As Much As Ricardo's Stunt Had Send Effie Into A Tizzy ... It Has Sparked A Fire Under The Register's

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. "

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 ."

FOR : selin ! @inlustre . LOCATION : steps outside damon's apartment . TIMESTAMP : 5:40pm .

" c'mon, promise i haven't been avoiding you. i'd pinky promise on it even, sel. " said with a smile and a shift in their perch. a cigarette rests between their pointer and middle finger, getting rolled slowly between the knuckles. " you know me, busy as shit all the time. can't ever seem to sit still. " which, really, has been more true as of late. avoided redstone as of late, stayed on their feet, wandered about in the middle of the night like they had somewhere to be. maybe, just maybe, damon thinks if they keep moving around sporadically they'd be spared from whatever shit was stirred. maybe they're shrouded in some sort of burden. who's to say, they haven't told anyone. not even selin, arguably someone they've kept fairly close throughout the years.

the cigarette rises to their mouth, slow toil of the smoke exiting the corner of their mouth. takes a sudden sullen turn of his voice to heavily sigh. drops a bit of their ... nonchalance. " buuuuut i never apologized for that night at redstone, did i? i'm sorry, sel. it wasn't anything personal, right? y'know, you getting hurt? "

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. "

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.”

(  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.

" c'moooonnnn, seriously? if you get to choose your own mugshot why would you choose a photo at all? " damon snorts as they slide up, peering over noah's shoulder to squint at the wanted poster. it's ... interesting. streets a-fucking buzz since the release of the register's press and the 'call this hotline for any tips on this bozo!' came to play. briefly they're wondering if more people care about this piece of paper than the poor woman taken too soon.

they sniff, thumb swiping the bottom of their nose. " mmmm ... " he's mimicking her earlier squint, siving the photo up before straightening up. " damn sleuthing skills, huh? should be a detective, miss. noah. " gives a sharp little laugh before a headshake. " can't decipher a killer from a fucking picture. not everyone has the ... " lifts their hands to throw them into an energized circle, " devil eyes the news likes to boast about. who knows.

crosses their arms, thumbs rubbing little circles into biceps. something about it all puts them on edge. its not heightened enough to be fear, but ... an edge. they've been checking corners, looking behind them, making sure to lock their doors and windows. paranoid, maybe, but nobody else has to know that. " think whatever that's about isn't for us to really worry about. unless, y'know, we see some shifty business. "

[  open  starter  ;  starring  ...  noah  li  ] [  setting  ;  the amrak grocery  store  ]

it's  late.  it's  what  noah  calls  the  dead  hour  where  there's  either  no  one  in  the  store  or  a  singular  shopper  wondering  around  the  chips  aisle.  either  way,  noah  doesn't  do  a  lot  at  this  hour.  she  either  starts  turning  the  soup  cans  around  to  mess  with  customers  or  reads  one  of  the  national  geographics  they  have  in  the  magazine  racks.

"do  you  think  he  got  to  pick  what  picture  they  put  on  the  wanted  poster?"  noah  asks  as  her  sharp  hazel  eyes  squint  at  the  piece  of  paper  pinned  to  the  bulletin  board  near  the  entrance.  noah's  only  ever  seen  it  littered  with  missing  person's  posters  or  job  offerings.  a  wanted  poster  is  new.  exciting,  in  noah's  opinion,  but  they  don't  say  that.

noah  tilts  their  head,  letting  out  a  curious  sound  through  pursed  lips.

"i  don't  think  he's  the  killer.  look  at  his  gaze,"  her  scarred  hand  motions  in  a  circle  around  the  piece  of  paper,  "too  sad.  not  the  eyes  of  a  killer,  if  you  ask  me."

( willa fitzgerald . cis woman . she / her ) ⸻  effie floyd , a thirty - three year old , has survived another day in red creek where they have lived for five years . the spitfire is known for being observant and outspoken and is often associated with string  connecting  on  the  corkboard  between  newspapers  new  and  old  and  people  around  hidden  in  the  recesses  of  the  mind  ,  speaking  first  and  asking  questions  later   /   words  are  a  fire  on  the  tongue  and  passion  a  flaw  and  a  reward  ,   strong  and  steady  hands  doesn't  mean   they  don't  shake  /  it's  just  hard  to  see  it  if  you're  not  looking . in a small town where they work as a journalist at the register word travels fast . it’s hard to keep a secret , and it looks like the boogeyman knows that [ THIS PAGE CANNOT BE FOUND ].

full name: effie lianne floyd. nickname(s): ef. age: thirty - three. zodiac sun sign: virgo. birth date: september 15th. gender & orientation: cis woman, she + her & bisexual. place of birth: philadelphia, pennsylvania. occupation: journalist for the register. familial ties: estranged from her family back in philly. has one younger brother. height: 5'5".

CHARACTER INSPOS : gale weathers ( scream ), shinya kogami ( psycho - pass ), miranda priestly ( the devil wears prada ), madeline usher ( fall of the house of usher )

FAST FACTS ⸻

left philly due to an explosive fight with her mother and discovering that she had been cheating on her father for years. she'd always felt there was something off about her mother's relationship with her father and almost became obsessive with uncovering her suspicions. at twenty-six, she discovered the truth after following her mother on one of her "girls' night out". due to the rift this formed in the house, effie decided to take her journalism degree and relocate. she's been on the move since this rift and keeps no contact with her family members. instead, she throws herself into work.

before settling in red creek, effie took up plenty of brief stays throughout different towns. her interest in stories and tales guiding her heart from place to place. she holds a keen eye and knack for sleuthing, often landing her either in trouble or an acclaimed column within papers or online journaling sites. in a way, maybe she is more comparable to a private investigator. however, she tries not to throw herself that deep into her interests. key word: tries.

her interest in red creek soared at the mention of the killings and the growing tension of potential resurgence. before her move here, she had began taking an interest in true crime and specifically cold cases and urban legends. she has a journal of things of note surrounding motives and rumors. a part of her thinks her mind is infallible and can be useful in areas seperate from recording daily lives and new trends within journalism.

her personality can be a bit stifling towards new people. direct, haughty and hypervigilant it's hard to feel like you're not being studied. she separates her friends and private life as best as she can, but effie is nothing but obsessive.

potential for more tba . .. ..

FOR : vicente ! @newwayin. LOCATION : sister's of the moon.

" trust me, vic, i'm good on all ... that. " abel quirks his head towards the side at the sign reminding customers about tarot cards and all things mystic. really, has never felt the draw to this side of the town, but friendships lead you to some strange fucking places. " sounded like you were gonna go on a mile long run when you called me. shit, need to take a jog? said you were off in a bit. " vicente, vicente, he was always the type to get wrapped up in his head. a sensitive soul left in the world. had a bit of a soft spot for him — his natural fucking opposite, or so abel thinks. " can't guarantee i can clear your head, but misery loves company or something like that. "

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 ? ”