a bright red glow seeming to emanate from underneath them, and his eyes peered open. The sun was rising, scarlett and orange painting the once-navy sky as the final pinpoints of starlight seemed to fade away. In one swift movement, he tucked the half-smoked joint behind his ear and sounded out a sharp whistle. He snapped his fingers, then patted his open palm against his outer thigh, a command he'd taught Xena early on.
"C'mon girl. Lets get this day started, yeah?"
He moved sluggishly back into the house, closing the screen door quietly behind him. Zeke was probably hungover, and usually worked nights at the diner. Charlie liked to at least try being courteous. Besides, Zeke was much too grumpy when he was woken up early.

On his days off, Charlie typically liked to continue his day with cereal and cartoons. It resonated with his inner child and it was a mindless and enjoyable way to fill the time. Work mornings were different. Work mornings allowed for just enough time to grab a pop-tart from the pantry, his jacket from the-- shit. Where was his jacket?

Charlie stood in his living room, a blank look on his face and half a poptart hanging out of his mouth. Where had he put it last? His eyes scanned the room, and Xena panted up happily at him, also quite clueless about where he'd left his jacket. Pulling himself out of his frozen state, he yanked the poptart away from his mouth, chewing on the remnants that were still inside. Delicious, sugary sweet strawberry! He plopped the rest of it on a side table, then went scrounging for his jacket, muttering to himself the whole way, and trying so very hard not to think about the fact that he was going to make himself late for work. Not that Frida would mind too much-- but Charlie hated running late.

He finally found the jacket draped over the laundry hamper he'd left in the hallway, and threw his fist up in the air, a silent display of his victory in solving the case of the missing jacket. Xena's celebration was less silent, however, and a loud, stoccato yap sounded out. Charlie froze, his ear perked and listening for any sign of stirring from Zeke's room, then breathed a sigh of releif when no noise followed. He shushed Xena, then patted her on the head before tying his jacket around his waist.
"Off we go, then?"
He quirked an eyebrow in Xena's direction and she wagged her tail in earnest, just as ready to head off to work as he was.

He hastily made his way out the front door, haphazardly shoving his wallet into the pocket of his jeans and threading his keyring through his belt loop. Sure, he had a car that he could take to work. The walk was never to bad though, and Xena seemed to enjoy the fresh air before joining him inside the flower shop. He slipped Xena's leash onto the collar, then set out on his walk, pulling the joint he'd had before out from behind his ear and setting the end of it aflame with his zippo. He'd stopped caring about smoking in public a long time ago, and he wasn't about to start it up again now.

He was halfway to work when he realized his semi-eaten poptart was still sitting on the endtable. Eh, he would cut his losses. He'd be fine, even if his already growling tummy seemed to disagree.

- - - - - - - - - -

Despite his last minute jacket scramble, the fact that he still chose to walk, and his recklessly abandoned pop-tart debacle, Charlie strolled in to work two minutes early. His joint was finished and disposed of, but the scent still clung to his clothes and the edges of his eyes had turned red and crustly. At this point, he couldn't even hid it if he tried, and he was certainly bold enough to look Frida in the eyes when he encountered her. For a breif moment, when her lips pursed, Charlie felt a pulse of panic rushing through him. It was quickly replaced by confusion.

Xena, however, was quite excited by the unexpected presence of Frida and showed her appreciation through happy pants, and winding herself through Frida's legs before staring adoringly up at her. Frida, although she seemed rather perturbed, still melted at the sight of Xena, and promptly knelt down to give her the ample pets and kisses that she deserved.

"Frida-- it's like six. What are you even doing here?"
Charlie's expression was quizzical, but he still went about the process of settling into his shift so her could open up the shop.

"Large order, hon. Last minute too. Sister in law. Terrible stuff." She rolled her eyes, albeit fondly, then rose to her full height. "She's running some sort o' charity event. Pretty sweet stuff, mind you. She could've asked for the flowers sooner." She yawned, an odd sort of punctiation to her words. "Been here since about three."

"Three? Grodyyyy!"
Charlie clicked his tongue at her in disappointment.
"You could've called me. I couldn't helped and you-"
He tossed a pointed look her way,
"Could already be floating away in dreamland while I open your store."
He approached the arrangement station and peered at her work. He had to admit, she was talented at what she did. He was honored to be working so closely with her.
"Want me to stay late today so you can get some more rest?"


Frida seemed to hesitate, unsure if she wanted to give in and let Charlie work extra for her. THe sweet promise of a soft pillow and warm blanket seemed to win her over, because she found herself agreeing to let him do so. "Yeah, that would be swell. If you could. Thanks Charlie."

"Yeah dude. Literally anything for you Frida!"
Xena seconded Charlie's statement by licking Frida's leg, causing Frida to squeal in surprise, then laugh it off.

"Oh, you two never fail to make me feel better. There's food in the frigidaire for lunch by the way. Help yourself. And if you don't mind? Have a look at those applications for me, would you? I think having an extra hand at the store might be useful. For the both of us." Frida set about cleaning up her station and packing up the tabletop arrangements that her sister-in-law would be picking up later in the day.

"Sure thing Frida-- and sleep as long as you want to. I promise I'm fine."
He smiled a gentle smile at her, then moved to set up the cash drawer for the front register.
"I definitely better not see your face before 4pm. And that's a threat."


Frida laughed good-naturedly, then packed up her belongings and left the store, throwing a warm goodbye over her shoulder as she left out the back door.

It wasn't much longer after Frida left that Charlie had gotten the store completely ready to open to the public. He unlocked the door, and giving into his growling stomach, he headed for the fridge. Looked like Frida's kind offer of lunch was going to become Charlie's second-chance breakfast. RIP deliciously sweet strawberry pop-tart. He plated what looked-- and smelled-- like leftover lasagna, and stuck it in the microwave to nuke it while he began to siphon through applications.

There, on the top, was a familiar name. The name of a person who'd just recently showed her face in the store and immediatley turned in her resume. He peered closer at her credentials, the memory of her surfacing in his mind as he read over her resume. A fun and cheery looking blonde, one with a smile that seemed to light up the whole room.
"Sarabeth Greene, hm? Well. How about I give you a call?"
The microwave seemed to agree as the timer dinged right as he said it.
"After lasagna. Of course."
































break my stride












โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก

 
ricky alvarez
mood
happy and full.

outfit
comfortable & casual.

location
the breakfast club diner, marysville. present day 1989.

tags
n/a. mentions kitty, liz, and ophelia.
Ricardo Alvarez glanced up at the waitress who came bearing the one thing that he desperately craved since waking up this morningโ€”a piping hot cup of coffee, sloshing gently against a white cup marked 'The Breakfast Club'. Not just one this time, however, but two: for him and for his mother who sat comfortably in the booth across from him.

"So you haven't heard from Josanna, Mijito?" she had asked, breaking his reverie after thanking the waitress for her service. He didn't answer Patricia right away as he brought the cup closer to his lips, blowing useless puffs of cool air in an attempt to cool down his coffee before taking a careful sip. Dammit.., he internalized, his eyebrows furrowing in discomfort as some tastebuds shriveled away on his tongue. Hot coffee never stopped him from trying to drink through itโ€”a lesson he would never learn.

Ricky needed it if he was heading into this conversation.

"No more than you, ama..," he finally replied, leaving no room for the conversation to continue about his sister. It was an attempt to let it die between them but she always had her way of picking it back up. Then again, could he blame her? A mother wouldn't stop unless she had to, especially when it involved her children. Especially, his mother.

But when he looked up at her face, a pained expression obvious in her eyes, he almost felt guilty for not indulging in her curiosity. And the way her shoulders slumped made her look so much smaller in front of the cushion of the booth. Even if he was telling the truth, Ricky wouldn't stand being a part of the reason why Trish couldn't sleep at night.

"Ma, please... I'm sure she's just fine. Y'know how she is," the attempt to soothe his mother's aching heart briefly stopped once their plates of breakfast landed in front of them. Again, he thanked the waitress and waited until she was a good distance away before he was comfortable with continuing the conversation. "I bet she's just.. loving Los Angeles..." So much so that she couldn't be bothered to call. Not even him.

The more he spoke about it, the more he began to worry. Even when her sudden move out of Marysville gave him permission to begin his own life, there was no easy way for Ricky to let go. There was no way to stop the gnawing sensation that burrowed into his brain: Was she ever coming home?

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?" Patricia's voice rang out again, subtly startling him back into the comfort of the diner. Ricky didn't like the sudden vulnerability he felt having been caught off-guard by his mother, but if it had to be anyone, at least it was her.

Particia's snarky comment brought a soft smirk out of him. Smart ass, he thought as he finally began to cut at the fried, sunnyside-up eggs with the makeshift knife he made out of the side of his fork. At least she wasn't sad anymore. Ricky didn't like to see his mother sad.

"Y tu casa?" she began to butter a piece of triangular toast.

"What about it?"

"Do you like it? Are the neighbors nice? And when are you gonna let me cook? You lost your fatty cheeks." Ricky was thankful that she finally took a bite of her toast, silencing her enough so he could answer.

"'s nice to have a place of my own. And you know you can visit me any time I'm not working." When was he not though? The shop had his undivided attention, along with the very diner they sat in once he was tired of microwaveables. Patricia must have been thinking the same thing, a face that said 'Bullshit' making him laugh a little louder.

These were the conversations he enjoyed having. Ones that could wrinkle the skin at the corners of his eyes or make him smile so hard that his cheeks hurt from the lack of them.

Once his face slowly softened into his default, he answered the last question: "The neighbors are nice too, I guess. They don't bitch at me for anything, so I call that a win. Peace is always a win." Ricky grew suddenly quiet at the mouthful of homemade hashbrown he plopped inside, letting a comfortable silence fill the space between them as they both enjoyed their meals. Only when he was done did he continue.

"I think one of them actually works here."

That got her attention fast. Only two girls were running the floor of the diner, Ricky unable to see anyone in the back. And with the shame that never existed in her body, Patricia fully turned to eye them. Christ, could she be any more obvious?

"Is it the blonde one? She's quite cute. Just look at her hair! Oh, I miss the 60's, mine was just like hers. Big and made a statement!" Ricky let her babble on as he washed down food remnants with his coffee. Maybe his silence was a bad thing though. Patricia took it as an indicator that she was wrong in this game she made to find who this mysterious neighbor was.

"Then it must be her." Patricia said in a quieter tone, referring to a brunette whose hair framed an angelic face, basking in a warm glow that seeped through the diner windows. It was just like the universe to point out the obvious. The universe would always be 'Team Mom."

Ricky nodded.

"You should talk to her." Patricia said, wiping her fingers of grease before pushing her plate away and settling for the warmth the mug provided her hands.

Ricky choked. No...No?...No!

"She's my neighbor, ma. I don't need to talk to her for anything if it's not about her air conditioner." he justified, finishing the contents on his plate until it was nothing but yolk and toast crumbs.

"And you know I just stopped talking to Lia." That was months ago. Patricia sucked her teeth in a way that disregarded his excuses. She wouldn't hear them and she wouldn't accept them either. Her son was a man who threw too much of his youth into his work and no amount of convincing would break him.

Not even when he had the freedom to do so.
coded by reveriee.
 
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mood :
Nostalgic, anxious, upset

location :
Sandra Patrick's Wedding
outfit :
mentions :


interactions :
rockwell
Diana
If you asked Diana Rockwell to list the five worst days of her life, Sandra Patrickโ€™s marriage to Michael Harris would surely top the list.

She should have been happy for her friend. Diana and Sandy had been inseparable since they were freshmen in high school. Where one was found the other wouldnโ€™t be too far off.

Of course, that was before a gangly, six-foot jock shoved his way into their friendship. He was loud, rude, and not good enough for her dear friend. But unfortunately, Sandy disagreed. She believed the walking, talking meat sack was Godโ€™s gift to mankind. And ultimately her opinion was the only one that mattered.

Never mind Sandy would be shackled to this man for the rest of her life without even having a chance to experience anything. 18 years old seemed far too young to make such a life-altering decision. And never mind their plans to go to college and see more of the coast.

She tugged at the collar of her ruffly, baby-pink bridesmaid dress. Light filtered through the window of one of the small meeting rooms of Calvary Baptist Church, which had been converted into a dressing room for the big day.

The room was a mess of ribbons, curling irons, various makeup implements, clothes, bras, shoes, flowers, and more. Jessica and Amy, Sandyโ€™s other two bridesmaids, were busy giggling and squealing over Tashaโ€™s hair and a magazine full of the fifty hottest men of the year.

โ€œLikeโ€ฆ come on, Jess. You canโ€™t seriously think Harrison Ford is hotter than Tom Cruise.โ€ Amy rolled her eyes.

Tashaโ€™s head flopped back, nearly hitting the hot curling iron next to her scalp. โ€œYou donโ€™t?โ€

โ€œNo! Not at all. Not when Tom Cruise looks like that.โ€ Amy jabbed a finger at the paper before turning towards Diana with desperation in her eyes. โ€œWhat do you think, Dix? Harrison Ford or Tom Cruise?โ€

Three pairs of eyes fell on Diana, making her skin crawl. She hated this question. How was she supposed to answer? Tom Cruise? Harrison Ford? Neither one seemed particularly better than the other. They were justโ€ฆ men. Talented actors, but either one could win the โ€œhot manโ€ contest, and she wouldnโ€™t care. But these girls expected an answer, so she needed to say something.

Her mouth dried out. โ€œI donโ€™t know. Theyโ€™re both talented actors-โ€

Tanya rolled her eyes, scoffing. โ€œYou know Diana has no interest in that. Sheโ€™s too much of a godly girl. Pretty sure her dream man could look like he crawled out of a swamp and sheโ€™d love him as long as he was a good Christian boy.โ€

Jess and Amy giggled, and Dianaโ€™s face began to heat. Her only saving grace was that at that moment, Sandra burst into the room in a pile of skirts, ruffles, and curls, one hand glued to the lacy tulle on her head. โ€œDeedee! Deedee, come here! You have to fix my veil. Itโ€™s falling off and itโ€™s going to ruin everything!โ€ Sandyโ€™s voice continued to climb higher.

Diana practically leaped to her feet. Sandy shuffled around so that her back was to Diana. โ€œI canโ€™t believe this is happening. Everything has to be perfect. Michael deserves nothing less. And I want people to talk about how perfect everything was. Not that the brideโ€™s veil fell off halfway through the ceremony.โ€

โ€œIt wonโ€™t.โ€ Diana placed her hand on the veil. โ€œYou can let go now. Jess, pass me some pins, please.โ€

A few white and platinum blonde pins were placed in Dianaโ€™s free hand, and she set to work securing the wayward lace to her friendโ€™s fluffy yellow curls. For a brief moment, it felt just like old times. Doing each otherโ€™s hair in Sandyโ€™s bedroom, tunes hummed from a speaker behind them.

But something about this time felt so final. Especially since Sandra never hesitated to remind Diana that this was the marker of her becoming a real and true grown woman. Unmarried women were still just โ€œgirlsโ€. A man was what made a girl become a woman.

โ€œThere. Itโ€™s practically stapled to your head. Only an act of God could cause it to fall off.โ€ Diana removed her hands from her friendโ€™s head and clasped them together in front of her.

Sandy turned around, eyebrows knit together in concern. โ€œHow do I look?โ€

Jessica, Amy, and Tanya all began raving. Squealing, grinning, and chittering like a pack of rabid chipmunks.

But Diana couldnโ€™t find any words at all.

The dress was stunning. A bodice that flattered her figure and fell out into a long skirt with an even longer train. Her makeup was done in shades of silver making her blue eyes stand out. And she looked perfect.

And it wasnโ€™t fair she was about to lose her to Michael Harris.

โ€œWell? What do you think, Dee?โ€ Sandyโ€™s brilliant cobalt blue eyes watched Diana with intensity.

Diana forced a smile, shoving away all her previous thoughts. This was Sandraโ€™s day, and she wouldnโ€™t spoil it. She would be supportive. Because thatโ€™s what friends do. โ€œYou look amazing. Just like alwaysโ€
***
The ceremony was a blur. Dianaโ€™s father officiated, and soon enough the organ swelled, the handbells were rung, and everyone exited the sanctuary to the front lawn where flower arches and balloons decorated the trees and tent poles. And tables were laden with enough food to feed a small army.

Diana sat at a table in the back corner, legs tucked under her skirts and head resting on her hand. The only nice thing about this party was that no one cared about her. She was merely another person at the party. Though she never strayed too far, in case Sandy had another fit.

The young bride was busy talking to one of her grandparents. Michael had his arm around her waist, looking at least mildly interested in the conversation.

At least she looked happy.
The peace lasted only a few minutes before she was located by her mother, Barbara, and a few of her friends. The women were dressed in varying colors and styles, ranging from violent orange balls of lace to simple but elegant pastel blue dresses.

Even weddings were not an escape from the prying eyes of Marysvilleโ€™s gossip mongers.

Dianaโ€™s mother sat down next to her with a smile. โ€œSandy looked wonderful didnโ€™t she?โ€

โ€œYeah. She really did,โ€ Diana murmured.

One of the other women, Martha, practically fell into the seat beside Barbara, ripping off her silver strappy heels. โ€œUgh. I hate these things.โ€ As soon as she was done, she turned her hawk-eyed gaze on the young woman. โ€œWell, Diana. Do you have any fellas in your life?โ€

Her heart thundered in her chest. Ah, the dreaded question. Diana had never once had a โ€œfellaโ€. She just wasnโ€™t interested in any men she had seen so far. Sheโ€™d never been.

โ€œHer father and I have encouraged her, but sheโ€™s always been such a diligent learner.โ€ Barbara laughed sharply, placing an arm around Dianaโ€™s shoulder. โ€œWe hope going to college will satiate her appetite enough that sheโ€™ll be ready to settle down after.โ€

Her motherโ€™s statement was a carefully concealed barb, dripping with disappointment. Barbara Rockwell often proudly proclaimed how she had married Arthur Rockwell when she was just nineteen years old and he was twenty-one. And while she had tried to set Diana up on numerous dates as soon as she turned eighteen, none of them stuck. Either Diana found a way to get out of it, or she went and never saw the man again.

โ€œOh. Well, hopefully, she wonโ€™t need to use that brain of hers ever again when she finds her young man.โ€ Martha chuckled as if she said the most darling thing in the world.

Meanwhile, Dianaโ€™s heart dropped to her feet. Never think again? Marry a man at twenty-one and never see or do anything outside of Marysville? She could be sick.

This was what was going to happen to Sandy. Her beautiful friend, who was so smart and talented and funny. She was going to become one of these women. Dressed in horrid outfits and talking about marrying off her daughter to the first sack of meat that showed any interest.

While the other women chimed in with their agreement, Diana inhaled slowly, glancing at her mother. โ€œI donโ€™t feel well. May I be excused?โ€

โ€œOf course? Do you want me to tell Daddy to bring the car around so he can take you home?โ€ Barbara rubbed Dianaโ€™s back gently. But all it did was make her feel more trapped.

That was the last thing she wanted, talking to her father likely about the same topic. How he couldnโ€™t believe Sandy got married before she did. โ€œNo. No, Iโ€™m fine. I just need to step away for a minute.โ€

Without thinking anymore, she shoved her chair back and made a beeline for the back of the tent where a flap was open enough for her to squeeze through. Her chest tightened, practically squeezing her lungs till she could barely breathe.

โ€œDeedee! Oh, there you are! Can you take a photo for me pretty please?โ€ Sandyโ€™s voice echoed from somewhere on her left. Or maybe it was her right. She couldnโ€™t quite tell. But soon enough a camera was shoved into her hand.

She steeled herself, willing the world to come back into enough focus to tell her where to take the shot. A click and a flash before the camera was taken from her. โ€œThanks, hon. Youโ€™re an angel.โ€ Sandy disappeared into the crowd again without a second glance.

Diana grabbed her skirt and headed toward the church, through the open doors. Up the aisle towards one of the doors near the back altar. The world tilted, but she knew this place like the back of her hand. Heading to the left, she pushed the door open leading to a smaller โ€œchapelโ€ area, before shutting and locking it behind her. Pressing her back to the wood she took a few gasping breaths.

She didnโ€™t want any of this. She never wanted any of this. She and Sandy had a plan. They were going to go to college and see the coast. Diana was going to take pictures. They were going to go on a road trip and eat food from crappy diners and finally see the ocean. Instead, Sandy was married to a man who would do all the thinking for her, so she could instead become a baby machine and raise her daughters to marry men and be just like her.

And thatโ€™s what everyone wanted Diana to do. Thatโ€™s who they wanted Diana to be.

She should be happy. She should want that. But even the idea of it made her stomach churn and bile rise in her throat. Why was it a sin to want to be something else?
Why did she have to be such a deviant?

Minutes passed as she worked to get her breathing under control. She was being hysterical. Her father would be furious if he knew his daughter was standing in this room crying overโ€ฆ what, not wanting to get married and have a family?

That was what God wanted, right?

โ€œGet it together, Diana. This is Sandyโ€™s wedding. Stop being a child.โ€ She pressed the tips of her fingers into the corners of her eyes.

It would be fine. She had four years before she needed to think about this. She was lucky enough that her parents decided to let her go to college. Her mother was right. Sheโ€™d go to college, get all of this out of her system, and return to Marysville ready to settle down.

Because this was what she wanted.
coded by reveriee.
 
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  • filler


















It was an unusually quiet late afternoon at Jonathanโ€™s apartment complex, a welcome change given the typical noise and creaks. However the weather in Arizona remained Nateโ€™s least favorite part of living here. Even though fall was approaching, the heat remained relentless. The scorching temperatures made even the shade feel like it was burning. Despite this, Nate wouldnโ€™t trade his life in Arizona for anything. It was his escape from the stifling family he had left behind in Marysville, though he felt a pang of guilt leaving his younger siblings, Xan and Jo, behind with their parents. Nate had convinced himself with the help of Celeb who constantly reminded him in their weekly callsโ€”that staying in Marysville was the best option for them, providing them with food and a bed. He hoped the pressures of being โ€œThe Mayorโ€™s Childrenโ€ werenโ€™t affecting them too much as he did for him at that age.

Nate decided to open his living room windows just enough to let in some air and light up a cigarette. He needed it to calm his nerves. A troubling feeling had been nagging at him all day, a new sensation of unease that left him with a tight stomach and a dull ache in his head. Taking a long drag from the cigarette, he blew out a large puff of smoke and gazed out at the view of Tempe. It was a city with plenty to offer, and Nate remembered his excitement when he got his acceptance letter to Arizona State University. With his impressive football career and a perfect 4.0 GPA, he secured a full scholarship. He worked tirelessly during his time there, juggling endless hours of study and coffee, all with the goal of eventually bringing Xan and Jo out of Marysville.

Now, as he was able to graduate with a degree in Sports Communication, Nate was focused on finding a good job to upgrade his living situation and bring his siblings to join him. The thought of finally having Xan and Jo with him filled him with joy, envisioning a fresh start away from the chaos of their small town and the pressure of their familyโ€™s political legacy.

His plans were abruptly interrupted by the ringing of his home phone. Assuming it was Celeb, Nate answered without hesitation. โ€œYeah?โ€

โ€œAntโ€ฆโ€
Celebโ€™s voice sounded strangely subdued, breaking the usual upbeat tone Nate was used to.

Nateโ€™s heart sank. Could something have gone wrong with Celebโ€™s job or his relationship with Steph? The possibility seemed unlikely, as Celeb had recently received a promotion and raise, and his relationship appeared strong the last he personally saw the two. So why the somber tone?

โ€œEl, whatโ€™s wrong? What happened?โ€ Nate asked, his voice tight with concern.

โ€œGran Dawn passed away last night around 3:00 a.m.,โ€ Celeb said, his voice cracking. โ€œShe died in her sleep. Grandpa called everyone, but they asked me to tell them. You know since youโ€™ve left. Sheโ€™s gone, Ant.โ€

Nate felt a sharp pang in his heart. Despite his strained relationship with his family, Gran Dawn was a cherished figure. Both grandmothers, Gran Dawn and Vena, had provided the Griffin children with warmth and love, trying to shield them from the family's greed and political ambitions. Celeb had taken on much responsibility to care for the younger siblings and cousins, when the older women who then were taken by their aunts and uncles to attend the community events and household parties.

โ€œOh,โ€ Nate managed to utter before abruptly ending the call. The room seemed to close in on him as he struggled to process the news. The realization that life in Marysville had continued without him hit hard. His loved ones were aging and dying, a stark reminder that time was moving faster than he could grasp. The thought of losing more loved ones, like Gran Vena, or worse, his siblings, made his head spin.

Finding his footing, he stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and began to pace. His thoughts raced, and he knew what he needed to do. He had to return to Marysville for the sake of his family, but the idea of facing his parents and the rest of the Griffins was daunting. He had to plan carefully to avoid them and protect himself.

Rushing to the phone, he dialed Celeb back. After a few rings, Celeb answered. โ€œAnt?โ€

Without hesitation, Nate shared his plan. โ€œIโ€™m going back to Marysville. I need to see Gram Vena, Po Kevin, and everyone we care about. Once Iโ€™ve taken care of that, Iโ€™m bringing Xan and Jo here to Tempe. If you want, we can move up to New York with you and Steph. Help me. Please.โ€

The silence on the line was heavy until Celebโ€™s calm voice broke through. โ€œFine, Iโ€™ll help you plan this. But remember, stay away from the Griffins. Arrange to meet everyone somewhere neutral, like a diner. You donโ€™t want them knowing youโ€™re back or telling others about it.โ€

Nate nodded, though Celeb couldnโ€™t see him. He looked out of the open window, feeling the pull of Arizona but knowing his heart was heavy with the loss of Gran Dawn and the journey ahead.








jonathan griffin




neighbor











none

















โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 



role.





David Adams



































kokomo
















location

home






outfit







interactions

Attempting not to wreck Teddy's morning

















The only times David wasn't dead to the world in the early mornings were those that saw him coming home near sunrise, a natural consequence of the jobs he juggled. Teddy shifted slightly beside him, and David froze, trying to avoid doing anything to wake his boyfriend up at an ungodly hour. At least he hadn't decided to settle down with a baker or something. Theater demanded late nights as well, sometimes for them both when David had the time to help out with a production. As Teddy settled again, clearly into a deeper sleep, David rose to glance at the alarm clock on the other side of the bed for the hundredth time since heโ€™d fallen into the cozy duvet last night.

David had always been a light sleeper, but not exactly an insomniac. It generally only got like this before or after visits with his mother. He'd made plans to see her for 'lunch', David's pretense for poking around her trailer and making sure the lights were still on and that she'd been taking the right amount of her meds.

David had tried just about everything he could think of in the last couple of hours, each time feeling more at risk of ruining his boyfriends sleep and getting cornered into a conversation about why he was still wandering the house like a stressed out energizer bunny, he'd taken a hot shower, gone for a walk, smoked an entire joint, nothing. Teddy would put together the why pretty quickly, he knew about David's plan for the day, but that didn't mean he wanted to make his exhaustion into Teddyโ€™s problem.

He looked back toward Teddy, rolling back over to face him. He was soft and relaxed in sleep, he could sit and enjoy the warmth, the vulnerability and stillness of the moment, if his thoughts weren't reeling, anxiety and restlessness dancing under his skin like an itch.

Visits with Alice Adams were unpredictable. In all likelihood, it would be decently uneventful. Their last visit had gone well enough, she'd been doing alright lately, but anything could change that. Alice was a kind, and loving person, but David was so used to her demeanor changing at the drop of a hat, anything from a missed pill or two, to a well meaning comment from one of the few friends who still spoke to her could send Alice into a depressive spiral again.

The last one had gotten off to a bad start, but ultimately she'd been doing well enough that he felt comfortable focusing on his own life for over a week for once.

"Sammy?!"
Alice Adams face had lit up when sheโ€™d thrown the door open a week and a half ago, a rarely seen bounce to her step.

Her enthusiasm had flagged as her brain worked to catch up to reality, putting David's face to name. A face which he kept carefully controlled. Despite the immediate verbal punch to the gut, it was a good day for her. Regardless of anything he or Jackie did, not many things seemed to bring Alice as much excitement as her delusion that her oldest son was finally going to come visit.

"Just David this time. Sorry to disappoint, ma."
Her face fell again, and David couldn't tell whether it was the news that it was just him, or the somewhat biting delivery. Alice even answering the door herself was a win, and he had to take them where he could get them.

โ€œOh, no Iโ€™m sorry honey. You know, itโ€™s just been so long since heโ€™s come back. I know heโ€™s been planning to visit is all. Come on in, I made your favorite.โ€
Sam hadnโ€™t been planning to visit since heโ€™d written the letter Alice had stuck to the fridge with a magnet almost ten years ago. New kitchen, new magnet, but that same letter hung up like it always did.

The trailer had looked alright, a bit cluttered, dishes in the sink, he took the mess in the kitchen to be good news. Alice was a decent cook when she cared to be. Every time he'd gotten back to her as a kid, she'd celebrate with a home cooked meal, something delicious and a little bit indulgent for just the two of them, and later the two of them and often Kelly or even Chrissy.

As soon as the clock hit 5:00, David called it. The room was too warm, and the more he sat and tried to doze off, the more he was just going to replay the last visit and everything that could be going wrong currently. With one last look at his adorable, sleeping boyfriend, he carefully maneuvered himself out of bed as quietly as he could, grabbing a pair of jeans and the first shirt he could find out of one of his drawers. The changing seasons left the morning floor cold to bare feet, and sunlight was just starting to stream through the windows of the kitchen. Muscle memory took him immediately to the coffee maker. Would he be the best, or the absolute worst boyfriend if he started making breakfast right now?

The coffee maker softly gurgled its good morning. David bunched up the baggy sleeve of the overshirt heโ€™d thrown on, the thick fabric worn soft after many washes. David was pretty sure heโ€™d grabbed his own shirt, but Teddyโ€™s cologne lingered pleasantly on it. He switched the lock on the window, yanking it to the side as it made halting progress across its rail, letting more of the cool morning breeze flood the room with each attempt. He ran a hand through his hair, the heightened energy from a sleepless night starting to kick in now that he was moving. Hopefully that and the coffee would at least let him ride the wave of slightly manic energy long enough to get through the days plans.











 


















prologue...





T.W. There is a choking part here that may be slightly triggering.


A low and rhythmic hum flourished around a room littered with various musical instruments; each item awaits to contribute to the symphony of creativity. In the centre of it all, a man with wild umber hair danced his fingertips around a guitar, each movement containing a layer of passion and precision. His humming welded well with the tunes he displayed in a delightful fervour, and every note he composed was a seal of his zeal. Inspiration flowed into him effortlessly as his heart led his words, music, and, most importantly, his soul.

โ€œAlright, todayโ€™s the day.โ€
He told himself out loud, equipping his courage as he rose to his feet.

Spencer Steele is a man whose life revolves around music, the expression he brings with the medium, and the passion he carries that wholly defines his whole existence. His dedication to his craft and voice is boundless; this is a known fact to those who know him. He is a slave to the strings of his heart and would often be inspired by his musesโ€” his friends, his family, and most profoundly, her. This deep well of inspiration fuels his creativity, allowing him to create music that resonates with the essence of his being.

โ€œIโ€™ll tell Monique how I feel about her,โ€
he declared, his amber eyes lighting up with a vibrant mix of excitement and nervousness that coursed through his entire body. A smile gradually spread across his face as the thought settled in his mind. Secret promises were made then, such as how he would defend and be her loving husband and partner. Unlike the hormone-driven boys his age, whose thoughts rarely strayed beyond physical attraction, he had been taught to aspire to something greater. His fatherโ€™s teaching cemented him to be the fairytale prince every girl deserves, a man of integrity and honour. This is precisely who he strives to become, not out of some romantic idealism but out of a genuine desire to be worthy of her love.

What started as a silly childhood crush grew into something more, and he nurtured it thoroughly. Monique Clark has been a wonderful friend, and the more he spends time with her, the more he longs for her. It was as if his heart would come undone at her dimpled smile. The warm and welcoming fingertips of love have entrapped his heart, and he longs to hear her voice and laughter.

With enough determination, his limbs hurriedly cleaned the messy room, leaving everything as it was from when he came in. Every time his class would finish, he would often be found in the music room, spending his time singing and composing, completely dedicating himself to his melody. Recently, he has been shoving all his focus on a ballad to perform for his confession. The thought immediately brought him the butterflies of embarrassment; it felt a bit cheesy, but so were his parents. He yearned for nothing more than to find someone with whom he could dance through life, just as his adoptive parents had found their rhythm together. Their relationship was a living testament to love and partnership, and he aspired to build something equally beautiful. When he shared his plans with them, the word "thrill" couldn't capture the depth of their excitement and joy. Spencer was simply glad they supported him and his plans for the future; they were the best parents Spencer could ever ask for.

As he wrapped the cord around his forearms, his thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the sound of a door opening.
โ€œHello? Can I help you, fellas?โ€
His deep voice echoed through the room. Unless Mr. Odom, his music professor, has forgotten something, no person came to mind would visit this room at this hour.

But all his questions were soon answered when the people entered the light. Dread and fear pierced him like a frost-bitten knife, and all he could find himself to do was freeze and watch each step they took. The envy in their eyes was unmistakable, and a sinister green and bloody red slithered between their ribs and strangled their hearts. Was it jealousy? Anger? He couldn't be sure, but the malice radiating from them was palpable. At that moment, all Spencer expected was cruelty.

And that was precisely what he got.

โ€œPlease don-โ€
His speech was cut off as a taller man shoved his chest, knocking the air out of his lungs momentarily. His hands dropped the ebony cable, and his footing lost balance, stiffly landing on the carpet.

Before he could regain his composure, he felt a weight stack above him, and before he knew it, hands trapped themselves around his throat. Flesh met flesh. He punched his assailantโ€™s side, hearing a crisp crunch of his ribs, but before he could do any more permanent damage with his rage, two more hands restricted his hands and their movement. One held his right hand while the other held his left, putting his whole weight onto it until it hurt. Helpless and overwhelmed, he struggled against the unyielding grip, feeling the crushing weight of his attackers' combined force.

Tears welled at the corners of his eyes as the pressure around his throat increased.

As the last tear rolled down his cheek and the dying embers of his consciousness faded away, his final thoughts were filled with regret and insecurity. What a feeble man he had been. Perhaps he is genuinely undeserving of the girl he hoped to confess to.

One word echoed in his mind as he fell into unconsciousness.

Pathetic.































I Hear A Symphony












โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก

 










Bran Mitchell















location

Marysville Municipal Cemetery






wearing

If it ain't broke... [OOTD]






mood

Meandering down
Morbid Memory Lane






mentions

Chrissy Mitchell;
Ricky Alvarez;
Liv Holden














CW: General grief vibe; Talk of graves and death; Heโ€™s literally digging a grave; Mentions of abandonment and abuse (no details) -

The full moon was high over Marysville, arcing its way across the sky. A peaceful time as most residents were in their beds long ago, and the bars have all closed for the night. It was mostly quiet, save for the cicadas buzzing in the summer night heat, and the rhythmic pace of Branโ€™s shovel blade cracking into the earth. The soft crumbling of the dirt emptying onto a growing pile almost mimicked the tide crashing on the shore, though it had been many years since Bran had seen the ocean.

As far as jobs go, digging graves in the Marysville Municipal Cemetery wasnโ€™t bad. He enjoyed the solitude and the repetitive task, and while the pay was modest, it at least kept him in cigarettes and beer. It was macabre, but he honestly felt more at home with the quiet dead, than he could possibly feel working some mindless desk job all day.

He pushed the shovel into the ground, wiping the sweat from his brow, deciding it was time to take a rest before taking on the last hour of his shift. The view while standing six feet deep might shake most, but it was a view as familiar to Bran as the Marysville water tower. Boosting himself on a pile of dirt, Bran pulled himself out of the grave to get to his pack of smokes. They were in the pocket of his treasured black leather jacket, carefully draped over the tombstone of Mr Glen Faulkner, who surely wouldnโ€™t mind. In life, Glen was a lovely man who was always kind to Bran, as was Mrs Iris Faulkner, whose funeral was tomorrow. It had been months since Glen and Iris last sat in their booth at The Breakfast Club doing the daily crossword together. After Glen passed, Bran would sit with Iris if he saw her alone, offering assistance with the clues, but mostly keeping Iris company if he could.

Bran Mitchell was born and raised in Marysville, California. A big enough town for life to stay interesting, and small enough for everyone to be familiar with each other in some way. Despite his best efforts to fade into the crowd, Branโ€™s ghoulish demeanor was undeniable and his soft heart left him open for more connection than heโ€™d like to admit. As he lit his cigarette, a pang of sadness settled in his chest. Saying goodbye was never easy, but regardless of whoโ€™s grave he was digging, each shovelful of dirt was moved with respect for a life lived.

Over the last few years, Bran had spent a lot of time digging the final resting place for many residents. Most would have given him the eye as he passed them on the street, others were kind throughout the years. As he meandered through the stones, it struck him how many people he knew and helped bury, and he stopped at an oft visited site if only to wish he buried him himself.

Russell Donald Mitchell - 1942-1980
The great shitstain himself.

He had nothing good to say about the man, and at no point in his life did Bran feel close to him. Between the abuse and absolute failure to show how to be a good man, Bran didnโ€™t like to call him father. He didnโ€™t attend the funeral, not necessarily by choice. It was nearly two weeks when he found out when he ran into his aunt Sofia.

They had a small family: Bran and Chrissy, their mother Rita, and father Russell. Russell moved to Marysville, just from Yuba City, striking out on his own at the age of 19 working as a farm hand. Rita Dodds met Russell a year later. She was a beauty pageant winner - Miss Sacramento 1958 - who spent her winnings on a trailer in Marysville Trailer Park. Her only sibling, her brother Dusty co-signed her lease. Finally having something of her own, Rita was ready to settle down and be a wife. Russell saw Rita from across the bar one night, both claiming the connection was instant. They danced a bit and he drove her home, so on and so on. A few months later, they had a nice and modest shotgun wedding.

Many times he reflected on his parentโ€™s life, and Bran always concluded that this was the moment which ruined any good Rita and Russell had with each other. The arrival of his sister Chrissy when Bran was three didnโ€™t help, neither did Russellโ€™s habit of spending all his money on booze after work. Rita didnโ€™t deserve the life she had with Russell, nor did their children. He wasnโ€™t sure what exactly happened with Russell, mostly Bran wished he put him in the ground.

He stamped out his cigarette butt on the headstone, tossing it amongst a growing pile of cigarette butts where loved ones would usually leave flowers. Obviously, Bran had yet to make peace with it, nearly 10 years later.

How could he? The night Russell died was the night Chrissy went missing. For so long, Bran didnโ€™t know what to do. He walked around Marysville at night hoping to find her, but feeling oddly relieved sometimes when he didnโ€™t find her. She was so young at the time, only fifteen. Bran had a lot of guilt. He should have stayed in contact with her when he got kicked out. His stupid pride got in the way.

Bran hopped back into Iris Faulknerโ€™s grave to finish his work for the evening, thankful for the physical task to keep his mind off these morbid thoughts. Itโ€™s just, Bran had gotten into the habit, before he even worked at the cemetery, of visiting the fresh graves, making sure to know if he lost Chrissy or Rita. Doing this job provided that small comfort of knowing without having to wander between every tombstone every night. The townspeople were starting to claim he was a ghost haunting the cemetery..

Nevertheless, he was happy to finish carving out a perfect resting place for Iris and to climb out of the ground for the last time that night. Bran collected his jacket from the stone, swinging it around his shoulders. He lit another cigarette and said goodbye to Glen, walking his shovel back to the storage shed. It was nearing 6am, and he was one nightโ€™s wages closer to the motorcycle Rickyโ€™s been helping him fix up. Itโ€™s been a long year of saving, but Bran was finally getting close to buying the bike of his dreams (within his budget of course). His recent breakup with Liv spun him around quite a bit, and all his life had been spent in Marysville. Maybe it was time for a change. Time to get away from the memories of the woman who left him, the sister who went missing, the father he didnโ€™t miss, and the mother who didnโ€™t want him.

A loud grumble sounded from Branโ€™s stomach. It was definitely time for breakfast from the diner. That would make him feel better. Then he could go back home and sleep all day before working at The Underground in the evening. He could already smell the pancakes wafting from The Breakfast Club and Bran couldnโ€™t help but smile as the sun kissed his face, greeting a new day in Marysville. Tired but thankful for the simple pleasures of scrambled eggs and raspberry jam on toast.




























I Wanna Be Sedated

The Ramones






โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก

 













.scroll












I Want to Be Evil Eartha Kitt








mood

She is in a reminiscent mood. Also irritated with her mother.


outfit
In the beginning, she is wearing just a regular pink shirt and jeans. In her flashback, she is wearing a matching athletic set that is a hot pink shade.


interactions
Interacts with Juniper and Anastasia in her memory flashback.


tags












Priscilla Summerfield


โ€• "A scowl, tinged with regret, flashed across her face"




"Why are you running over here like weโ€™re going to hangout with you?"



It was right before Priscilla had begun high school, boxes were strewn about her room. Some were half packed and some taped shut. Her mother, Vera, stood in the door with her arms crossed, staring down at Priscilla, โ€œYou know, you wouldnโ€™t have to do all this packing if you werenโ€™t choosing to separate the family.โ€ she said, with a slight jeering undertone. Priscilla paused. She looked up at her mother standing in the doorframe, Iโ€™m the one separating the family? Youโ€™re the one following an eighteen year old to college and trying to take me away from the only place Iโ€™ve known my whole life - is what she wouldโ€™ve said, if she was in the mood. Instead she sighed, โ€œI donโ€™t want to start over, I already have my friends here.โ€ she looked over at her pom poms. Vera gave her daughter an incredulous look, โ€œYou and that ridiculous cheering nonsense, at this rate I shouldnโ€™t expect much different from you. Disappointing.โ€ she said sarcastically before sauntering off. Priscilla rolled her eyes, continuing to pack. Her mothers words always rang in her head like a migraine that she couldnโ€™t relieve herself from. She came across something she hadnโ€™t seen in years. A small friendship bracelet. It forced her to confront memories she often tried to bury beneath layers of sharp-tongued insults. Her fingers ran across the small beads, pink and blue. Her nails tracing the lettered beads that read โ€˜scilla&juniโ€™ A scowl, tinged with regret, flashed across her face.

THE SUMMER BEFORE 6TH GRADE...

Practically flying into the house with Doris not far behind, Priscilla ran up to her parents in the kitchen, "Mom, Dad, guess what Gram Gram Doris signed me up for?โ€ she panted out, catching her breath. Her parents exchanged a look and then both silently glanced back at her, Herbert looked amused to see his daughter in such an excited state as it was unusual; however, Vera, looked noticeably irate to have her afternoon disturbed. At this moment, Doris finally caught up and placed her hand on Priscillaโ€™s shoulder, โ€œIโ€™ve signed her up for the Cheerleading camp the school is offering.โ€ stated matter of factly. Herbertโ€™s eyes instantly glazed over, struggling to feign interest, he offered an insincere congratulatory statement and went back to his newspaper. Her mother wasnโ€™t quite as enthused by the news, โ€œCheerleader? Who would want to see her as a cheerleader?โ€ she questioned out loud. Doris shot Vera a piercing glare, โ€œThe gal who owns the salon has her daughter doing it.โ€ she snapped back. Status was everything to Doris, so this was good enough for her and she always had final say in the Summerfield family; so, her decision stood.

At this time, Priscilla was by no means an outcast. But she also wasnโ€™t the head bitch in charge she would later become. She had a lot of friends, as her family had status in the town. She ran off to tell her best friend at the time, Juniper, the news. They lived closely to each other, and their mothers were both close. What were the odds that two Italian women found themselves in Marysville with similar aged daughters? Priscilla and Juniper got along famously, Priscilla loved to talk, and Juniper loved to listen; anywhere Priscilla went, Juniper wasnโ€™t far behind. She adored the attention and devotion she received, and Juniper was always there for her. Especially when she had been crying. Juniper would always take her up into her treehouse and let her vent out her emotions. After she had told her that she would be going to this cheerleading camp, Priscilla had fully expected Juniper to drop to her knees and beg her parents for the same. When she didnโ€™t, Priscilla was utterly confused. Juniper had simply smiled widely and beamed in shared joy with her friend, but there was no undertone of envy like there had been before. The thought was tucked away for the time being, but she wouldnโ€™t forget it.

The first day came around and Doris made it a point to come and assist Priscilla, as Vera couldnโ€™t be trusted with the task. Her grandmother helped get her hair ready, and put a little bit of makeup on her. Doris had even bought her a new outfit for her first day, a matching athletics short set that was hot pink. Together they walked downstairs, receiving the daggered glares from Vera before they left. She then drove her to the football field with the other middle-school aged girls to start the camp experience. Grandma Doris had dropped her off, and then shuffled over with the other women to most likely gossip about the trailer park moms and dote on their perfect angels.

Priscilla had gathered with the gaggle of other girls, strategically positioning herself near those she believed would excel. Anastasia, her mother, was a bit of a stage mom, so Priscilla assumed sheโ€™d have an advantage. She wanted to be close enough to observe her techniques and improve her own. Their eyes met as Priscilla took her seat, and they shared a mutual smile.

The instructor, a bubbly blonde woman with an infectious enthusiasm, began the session. The girls started with stretching, a simple enough task. They moved on to some basic cheers and routines, but soon the instructor wanted to gauge their baseline skills. "Does anyone want to come up here and show us what they know?" she asked, her tone inquisitive. Anaโ€™s hand shot up instantly, and she sprang from her spot in front of the other girls. She performed a small, improvised routine, ending with a split. Priscilla watched intently. The teacher and the other girls clapped. "Very good, Ana! Just a bit of constructive criticism for everyone: try to keep your legs a little straighter. Itโ€™ll make the technique look cleaner, though Iโ€™m sure your mother will help with that," she said with a wink. "Anyone else want to give it a try?" she asked, scanning the group. Priscilla raised her hand sheepishly and volunteered. She recalled what she had seen in movies and videos, and of course, what she had just seen Ana do. She performed her routine, applying the notes the instructor had given Ana, and ended with a split, adding some jazz hands for flair. The instructor looked surprised, "Good job, Priscilla, is it? Very good job!" she commended.

As Priscilla sat back down, she could feel Anastasiaโ€™s eyes on her, but she wasnโ€™t sure why.

Anastasia started talking to Priscilla a lot more often during the classes. Theyโ€™d sometimes sit after it was over and just laugh and talk about trivial things. Like heated stage lights bearing into her skin, she could feel the other girls stare with envy. When they were together she felt important. She also enjoyed that she could learn from her, and of course, her mother. At home, she faded away and was unable to grab the attention of her parents no matter what she did, always in the shadow of her elder brother. With Ana, she felt like people noticed her. The feeling was as addicting as sugar was to her.

More and more she clung to Ana, and the less room she had for Juniper. She could tell that Juniper was trying her hardest to push her way back in, but Ana was doing her best to keep her out. One day when Ana and Priscilla were stopping by Priscillaโ€™s house, Juniper happened to be walking nearby. Beaming when she saw Priscilla, Juniper started jogging over. Anaโ€™s face instantly dropped into irate glare, โ€œSheโ€™s been talking about you behind your back. Iโ€™ve heard from multiple people, you donโ€™t want to hang out with her, trust me.โ€ she harshly whispered out. Priscilla felt her face drop. Juniper? Talking about her? Her heart was crushed, she thought Juniper was the one genuine friend she had ever had. By the time Juniper got to the pair, Priscilla flipped the switch inside herself from friends to defensive mode, โ€œWhy are you running over here like weโ€™re going to hangout with you?โ€ she spat out. Juniper looked confused, โ€œWhat are you talking abo-โ€ but she was cut off. Without another word, Priscilla and Anastasia sauntered off into the house, not looking back at Juniper's confused, yet devastated face.

Since then, Priscilla clutched the city of Marysville in the grasp of her manicured hand. Of course, Anastasia by her side. Now she was about to start high school. Her parents were choosing to follow her brother, Preston, to Massachusetts while he attended Harvard. Anything for their little boy. But thankfully Gram Gram Doris had plenty of space and offered to take her in so she could at least have some semblance of a normal year. The bracelet burned guilt into her hand, deep down she had felt something stirring inside her, but what she wasn't sure. Huffing while doing so, she threw the bracelet in the box and continued packing.






coded by xayah.แƒฆ
 


















good morning!





X
Teddy woke up naturally for a change, not in some panic-induced sweat-fest caused by some nightmare fueled by tech week terror thoughts. It was nice to be out of that mindset for a while. After they tore down their recent production of Godspell, Teddy had found himself able to relax for the first time in a month. It wasn't going to last too long, they were already in the process of starting a production of The Wiz, and auditions were that evening.

He rolled over in the bed, reaching towards David's side with a blindly grasping hand, refusing to open his eyes this early. His fingers found nothing but air and his lips formed into a pout. The bed had felt a little light, but it wasn't like his boyfriend to be up so early. His wandering hand found David's pillow and pulled it close in a tight embrace, David's scent flooding his senses. Teddy felt the corners of his mouth turn upwards, a soft smile replacing the pout that was there just moments before.

He lay in relaxed bliss for a while, sunlight dancing across his face from the window, giving him a personal lightshow across his closed eyelids while the birds twittered and sang outside. A masterful performance, and almost relaxing enough to fall back into a hazy sleep. At least, if it wasn't for the smell of coffee that permeated the room, replacing what remnants of David's scent there were. Teddy sighed heavily at first, then hummed in happiness when he reasoned that having David making coffee in the kitchen was almost as good as having him here in the bed. Almost.

Teddy stretched, a long stretch that seemed to start with his arms and end at the very tip of his toes, his long legs draping over the end of the bed. He shimmied his way out from under the blankets and pulled himself up to a semi-stable standing position. Only then did he -- reluctantly -- open his eyes and peer around the room. It always brought a sense of comfort to him to look around the room and see hints of both himself and of David, a perfect meshing of their two lives in an intimate harmony. Teddy had always wanted a live-in partner. He was a romantic sap as much as he tried hard not to be, but having David live here with him had sent him straight to what could only be comprable to marital bliss. It was essentially the same thing. Right?

He scratched his face a little as he yawned, once again stretching his body a little as he did so. He snatched a throw blanket up off the bed and wrapped it around his shoulders, feeling very much like a young child playing super hero, and pulled it tighter around him before shuffling his sock-covered feet towards the kitchen. His wear, tired eyes scanned his surroundings as he approached, and his expression morphed into a less tired grin than the one he wore previously.
"You're up early."
His morning voice rattled out, husky and rough.
"Good morning."
He strode to the fridge, touching David's back affectionately as he passed him, gently rubbing his hand from one shoulder to the other.

"Morning. Couldn't sleep." David's mumbled reply only solidified the point that he couldn't sleep.

He pulled the orange juice from the firdge and set it on the counter, then went hunting for a glass. Once he found the glass, the noticed the dryness of his mouth, and decided that it was, perhaps, bet for him to guzzle down some water before delving into his vitamin c for the day. He filled his glass with water from the tap, then downed it almost all in one go. Damn! He really hadn't realized how thirsty he was.

He could feel David watching him, and peered at his boyfriend from behing the glass before slowly pulling it down and away from his face, leaving no more than an inch of water in it.
"Staring at me while drinking my water? Goof. Go back to cooking your bacon."
Teddy downed the rest of his water as David chuckled and turned right back aroound to his bacon as instructed. He set his glass down on the counter, and went about filling the glass back up with orange juice, then putting the carton back into the fridge.
"Smells amazing by the way. Hope you intend to make me some."


Teddy peered at the two slices of bacon in the pan and raised an eyebrow at David, but was smiling nonetheless to show he was just being light-hearted in his teasing.
"Orrrr you don't have to make anything for me. I can just eat yogurt like a dreadfully unspoild peasant."


David scoffed playfully, ever the champion of handling Teddy's dramatic ass antics.
"Idiot, just hand me the bacon and I'll cook some more."


Teddy smiled, feeling satiated by David's response, and retrieved the bacon from the fridge dutifully.
"Want some toast? I can whip us up some while you do the eggs and bacon."


"Sounds good."

"Well. Good. Because you honestly didn't really have a choice I was going to do it anyway."
Teddy went fishing for the bread in the pantry, then pulled the toaster down from the upper cabinets.
"Look at our cute little domestic bliss."


David rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out in mock disguest. "Gross. Don't ruin it."

Teddy pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes in playful hurt, then darted in to place a quick little kiss on David's cheek.
"Youuu don't ruin it. Let me have my fun."
He punctuated his demand by pushing the bread down into the toaster.

As much as they joked around about it, Teddy really did enjoy the casual intimacy that living together brought them. Moments like these filled his heart full of joy. Surely nothing could wreck this bliss. He and David were here to stay.































just the two of us












โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก

 












  • filler

















The only sounds Ana was hearing this early afternoon at the Pink Parlor was a light buzz from one of the dyer seats that the 2:00pm client was currently using as well as the come and go of cars that were driving through downtown, other than that her surroundings were deadly quiet. Too quiet for her liking. Come to think of it, recently it didnโ€™t seem like there was any new gossip for her to eavesdrop in or jump in to discuss with the older and younger women alike who would come waltzing in for their appointments or a walk in.

With her pink gel pen at hand, Ana was doodling on one of the loosely thrown sheets, doing anything to cure her ever growing boredom. Her mother wasnโ€™t even speaking with the client so she knew they didnโ€™t have much of anything of interest for her to listen to. As she continued to draw, the front door bell rang, letting in quite ecstatic Mrs. Reyes and Mrs. Griffin. The two were frequently going to her motherโ€™s business and the three of them could stay all night if they could gossip about their observations amongst the residents of Marysville. Which were always her favorite moments as soon after she arrived home from work, with her matching pink phone with Priscilla would fill her in with all the intel they would need for their next victim.

Priscilla, her long time childhood best friend, remembering the first time she laid eyes on her during her usual cheer camps that her mother would sign her up. For her mother, Arabelle, cheer was everything in the family; something her older sister, Arianna didnโ€™t seem too fond of as she thought her mother was just trying to keep holding onto her high school years through her. Anastasia loved the idea of being the center of attention and having everyone staring in awe at her so she went straight for cheer every time.

Though this year was different, the last few years since she was a small girl, she was normally the top girl of the group. Always performing better than all the โ€œlowiesโ€ as Arabelle would call them. This time, she was second. Ana was second next to Priscilla who always seemed to win over the coach every time. At first, it really ticked her mother off, knowing that her daughter wasnโ€™t first in line in everything she wanted.

But once Anastasia was able to befriend Priscilla, she started to grow somewhat of a liking for her and the company she provided during camp. Her mother also began to grow an attachment to her as Priscilla has that burn that reminds her of her youngest self. Donโ€™t get her wrong, Ana truly did care and love Priscilla like a sister but there was always that little voice in her head that would voice out that her place was being taken from her every time Priscilla got to shine out. Part of her wishes that she hadnโ€™t separated her from that girl, god knows what her name was, probably something like June? Juniper? Knowing that if Ana had never lied to Priscilla about the bad talking behind her back, Ana could probably have been the idol of Marysville High. The captain of the cheer team. Even Prom Queen. No. Priscilla got all of that and what was she left with? Priscillaโ€™s best girlfriend. Priscillaโ€™s Co-Captain. Priscilla the queen of the school.

Trying to get rid of the distasteful thoughts and memories, Anastasia shined her pearly whites to the two older women. โ€œItโ€™s lovely to see you two back here? Oh my, Mrs. Loren. That lip color looks so divine on you! I would ask you what the shade and brand is but I donโ€™t think it would suit it as well as it does with you.โ€ Smiling at her, wanting to rub up on the mayorโ€™s wife as much as possible before turning to the other. โ€œAnd Mrs. Reyes, I know your birthday just passed this last week but my mother and I wanted you to have a quick belated birthday gift, howโ€™s a pedicure on the house for you today? I know youโ€™ve been wanting a change up from your usual color schemes?โ€

The women laughed in glee, hearing Ana butter them up so nicely as they greeted her and maybe throwing in a compliment or two before rushing over to her mother to begin their gossip hours. With a mischievous smile creeping on her faces looked over at the group, listening into the gossip that they were holding onto all morning. She heard the faint names of โ€œNateโ€ and โ€œJosieโ€ who were very familiar names as they both had gone through high school with, recalling their crazy party animal years before that (sorry not sorry) bitch of a nerd came around and started treating Nate like some dog, training him to be obedient or something. To be fair, she was a fan of anyone involved but hearing their names now, excited her. With her ears ready and mind working up the thoughts to start gearing in her head for when Ana was ready to call Priscilla with the news.








anastasia collins




neighbor











N/A










N/A













โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 



role.





Rebecca Bradley



















































location

Breakfast Club






outfit







interactions

-






tags

-













Despite a lifetime of habit, Beck had never embodied the disposition of a morning person. Since the first sunrises she could remember, there had been chores to do, or at least a Doc Bradley to follow after intently until she was old enough for the heavy lifting of farm chores. Taking care of the property or the horses or the house before school was common among classmates, and the schedule stuck well through undergrad. She'd always been a grouch about it, taking after doc as she followed him around the property, echoing his cursing and grumbling over every mild inconvenience anytime they were out of sight of watchful eyes.

It was Beck's grandfather, more often than not, who raised her. She'd been known about town as Doc Bradleyโ€™s boy until she'd earned more colorful nicknames. Strong pour over coffee downed in silence on the porch in the lull between chores and schools made it worth it. Beckโ€™s father scoffed at her drinking it so young, determined it would stunt her growth. Doc had shrugged it off, but he might have had a point. Beck was the only one in their family who wasnโ€™t at least pushing six feet, the only one who was supposed to be a man, anyway.

Young Beck would down the mug, hiding their face at the bitter taste until it became as familiar as the sunrise itself, and make the trek to school in dusty boots, at first alone, and later with Lizzy's curly head in tow.

An early wake-up call was harder to swallow when the only thing waiting for her was a busy hospital, and Doctor Courtney. One week into residency and she had a mentor, an adversary, and a source of workplace entertainment all in one package in the form of her attending physician. If she had to hear one more word about the manโ€™s pastor, his cat, or the way โ€˜we used to do things around hereโ€™ before sheโ€™d had a proper meal and a decent start to the day, she might just get herself fired. A tall order to fill when she had to report for duty, bright eyed and bushy tailed by the asscrack of fucking dawn.

Cooking wasnโ€™t going to happen. Coffee was a long shot. It had been a couple weeks but Beckโ€™s things were still strewn about a couple duffle bags and two boxes slouched in the corner. It was giving bachelor pad, but more importantly, it was giving โ€˜I still havenโ€™t even been to the grocery store in town.โ€™ Their mother would be disappointed. It wasnโ€™t that Beck couldnโ€™t cook, but it felt like they had yet to leave the hospital before the stores closed and the sidewalks in town rolled up for the night, nothing left but the trusty town diner, its sign like a midnight snack beacon in the darkness.

Two weeks into life in California and they were already a regular at the Breakfast Club. The bell on the door jingled softly, announcing her presence among the small handful of early morning customers, not even 8 hours since sheโ€™d dropped by after her shift last night.

"Morning"
she grumbled, towards anyone in earshot as she took the closest available booth. She might be a right bitch before her caffeine, but she was also far too southern to come in and at least acknowledge the morning shift staff. Despite their generally poor morning disposition, a small smirk tugged at the edge of their lips at the realization that, officially, they'd made it a week. The white coat was still waiting in her at the hospital, and she'd officially gotten farther than anyone in her hometown had bet she would. 'So take that, fuckin Doctor Courtney,' she thought, looking around for a newspaper to accompany her on her mission to deliver as much coffee and protein into her body as possible, as quickly as possible.











 










Chrissy Mitchell















location

Sacramento, CA
On the Sacramento Express
to Marysville






wearing

She's the main character
at this bus station (OOTD)






mood

Coming down, hard.






mentions

Bran Mitchell
Basia Gajos (Alluded to)














Thereโ€™s a hard to describe flavor of bittersweet one gets when leaving a place that was your home, but never felt like home. A city can hold you for years, welcome you as one of its own. You can learn its streets, and find pockets of comfort. You meet friends, lovers, and maybe some people you hope to never meet again. At some point, you begin to dream about forever, wondering if youโ€™ll be happy getting your breakfast at the deli on the corner between you work, and where you buy your toilet paper, for the rest of your life. You wonder if youโ€™d be content watching the sunrise over the same horizon day after day. But, itโ€™s when you start to meet ghosts on every corner, that you begin to think it might be time to move on.

If home is where the heart is, Chrissy Mitchell must have lost it somewhere sheโ€™d never been.

These were thoughts she contemplated as she waited for the early morning bus from Sacramento to Marysville. Her transfer had been delayed over twenty minutes, and Chrissy was not the most patient person. Her foot wiggled anxiously as she sat, perched, on her luggage crammed with her worldly possessions. Clumsily, she shook one of her few remaining cigarettes into her shaking hand, transferring it between her fingers, and then between her pink stained lips. It had already been a long day, after a long night, after a bender. Sheโ€™s had cigarettes for lunch and dinner, so she may as well have one for breakfast.

Despite the moon setting ahead of her, she wore large, dark sunglasses to cover her smudged eye makeup. It was already too hot for her oversized faux fur pink coat and white go-go boots, but they were too large to stuff into her bags, so she was forced to wear them in the hot, early morning summer heat. She had to make a choice while hastily packing all of her things at Rayโ€™s penthouse: Leave the fabulous fashion pieces behind, or wear it to prove a point. One that stated โ€œThis is not going to break me. This is just a bump on my road to stardom.โ€ The truth of the situation was that Chrissy had found herself at rock bottom, once again.

Ray was pissed at her. For good reason, though no good reason Chrissy was able to notice herself at this time. She didnโ€™t even want to think about him anymore. At this moment, all Chrissy could think about was the dull, pounding ache behind her brows as her tired body adjusted again to its natural chemicals and the days of neglect. The arrival of the 5:30am Sacramento Express to Marysville made her wince, hissing in harmony with the air brake before she tucked the unlit cigarette back into its pack. Breakfast would have to wait.

Her bags were heavy. Chrissy managed to pack two large suitcases, as well as a large duffle bag, and a purse rivaling the magic of Mary Poppins. After living a luxurious life these last few years, she was almost cranky as she carried her bags to the busโ€™s undercarriage. She had been lugging these bags around San Francisco all day, so it was a relief to let the bus carry them for a bit.

The bus had a faint stale smell and was fairly empty. Thankfully, most people had no business going to Marysville this early in the morning, so the bus was nearly empty. It reminded her of the time she and Bran snuck out to play a gig in Sacramento. They finished their gig, and waited all night at the bus station so they could get home in time to sneak back into their beds. Rita never knew the difference.

Bran.

Bran is going to be pissed when he sees her again. Chrissy reached up and pulled the window open, releasing a stream of cool morning air into the bus. Her thumb flicked her lighter, igniting the end of the cigarette she had been waiting for since she boarded, hopeful it would help ease the dull ache in her head. It was only just hitting her how real coming home was starting to feel.

No one could argue that she screwed up, she did screw up. And she screwed around. And she screwed over some people she cared about. There were so many times she had severely f*cked up her life. Did Bran even know what she had done? Did he even want to see her again?

Oh god. The cigarette was making her stomach hurt more. She flicked it out the window, leaning her head on her arm, catching a few moments of light sleep before the bus rumbled into the Marysville bus station.

Thereโ€™s a strange flavor of bittersweet that comes with returning to a home that never felt like your home. Marysville hasnโ€™t changed a bit in the 9 years she was absent. The sun was starting to rise over the water tower as Chrissy picked up her bags again. It was only a 20 minute walk from the bus station to the Marysville Trailer Park. Chrissy hadnโ€™t figured out yet what she was going to say to Rita, but she resigned herself to dealing with that after at least 24 hours of sleeping.

The trailer park was the same.
The sign over the convenience store was the same.
Ritaโ€™s trailer was the same - modest with a few stylish blue stripes.

Chrissy took a deep breath before pulling open the door. Prepared to great the mother she hadnโ€™t seen in a decade, she was almost taken aback by the sight of a small, blonde haired man in the kitchen.

โ€œWho the hell are you?โ€




























cat people (putting out fire)

david bowie






โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก

 
mood :
Nervous, slightly bitter

location :
Sunnyside Complex
outfit :
mentions :


interactions :
acharya
Maya

The roads of Marysville rolled into view. The quiet streets were dotted with families in matching outfits, young people taking leisurely strolls across the grass, and older couples arm in arm, whispering sweet nothings to each other. Light spilled across the ground as if the sky had tipped over a glass of sun. Even after promising she would never return to this world, Maya Acharya found herself again in the sickening land of suburbia.

She gripped the wheel of her small rented moving van. โ€œRemember, this is just the means to an end.โ€

Her other option was to move to Houston, Texas to live with her mother, her sister, and her sisterโ€™s entire family. She had absolutely zero interest in becoming a cowboy or ever encountering one. So suburbia it was.

Fortunately, it was only a few hours away from the Bay Area, and her real home. All she had to do was create a killer portfolio, save up enough cash for a downpayment on a shitty apartment, and then get out before anyone could notice she was gone.

Easy.

Turning right, she passed the roller rink where sheโ€™d spend most of her workdays. It was only half the size of the ones she was used to, but at least it was a roller rink. She confirmed it when she stormed inside and practically demanded a job. Perhaps she could even liven things up a bit. Show this sleepy town how itโ€™s really done.
The shopfronts were all varying degrees of quirky, cute, and โ€œlooks like it was here in the 1800s when this was a mining town.โ€ Tearing her eyes away from the violent displays of โ€œsmall-town charmโ€, she turned up the grainy radio and hummed along to the metal screaming.

Her father would have loved this town. Even though he grew up in a coastal town, he always loved the quieter suburbs where there was nothing but asphalt and homeowners associations. He was so proud when he could finally move their family to Lincoln.

And look where that got him.

She turned onto Sunnyside Heights and found herself facing the little rinky apartment building that was to be her new home. The sight was almost enough to make her miss her old house, with its white picket fence and baby blue siding. Almost. Sighing, she killed the engine before sliding out onto the cracked asphalt.
***
The room didnโ€™t look so dismal when she first saw it. In fact, Maya had assured her mother that her new living accommodations were perfect. And yes, she had been stretching the truth a little. But they seemed at least adequate.

She dropped one of her boxes on the floor, sending a cascade of dirt, dust, and the ashes of ancient ancestors skittering into the air.

Now, looking at the ripped wallpaper, stained carpet, and chipped tiles, she was wondering if her desperation to stay somewhere in California had clouded her judgment just a little bit. She was sure she could hear the scrabbling of angry rodents. A shudder wracked her spine, and she wrapped her arms around her chest like she did when she was young.

This wasnโ€™t the beautiful life she had hoped for. This was a shoebox in Paryavatana or Tamisra. What had she done to deserve such rotten luck? First, the gods had to take away her father, and now they were punishing her by forcing her to endure her own kind of hell.

โ€œI know I havenโ€™t always been the most obedient servant. But was this really necessary? Havenโ€™t you punished me enough?โ€ She kicked the edge of her cardboard box, sending it careening across the floor. It hit the wall on the other side, one of the flaps opening, and checkered fabric poked out of the top. The last bit of material she used to make her first chair cover. Sheโ€™d channeled all her frustration over the move into creating something that felt like her. It was her one way to regain control over the situation. She couldnโ€™t change her situation, but she could change her surroundings and she could change her attitude. Just like all of her ancestors before her did under all the oppressive regimes that controlled India over the centuries.

There was no use caterwauling when she had made her choice. Her father came to America with next to nothing and lived in his own kind of shoebox before he achieved his dream. And while he hadnโ€™t left her much, he had left her his legacy. His beliefs. His lessons.

โ€œRemember Beta, you can do anything you put your mind to.โ€

This shoebox was the next step to her dream. And she would be damned if she betrayed her fatherโ€™s memory by giving up now.
Glancing from the fabric to the room, a small smile tugged at her lips.

And she knew just where to start.
coded by reveriee.
 
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  • intro

















    summer bummer.



    T
    he sun had begun its dance across the vast blue sky, mourning doves gently rousing Marysville's citizens awake with their melody. Strikingly white clouds stretched thin in stark contrast against a blue hue showing sure signs of an undisrupted sunny day. Under all of nature's glory exists a town spewing signs of humanity by the minuteโ€”families beginning their daily routine with a different confidence in their walk as an impending weekend loomed over their horizon. But first, today must begin.

    MULTIPLEX MADNESS โ€” 9AM.

    ...Casted shadows of faded blue and red against the mahogany brick building brought a rather rude awakening to the residents of Kowalski's multiplexโ€”wailing sirens slicing through the would-be serene early morning. First-floor tenants would be the first to be rapidly escorted out of the building while law enforcement trickled upward towards the second and third floors. Bang! Bang! Bang!

    There was no time to do anything other than slip on their closest pair of shoes and rely on their own comforting arms to try and block the cold chill from biting at their skin. It's the most chaotic scene to ever happen in the building, but not enough to mask the stench of sulfur seeping into their noses.

    Left vulnerable on the sidewalk, residents can only make out faint talk over busy police officers while Edward Kowalski argues with someone furiously scribbling against their clipboard. Eventually, residents can piece together every tenant's (on a fixed income) worst nightmare.

    Gas leak. Housing Violations. Code Enforcement.


    POOLSIDE PARADISE.

    ...With school lingering on the horizon for Marysville youth, the Sunnyside Community Pool has seen less energetic children as each day passes, leaving the flies to swarm over metal trashcans in search of any morsel left. Having to trade in neon-colored floaties for textbooks is every kid under 16 years of age's worst time of the year...

    ..But the best time for the adults to take their turn in the cool water.

    Among these adults to indulge in the absence of snotty-nosed children is a Marysville resident: Katherine "Kitty" Tinsleyโ€”and, of courseโ€”whoever the blonde bombshell decided to invite. But when a town as small as Marysville exists, exclusivity is nonexistent.

    Who made the invite list? And who decided to crash the party?
































intro



cast








SUNNYSIDE HEIGHTS



an 80's
slice of life.








status



closed







location



various, sunnyside community pool







time



august 1, 1989 // early morning (9AM).







weather



sunny with a high of 99ยฐ







cast count



32





















โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 










Monique C.















mood

let's get this bag!






Location

Frida's Botanicals






Outfit

surely something professionally appropriate for a flower shop






INT/MENTIONS

Charlie! ( nova.the.alien nova.the.alien )






TLDR

Monique knows she needs a job to pay for her own dream, how hard could it be?










A day in the life of the Clark family was always glamorous and mystical from the outside looking in. Terry and Diana Clark picking up their business and moving from the bustling, glittering city life of Los Angeles to the quaint, picturesque little town of Marysville. With only one of their three children still living at home, it made for an easier move than most, but it was an incredibly jarring culture shock when one Monique Clark found herself transferring to a new town in the middle of her high school years.

The Clark family name was not a famous name by any means; They weren't local celebrities who had paparazzi outside their house, they weren't bombarded with adoring fans wherever they went, and they certainly didn't have as much money as the Marysville gossip mill liked "theorize" about. But, being a married couple of well accomplished and decorated lawyers (Terry was a family court attorney while Diana was a criminal defense lawyer) the Clarks did live a more well-off life than most.

If they ever questioned it, they could turn and look at their youngest daughter, Monique. Being the youngest of three children, Monique definitely fit into the stereotype of precious little daddy's girl. Her older brother, Kenneth, was 10 years older than her, and then there was her sister, Jaqueline, who was 7 years older. There was a big age gap between Monique and her siblings, but they were still close and had good relationships. But by the time Monique was 11, her sister was 18 and her parents were talking to her about moving out. A large part of Monique's childhood and upbringing, she was the center of attention. She was the last child in the house and her parents didn't want to rush her out anytime soon.

The most common words used to describe Monique would certainly not include independent or headstrong, but they certainly wouldn't be lazy or unambitious. Monique certainly had ambitions and dreams, just not the dreams of the rest of the Clark family. While both her parents were lawyers, her brother was going into medicine and her sister had finally gotten around to being interested in real estate, and little baby girl Monique found herself interested in.... Fashion.

Many within the circle of the Clarks looked down on the youngest for her, ludicrous dream, but her parents were not in that crowd. Her parents proudly supported her. They saw the leaps and bounds she took to make her dream come true. She went to fashion shows and workshops, learned to sew and make her own clothes, they even lended her some connections of their own for her to do some shadowing hours at a fashion magazine office.

However, now was the time for Monique to step out on her own. Her parents had been paying for her dream long enough, and Monique wanted to feel like she earned her dream.

She needed a job.

~~

At 8am sharp, Monique was outside the local flower shop, Frida's Botanicals. Monique had zero work experience, but she knew she had to give it a shot. She made sure to wake up extra early, a crisp 5am wake up call from her alarm clock, to ensure she put her best foot forward when asking for a job. She straightened her hair, spend at least 45 minutes debating what outfit was fit for the professional vibe only a flower shop could offer, and made sure to run through interview questions with her parents.

Upon meeting Monique and learning her background, most think she's a mooch who only wants to ride off her parents' success and hard work. But her parents knew better; Monique is her own person, wanting of her own success and to make her own name. She might be a bit optimistic and naive, but she believes in hard work.

So when Monique waltzed in to flower shop, she held her head high, taking in a deep breath of the floral aroma around her. It was her favorite scent, the smell of fresh flowers it always cleared her head and helped her stay grounded.

She came right up to the counter,

"Hi! I'm looking to apply for a job!"




























P.Y.T.

Michael Jackson






โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก

 



role.





Rebecca Bradley



































stuck in the middle with you
















location

Calvary Baptist Church






outfit







interactions

Diana, Dr. Courtney, Arthur Rockwell

















Even at 9 AM, turnout at the church was impressive. Beck Bradley and Peter Courtney werenโ€™t the only loyal congregants whoโ€™d managed to take the day off to help set up and run the fundraiser that her supervising physician had been talking about for the past week. Dr. Courtney had made it onto the organizing committee for the annual church bazaar, an apparently coveted position given that he was unwilling to let anyone around him forget the fact for a single second. That also meant that as his loyal minion (resident who wanted a decent recommendation someday) Beck was an indentured worker bee for the day.

Usually at work, the white coat was an identity in and of itself. She wasnโ€™t Bo or Beck, but Dr. Bradley, respected up and coming doctor, or intern servant depending on who you asked. As long as she didnโ€™t let anyone she worked with know too much about her personal life, she could sort of disappear into the identity of a resident. The opportunity to get out of the hospital for an extra day was nice, but she wasnโ€™t looking forward to sliding back into the โ€˜good christian farm boyโ€™ mold. A tightknit, churchgoing community wasnโ€™t exactly new to Beck, they were surrounded by dozens of smiling, well-dressed, perfectly nice people. Beck could be a well-dressed, perfectly nice people, but sheโ€™d learned not to trust a single one of them.

What appeared to be every housewife in Marysville buzzed around the church and the lawn, the entire grounds being prepped for a garage sale, community meal, bake sale, silent auction, and whatever else the organizing committee had managed to pull off. It was one of few things that had reminded Beck of home around here, though not necessarily in a good way. Sheโ€™d grown up around this sort of thing, the church as the cornerstone of community back home, events like this were the social thread that wove her neighbors together. Sheโ€™d loved running amok through these events with the neighbor kids. The older, and queerer (and more of a nuisance) sheโ€™d become, church events had sort of turned into an ordeal. Show up because gram insisted, lift things with the boys, dodge side eyes from the neighbors, and fuck off to go smoke by the creek at the first opportunity while everyone else tried to set their grandkids up together.

As one of the only โ€˜menโ€™ on setup duty, Beck had been immediately been stolen away from her supervisor to go help move chairs and tables to set up a large seating area, a position she was more than happy with, no one could stop her to talk if she was constantly pounding up and down the stairs fetching furniture from the basement store room. It was kind of peaceful, getting into the rhythm of it.

โ€œBradley!โ€
Dammnit. Dr. Courtney's voice boomed her last name just as demanding as when it echoed off the walls of the hospital corridors. Despite the different environment, her mind quickly flashed through the patients on her current roster, but caught up to noticing the pair that accompanied Courtney before she began running through her mental checklist of anything she could have possibly fucked up within the last 24 hours.

A tall, graying, well-dressed man accompanied Courtney, a young woman behind him, who Beck tried to avoid letting her gaze linger on.

โ€œThis is Pastor Rockwell, Arthur, this is Robert Bradley, the new intern I was telling you about. He just moved here, just about Dianaโ€™s age, too!โ€
Diana then? Beck spared another glance at the girl, but quickly moved to smile at the man and offer a hand to shake.

โ€œGood to meet you, sir.โ€
Ever the polite christian boy, afterall.










 
Basia Gajos


INT: Chrissy Mitchell
TAGS: picklemouse picklemouse



โ€œWho the hell are you?โ€



Well, she was quite the disrespectful one.



โ€œI don't like your coat,โ€ Bashi replied in lieu of a proper answer.



If Bashi had been anything close to habilitated rather than a trailer trash rat living in a trailer he had only technically stolen, he might have felt bad for the poor young woman who somehow had a key to his home. Most people didn't like when you commented on their wardrobe, he had found. He did not care though, it was a terrible jacket. Just looking at it made his skin crawl. How could she stand the fringe? She must be sick in the head, he decided. But moving on from the jacket. Who was this woman?



โ€œIt looks uncomfortable. Why are you in my home?โ€



Bashi had moved into this fine home some six months to a year ago, pleased to find the space unoccupied and cozy, save for the odd stain on the living room carpet. He did not step on the stain no matter what. He didn't do a lot of things in his home. Except for when he first moved in, he did not go into the room in the back, he left that door closed as well. He did not sleep in the bunk beds, finding the closet comfier, and with less ghosts. He did not eat at the table, he sat in the kitchen sink and ate, cradled by stainless steel. Which is where he ate now, his slightly stale Cheerios crunching in his mouth as the intruder, well, intruded.



It was quite rude in his opinion, to barge in while someone's eating. He eyed everything but her as well, looking at the worn rolling pin just out of reach and the latch on the kitchen window. He stayed put though, his Grumman F6F-5 Hellcat was in the living room.



โ€œDo you make it a habit to barge in while people are eating?โ€



A handful of tasteless Cheerios were swallowed and another handful was shoved into his mouth, crunching away. Her boots were pretty cool.



โ€œI like your boots. They're cool.โ€



Maybe she was alright. Bashi stuck out a handful of Cheerios.



โ€œHere. They're good,โ€ they were not, they were stale and sad.



โ€œThey're not even soggy,โ€ Bashi would never make it as a salesman.



โ€œOr stale,โ€ he was an atrocious liar.



โ€œI promise,โ€ atrocious.













































coded by: @s e v e n

















 

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