The Laugh Is Instantaneous And Coupled With The Two Of A Kind Slap Against The Bar. " Man, Of The Text-book

FOR : devon ! @fleds LOCATION : dolly's dinner . TIMESTAMP : 3:45pm .

" yeah, i'm serious. c'mon ... do i really give off the vibe i'm some sorta asshole who'd offer help to snatch it back? " they give a shake of their head towards devon, searching her face for some sort of anxiety. if its there, they might miss it, but they're being entirely genuinely. " besides, mechanics are overpriced as shit. everything is. gives me somethin' to work on. been workin' on my piece of shit almost monthly. " waves a hand as if to bat the subject away. " anyway, what i'm sayin' is lemme help you out. least tell me what's got it chugging slow. "

FOR : open ! LOCATION : bench, not far from red creek hospital.

the emergency room was always something of a toss-up. either there's whining children or elders, or a catastrophic case. one or the other, never the middle. most ruckus of the day has been a check - in for a broken leg potential ; skin angry with the pressure of a bruise. nothing out of the ordinary. though, if mak can remember, they'd had a few intakes surrounding the ... anxiety surrounding red creek. red creek. dead creek. whining elders like they'd thought — distraught and heart racing high enough to turn over a horse. well, maybe not a horse, but close enough. they've mostly detached themselves from the news, the rambling of the town, but of course its brought to their fucking doorstep. like everything in their life. tossed in, locked and keyed. learn to live with it, maksym! grin and bear it! they want out of this fucking graveyard. it's moments like this in their lonesome it weighs on their chest ; anvil, stack of bricks. a concrete object instead of a desire. the same sort of weight is what keeps them here, too.

they aren't necessarily aware when someone sits next to them. in fact, at first they don't acknowledge them at all. when they do, it's out of their peripherals and then entirely all at once. " what, looking for company or just couldn't walk ten steps down? " a grating tone to their voice ; unnecessary, but if they'd wanted a little party they'd have trekked it down to redstone. the cafe. a heavy sigh escapes. " couldn't even offer a hello either, huh? "

maksym is far from a frequent flier at redstone ; embodies a distant fly on the wall. present, aware, but perched unmoving against the drywall out of sight. this the opposite of their other half. he, present on the stage with bloodied fingers from the strings, rhythm piercing the already buzzed atmosphere. mak is the oddity here, but who the fuck wasn't an oddity in this town anymore? still it lingers in the corner of their mind just how strange they feel in a bar. unwilling to make eye contact with other patrons as if it'd burn. disinterested in musical commodities such as the band ( or, maybe, just because it welcomed finch ). yet they linger. fly, shadow. anything except a person.

they sit with one whiskey neat and eyes glued to the yellow-tint of their phone screen. it's just something for them to do, bade their time as they drown a misplaced discomfort blooming beneath ribs. it doesn't have a name — mak isn't trying to find it either. they don't notice the this time real shadow looming over them. the figure cast by the low light against the counter ignored. just some other resident. someone looking to burn what lurks beneath murky waters with something stronger.

as the old story goes — it wasn't just some fucking resident.

taylan speaks into their space on purpose, he must. mixes in his volatile presence with their still water. it doesn't startle mak, not necessarily, but it births a new gnawing. their tongue clicks in wordless response, fingers tapping against the drained glass. bored? " bored. " it's a scoff, cousin of a mean laugh. mak doesn't grace taylan with the generosity of a full acknowledgement. tilts their head in a similar way, just barely, encroaching into his space like a quiet challenge. eyes obscured by the hike of their shoulder. the problem with being a nurse in red creek, and red creek in general, was being known. even if their brother wasn't a frequent body with taylan they're sure they'd be noticed still. small town. only hospital. they need out of this fucking place, but they haven't found the open window. " was me not fixing your dumbass up at the hospital enough? " caustic in its own way ; biting without the connection of teeth. fuck, they need another drink. two finger wave towards the bartender and they receive another liquid pacifier. it'd never be liquid courage, they aren't in need of that shit. " i'll bite, taylan. what kind of entertainment you offering? besides the threat of a headache. "

where : redstone bar status : closed for @c0nnectdots

redstone bar thrums with its usual chaos - laughter curling into the sharp notes of a jukebox tune , the slap of cards against table , the steady thud of boots against the floorboards . the air is thick with the tang of spilled whiskey , and a haze of distractions that fails to reach him . taylan stands just inside the doorway , the noise washing over him in waves , but doing nothing to sate the gnawing ache in his chest . it’s an insatiable hunger - the kind no drink or idle conversation can dull . his muscle plead for stillness , but his sinews stretch taut , coiled with restless energy that drives him forward . his chest burns hot - a bitterness festering , like old gear abandoned in the shadows of a rink , forgotten and rusting away . the ache lives too deep , a rot he can’t scrape out , a void that won't be satisfied by anything less than destruction . his eyes flick to the far end of the bar , landing on mak . wrong twin . finch would’ve been a guarantee of chaos , a devil perched on his shoulders , whispering bad ideas into his ear . mak , though , is all stiff-backed judgement , more locked door than partner in crime . taylan moves toward him anyway , his shadow dragging heavy across the floorboards . when he reaches the bar , he doesn’t sit . he looms , shadow pooling over mak's sharp shoulders . for a moment , he says nothing , doesn't even look at them , just signals for a drink . the sharp clink of glass against the counter cuts through the noise . then , with the barest tilt of his head , taylan leans in close enough to crowd their space . “ you look bored . ” he murmurs , low and sardonic , curling between them like smoke . “ let me fix that . ”

" 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?"

Okay maybe mama did raise a fool

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.

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

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?"

thomas jaquet

restless energy exists under his skin. constant need to get his hands on something— it's kept him out of most trouble last few years. quelled the electricity making his hair stand on edges ; the pins and needles at bay. couldn't stumble into bad habits, lose the plot if they had something to do. ironically, had considered looking into mechanics before the tattooing gig. only problem with cars were the lifeless shells. couldn't tell what the hell was wrong with an expressionless husk. it lacked a form of art ; detailing couldn't even compete. if damon's fixed his absolute joke of a ninety's era honda, surely he could do something. " well, if you don't know and i don't know what the hell is wrong with it ... who's to say it isn't an easy fix? " its genuine in the way it's stressed, fingers fiddling with an edge silver ring circling his finger. palms itch at the thought. " least i could do, yeah? gives me shit to do, you somethin' less to worry about. hopefully. i ain't a mechanic, but ... i like to keep my knowledge expanding. " snorts at that. " you know me. can't stop keeping myself busy. just keep it in mind, yeah? " a clap of their hands. " now, with the damon business spiel out the way ... what you want? i'll cover it. no, nope nothin' about handouts or any of that shit. i asked you if you were free to chill. "

the    air    in    places    like    redcreek    carried    a    sweetness    that    clung    to    her    skin    like    sap,    tacky    with    memories    she'd    rather    forget    —-   memories    of    a    town    smaller    than    this    one,    trapped    between    cornfields    and    steeples,    drenched    in    kindness    so    artificial    you    felt    like    you    were    suffocating. it’s    why    she    tries    to    stay    in    the    margins,    on    the    side ;    here,    but    not    really,    easily    forgettable.    a    person    you    jot    down    in    the    crevices    of    your    memory    and    then    discard.    but    now    she needs    help.    fucking    can’t    stand    that    she    does,    but    requires    it    nonetheless.    without    a    means    of     transportation    she’s     truly stuck,    one    purgatory    traded for    another. it's that fact that forces her to act    like    words    have    threaded    through    her    suspicion,    like    saccharinity    in    eyes    and    a charm she almost wants to fall for    doesn’t    remind    her how    she's learned generosity doesn't always mean goodness    —-    instead how one usually meant the absence of the other.    " wish    i    knew.    every    time    i    try    to    gain    any    type    of    speed    the    check    engine    light    comes    on    and    he    quits. " fingers drum over the rusted metal, gaze catching theirs. " you sure you want another project? "