Attempting To Get A Cup Of Coffee Before He Headed Home, Cyrus Was Distracted By The Voice Beside Him

for? JUNE ( @bittenmoths ) where? outside white pine auto garage

"if i get my car serviced here, are you gonna cut the brakes?" fawn teases when she spots june. she's smoking a cigarette and leaning against the hood of her car — a red 2008 buick lacrosse that she bought off a guy on craigslist over in traverse city. and as much as she's tried to fix the problem herself, she is not that kind of lesbian. and as much as she's not overly confident in june's skills to fix her car, there are other employees and she assumes they were hired for a reason. she's never really bothered to ask. she doesn't know what june actually does there, really. fawn crushes her cigarette under her boot and stands up straight, eyes flicking over the other liao, "i took all the valuables out. can never be too careful." and, honestly, if fawn were in her shoes, she would immediately check the console and the glove compartment for something good. fawn knows that part of her runs in their genes. like blue eyes or the potential to have a widow's peak. there's some metaphor or joke about how the apple's rotten right to the core, but that's not really fawn's style.

for? OPEN where? the pharmacy

he doesn't look up as the door swings open with another customer, keeping his gaze trained on the open book in front of him – it's shirley jackson's hangsaman. he does, though, call out (less of a call and more of something about a decibel louder than a mumble), "we're, uh... there's a two-for-one deal on gauze and band-aids right now." and the only reason he says anything at all is because it's allegedly his job to upsell. today's bogo deal seems a little too on the nose, though, considering the town's latest events, but griffin didn't come up with the sale. he just rings it up. he makes a quick, barely legible note in the margin with his fading black pen and flips the page, hoping whoever just came in doesn't need to know where anything is. or worse, want to exchange small talk with him.

She shuffled into the kitchen, running a hand through her messy hair as she took in the sight before her, "So glad it's you and not the goddamn Boogeyman." The timing of the joke is, admittedly, horrible, but she's never been subtle. "What time did you get here?" Shreya thought she might have heard something in the middle of the night, but she figured it was either her brother or her cat. If it was anything else? She was willing to face the consequences and die honorably. "Now, if I bought even a single piece of asparagus, I think the world might end. The Boogeyman, who is obviously surveilling me as one of the town's top journalists, could notice my change in pattern and suspect me of knowing something and BAM dead." She sat at the small table by the window, sighing dramatically, "And you wouldn't want that, right?"

Then, Shreya sobered slightly, resting her elbows on the table, "I'm surprised you don't have to work right now. Is it not all hands on deck?" She asked, already thinking about what she may have to write about the incident this coming week. "It's really fucking awful." And there's no way to get through it but to joke about her own mortality, obviously. "What's the sheriff saying? Anything?" She added, "This is all off the record, by the way, I'll save my scheming journalist bit for at least noon."

closed starter with: darshan and shreya (@chappcdlips) setting: shreya's home, 9am, the day after the incident

His eyes fluttered open, and a strangled gasp forced its way out of his painfully dry throat as he struggled to recognize his surroundings, but the panic settled as the comfort of familiarity took hold. It was Shreya’s couch, in Shreya’s living room, in Shreya’s home, where he’d let himself in at 3am after finding sleep impossible at his own home. Darshan wiped the trail of drool off his cheek, sitting up and stretching his aching back before wandering to her kitchen, opening the fridge- only to see a truly meager selection of food between the tupperware containers of his own leftovers. A stray carton of eggs saved the day, and he’d set off to make breakfast when he heard the shuffle of feet. “Hey, lazy bones. Did I wake you?” His voice was casual, but there was an unmistakable horror laced in every syllable. How could he shake the guilt? How could he cope with the relief he felt when he confirmed that the young girl found dead in town hall was not his family member? As if that made it better- that the loss was not his own. “You should really get some vegetables in your fridge, or something, you know. Even an apple, or a single piece of broccoli. Give your poor microwave a break, before it unionizes against you.” 

cyrus ends up at the church due to his need to be involved, to be seen, and he knows that when tragedy strikes? there will always be people that take solace in the lord. and there are always people more willing to talk after a tragedy and cyrus is always willing to endear himself to new people for his own sake, for his own reputation. even in tragedy, perseverance is important, he thinks. he looks over at santi as he speaks, a sigh leaving his lips, "some people cane be your neighbor and still be a stranger. i'm sure she didn't hold it against you." or maybe she did. cyrus certainly didn't know kirby. "and i bet you never forgot after she told you, right? so i think you're settled up."

🗝️ open to all. 📍 redemption chapel, jan 24th.

the news breaks, as does half of red creek alongside it. there's an unfair lump lodged in santiago's throat. he wasn't close to kirby ; her death was not his to mourn, and yet ... he sits in the back pew of redemption chapel, hands wound in his hair. it was between here & the cemetery— the weather chose for him. he breathes in, has a hard time breathing out. halloween night plays through his mind. ❝ i asked about her name. ❞ he wants to laugh at the memory, but doesn't have the heart. a puff of frustration leaves him instead, ❝ grow up in a box like red creek & i still had to ask for her name. jesus– ❞

he has a bagged chocolate croissant clutched in his hand, making his way toward a back table when there's suddenly coffee all over his sweatshirt and a woman practically yelling. it takes him a moment to get his wits about him before he's locking eyes with his aunt. she looks a little different than her facebook pictures, it's almost like seeing a ghost. his eyes go wide and he opens and closes his mouth like a goldfish as he stares at her. "rebec — aunt rebecca." his voice is quieter (quieter than usual) and he shakes his head, "um, it's not that bad. i'm fine, really." he glances over his shoulder as if his dad's going to be there watching this interaction that almost feels forbidden then back at the woman in front of him. "are... are you in town for the... for the service?" he trips over his words a bit and shakes his head, "no, sorry. sorry, i'm really sorry. really sorry about kirby." how many times are you gonna say sorry? he mentally kicks himself, grabbing for some more napkins from a nearby table, uttering another 'sorry' as he apologizes to the pair sitting at that table.

"i think i have another sweatshirt in my backpack anyway. it's okay." griffin insists, thanking a barista as they come over with a rag for the floor and the table rebecca spilled the other one all over. he's avoiding eye contact with his aunt, trying to pretend like he can even focus a little bit on cleaning up the mess and not the mess that is the talbot family and their dynamics. it's just his luck, of course, to run into her at random in a situation like this. he guesses it's a least a little bit better than seeing her at the funeral for the first time. though, the whole town has felt a bit like a wake lately.

 ⸻ 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘴 ﹐ closed for @chappcdlips / griffin talbot.

 ⸻ 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 ﹐ early rise bakery & cafe.

rebecca sat slouched in the corner of the cafe, oversized sunglasses hiding bloodshot eyes, nursing a lukewarm coffee that was doing very little to cut through the haze of a nasty hangover. the dull hum of chatter, clinking cups and that damn door that jingled every time someone walked through it was grating on her last nerve ; she thought it'd be better than sitting alone at the motel with just her misery, regret and a pounding headache to keep her company, but turns out she was wrong.

head spins as she stands up too quickly, not noticing the figure in her path until it was too late ; coffee drops to the floor, pooling around both of their feet. " what the f*** !? — ugh, watch where you're going, dude ! " totally her fault. she looks up, ready to take out her problems on the poor stranger, but instead her jaw drops at the sight of the young man staring back at her. the resemblance is uncanny — nathan's jawline, the talbot eyes ( though somewhat less scheming ). realization struck like a slap to the face, which is what she actually deserved. " griffin. " tone softens as guilt takes over from irritation, though a mix of horror and embarrassment was still present on her face. his name lingers in the air between them, the silence verging on awkward, before she snaps out of it. " oh, god, i'm sorry — here, let's get you cleaned up. " she reaches over a nearby table, aiming for the napkins but instead knocking over another cup of coffee, this time not her own. now would be a good time for the ground to swallow her whole.

The best way to contact me is to meet me in my dreams at 3am

cyrus barely registers that someone else is out there until he hears carlos' voice and when he does, he hardly flinches, eyes traveling over them in appraisal. in threat potential until he realizes that the other doesn't look altogether threatening. he's got maybe a hundred pounds on them he thinks, leaning against the side of building, arms crossing, "it's not me. and i'm gonna go out on a limb and assume it isn't you either, but looks can be deceiving." cyrus pulls out his phone and sends a quick text, the call he was about to make decidedly cancelld now that there's someone else present. he doesn't know carlos, but you can never be too careful who you say what around — especially in a town like red creek. "why are you standing back here alone if you're so afraid the killer's gonna get you anyway?" he asks with a chuckle, a teasing lilt to his voice, "that seems like a bad strategy."

𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘.　behind redstone bar, 11:30pm 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛.　anyone

𝗿𝗲𝗱  𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗸  𝗶𝘀  𝗮  𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗸  𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗲.  no  matter  how  much  carlos  tells  himself  he  should  leave,  that  there  are  so  many  reasons  he  should  get  the  hell  out  and  return  to  life  as  he  knew  it  (  despite  the  potential  consequences  they  could  face  if  ever  ████████  )  they  stay.  carlos  stays,  trapped  between  its  tragic  grasp  and  forced  to  watch  its  horrific  history unfold.  under the impression of being alone, carlos  jumps  at  the  sudden  noise,  nearly  dropping  the  cigarette  held  between  their  fingers.   “  jesus,  f  —  dude!  you  can't  be  doing  that  anymore,  there's  like,  a  killer  out  and  shit!  ”  brief pause,  eyes  narrow  at  the  person  standing  before  him.  it  doesn't  help  that  his  response  to  all  this  is  misplaced  carelessness,  the  kind  that  could  make  you  the  first  kill  in  a  horror  flick  —  not  the  kid  who  trips on air,  but  the  one  who  stands  face  to  face  with  the  killer  and  laughs  in  disbelief.  “  unless  . . .  the  killer's  you.  is  it  you?  ”

If I don’t drive you crazy then what’s the point

ALDIS HODGE: Esquire Interview (2022)

he looks up, eyebrows lifting slightly at angela and the bag of rocks, "shopping spree?" though, he slips the bracelet onto his wrist without question and doesn't state the obvious - that he doesn't think any of this will protect him if the killer really wants him dead. "do i have to keep the stone in my pocket for it to protect me? or can it protect me from my desk at home?" he picks it up, running his fingers over the surface of the black rock, "i dunno anything about this crystal stuff." he admits. then, he gestures to the bag, "i hope you got some protective rocks for yourself in there too. otherwise, i'm going over there and buying more." and despite the recent loss of his cousin, all the victims thus far point to angela being a much more likely target then him, especially with daniela still gone. "and, y'know, maybe some pepper spray for good measure? a taser? how hard do you think it is to get a functional taser around here?"

𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲.　deer lake, around 7:30pm. 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵.　griffin talbot. @chappcdlips

〔　🦇　〕　　…　　𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗹𝗮  𝘀𝗲𝘁𝘀  𝗮  𝗯𝗮𝗴  𝗼𝗳  𝗰𝗿𝘆𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗹𝘀  𝗱𝗼𝘄𝗻  𝗼𝗻  𝘁𝗵𝗲  𝘁𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲,  having  gone  to  the  sisters  of  the  moon  popup  for  a  reading,  only  to  come  away  with  much  more  despite  her  disdain  for  the  fundraiser  in  general.  why  should  she  give  the  sheriff's  department  her  money?  she  doubts  that  they'll  make  good  use  of  it,  her  trust  in  them  has  been  dwindling  with  every  second  that  passes  without  any  updates  on  daniela.   “  here,  ”  she  mutters,  handing  griffin  a  hematite  bracelet  and  a  black  tourmaline  stone.  “  it's  for  protection.  i  wanted  to  get  you  a  few  more  things,  but  i  thought  it'd  be  overkill.  ”  she'd  never  admit  it,  but  there's  a  small  part  of  her  that's  a  little  paranoid.  her  sister  is  missing,  her  former  babysitter  is  dead,  and  now  her  best  friend's  cousin  is,  too.  despite  the  pattern,  the  killer  is  still  unpredictable  in  ways,  and  she  didn't  want  to  risk  anything  before  it's  too  late.