Maksym Is Far From A Frequent Flier At Redstone ; Embodies A Distant Fly On The Wall. Present, Aware,

the laugh is instantaneous and coupled with the two of a kind slap against the bar. " man, of the text-book medical journal identity kind, what the absolute fuck are you talking about. " pied piper, heart and soul, ariana fucking grande. it all feels like shit pulled from the cat in the hat — as in pulled from the cat's hat. " shit, you might just be killing me from all of this. the fucker joker, but like actually ... not the freak from the comics. " now, if there was something damon could pull endlessly from it'd be comic series. get him talking about those and ... oh, you'd be sitting for hours. especially after a few beers, a few joints. probably the realest they'd be without a proverbial crowbar. " you know, i'll buy your next drink. got me forgetting all about halloween night. got anything else in that head of yours though, kings? heebies or jeebies."

kingsley holds up his hands , half sheepish , half entertained . " if it is you , are you gonna kill me ? " he checks . " cause can you really kill someone who might not even be alive ? we're in purgatory here . that's what redcreek really is . we're here to pay for our sins , but not to a god . no way . to something else . the pied piper maybe . " kingsley lifts a shoulder and shrugs . " i'd never spout meaningless shit . everything i say , i mean with my entire heart and soul , which i think really do exist , but could be made out of paper straw or something . maybe this is all a wizard of oz gimmick . but if i see ariana grande i'm outta here , y'know ? she gives me the heebies ."

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 ? ”

immediately damon pauses, bottle almost comically suspended just inches from their mouth. leave it to kingsley to say something absolutely, positively outlandish enough to get them to pause. it has them pondering for a moment ; taking in each word piece by piece like tic-tacs. it's clear on their face they're thinking about it — the thought process is broken by a laugh. " man. colloquially. you know what, kingsley, you're alright, buuuuuuuut lets backtrack real quick. " they're taking a swig of the beer before they spin it in a circle in his directly. " how many people you drop that on, huh? giving a little ... motive drop just to see if they'd twitch? or you just spouting some shit? " it's interesting. enough so that, maybe, if damon was too lost in his cups he might be thinking: oh fuck, is it me? " i like it. it's juicy. maybe the register will get a kick outta it. "

" it'd be crazy if you were the one making everyone disappear and be murdered . " kingsley says aloud , mainly to himself , but too blase to really notice it may not be everyone's favourite topic. " like . . . you know what i'm saying ? either you're an idiot who's bad at killing and snatching people , by drawing attention to yourself . or you're a GENIUS , cause who'd suspect you now ? " kingsley shakes his head in amusement . he looks to damon and gives a small shrug . " never any trouble to me , my man who's gender non-conformity i whole-heartedly respect , and when i say ' man ' i mean it colloquially , not that i actually see you as such , per se . "

right, kieran worked at the hospital in the confines of the mortuary. fitting. a worn in boot. but to paint this conversation into scenery it'd be something of its own autopsy. steady hand of a scalpel, careful examination, but something is just ... missing. a rib, maybe a vital organ. something is missing. its in the kieran answers clear and decisively paired with little twitches of his mouth. subtleties, but constructive. the art filing causations and inconsistencies into the report. ( see, damon is also watching them ; honoring that felinic look of theirs but they're not to point it out unlike kieran. ) corner of his lips twitches, the corner of theirs rise in a smirk. " and you hang at cemeteries when you're drunk. yeah, i'll keep that tidbit in mind. c'mon you seemed like you had some fun, maybe i should've stuck around for the hangover. " it's a jest, but he wonders vaguely what plot of dirt if any kieran sunk at.

space doesn't grow, but remains the same with damon leaning into kieran's atmosphere. they wouldn't mark it up as feeling melancholic, but something is dreary about it. comparable to walking into a locked room where you're not suppose to be — the drift of your fingers over a dusted old journal. kieran speaks of how mysterious damon is as if he's a book. maybe they are the book in that locked room. kieran the seeker, the fingers knocking off dust. yeah, that's more accurate. eyes scan his face noticeably only flickering in a break to a scuttling piece of newspaper. they settle right back on him after that second. " knowing people. knowing what they're feeling. and are you an open book, kieran talbot? it's only fair to be. if you're trying to read any of my text. " another deflection, but it comes with an air of honesty. heavy, damn near suffocating. if this was some sort of game, another pin in his corkboard ... maybe damon would start caring about the trials and tribulations coming into good ol' dead creek.

what's terrifying more than any potential knife in kieran's or damon's, they do carry a butterfly knife pocket is that— he's right. getting to know damon was a maze of his own design ; dead ends at nearly every corner, multiple forks and circles. calculated in a way that, yeah, they can understand the suspicion towards them. they could have just answered 'no' and left it, but they ushered kieran to take a left turn instead of towards the maze's exit. hums when he leans closer, head canting slightly up to make up for the difference in height. would never admit it put him on some sort of edge how he could leer over them. what sort of edge, too, would remain unspoken. " you know. i'd almost love to see you try, kier. opening me up like those lil' cadavers. " challenges because that is what's natural. nonfictitious. " gives me something to look over my shoulder for. " it's a smooth drawl, a low whisper of upping whatever ante. " cause, hey, maybe you're the one whose really holding the knife. yeah ... yeah, that'd be a twist, right? get to know me in a way that's satisfying enough to all your little questions and whatever else, fucking theories, and then. " lifts two fingers and juts them forward. almost jabs them into kieran's side. almost. they hang in the air just like whatever tension is building. " sink! goes the butcher's knife. "

arm falls from the buildings bricks and opts to cross both of them over his chest. they couldn't keep the serious tone up for long, finding it a bit ... stifling. therefore, it breaks. smile split across their lip and gaze cast towards the ground as their head shakes. shoulders shake, laughter bubbling from the chest. " jesus, kieran. you're really something fucking else, hah? " slow trail of their eyes to that face, laze of the split smile still there. " could've just said i'm spooky. save the melodramatics. lighten up, talbot boy. asking that type of question to all your contacts ... that damn question might be the last. and that's just sad for your type. "

ꜜ ﹙ ⚰️  ﹚ ﹕ there   was   always   a   weight   to   the   questions   kieran   asked⸻   settling   thick   in   the   air   between   him   and   damon,   distorting   everything   around   them.   it   wasn't   really   just   about   the   words   themselves,   but   the   intent   behind   them.   a   curiosity.   a   peculiar   interest   he   wasn't   exactly   sure   what   to   do   with.   maybe   it   had   something   to   do   with   that   bold   letter   tattooed   on   damon's   collarbone.   or   maybe   it   was   the   way   kieran   could   just   stare   into   those   cat   eyes   and   let   the   seconds   go   by.   but   asking   someone   if   they   had   killed   another   person   wasn't   something   he   could   ever   take   back   ﹕   it   lingered,   like   filth.   truth,   however,   never   arrived   without   a   cost.   it   dragged   things   up   from   the   depths,   debris   and   wreckage   tangled   in   its   nets.   you   could   never   find   it   clean,   and   you   surely   could   never   pursue   it   without   getting   dirty.   kieran   didn’t   believe   damon   killed   alaina   price—   not   really.   but   he   still   wanted   to   get   to   know   him.   and   there   were   many   truths   you   could   learn   about   someone   from   the   way   they   answered   a   question   they   didn't   have   time   to   prepare   for.

“   i   already   know   what   she   was   killed   with.   thierry   gore   and   i   conducted   her   autopsy.   ” said   matter-of-fact,   head   canted   slightly   as   he   studied   damon,   listening   to   their   words,   tracking   the   subtle   shifts   in   his   expression   and   posture,   gaze   piercing   but   not   exactly   cruel.   and   there   he   heard   the   first   truth⸻    damon   del   valle   was   facetious,   deflected   with   mockery,   dodging   what   should   be   an   easy   (   albeit   a   little   insulting   )   yes-or-no   question   with   inquiries   of   his   own.   it   almost   made   kieran   smile,   could   see   why   finch   would   get   along   with   damon   in   this   very   moment     ﹕     both   cut   from   the   same   flippant   cloth.   but   he   kept   a   straight   face,   low   sigh   slipping   past   his   lips.    “    you   got   me   wasted   ...   and   next   thing   i   know,   i   was   walking   down   the   road   to   the   cemetery   with   the   worst   headache   i've   ever   had.   don't   think   i'll   be   the   guy   to   clear   your   name   if   anyone   else   accuses   you,   damon.   ”    a   quiet   chuckle,   pondering   about   the   question   and   the   criteria,   all   whilst   he   realized   the   second   truth   about   damon   del   valle from this exchange⸻    they   liked   to   muddy   the   water,   to   keeps   people   guessing,   to   keep   themself   feeling   untouchable.   and   kieran   had   done   the   same,   and   it   was   fine   for   most   things,   but   not   this.   not   in   a   murder   investigation.   and   certainly   not   against   kieran's   stubborn   interest in wayward minds.    “    i   like   knowing   people,   damon.   i   want   to   know   what   they're   thinking   about.   how   they're   feeling.   their   deepest   darkest   secrets.   and   you'll   be   surprised   to   know   just   how   transparent   most   people   are.   all   the   ways   they   give   themselves   away.   in   the   way   they   speak,   in   how   they   carry   themselves.   and   seeing   those   things   is   how   i   take   people   off   my   suspect   list.    ”    his   words   came   slow   and   deliberate,   a   faint   curl   tugging   at   the   corner   of   his   mouth,   not   quite   a   smile,   more   like   a   reflex   he   hadn't   decided   to   suppress.   “   but   not   you.   you're   real   good   at   makin'   people   feel   close   to   you   while   giving   nothing.   talking   and   talking   and   talking   and   still   say   nothing   at   all.   and   that's   a   little   terrifying   when   you're   trying   to   find   a   killer.    ”     he   let   the   silence   stretch,   but   only   for   a   moment,   didn't   want   to   give   damon   too   much   room   to   deflect,   to   sidestep   the   weight   of   what   was   hanging   between   them.   and   kieran   leaned   his   body   toward   damon   slightly as he   whispered     ﹕      “   but   i   pay   close   attention.   don't   worry,   i'll   figure   you   out.   ”     

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?"

Just do what I say, Atwood.

THE O.C. | 4x01: “The Avengers”

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

" well, lets think the lucky stars for that. " effie comments towards the final girl material. it's probably best to not take too many nods from a screenplay. though, at least, it seems savannah's self-aware of the type of person she is. effie's sure she probably isn't either, but she isn't going to imagine herself in that situation. unnecessary anxiety— and the night sure has had enough of that for everyone. " yeah, lets take a minute. you look a bit frazzled. how about a quick chat and then we can go on about our way, yeah? i know getting out the door was a disaster. "

she takes a brief puff, turning her head to the side to blow it out. " what'd you think of the party, you know, before it all came crashing down? " effie wasn't the best at small talk, but thinks savannah might need it. looked a bit like a deflated balloon ... like everyone else that was enjoying their night off. " definitely could've had better music this year, i think. "

Savannah was a little bummed over the party having to be cut short so out of the blue, only being able to mingle for a little bit. While everyone was being told to evacuate, the young woman finds herself feeling shoved out from the main doors, stumbling slightly, being elbowed by the rest of the crowd.

Fumbling for her phone in her bag, she raises a brow to the other who was nearby. "Uh yeah, this does kind of blow," she admitted with a sigh. Having spent so much time on her hair and makeup, she didn't want the night to end quite yet. "I'm not really sure what's going on, but might be better to use the buddy system? Not sure if I'm final girl material....", she confesses.

thomas jaquet

oscar had a way of saying things even more outlandish than damon could ever think of. speaking of god, the use of ghastly. a stunted expression crosses their face ; oscar perplexing them as clear as the glasses behind the bar. widened eyes remain fixed against their jawline, mouth ever so slightly parted. as stalwart as it is, their expression shifts with a bang, " well ! " the bang a loud clap of his palms together. " color me fucking flabbergasted! cat catching my tongue. " a bark of laughter as the clapped palms slap against the wood. they knock back their drink with haste, letting the warmth fizzle against their tongue for a moment. " alright, alright. c'mon, spooky ... get to readin' me or whatever. i'm surprised you took me seriously. i was not on this planet. "

óscar  glances  up  from  the  edge  of  their  arnold  palmer,  the  thus  -  far  untouched  three  -  car  spread  that  damon  asked  for  three  days  ago  awaiting  to  reveal  his  fate.  but  what  they  can't  anticipate  is  what  óscar  will  say  to  him;  in  fact,  óscar  themself  can't  predict  a  diddly  -  dang  thing  that  comes  out  their  mouth.  “damon.  we've  both  lived  here  a  long  time.” sage.  serious.  “y'know  i'm  the  only  one  who's  gonna  tell  you:  not  even  god  herself can  save  your  face.” gestures  on  his  own  jawline,  smears  where  a  missed  strip  of  five  o'clock  shadow  seemed  to  stand  on  -  edge,  little  toy  soldiers  of  hair  follicles.  “en  el  nombre  del  padre.”  leaves  the  creed  unfinished,  but  crosses  the  little  area  over  damon's  person.  “now  quit  stalling  and  ask  me  your  question  again.  this  music?  it's  ghastly.  i  can't  remember  a  thing.”