There's A Certain Sort Of Air To Kieran Fucking Talbot. And Something About It Has Garnered Damon's Interest.

" yeah, no, i'm not giving you the satisfaction of some enthusiasm. " what they do give is a shred of amusement ; trickled in there with the lilt of their voice. nadia singh, someone they'd avoided like the fucking plague — a fault not of her own but, well, she should know why. recent years the distance has shrunk, whittled down into something closer to acceptance. mak leans back against the bench with their arms folding across their chest. confusion comes across their face with the concealed concerned. knows her enough it's there, but she's not going to offer it on a silver fucking platter. though at least mak doesn't desire it. it works out in its own way. unfortunately, they both seem to work out in the same space. " hi, nadia, i am absolutely fine. " they're not sure if a haze of thoughts counted as not fine, but they weren't going to go into detail with that. " just lost in thought. the er can be a real fucking drag sometimes, you know? worked an all night and, well ... " waves their hand around. proverbially swatting away the dribble. " so it goes. " they look around at the vacant sidewalk, save a few walkers before they're looking back to nadia. " what're you up to besides bothering me? can never really know with you. "

" the greetings really gone down hill around here . " nadia agrees . she shouldn't be surprised by mak's response . nobody is more defensive and ready to offer brittle words than he is . nadia still has to do the double take sometimes : is it finch , or is it mak ? how can two people look the same yet be so different ? she wonders if anyone ever wonders the same about her and zak . she doubts it . one stayed . one left . there is nothing more to the story . " if i say hello mak nice enough , will you say hello nadia , you're looking beautiful today in your most enthusiastic tone ? " she asks , even though they both already know the answer . nadia offers him a half - smile , a small shrug . " i just wanted to make sure you were ok or whatever . " adding or whatever makes it seem less genuine , less real , less SENTIMENTAL . it's nadia's bread and butter .

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."

Okay maybe mama did raise a fool

" ooohh, ricardo, have you been drinking? this isn't like you. " it's a jest coupled with a puff of laughter filled with smoke. effie has worked beneath him long enough to know this wasn't up to status quo. known for his sharp tongue and blaise tenor, he'd never willingly offer that. and yet, here he is. offering. truthfully, effie has always been acutely aware of his slight shift with her. its never been drastic nor suspicious, but the sharp edge dulls just a bit. she hasn't questioned it before and wouldn't start now, but couldn't help but to tease it. " i'll take you up on that. "

effie goes to stand and reaches behind her for the bag. red strands of a wig stick out comically, the discarded piece to her costume. it'd started giving her a headache over an hour ago, but she'd just now decided to rip it off. effie floyd, committed to her own detriment. " kennedy ... she's always right on the mark, isn't she? " the cigarette returns to her mouth for another puff. the silence mingles with the dissipating smoke. she pretends to ponder with this, but she's already known how to handle her own work since the announcement. " if you want my honest opinion i think we should hold off on any columns. " she looks from the sidewalk up to ricardo, head tilting towards the side. " that includes kennedy. me. you. jump before the officials and it'll cause a mess. post too soon it could breed hysteria. nonetheless ... it'd be a bit cruel to give a tragedy a damn timestamp like six pm, don't you think? "

EFFIE INTRIGUED RICARDO , which was a rarity . she wasn't one to outrightly gossip , nor was she one to fall into the bitchiness and politics like the rest . she was a straight shooter and ricardo has always liked them straight and direct . " i'll walk with you , if you want . " he offers , even surprising himself . decency and ricardo's name don't usually belong in one sentence , but he supposes he can take an hour or two off from being the world's largest douche bag . plus , secretly he does think that if anyone should and could and had the RIGHT to own the register . . . . it was probably effie . unfortunately for her , his family , name and connections got HIM the job . " you've got your concentration face on . kennedy said they'd be writing up a piece - what's your angle ? you know print goes out at 6 . "

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. "

eyes flicker from their phone, brows furrowing a bit. " scary and spooky makes me think of xenomorph or the freak from 'it'. if you were ghost face, i'll be devastated i didn't get to reenact the ... " the hand grasping their phone and the free one rise to their cheeks, voice pitched a bit. " NO, don't kill me mr. ghostface! i wanna be in the sequel ... " laughs almost instantly at themselves, batting the air in savannah's direction with his phone. maybe that's a bit too on the nose, crude and basic with the small town gossip stereotype. oh well, not like it didn't go through everyone elses mind. its easier to talk about this than their fucking embarrassment. wound buried beneath its mountain of salt. sugar poured into on top. a little salty, a little sweet. no, it's something bitter— " i'm yammering. lay it on me. maybe i'll spout some ideas for you next year. long as a meteor doesn't hit, add some extraterrestrial spooky shit to this creek. "

Savannah needed some time to kill before the band's set and thankfully, her initiating the conversation wasn't totally shut off. She wasn't always good at starting them, liquid courage helping her open up a bit more though.

"Yeah, I heard about it all. Small town, gossip tends to spread like wildfire," she spoke. Not trying to pour any salts in potential wounds by bringing up the events of Halloween, she tries her best at pivoting the topic a bit. "No, I wasn't really going as basic this year," she joked with Damon. "You're too cold on the guess. Think something more scary and spooky. Do I strike you as the princess type?"

there were many more exciting things to do than smoking outside of a nightclub, yes. effie hasn't thought of going in, but rather found it to be a nice hidey-hole to pause her walk. the thrum of the music good white noise, almost calming from the outside. but, no, she won't go in she's taking a pause from a new nightly routine walk. restless, unable to sleep. after awhile tossing and turning surpassed annoying and became boring. she isn't sure where it stems from, but maybe it's everything. the register's latest post, the missing person's, the wanted poster, the buzzing ... everything and anything all at once. it has her buzzing and wanting to type away on her laptop. however, she feels ricardo might have a tighter grip on her words. look over her shoulder too much. it grates her more than she'd let on — but she'll cross that bridge when she gets to it.

she sees him before she hears him, eyes glancing over to the fellow smoker. when he speaks effie's head tilts, engaged with the topic. ding, ding, ding ... it's one of the things keeping her eyes open. " hmm. interesting thought. " the cigarette is raised to her lips as her shoulder blades roll, turning her to a lean against the wall with just one shoulder pressed. smoke tumbles from her lips towards him, glancing over just to acknowledge the picture. " asking for a third ... that's pushing it, though. that get you far on any dating apps? " there's a smirk. it isn't meanspirited, but he could take it however he wanted. she follows the slicing gesture and responds with a laugh. " who knows ... go with your story of them being a cute couple together, they could've ran away. maybe hauled off somewhere together after some atrocities. " it's ridiculous and effie knows it, but she's willing to live in the hypothetical for a moment.

another drag off of the cig and she's looking up at the sky. " honestly the real question is ... will the guy turn himself in, come clean or is he on the run and hiding something like anybody and everybody does. " looks back towards francis. " tell me, which would you do— run or tuck your tail? "

ꜜ ﹙ 💳  ﹚ ﹕ there were probably more exciting things to do on a friday night than smoking a cigarette outside of the town's lone nightclub⸻ a masochistic test of discipline, like the proverbial moth trying to deprive itself of the flame that burned and burned and burned. but attempts at restraint did not make the allure any less bright. instead, he focused on the faded scraps of paper that plastered on the building's facade, a messy collage of events posters and local business ads, fluttering in the breeze. but there were two posters that stood out— demanded attention, really. side by side, and newer than all the rest. francis took a slow drag as he stared at those two faces, smoke curling up from his mouth as he exhaled with a sigh ﹕ a sound that almost sounded profound. almost. and francis looked like he was chewing on something meaningful, maybe deep, when he beckoned a passerby closer with a sharp psst⸻ a feeling of urgency underling the noise, as if his thoughts could not wait any longer to be said out loud. “ do you see it ? ” gaze returned to the missing and wanted posters, a brief pause just to see if they would make the same discovery. and finally, “ missing girl and wanted guy. they'd make a cute couple, right ? like, opposites attract or whatever. she looks all bright-eyed and fun, and he's got that ... ” francis circled his cigarette vaguely in the air as he tried to find the words, then taking another drag. “ that i'll ruin your life but you'll love me for it thing going on. kind of hot. ” smoke billowing out as he spoke, coughing when he finished the thought with a small laugh. “ but, guess it's too late to ask if they want a third, huh ? girl's been two months missing, so she's probably⸻ ” cigarette dropped to the ground and hand raised to his neck, a slicing gesture across his throat with lazy precision before letting out a croak. @c0nnectdots

" clearly those melodramatic fucking monologues still get your attention. " words are accompanied by a laugh. sure, they'd noticed the guitarist doing what he does best up on the bar's stage. strumming like there's something to lose in the strings vibrations. hard not to, given history. given damon's insistence on knowing who he was in the room with. the expression on his face shows he doesn't mind finch's appearance, but the scrunch of his nose shows he minds their tab. the snagged bottle didn't even receive that much attention. " and you're still getting me to pay for your drinks. shit just don't change. " and it never seems to. if one day the sky dusted in technicolor, letting off sparks ... maybe they'd view red creek in a different light. the corner of their mouth twitches in a smirk towards the roaming gaze— their own sharp gaze fliting towards a covered hipbone. acknowledgement. a ' F ' and a ' D '. always some sort of reminder they both were here. " well, finny, ain't that the question? what haven't i fucking done? " two fingers tap against the wood of the bar. they mimic the rhythm strummed on the bass just moments ago ; the thing that countered the slight tension in the atmosphere. maybe that was just damon's, though. anxiety they'd briefly exposed with that dramatic fucking monologue. they'll stick to biting their tongue again. damon doesn't offer a toast, but their newly opened bottle clinks against finch's with a satisfying noise. they take a moment to continue, swallowing down a long drink. just for those melodramatics finch loved to point out.

" got into a fight right where we're sitting and you'll never guess when ... fucking murder night. halloween homicide. " tattooed hand with the bottle lifts to slice a finger across their own neck, " talk about bad timing, but looks like i've skeeved my way past the consequences of my actions. " their body leans just slightly closer. it isn't enough to breach personal space, but enough to prove attention is zeroed in on the younger man. beer released and rested on a coaster in favor of leaning against their own arms. " what kinda shit you been into lately, huh? "

*    ❪   🦇   ❫    ﹕ 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲'𝘀 𝗮   𝗰𝗹𝗮𝗽   𝗼𝗳   𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗱𝘀   𝗼𝗻   𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻   𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱𝗲𝗿   𝗯𝗹𝗮𝗱𝗲𝘀   in a job well done as   he worms  his way  through   the   crowd,   guitar   strapped   against   his   back   in   an   embellished   shield   for   the   A/C   that   threatens   to   dry   him   up   like   an   orange   peel.   metal   strings   are   splattered   with   the   blood   that   seeps   through   the   bandages   pasted   erratically   on   each   slim,   boney   digit.  ❛ what   the  fuck   are   you  even  chatting about ? ❜  he interjects, icy hues glancing over at the older man. a   familiar   face   that   usually   serves   to   spark   an   irritable   flame,   but   the   stench   of   violent   forthcomings   demands  attention from someone who relishes it,   letting   the   conversation   further   rather   than   die   out.   ❛ still   haven't   let   go of those   melodramatic   fucking   monologues. ❜    their   temper included.   it's what had kept the two tethered to one another. that and, other things.  finch's   gaze   roams   their physique,   seeking   out the   assumably   faded   ' F ' initial   that   marks   his   territory.  ❛ what'd   you   do,   d ? ❜    straight canines bare a lazy smile,   snatching   the   bottle   and   downing   it   in   one   parched   swig   before   tapping   it   against   the   island.  ❛ two more rox,   put   it   on   their   tab. ❜ 

" i'm pretty sure a fight makes the punching part pretty equal. otherwise it's just getting jumped. " this, not spoken with sarcasm. cut and dry, like some gin. their eyes glance down towards the beer bottle that the second owner of the bar glances to. wonders, briefly, if he thinks its tending to a habit. salt to the wound and the still slightly throb of a jaw. damon sighs, almost defeated as he all but sinks into the bar. arm folder, chin propped. " hey, c'mon, already went on my apology string — like a fucking gentleman — and paid for the bottle my skull broke. " reminds him, a bit, of when his mother would scold him. not that zak's comparable to his fucking mother, but its in similar vein. act like a gentleman, reeeeel it innnn. that type of shit. and he has, for the most part. impressive he'd just now broken the streak of no-punching after two years. " yeah, yeah. pip-pip cheerio all the way. " pause, point of a finger, " you seen that poster around? change subjects. since i already know i've been a bad little boy with a bad attitude ... lemme talk t' you like i'm just some guy. " they really are just some guy.

"no  shit,"  is  an  immediate  reply  back,  something  akin  to  a  glower  on  zak's  features  as  he  stretches  up  and  back,  almost  cat  -  like,  lazy  and  languid.  the  hem  of  his  shirt,  already  cropped  too  short,  rises  -  then  falls  again  as  he  leans  forearms  against  the  bar  top,  rag  tossed  over  hunched  shoulders.  "so,  were  you  the  one  who  got  the  shit  punched  out  of  him,  or  the  one  who  did  all  the  fucking  -  punching?"  his  eyes  fall  onto  the  beer  bottle;  gaze  lingering  for  a  moment  before  he  peels  them  away  to  stare  into  space  -  cramped  and  small.  it's  -  ironic.  a  (  former  )  alcoholic  owning  a  bar.  co  -  owning,  anyways.  more  like  -  watching.  babysitting  the  patrons.  making  sure  no  more  fights  break  out  when  abel's  attending  to  his  own  business.  "you  even  -  look  at  someone  the  wrong  way,  and  your  ass'll  be  out  the  door.  i'm  expecting  some  fucking  -  gentlemen  shit.  bowing  before  others,  tipping  your  fucking  -  hat.  i'm  expecting  a  fucking  -  pip  pip  cheerio,  when  you  leave."

damon pauses for a moment, racking his brain on if the face is familiar or not. so many faces in redcreek remembered and forgotten. seen on a day-to-day basis as a client, a grocery story regular or someone he'd rub shoulders with the wrong way in high school. so many options! they eventually conclude she looks familiar from bygone teenage years. brows furrowing trying to think about her name.

" star-struck, eh? c'mon don't gotta be a flatterer now. i'm just a redcreek native, not a celeb. " gives a slight laugh at that, mouth splitting into a grin. " don't hate me, but i can't remember your name. high school, right? " snaps his fingers to point at sianni before they're leaning back against the bar. " well. maybe it isn't a good look for anybody right now, no. " agrees without much fight there. takes a drink from the beer bottle before they're turning fully to face her, a snort towards her exaggerated expression. " bit dramatic, don't you think? off us one by one? that's stranded adults in a woodland cabin plot. " doubts its some grand show of control or something similar. hasn't really given it much thought and finds themselves straying away from the turbulence as much as possible. they keep in the know, but they're not trying to be within the know.

" refresh me. what's your name aaaaaaaand do you drink. it's on me. for forgetting you. "

sianni turns to see damon del valle in a seat while he speaks directly to her, which has her honestly taken aback a bit.

she knew them from high school-- well she knew of them-- she was in her sophomore year going to her junior year as they were graduating from their senior year. "not gonna lie, a little star-struck right now, didn't know you'd even-- know me--remember me? or maybe you're just trying to make conversation with a stranger?"

Though, sianni doesn't hesitate to take a seat across from him, "but to answer your question, is it even a good look for any of us to be here-- especially when there's somebody-- or even people, who wants to--" sianni makes a face expression, one meant to express agony on someone's face, "off us one by one it seems."