Breathe me.

[nomediocre]

[adelainelewis]

— ft. serafin mosqueda​.

STATUS: closed for @adelainelewis​

LOCATION: St. Peter’s 3am

It had been a long ass night, and that was without anything having gone wrong.  He’d left his tracks all over town twice over, and was on his last stop–finally, a selfish one, before he’d drop by his mother’s house to retrieve a (hopefully) dead asleep Haven.  Serafin sauntered to the old rundown bar, hands stuffed deep into his pockets as he made his way to a bar stool, only a seat’s distance away from a pretty little blonde that stuck out like a sore thumb.  He shot Fred a nod as he walked in, knowing she’d know what to pull from the cooler for him–he was there almost every night and only ever deviated from his typical order when shit had gone south.  

“Aye darlin’, what’s a girl like you doin’ here so close to closin’ time?” He shot the other a grin, letting her know his teasing was all in jest.  One glance around them would let her know she was a rarity in the place, only rivaled by Fred’s sister  a few days ago who’d stuck out for an entirely different reason.

♫♬♯

                                   Crimson red was poured into the Burgundy wine glass in front of her — only the third one for the night. Last one, she promised, but her sky-like irises that’d lost their sparkle couldn’t help but admire the way the blood-colored liquid spilled inside the transparent vessel, its foam bubbling on top, washed-out and dark pink, before popping into nothing. She was reluctant to admit it ( only because of a stupid name coincidence ) but Lewis’ didn’t have nearly as much drink variety as St. Peter’s. But then again, one could argue that the vast majority of Lewis’ customers didn’t walk around with a black eye, a split lip or a limp on their right leg either. Rogues Club fighters, the blonde thought. The bar was filled with those to the point that Adelaine wondered if the bar would’ve closed down without them as loyal customers. It was easy to tell despite the fact she’d never stepped foot in the particular side of the town before. Perhaps she wouldn’t again, or perhaps she’d make a habit out of stopping by. What else was there for her to do, anyway? She didn’t have anyone; not there, not back home. Nobody who could point her to any direction and help her kick-start the rest of her life—

The man’s comment broke the echofantic silence along with the dangerous trail of her thoughts, snapping her back into reality. “Pardon?” Addie’s gaze fell on the man then, as if his question — or rather, his pick-up line — hadn’t yet landed with her ( when on Earth had she been slow like that? ). When it did, however, her eyes rolled in their sockets as a small grin flirted with the corners of her mouth. A glance around the bar would be enough to know that she stuck out like a sore thumb in there, even more so than in Lewis’. Her expensive dress and the sparkling jewerly didn’t fit well in a bar for the battered and bruised. “Aren’t girls like me supposed to have a late-night drink?” Her French accent was apparent in every word. It’d only been a couple days since she’d come in town, after all. Delicate fingers that her dad used to tell her belonged to a pianist even before she’d played the first note, toyed with the stem of her glass as if she was ready to pick it up for a sip, without actually doing so. “And what is someone like you doing here?” Head bowed on the side, pointing to the men inhabiting the tables. “You don’t have a black eye like these guys.”

[chloesdeckerstar]

[adelainelewis]

— ft. camille thomas​.

where: lewis’, 10 pm. to: open @redridgestart​

her thoughts have been slipping past her grip, lately. they trail out of her, like snakes crawling along the streets of a town that’s looking less like a town and more like a wasteland everyday. they escape her, latch themselves onto corners of the city where the asphalt smells like blood now, or something rotten, the pestilent fumes of decay. sometimes she forces herself to occupy her mind with something mundane, a small little detail to keep her tethered to a here and a now — a list of nothings to turn into white noise. a new detergent for her washing machine; that blouse she saw in the windows the other day; some flowers for the living room, red; red would look good on the white table cloth; red on white looks a lot like blood. 

she doesn’t realize that her hands have been escaping her control, too. by the time she snaps back to reality, she’s dug out the pen from her purse and has riddled a napkin with scribbles — it might look shapeless, it might look like a curly array of incoherent lines. she stares, blinks, and knows it looks just like a stain of ink. “jesus christ”, camille sighs, rubbing a hand over her face as if that could drain whatever kind of toxic sewage water has been leaking into her brain, where normal thoughts are supposed to be. glancing at the bottles behind the counter, she remembers college, how some girls would spend the night getting wasted just for the sake of it. fuck it, she’s never gotten drunk — maybe she needs to. “will you pour me another one?”, she clicks her fingernail against the empty glass, a tired look at the bartender. “actually, make it double”. 

♫♬♯

                                    Nothing felt like it was supposed to. The streets of the poisonous town remained strange, unknown; frightening. Addie would look around and try to familiarize herself with them through placing on those streets the silluette of a person who was no longer around — a person whom she couldn’t even picture properly, for she didn’t know how she moved while she was alive. Her hair, blonde like hers but with pink ends were almost pictured as they moved in the wind or frizzled at the top after a warm, humid day. If she tried hard enough, she’d look at a stranger and almost see the worn-out ankle-high leather boots her daughter wore until the beginning of summer; usually paired with ripped shorts and a pair of cheap fishnets. Not really, though. Not for long. After all, the only reason she knew those details was because of a few photos Mason had sent to her in the extremely brief time period when he’d given her reconciliation offers a shot; before he quickly realized he couldn’t pretend a few pictures could make up for a whole lifetime lost with their daughter. Juliette never wanted to see her or know her, she’d made that clear. Yet Adelaine would always hold on hope that, one day, things would change. One day she’d forgive her and give her a shot. Wishful thinking that ended the day Rorschach took her life. Perhaps it should’ve ended sooner. Perhaps she should’ve put her supposedly brilliant mind to good use and realize that she couldn’t ask for a chance with her daughter over the phone, whilst insisting on trying to attach back together a long broken marriage at the same time.

By the time Adelaine gathered her things and moved in Red Ridge, she’d lost both. At least when she was there, alone in a bar ( that even had her last name, no less ) all the guilt, the grief and the heartbreak mixed together and became one in the bottom of a glass until they didn’t seem so excruciating or all-consuming. “That’s a good idea.” Nobody asked her to intervene. The blonde a couple stools down hadn’t even looked her way until she straightened her spine and took a breath to put her fuzzy thoughts in order so that she could form a coherent sentence. French accent laced every syllable as it was — the least she could do was try and make sense. “I had my first double an hour ago.” Sky-blue irises darted hazily on the clock: 10:02pm. She’d entered Lewis’ at exactly 09:09pm. "Apologies; 53 minutes. I think I feel better than before.” Her shoulders rose in a lazy shrug. A simple way to put it would be, Addie flirted after one double, dared after two doubles, and became overly honest at three. “Rough day? Or week?”

[laurens-german]

[humorblr]

[adelainelewis]

FT. JI-TAE​ !

status: open @redridgestart​ location: Let’s Roll  / 2 p.m.

Technically, Tae was suppose to be working, and he was, sort of. Don’t get him wrong he was doing his part in watching, in listening, just not how he probably should be. How was he suppose to turn down free ice cream on a hot summer day? Of course, this was roughly his third free ice cream of the day. “Do you want one? They’re really good.” he offered, as he noticed a figure approaching him. “I recommend the superman flavour. That one is a favourite, next to the strawberry sherbet. No flip those  — Strawberry is the best.”

♫♬♯

                                     Adelaine’s day had started with its usual purpose: Her walking down the streets of Red Ridge, trying to familiarize herself with every neighborhood the same way her daughter would’ve. After a few hours, however, time seemed to blur; turned corners seemed to blur. She could tell where she’d begun, but had no experience when it came to her direction or her way back. Of course she could simply turn on a GPS and put the address where Mason had parked the RV, but her feet kept moving instead, taking from one place to another. Blue irises fleeted from one sight to the other, until the cute ice cream store caught her eye. Ice cream rolls; yummy. One of her favorite treats back in Paris. The blonde couldn’t recall actually stopping in front of it, but apparently she’d been gawking at the flavors because the guy beside the display suggested his favorite flavors — whilst eating a cup of his own, nonetheless. “Um... I do like strawberry.” Her French accent was apparent in every word she spoke. “I didn’t get any money with me though, so...” Her shoulders rose and fell with a defeated shrug. Saying it out loud made her realize how stupid she’d been, wandering in an unknown city of a foreign country with no money.

[blond-shell]

#me

[biisousss]

Paris is a dream

[flowerylatin]

je vole [listen]

Takes you to a lovely little café in the streets of paris. people chatting, the smell of your croissant, hot chocolate, the sun shines though the window, old books, pretty notes, productivity.

[adelainelewis]

FT. JOHNNIE TANAKA​.

Location: Fine Choice Grocer’s With: Open @redridgestart​

Johnnie had preferred to visit the grocery store right after work, and then immediately hit the hay so that he didn’t have to go in the morning. Problem was, the store was creepy as fuck during that time.

That didn’t stop him. Vaguely, he could remember his grocery list. Coffee. Bread. Beans. Cheap rice. Some fruit, maybe. Vegetables, so he doesn’t feel like shit all the time. But mostly coffee.

And they were out of his favorite type of coffee.

“Fucking really.” He blew out a breath. “This store doesn’t have jack shit, I swear to God.”

♫♬♯

                                         The only reason Adelaine ended up in the grocery store was because Mason insisted she should live off something different than nuts and wine if she planned on sticking around. Her basket, however, contained a mixed snack bag with mostly nuts, a small bag of cherries, a few potatoes and some kale — though she doubted she’d eat it before going bad. Any slight effort she put was to pose as some sort of good example for the father of her child; no matter how far that was from the truth. 

The French female strolled lazily over the coffee shelves, stopping there for a moment in case they stored tea next to coffee. They didn’t. “Hm?” The complaint drew her distracted glance to fall on the stranger. “Really? I didn’t notice.” If they asked, she’d tell them it was because she didn’t expect a small town grocery store in the US to have the groceries she normally consumed in Paris. “Isn’t there a better alternative somewhere in town?” Her accent was apparent in the way she pronounced every single word.

[adelainelewis]

FT. JACOB GRAHAM​.

status: open for everyone @redridgestart location: rogues club / 8:45 p.m.

Red Ridge reeked of murder and blood – the town’s name had started becoming somewhat a joke among agencies all over Nevada; oh yeah, Red Ridge, there’s a good reason it’s called that now, huh? Jake was tired, frankly. It wasn’t nearly as much as it felt – someone going missing every month or so (to be honest, all the missing and murdered cases were piling up and he could hardly keep track of it all), it felt like it was every week that a new person had been reported missing, every week a new body found in a pool of their own blood that had coagulated along their frame, cold, stiff and lifeless with nothing else but a single word typed on a note, stuck on their body. Note after note collected as evidence without any indication who’d done it. Not a single print, not a single hair or clothing fiber to go off. Whoever they were – they were tidy, neat, smart.

Rogues Club normally hadn’t been high on his list of places to go but Freddie was busy that night at work for the next two hours and he enjoyed himself a good ol’brawl. The small arena, as usual, had been more crowded than he would’ve liked, but he found himself an empty seat next to one that had been occupied. “D’you mind if I grab this? I’d like to actually see what’s happening.”

♫♬♯

                                    Scenes like this weren’t anywhere close to Adelaine’s taste. She’d never watched a brawl on television before, much less so go and watch it live. But picking the particular sport had nothing to do with her taste and everything to do with her need. The need to stop her mind from running its usual mile a minute, spinning round and round of only one thing: Her daughter’s brutal murder. Whenever she closed her eyes, flashes of the crime photos popped up, hurting her as if she’d been stabbed in the chest. When silence surrounded her, the stillness of her body and echoes of her pain rang in her ears, driving her mad. For that reason her recently booked hotel room didn’t really see her until dawn. She let the night pass by jumping from one packed, loud place to the other, with a strong drink always in hand for a companion. When it emptied, the next followed. Then the next, and the next, until she finally managed to stop reliving what haunted her; even if it was for a little while. Long, slim fingers — her parents used to tell her she had a pianist’s hands even before she started playing the piano — clenched the beer bottle in her hand. Harder...harder. Knuckles turned white from the pressure as sallow hues stared ahead, focused on nothing in particular. Why is it taking so long? It’s not loud enough. Not loud enough... 

A stranger asked her a question, snapping her back into reality. “Uh — no, no. Go ahead.” Her tone was abstract, laced with a French accent. “Not much is happening yet, though.” Keep talking. Even if you’re not really here. “Do you, um...know the fighters? Some people are chanting names but I don’t know anybody.” She raised the beer bottle, wetting her lips with its last drop. Empty. Why did they get empty so damn quickly? “Monsieur?” she called to the bartender on the back. “Monsieur! Bring me one more, please? And whatever my new friend would like.” A brief pause occurred as her glance fleeted back on the stranger. “If you don’t mind?”

[adelainelewis]

beckettkatherine​:

[dailywomen]

[gloomy-draws]

[naive-personality]

[c0ntemplations]

She liked messy beds and movie nights without any lights on. She liked the quiet company of a few good friends. Her idea of love was gentle and silent, like a whisper of a touch. Some things are magical and magic, contrary to popular opinion, is often found in the most ordinary of places.

12/18/15. (via c0ntemplations)