FOR : OPEN! LOCATION : Redstone Bar . TIMESTAMP : 8:45pm .

the direct and casual tone catches her off guard. even has her voicing it atypically : " oh. " it's amusing, really. the nonchalance. the ability to voice opinion, one based in earnest or not, without batting an eye. a stray thought comes to mind: kieran should make a podcast or try putting his opinions to paper. might be a damn hit. " should i thank be thanking you for that? i mean, really, this isn't some sort of indie horror flick. but, hell, you're making me curious who you are suspicious of. that's just the writer in me though. " effie's earnest at least, but she is wondering what's on his mind, who. it might even be useful to jot down— consider it for herself. yet, out of good manners, she doesn't press.

eyes flicker down to the unlit cigarette leaning close. the unspoken request met with her own lean. cigarette between her lips she lights it with the butt of her own. obverses him over it quietly. a creature of habit she is. ends it with a long drag and a collection of her bag while she stands. " thank you. i'm not really ... scared, but i don't think i want to cram myself into the bar like everyone else is. that'd really be what wigs me out. not enough room to breathe. " she adjusts her purse against her shoulder, slowly walking in the direction her apartment rests. eyes cast upwards a considerable distance. effie's never felt small before, but it's hard to ignore just how looming kieran was. that's a frame she'd never want to see in a dark hallway — a horror flick — only his shadow visible. " i have to ask though ... were you headed home or trying to snoop? no judgement. i'm no better sometimes. "

…                      oncoming headache was absolutely a cautionary tale against night outs, did not mean to get so senselessly wasted, especially when he only really attended that stupid halloween party for one single-minded purpose. and well, that turned out to be an utter fucking failure. but there wasn't anything quite as sobering as the news of yet another tragedy, the cogs and gears of his mind slowly beginning to turn again despite the lingering effects of alcohol and god knows what else he might have taken. “ safe as life. ” which was just another way of saying not at all, blown pupils thoroughly watching the smoke billowing from her mouth as if it was the most entertaining thing in the world. but it was a needed distraction nonetheless, something to fixate on while he attempted to get his shit together. but maybe he needed a far stronger stimulation, harshly pinching the bridge of his nose ⸻ and a groan slipped past his lips, nothing like some good ol' pain to jolt someone fucking wide awake. “ you're lucky i don't suspect you, ” said with typical nonchalance, taking out a marlboro of his own from a silver case. “ i can keep you company till you think it's safe. ” he had read way too much data and while she checked the white working class boxes of most female midwestern serial killers, a journalist like her was more likely to be the vulture circling the bodies, rather than the vicious wolf itself. he could be wrong, it wouldn't be the first time, but blame it on the alcohol, because kieran felt safe enough to lean in, tilting his head to meet her eyes, the unlit cigarette hanging from his lips as he silently asked if she'd light it off hers. maybe she wasn't the killer, but it still felt like flirting with danger : effie floyd just had that look, like she could eat you alive.

FOR : kieran ! @gorebound . LOCATION : THE WAREHOUSE ; HALLOWEEN PARTY . TIMESTAMP : 9:25pm .

if there's one thing damon won't pass up it's a party. and when it comes to the red creek annual halloween party? of fucking course they're going to be there. a common face at a common place, two plus two equals four after all. it wasn't in their plan to drink this heavily, but the atmosphere always seemed to get to them. adrenaline, good music, good times ... for a guy that's always on the move and filling up their plate it was nice to truly let loose every once in awhile. which, damon notices, is exactly what kieran isn't doing. they spot him immediately at the make-shift table bar. no drink in hand, though they didn't expect one to be, and scanning the crowd like they're birdwatching. it prompts damon to laugh to himself. it's only natural that they stride over with half empty red cup in their hand.

" well, well. " eyes scan him over for a moment. cowboy, classic. has seen about three of those, but this one ... " out here all dressed up like a cowboy and you're not even visiting the saloon? that's just shameful, kt. " they enter kieran's space, but only just enough to give a tap to their elbow. " come on, for fuck's sake, loosen up a little. y'know, for a guy that goes crawling around abandoned houses you're so ... " twirls their free hand in a circle and glances elsewhere before they smack their lips. " demure. "

FOR : open, come take a seat! LOCATION : sitting at a bench, just away from the party's warehouse TIMESTAMP : aprox 1:04am.

" talk about ... a mess, huh ? " effie says to the person lingering next to her stoop. since the warehouse began to clear and the music cutting with the announcement to evacuate ... she's had a cigarette between her fingers. another lost soul to join the bloody past of red creek. she's been here long enough, around for many a halloween, to know what the boogeyman mask represented. some were mindful, some were distasteful. the common denominator : all were aware. and that awareness ... was coming back to the forefront. and the hype about the town's potential ghost reviving beginning to surface into rattling rumors. it all comes full circle, doesn't it ?

the journalist's soul in her is alit in secret. the classic questions a buzz. how she'd write it, if she should even fathom to ask their friends or be more tasteful. questions and questions, ideas and ideas. however, she knows she'll let the hype die before typing away at her encrypted laptop. a fiend for knowledge, yes, but never crass. too many journalists out there were monsters after all. she'd never stoop so low as to disrespect someone like the others. effie's expression to the other isn't as panicked as it should be. remorseful, yes. scared, no. a sigh sounds from her lips with another puff of smoke. she offers a wry smile. " think its safe to walk alone ? not enough details out yet to know if it's, you know, smart to. "

" i wouldn't call it brooding, lela. self reflection is good for the soul, ain't it? i'm getting old. " snorts as their hand snatches the bottle from its spinning. old, that's just a fucking excuse. still, they'd been on their best behavior lately. fights had all but left themselves in the dirt for the past year, the broken chairs repaired ... might as well put a gold star on their board! still, they remember the plights of their ear twenties. some secondhand embarrassments, some hilarious bonfire stories. the big, wet eyes of their mother might've finally caught up to them. among other things. ( the lingering suspicion of being brought in for questioning for wrong place wrong time, wrong punch thrown. kept their record clear as day somehow it ought to say that way ). damon mimics lela's, but with their chin propped up on their fist. " good behavior ... what's that to you, hm? " lips curl into a smile, head tilted forward just slightly, " would buying you a drink count? you think i'm brooding. can't with your company. "

lela leans against the bar, one arm propped casually on the counter as she watches damon spin his bottle. her expression is unreadable at first, lips pressed into a faint line, though the flicker of amusement in her eyes gives her away. "yeah, 'cause spinning your beer like that is definitely the way to save face," she quips, her voice carrying that dry, teasing edge she’s mastered. she shifts slightly, resting her chin on her hand as she regards him. "but, hey, credit where it’s due. you’re keeping it tame tonight. no broken chairs, no shouting matches. i almost don’t recognize you." there’s a pause, her gaze softening slightly, though the smirk stays. "though, murder night or not, you’ve still got a knack for getting people to remember your name, don’t you?" she tilts her head, tapping her fingers against the bar. "so, what’s the plan, damon? you just here to nurse that one bottle and brood, or are you gonna surprise me with some actual good behavior?"

(  harris dickinson  .  agender  .  they/them  )  .    ⸻  maksym "mak" kisková  ,  a  twenty-six year  old  ,  has  survived  another  day  in  red  creek  where  they  have  twenty-six years  .  the  snake in the grass  is  known  for  being  persistent  and  apathetic  and  is  often  associated  with  a smile on your face doesn't mean your kind, it's just a way of showing your skeleton and that you're human, too ; smiles can be cruel / standing in the shadow of great minds, excepted to excel to their expectations ; and you don't want to, not at their request / a desperate need to be yourself in a world you have a mirror / an anger that is placed wherever you can put it ; a cold anger, it doesn't burn when it hits / not being as put together as you seem and appear ; at the heart of it you're tearing at your own puzzle pieces ; you want fucking out of here.  in  a  small  town  where  they  work  as  nurse  word  travels  fast  .  it’s  hard  to  keep  a  secret  ,  and  it  looks  like  the  boogeyman  knows  [ THE WRITING IS SCRATCHED OUT ].

full name: maksym alexi kisková. nickname(s): mak, only mak. age: twenty-six. zodiac sun sign: scorpio. birth date: october 27th. gender & orientation: agender, they + them, homoromantic asexual. place of birth: red creek, michigan. occupation: nurse at red ceek hospital familial ties: josef kiskova ( father, alive ), natlka kovalchuk ( mother, alive ), kazimir kiskova ( older brother, alive ), finch kiskova ( identical twin brother, alive unfortunately ), . height: 6'2".

CHARACTER INSPOS : gregory house ( house ), carmen berzatto ( the bear ), lip gallagher ( shameless ), armand ( interview with the vampire ).

FAST FACTS ⸻

technically the middle child of the kiskova's, they're a shining image of what it feels like to me the middle sibling. ( RELATIONSHIP WITH OLDER SIBLING TBA ). despite this, they weren't free from the expectations put onto them by their parents. however, one relief, was the closeness with their twin brother finch throughout their childhood. in a way, it kept them grounded into later years of adolescence once the pressure of a future and achievements to live up to came into play. they were a fairly solitary child aside from this, not quite feeling like they could mesh or empathize well with others aside from their siblings.

however, once finch lost all hope for his future and seemed to give up on everything mak's was triving for ... a rift pulled the two apart. mak sees their twin as almost an insult to themselves, a shinning example of the last thing they want to be. they can't bear the cross of potentially disappointing, especially, their father. the loss of their mother to assisted living played a heavy part into this as well. since with her absence, mak felt a greater draw into living up to their wit and intellect. almost as if to honor them.

they're not free from their own issues. with a bipolar i diagnosis, there's used to be greater times where mak seemed to rapidly shift between extremes. this caused a disarray with their father when they'd have outbursts in school and frustrated them whenever their motivation seemed to dip, especially, later in life. since being medicated they've seemed to smooth out, but this is something they'll have to live with for the foreseeable future.

their track through med school after high school was fairly easy. they found it easier than high school since they didn't feel another pressure of being social and part of friend groups. however, they did begin to open up with the slight distance of their family and recently are seen as more approachable and level-headed though still have that streak of being apathetic in interpersonal relationships. regardless, a pressure to preformed still remains especially with their disparity to leave red creek.

and leaving red creek is a must for them. since their disregard of finch, they want to become someone for themselves not for what they feel like is a name. it's a desperate desire ; wanting to further their medical degree outside of the confines of this turbulent town and make a name for themselves for themselves with their future doctorate. though they seriously need to work on that dry ass bedside manner. however, something seems to keep them here. it gnaws at them that they can't put a thumb on it.

there's a certain sort of air to kieran fucking talbot. and something about it has garnered damon's interest. enough to latch onto him halloween night— get him out of that little air pocket of his. it has their mind straying, wondering if kieran had some actual fucking fun with it or if they regretted it come morning. was he the type to have a hangover? did he remember the rest of it after damon scampered off? its his own personal questions posed internally. questions he might've asked with kieran's sudden appearance before the conversation forks. a character listing, something about due diligence and an alibi— and then a car's tires skid. not on the road beside them but in damon's head ; an echoing 'skrrrchhh!' at the question proposed:

'did you kill alaina price?'

bold. sudden. but maybe that's exactly what kieran was. bolder than damon could ever give them credit for. damon's blinking rapidly, three times to be exact as a mass wave of emotions wrack through their chest. confusion, why the fuck is he asking me that? discomfort, is that the type of person he thinks i am? intrigue, does he ask everybody that? it swirls and swirls until a fourth option is decided on. its amusement, almost, but likes the merry warmth that normally comes with it. gotta keep up that facade of his. otherwise kieran might really think he's suspicious. answers first with a sharp laugh and then a near whisper, " gonna ask what i killed her with next? " a humoring of the question, tone low and almost a little too serious. they're adjusting the way they lean against the wall. forearm pressed to the bricks and angled slightly more towards kieran's lean. " don't want to be used as an alibi, but i think you're already my alibi from halloween night. you the type of drunk that doesn't remember a wink, kier? " poses a question back to kieran, too fucking curious to see the rebuttal. this is denial in damon's way. taking the all-too-fucking-serious inquiry and turning it almost to a mockery. its not that they don't feel for the poor woman, but the personally known fact they didn't fucking do it. something burns in the center of their chest. a match freshly lit, sulfur tickling his nose. " humor me one more time here. i wanna know how that mind of yours works. " the hand not suspended with their lean gestures towards kieran ; a two fingered lazy point. " 'cause its real ... bold to ask someone if they're a murderer. unless you just like flirting with danger. "

his head tilts to the side, " the fuck makes you think that? seriously, i gotta know the criteria. "

ꜜ ﹙ ⚰️  ﹚ ﹕ there was a quiet kind of sickness to trailing someone like damon del valle⸻ a moral vertigo that came from the careful balance of what he was hoping to find versus what he was afraid to be true. and kieran had always been acquainted with people like them ﹕ the restless, unmoored types that lived in the liminal spaces between good intentions and bad decisions. he didn't want to suspect damon, not really. in fact, he had always admired their ability to be the sparkplug of any gathering. he could never be the same kind as damon, only the kind to fall for it ﹕ just like he did on halloween night, when he let damon flush a couple of hours of clarity and cognizance down the drain, in favor of alcohol and released inhibitions. but the more he looked at him, the more he spent time in their light, the more kieran realized that there was always something missing. a lack of true knowledge over who damon really was at their core. it was like watching smoke rise from a cigarette, wondering if it was the start of a fire or just the smolder of something already spent. and it didn't help that damon insisted on hanging out in places like this ﹕ dingy back alleys with dubious company, the smell of stale beer, weed and the distant exhaust curling up between buildings. it painted them in a light that was difficult to ignore⸻ placing kieran in a peculiar purgatory between suspicion and the gut feeling damon was not the one. not that it would change anything. truth didn't care about his gut. but still, kieran wanted to clear their name, or more specifically, trying to clear them off a growing list of people who could've killed alaina price that night. he thought about all his other suspects, compared them to damon, but the loud scrape of a boot against fractured pavement snapped him out of his mind, avoiding their gaze for a moment and watched the cars on the road, as if he hadn't been waiting here for this exact moment. “ i think i'm more clarice starling. fox mulder. dale cooper. ” kieran responded flatly, though not unkind. he leaned back, weight settling against the brick wall, gaze shifting toward damon's hands instead⸻ almost amused by the gestures, but mostly curious of what those hands were truly capable of. “ listen— damon. i'm not here to waste your time. just doing my due diligence, really. ' cause i'd really hate to be used as some kind of alibi, ” a pause, not a long one, but enough to let the weight of the moment stretch thin. then, he finally looked into their eyes and asked the question, landing with no ceremony or inflection, just a nonchalant query that even piqued the attention of some people passing by ﹕ “ did you kill alaina price ? ”

(  laz alonso  .  cis male  .  he/him  )  .    ⸻  abel d'angelo  ,  a  fifty year old  ,  has  survived  another  day  in  red  creek  where  they  have lived  for thirty-four years  .  the  catalyst  is  known  for  being  passionate  and  argumentative  and  is  often  associated  with  old leather jackets stained with years of wear and grime ; an old motorcycle's association stitched into the back ; despite its age it looks well loved and never free from heavy shoulders / large hearts doesn't always mean soft ; something that beats so strongly has to have grit to it, it has to be able to bear burdens and that's exactly what you're known for / looking behind you is never going to get you anywhere, the only place to go is forward ; keep your eyes forward or lose them to the blinding lights of the past.  .  in  a  small  town  where  they  work  as  co-owner of redstone bar word  travels  fast  .  it’s  hard  to  keep  a  secret  ,  and  it  looks  like  the  boogeyman  knows  that [ LOUD SCREECH OF TIRES ]

full name: abel joseph d'angelo. nickname(s): angel, abe. age: fifty. zodiac sun sign: taurus. birth date: may 2nd. gender & orientation: cis man, he + him & demisexual. place of birth: detroit, michigan. occupation: co-owner of redstone bar, rider with the steel wings motorcycle gang club. familial ties: spouse of 28 years ( wc tba ), two children ( wcs tba ), younger sibling ( wc tba ). height: 6'0".

CHARACTER INSPOS : jax teller ( sons of anarchy ), luke cage ( marvel ), corvo attano ( dishonored ), herc hansen ( pacific rim ).

FAST FACTS ⸻

was born in detriot, michigan, but due to abel's uncle needing to retire from ownership of the redstone bar, the family moved into red creek when abel was 16 years old. it was a relatively easy adjustment for abel, since they found themselves drawn to adventuring. as a teen abel was a bit rowdy, getting into trouble for all of the right reasons. apart of wrestling in his high school years really made him the wrong kid to let you see shoving someone into a locker or determining someone as "lesser".

often hung around redstone prior to being 18, working under the table and helping his dad with random tasks. overall, they were pretty friendly growing up in a social setting. during his time working for his father and living in red creek, eventually he briefly dated choi dasom for a total of 2 months before breaking it off. it wasn't long after their breakup that dasom went missing, making abel and his new relationship with his current spouse a bit of a rumor factory. it eventually died out once he asserted himself as uninvolved, but the thought still may remain in old red creek's residents minds. it didn't help he was a known close friend of casimir's, the charismatic musician later murdered. abel seemed to take this extremely personal and almost shut himself off from getting that close to anyone else for the entirety of the string of disappearances and murders.

an active community member who tries his damndest to be involved despite his reclusive behavior. like his father before him, he's a man of community. such is why redstone is open place to be with comedy nights still upheld, the live band, and frequent pitstops for motorcycle gangs.

sometime in the last 10 years, abel's interest in motorcycles lead him to becoming a tertiary member of a motorcyclist group called the steel wings. occasionally he will ride with them and be gone for a span of 2 months, hence his decision to acquire a co-owner for redstone bar which became zakaria singh. nonetheless, there are times he can't stand to be within the walls he once stood beside long gone friends. however, there are times you'll catch him bartending and chatting in order to keep his face and stay involved with his patrons. he likes to know what is going on and remain his own bouncer in times where shit gets too messy.

a family man above all else. despite disagreements and roadbumps with his fast marriage to [TBA], all roads lead back to family. when it comes to decisions, there is always a thought about his spouse and children present. despite everything he is a warmhearted man and this extends to those who stick around him or become regulars.

hobbies include: mechanic tinkering, boxing, morning jogs, motorcycling, life-long standup comedy enjoyer.

POTENTIAL FOR MORE TBA.

DAPHNE BLAKE, played by the journalist herself . . . effie floyd ! coming to a red creek halloween party near you! template cred.

a certain restlessness has taken root in damon's bones. insurmountable energy that just couldn't be placed. maybe it was because their hands were empty ( except for their take-out piece of toast ) and the day unfulfilling in every possible way. what the average citizen of redcreek doesn't expect out of damon was how money driven they were. likely, they'd pick up just about any job. taxi service, weekender at the diner, the bar, the warehouse ... anything to add weight to his pockets. well, maybe they do. they're everywhere. also nowhere. a hard little mouse to keep track of, but a mouse after cheese nonetheless.

they're chewing with a spacy eyes, looking towards the bustling customers headed towards the car or down the street. recalls some of the faces: tyler, from the gas station. dwayne, a mid shifter getting off work from the diner, priscilla or miss. priss from the tenth fucking grade. faces and faces they'd seen from their lifelong stay in the creek. what pulls them back down to earth is the loud, recognizable voice of none other than tobias northcott. a pause of their chewing, a squint of their eyes. " what, think i'm not suitable for the public, northcott? " northcott in return for short - streak.

" think your temperature is running a bit too high there. it's fucking nipply. " they return to their piece of toast, tongue chasing the grape jelly from the side of their mouth. tobias, a goddamn blunder of a newcomer. well, not really new anymore, but maybe they will be again. also everywhere and nowhere. must be why they keep rubbing shoulders. if damon were a different person, maybe like kieran, they'd be questioning what tobias got up to in the dead oof night. thumb to mouth, releases it with an obnoxious little ' pop! ' the silence is dragged on to be just as obnoxious, dramatic. " i got a better question for you. the hell you tryin' to trip into? good standings with the waitresses? "

closed starter: @c0nnectdots — damon del valle . located @ dolly's diner & in the surrounding circumference .

arriving  in  town  for  the quintessential  american  breakfast  means  that  his  taste  buds  are  open.  he  adapts.  he  blends.  (  actually,  this  just  means  that  dolly's  is  the  easiest  place  to  go  after  an  all  -  nighter.  )  but  who  pulls  that  kind  of  thing?  no  circles  under  his  eyes,  no  bedhead,  no  lackadaisical  jacket  —  surely  not  him.  (  it's  him.  )  tobias,  hands  stuffed  in  the  pockets  of  his  canary  -  yellow  letterman,  blisters  about  as  obnoxious  as  an  off  -  key  warbler  as  he  coaxes  his  way  across  the  diner  parking  lot.  hey,  hey,  how's  it  going?  felix,  right?  because  he  remembers  those  brazen  enough  to  knock  their  heads  getting  to  his  dj  booth  on  a  busy,  whirring  night.  he  remembers  them,  all  the  way  down  to  the  cut  of  their  jaw  —  and  the  distinct  upturned  curl  of  their  hair  —  and  the  way  ink  ribbons  follow  their  shoulders  —

fuck,  what  the  fuck  is  damon  doing  here?  disguised:  he  releases  felix's  shoulders  and  aims  both  guns,  they're  both  made  of  fingers,  in  damon's  direction.  “no  way!”  smile  already  curling  around  the  greeting.  “well,  well.  fancy  seeing  you  here,  short  -  streak.  what  kinda  meet  -  cute  bullshit  are  we  tripping  our  way  into?”  his  steps  were  quick  before;  they  quicken  further.  golden  retriever  bounding,  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing  grinning,  it's  all  the  same  after  the  eleventh  hour. "least you deserve, after all this not - so - radical heat burning the shit outta your neck."

thomas jaquet