Chessieabernathy‌:

kirbcy‌:

The sound of his voice drew a slow look from Bishop. It was hard to not recognize him, despite the fact that the man had aged some. This was the man that his sister decided to marry. It seemed to fit, just in that moment, that they were together. Granted, Bishop didn’t know Ben and he didn’t know King anymore either. Bishop stiffened against the smooth tone Ben had, like they had known each other all their lives, like he had been invited to the wedding, or even knew about it when it happened. Bishop had to bite his tongue as to not let fly a completely scathing remark. “Why does that even matter to you? You’re an in-law by title only.” 

He heard about what happened, Bishop had been through a lot recently. The least Ben could do was cheer him up. And if King cared about him so much, that meant Ben cared about him as well. “I’m not just talking to you because you’re my brother-in-law now,” He stated. “This party’s supposed to be a fun time. Can I get you another drink? Or two?” Ben offered. 

quinnxarchibald‌:

“I dunno, called me? Sent me a facebook message? Something!” Quinn replied, throwing his hands in the air in frustration and surrender. “Why? Why did you come back for me? Wasn’t leaving bad enough?” He snapped. “You had your life over in Europe, why throw that away?” He then asked, hating that Ben wasn’t looking at him. Hating that this was what their relationship had become. He needed answers though and couldn’t wait for Ben to be ready to talk.

“I don’t use social media and I didn’t know if your number was the same,” It was a lame excuse but he figured it was also better to talk to him in person. “Because I screwed you over, Quinn. That’s why. I fucked your life up,” He admitted, “That night... what I asked you to do, it’s all I can think about.” It was eating him up inside. It took months and months of convincing. He knew that talking to Quinn was eventually going to happen. He just didn’t want to do it at a party.

@rowan-tandel

 As he did most of the time since he had gotten here, he just sat all by his lonesome self. Being back in the city meant that he would have to reach out to those he ceased communication with so suddenly. Maybe that’s why he reached out to Rowan. He felt like things would be easy between them, and not complicated like Quinn.

“Fuck, you scared the shit out of me.” He said, as his thoughts disappeared and he looked at Rowan as he grabbed his jacket. He had been so used to travelling and having to keep his belongings close to him with the assumption that there were thieves taking advantage of tourists. He pretty much hoped the two of them could pick up where they left off. It wasn’t like he was gone for ten years or anything. However he felt like they had a lot to catch up. “How’s the business doing?” He asked, genuinely curious. Drugs to him were the norm. Whether he was doing them or around them, they were always there growing up. Drugs were like an old friend that he visited every once in a while now.

wrenabernathy‌:

Wren Abernathy had not been raised to discuss problems in public. Actually, he had not been raised to discuss problems, period. Many families tried to keep up appearances for the outside, but in the Abernathy family it went well beyond that, to the point where it had been nearly impossible for Wren to even talk to Chessie since she’d moved in with him. Of course, he checked up on her, made sure she ate and spent his evenings sitting in front of her bedroom door. But if he was being honest with himself, he’d been avoiding talking about what had happened as much as she had been avoiding him.

So, when Ben asked about her, all he did was dip his head and then look back up with what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “She’s okay,” he said, his intonation falling flat indicating Wren’s response was anything but an invitation to discuss Chessie. “How are you?” he asked, hoping that would be enough to change the subject. He liked Ben well enough, but he hadn’t exactly sought out the most clandestine table in the entire place to still have to talk about what had happened.

Despite his mother’s efforts to always tell Ben it wasn’t polite to be nosy, it never worked. He was always looking at drama from afar and never really trying to get into it himself. The latter was inevitable with a last name like Vanderbilt as well as having a knack for vices. It wasn’t his fault, it was in his blood. At least that’s what he told himself. 

“Good, glad to hear that,” He caught on that this was something Wren wasn’t particularly open about talking about, which was fine. He just liked hearing that she was okay. “I’m fine. I couldn’t be better.” He lied, not wanting to delve into any more details. Ben was a private person, he was taught to swallow his problems and put on a happy face when he was growing up. That was one of the few things that carried over into adulthood for him. “How are you?” He asked, returning the gesture. “Did you have a better New Year’s than the rest of us?”

text @ everyone (wren's entire contact list)

Wren: It's my Christmas card. I made it online.

Ben: Christmas is celebrated so differently in Europe.

Ben: we should try to give it a shot over here.

You ever get in a Mood where you just wanna poof off to another country, erase your history, re-write your identity, and become a mysterious figure who’s never been photographed but occasionally appears in paintings done by unknown artists

monty-santos‌:

“It’s just a mass-produced postcard type thing that the post office makes, so it’s nothing fancy,” Monty pointed out with a little shrug, “But I think it depends on what you’re doing there.  I actually lived mostly in France for nine years after high school and I found that if you tried speak the language and learn the customs and don’t just do the tourist thing they weren’t as ugh it’s an American.”

“Well, of course, they liked you. You’re Monty Santos. I can’t imagine anyone not liking you,” He admitted. Who could ever say something bad about Monty? Not him. “It probably didn’t help that I was inebriated most of the time. I wasn’t sober enough to understand their customs. Not to mention I never really paid attention in French. I just know how to tell them that I don’t know. You, on the other hand, you must’ve been very popular there.”

What is your favorite holiday memory?

“My father ruined the myth of Santa Clause for me when I was six and he asked why I still believed in that man. So that Christmas, my mom must’ve told him to make it up to me and I got a Rolex because he thought that was appropriate. I was able to sell that when I was abroad and let me tell you, definitely worth it. Thanks dad.”

kirbcy‌:

The moment Blur burned down was the moment that Bishop went missing. Well, in spirit. His body was present at every meeting, his mind spewing nothing but business, curbing any condolences with a glance that kept it business. His phone was a log of unanswered messages and emails from friends and family. The only hope they had was to turn it into business and he may answer, but only in regard to business. This holiday was the first time he had been to a social event since Celia’s death, and bitterness was on his tongue just like the scotch. This was an attempt to get some bearing back on his life, despite the fact that he was not ready to face any of it. 

Benjamin found himself loosening his tie a bit before stretching out the kinks in his neck. He did not miss all of these people, but he sort of did miss the partying. Once he spotted Bishop, he walked right on over to him. He had a soft spot for the Kirbey’s for some reason.“Hey, Bishop,” He said nonchalantly. Ben didn’t want to sound like he was sucking up to his brother-in-law. Even if he was. Sue him for wanting to be liked. Wait, no, don’t sue him. “Are you enjoying yourself so far?”

seboriley‌:

Sebastian decides to roll his eyes in lieu of dignifying the accent comment with a response. He has more pressing matters to deal with than perfecting his fake accent that is an awkward mish-mash of the loose-lipped slur of Rupert Grint’s accent and the prim, articulated poshness of Emma Watson’s. Not that prioritizing has ever been Sebastian’s strong suit. “I’ll stop complaining so much when you give me less to complain about, how ‘bout that?” Sebastian retorts just after a little scoff jumps up his throat. “Got ‘em,” Seb cheers, snagging a bag of lemons and limes from the bottom drawer of the fridge. “Find me a knife?”

“For the record, no one’s making you talk to me.” Ben was over pleasing everyone around him. He did that when he was under the Vanderbilt rule, which caused him to virtually live a double life. He didn’t care about pleasing Sebastian or giving him things to complain about. He started digging through Arlo’s kitchen, hopefully, he wouldn’t mind. Finally, Ben hit the jackpot and handed the knife over to Sebastian. He didn’t trust himself to open a bag at this state. “Are you going to have a lime too or just let the tequila burn your mouth?”