“if They Do Let Me Back There, Don’t Expect Me To Be Able To Pour Anything Other Than A Straight

SOME LIKE IT HOT 1959 — dir. Billy Wilder

body or not, it had been vikram's plan to finish the night at redstone all along. it suited him better, always preferred the grittiness of a live band over polished beats blaring through speakers. the place was crowded though, much more than usual. how annoying. vikram is ready to call it a night... but then the offer of free liquor is made, which naturally brings his plan to a halt. he turns to quinn, gaze alternating between the glass and the woman presenting it. "what is it?" he finally asks.

˚｡⋆୨୧ starter : open ! ˚｡⋆୨୧  where : inside redstone bar ˚｡⋆୨୧  time : 12am

the  hospital  had  been  draining  all  of  quinn's  energy  .  between  stomach  flus  ,  anxiety  over  the  murders  ,  &  car  crashes  -  it  had  been  a  whirlwind  of  patients  coming  and  going  .  for  the  first  time  in  weeks  ,  quinn  got  a  night  off  and  figured  now  was  her  chance  to  let  loose  .  her  eyes  widened  once  she  realized  the  bar  tender  had  given  her  an  extra  shot  of  tequila  .  there  was  no  way  the  dirty  blonde  was  gonna  take  two  ,  so  she  took  the  friendly  avenue  and  turned  to  the  person  beside  her  .  “  hi  ,  wanna  take  this  shot  with  me  ?  it's  free  .  ”  she  smiled  ,  hoping  the  tequila  would  find  a  rightful  owner  .

Dmitry: Thanks for agreeing to see me.

Dowager Empress: I didn't. You just walked in here and started talking.

Dmitry: I don't have time for a history lesson.

vikram makes no move to interrupt her rambling about what she lost. instead, he nods now that he understands what's truly at stake.  “i see.” he can't relate to the attachment kirby holds for her candy but he can respect that it matters to her that the bucket be recovered and that's enough. her question earns a bashful head dip and a chuckle from him, clearly flattered that she got the reference he was going for. maybe his costume isn't all that bad. “depends - are you going to kill me if i bring you back to my place?” he replies back with a smile, half concealed by the mask. jennifer check and the phantom... now there's a crazy combo! “okay then. you think you hid them down here?" he pulls out his phone and activates the flashlight before lowering to his knee and bending down to check under the cars beside them. “nothing here... are you sure you left it on this side of the street?”

god  ,  every  single  part  of  her  wants  to  sing  out  “  the  phantom  of  the  opera  is  here  ”  at  this  exact  given  moment  .  gerard  butler  amiright  ?  she  peers  down  at  the  cape  that  is  swishing  behind  him  and  raises  an  eyebrow  .  “  it's  a  pumpkin  container  filled  with  candy  .  i  left  it  somewhere  out  here  but  i  cannot  fuckin'  remember  where  and  i  was  in  the  ‘burbs  so  most  of  those  are  full  sized  candy  bars  .  ”  she  shuts  up  for  a  moment  ,  recognizing  that  her  incessant  rambling  about  her  love  for  the  ’  good  ‘  halloween  candy  matters  very  little  to  other  people  ,  actually  .  “  are  you  gonna  put  me  in  a  boat  and  row  me  through  a  shockingly  expansive  sewer  system  ?  ”  she  couldn’t  help  herself  ,  she  had  to  get  one  good  one  in  .

PUSHING DAISIES 1x01 - Pie-lette

SUCCESSION — 1.02 Shit Show at the Fuck Factory

location : deer lake

time : early afternoon

for : selin ( @inlustre)

"don't make fun of me." he starts, tone light despite his aversion to meet her gaze as he spreads the blanket out for them to sit. "i did get one of the precut fruit trays from your store but it's because i ran out of time. i uh, tried my hand at baking croissants for the first time and..." the laugh that escapes him is nothing short of sheepish as he sets the basket down between them. "next time, i'm just grabbing us something from the bakery." is it bold of him to already be hoping for a next time? perhaps. he just feels fortunate to have managed to steal this moment of selin's time.

if people watching were a sport, vikram would be a medalist. years of observing people—how they moved, what they said, how they reacted to one another. and selin, well, she was like the sun. bright and warm with a natural orbit of people surrounding her everywhere she went. then there was vikram, who never quite knew how to navigate the world of casual socializing. had to admit he was a little in awe of her. at how simple she made it look. “i’m glad you could make it out today,” vikram says, finally settling himself beside her. “it’s nice, being outside of work for once. i don’t get to do this much, but—well, you probably know how it is. i'm sure the store keeps you busy." lord knows he’s done his fair share of taking up selin's time when he's there.

My dad, he’s like, a financial planner. And I think he’s in trouble.

THE OC (2003-2007) 1.02 | The Model House

the silence between is heavy and the house seems to settle within it, wind whistling through the room as if to cut the tension. a shiver runs through them once more, the chill more physical than mental this time. kennedy is hyper-aware of their surroundings. of the dust particles floating in the air, the stray moonlight peeking into the room from poorly boarded-up windows, and kieran talbot. standing as the centerpiece.  illuminated by a warm light, lips parted slightly, a small twitch in his brow, dark eyes trained on them with a reflected caution. he almost looks like a painting. like something they would see in some museum, drawn by an unknown tragic artist, toeing the line between beautiful and unsettling. so kennedy does flinch when kieran moves closer, all instinct, eyes narrowing into daggers— a silent warning.

the mention of their book is unexpected and the wary glare softens into something kennedy can’t quite place, somewhere between amusement and surprise. they were sure that their parents did their best to spread the word about kennedy's achievement around town but they didn’t actually expect anyone care enough to pick up their book. they haven't spoken to anyone about it, not even santiago. so under kieran's mention of it, they suddenly find themselves thinking back on their time in italy.

a small church yet beautifully ornate with stained glass windows depicting idolized saints and dutiful angels. their eyes meeting his— the priest in their story. father caruso. the last murderer they were in a room with as far as they know .  the man who had the whole town wrapped around his finger. kennedy remembers looking around the cathedral, catching glimpses of the people in the pews looking up at him with teary reverence, clinging to his every word.

kieran’s voice pulls them back to the present, directing their attention to the battered bed nearby. sybil thorne’s bed. kennedy’s flashlight follows instinctively, skimming over the surface before snapping back to kieran, unwilling to lose sight of him. they feel disoriented, trapped between two worlds—the cathedral in their memory and the decaying thorne house.

kieran’s words settle in the room like the dust swirling in the faint light. more lamb than butcher. the phrase plays over in their mind, the weight of it heavier than they expect. "yeah?" they finally speak up, canting their head slightly, a slow-growing smile making its way to their features. "so what's a sweet little lamb like you doing out here then? hoping to find a purpose to bleed yourself into?" kennedy wasn’t fully convinced, they would be foolish to be, but they’ve never been the type to look to god or the universe for guidance. their gut was their bible and right now, it’s telling them that the kid who spent years buried in old articles and cold cases might be better used as an asset than dismissed as a suspect. they lower their flashlight some, and perhaps their guard as well. for now at least. "'cus i might just be on the same boat as you. " there's another pause then, only this time it doesn't feel so daunting. "do you think this place is actually haunted?" a sudden ask. they just can't help but shake the feeling that they were being watched. was it paranoia? god?

ꜜ ﹙ ⚰️  ﹚ ﹕ the questions hung heavy in the air for a few moments, met with kieran's silence as the thorne house creaked and groaned with every cold autumn breeze, almost as if the very walls were an audience reacting to this confrontation. he held his stance even against the blinding light of kennedy's flashlight, expression caught somewhere between surprise and something more akin to indignance against the returned accusation. it should be expected ﹕ he probably checked off multiple boxes in some litmus test for serial killers, but allegations felt like smoke sometimes ⸻ it could be suffocating if left unchallenged. he let the silence stretch out between them just for a few more beats, the weight of it pressing down on him like the dust that covered this old rotten place, before finally taking a small step forward. just to see if it would rattle them, just to see if they would flinch, just to see how much kennedy actually believed him to be red creek's newest murderer. then, a smile as he shook his head. “ i read your book, y'know ? great work you did there. but people look at it like it was an exposé on that priest, the oh so terrible things he did to maintain people's faith ... but the way i see it, it's more a revelation of the lies people tell themselves. ” kieran shrugged nonchalantly, casting his light on the bedside table, where sibyl thorne's weathered bible remained after all these years. and he wondered if she believed god would save her son from the misplaced wrath of this town. “ they need something to believe in, something bigger than their own insignificance. faith healing, prayers to some god, a big dose of hope and dopamine from the bible— because to live in a world without that, without the illusion of purpose, of salvation, would be too much. it's easier to believe in that whole weird apocalyptic scifi literature than accept we're just specks of dust drifting in a universe that doesn't really give a damn. ” and finally another step forward, hands raised in feigned surrender. he didn't always say much, sometimes not even enough, but kieran felt an affinity for kennedy ﹕ both of them only trying to make sense of what was happening in their town. “ guess what i'm tryin' to say is, i may not look like it, but i give too much of a damn to be an indifferent killer like this goddamn universe. i'm really just like all those people, ken. more a lamb than a butcher. ” a mess of belief, fighting too hard for meaning to ever be an empty murderer.