Adam was walking past, vaguely lost in his own thoughts. It’d been a long day, and he was only growing more anxious with his mother’s birthday approaching. It was always an awful time, where he felt obligated to visit her but loathed every second in her presence.
As he heard the smashing bottle, his gaze flickered to it, his heart rate immediately picking up as he recognised the smell. Gratefully, his expression only displays horror for a fraction of a second, and could easily be explained away. “Well, you’ll get used to it,” he manages after the other man’s statement, “Do you need a broom?” he asks, gesturing up the stairs towards his own apartment.
eddie scoffs. a broom ? all he need’s a rewind button to salvage all those drinks the floor’s robbed from him. he spreads his hands wide and nods toward the mess at his feet, keys still dangling from where he’s hooked them ‘round his forefinger and thumb. “ nah. landlord’s got his shit together. these floors ? self-fuckin’-cleaning. ” if only. his head aches and his heartbeat echoes against his tired skull. the brunet turns to size up the other, eyes narrowing slightly. “ hate t’admit, but... i don’t ‘xactly own one. ” honesty’s the best policy. who’s he to withhold the truth from the world ? “ so... i don’t need a broom. but. ” he bites the inside of his cheek and tugs. admitting to this is like admitting defeat, so he stares his sorry fate square in the eye and asserts dominance. “ but i’d like one. ” the if you don’t mind goes unspoken. because, honestly ? eddie can’t bring himself to care if he’s being a nuisance. that care capsized with his shattered bottle of tennessee whiskey.
aight so today is my anniversary of birth, and we’re doin’ a little trip to celebrate so i won’t be online much through sunday –– i’ll try to get some mobile replies done before we head out though !! just wanted to keep y’all in the loop so you’re not like... miss liana ?? miss liana ?? oh shit.. she ded.
“Carla–! I told you, we are a thrift store. So no, I don’t think that mens flannel comes in a size four.” He snapped to his coworker from his station at the counter. God– he just couldn’t wait for her to go home so he could close up alone. He couldn’t concentrate on his book with all her whining and snapped it shut before groaning, lulling his head back. As it came back around, his gaze landed on the person before him. “Sorry about her–she does this every day. She got new bracelets too so now if you can’t hear her voice coming for you, she jingles like a dog on a fuckin’ leash.”
@eightysevenstarters
carla’s got a rep and eddie’s heard all about her. and, upon each of his latest rags to riches drop-ins, her tackiness has been more than confirmed. “ no duh. she out-jingles the fuckin’ door bells, ” he mutters through clenched teeth so the lit cigarette between his lips won’t fall. eddie takes a long drag and exhales in a series of smooth chuckles. “ just tie ‘er up to the big red guy’s sleigh. ” carla catches his gaze just as he concludes the dig. eddie lifts his brow and surveys her with piercing gray eyes. “ you a prancer or a dancer ? ” but he knows better than to expect a response. an amused smirk tugs at his lips as he blows smoke in her direction. because it’s funny. not ‘cause he’s trying to come to auggie’s rescue or anything. pah. the carla repellant is pure coincidence. “ y’should write her a book, ” eddie nods to his best friend’s text before tapping on its cover with two fingers. pat pat. his smile only grows. “ how not to be a nuisance. for nuisances. ”
heading out for a baseball game & a night out on the town with the squad but i just wanted to hit y’all with a check-in to welcome the new members !! i’ll be available on mobile so if y’all wanna get some plots goin’ while i’m out ‘n about, i’m keen !
a steaming plate of cinnamon waffles slides in front of him and it takes less than a millisecond for nimble fingers to curl around the carafe of syrup and swing it closer. eddie’s pour begins with a flourish of his wrist : it’s all about the technique. ribbons of saccharine gold cascade from above, and even as his dish wells with the stuff, eddie shows no signs of stopping.
“ it’s 3am on a tuesday. fuckin’... witching hour. ” he shakes the carafe a bit, as if the syrup’s not quite escaping fast enough. eddie can feel a steely gaze searing his cheek so he clucks his tongue and doesn’t rip his eyes from the show. “ bite me, janice ! ” he calls over his shoulder to the waitress in question. the woman in question huffs and shuffles away. eddie’ll get his buck’s worth of syrup from this place and no less. not until his waffles are practically sopped does he set the bottle down onto the tabletop and slide it toward his booth companion.
“ so as i was saying. witching. hour. ” the inebriated man slices into the stack with just his fork and shovels an obscenely large piece into his mouth. hums. “ shit’s clutch, ” he mumbles, but janice might hedge a bet the little delinquent isn’t talkin’ about his food. “ if you could cast. like. one spell. ” gray eyes flutter shut as he considers adding to the spell count. but he decides against it and raises a curled finger as his eyes flicker open. “ yeah. just one. what would y’do ? ” cue another forkful punctuated by a lopsided smirk, mid-chew.
with his arms in sight, a crooked grin almost instantly appeared on el’s dark stained lips before her eyes met the all too familiar eddie’s. “…your accent could use some work, mate. that was terrible.” the unkempt blonde brit leaned back in her seat as she eyed her band mate. “you know me far too well. been here for about – twenty minutes now? i’d say i’m pretty deserving of a break.” there was a soft chuckle which managed to slip past her lips. the sound of her doc’s scraping along the floor as she crossed the counter to now be at his side. her elbow nudging him gently to follow her out back behind the store where no one else could be of any bother. lord knows she’s in no mood to deal with anyone today.
eddie scowls and shakes his head. he knows what’s up/ his accent isn’t shit; his judge just has no idea what homegrown american talent really is. as el rises, eddie already knows he’s won –– she’s never been the type to turn down an opportunity to chill. “ twenty years, more like it, ” he teases as he follows behind. a light finger raises to tap at the center of his bandmate’s parted hair. “ i think i’m picking up some faint specks of gray. ” the back door swings open and fresh summer air whooshes into his lungs –– but as it swirls down his throat, eddie can’t help but find it remarkably bland. his fingers dip into the back pocket of his jeans and retrieve them a pre-rolled antidote. the joint twirls between his forefinger and thumb as he fishes out his lighter, dangling it in front of her like the fine, sweet temptress it is. “ a puff for these truly trying times ? ”
ivy should have recognized the figure once spotted. maybe it was the pure exhaustion that was blinding her. still – she was happy to see him. even happier to know she hadn’t just called out to any old customers of hers from her earlier days as a dancer. she couldn’t help but shiver a bit even at the thought. “get me off.” that was her simple way of greeting her big brother back but she already knew he would soak in her dilemma before actually helping her. she didn’t need to be polite if she knew what was coming. regardless, his jab with a good ol’ pun got a tiny smile out of her. what ivy wasn’t going to do was give him the pleasure of a full on laugh, not right now. “wow, i feel like i’m at caesar’s palace watching comedy GOLD!” her arms exaggeratedly stretching out to add sarcastic emphasis on her last word. “keith edison williams – i swear on everything that you love, if you don’t help me in the next five seconds i’m going to…i’m going to–” she sighed. interrupting her own threat, that really would never have turned out to be much of a threat anyway. she was too tired to even find the words. “…i’m going to fall asleep, right here. right now. and if you leave me out here to fend for myself – that’ll be on your conscience. not mine. because i’ll probably be dead.”
this shit’s too good. comedy gold is right –– there’s about eight more jokes eddie can stand to make about this. and the only reason he won’t ? ivy’d get him back for sure, with a vengeance. so the fuzzy-minded boy toes at the pavement and subdues the laughter effervescing and tingling up his throat. only a light chuckle surfaces as his eyes raise again, but their glint of amusement is irrefutable, even with tonight’s added afterglow. “ oh now, we can’t have that, ives. you, dead ? yeesh. ” he clucks his tongue and shakes his head. “ you’d haunt the living daylights outta me. ” and that’s all the thought young eddie williams’ll give that notion. docs clunk heavy against the sidewalk as he saunters closer, stray polished nails glinting metallic blue under the yellow hue cast by the nearest streetlamp. “ alright. it’s me to the rescue. watch out, you prick. ” eddie narrows his eyes and nods toward the offender. of...fence...er. jesus, man. okay. don’t laugh. light brown hair slumps into his eyes just long enough to shield the upcoming shift in pavement : as his toes catch on the uneven ridge between sidewalk squares, his center of gravity sways and nearly takes him out. but no, no ! he spreads his arms wide, sucks in a breath, and triumphs over that sucker. eat shit, eddie mouths to the ground, index finger extended in a half-hearted point. once he finally does reach ivy’s side, he surveys the situation, squints, and concludes an even semi-sober mind might be of better service. “ uh... where’s it got you ? all i see’s crisses and crosses. ”
brown eyes eagerly examined the scene in front of her, almost having too much fun watching her bandmate fumble with his clogged hands soon turning into a mess on the floor in front of his apartment. with her presence being known, irene approached the boy and bent down to grab his keys, careful enough not to hurt herself with the crystal glass shards all over the floor. “ i would ask what’s your damage, ” she started, getting back up again, “ but then i remembered you are an airhead and this is a normal occurrence.”
taking a breath, her nose scrunched up as the familiar scent of bourbon and irene rolled her eyes. “ your friend jack hasn’t been good to you, uh ? ” she asked in mocking tone, putting herself between eddie and the door, opening with ease as she found the right key. “ there you go, stud, ” the brunette mocked again, one arm stretched as a sign of ‘come in’ although it was actually eddie’s place.
“ har har dee har har, ” eddie deadpans with a roll of his eyes. “ aren’t you a laugh and a half. ” he snatches the chip bag from his mouth and bops it against the top of irene’s head as he slinks past. he’s sure he’ll get shit from his landlord about the mess in the hall, but he can’t bring himself to sweat it. two kicks send his shoes slumping onto the floor as he settles onto the sofa, strewn across the damned thing like it’s a beach king lounger instead of a patch-worked leather thing he snagged from the side of the road. it’s got class, it’s got character, and eddie’s not about to funnel funds into furniture that can be better spent on fun.
“ i’d ask you what the hell you’re doin’ here, ” he starts, hanging his head backwards over the armrest until his bandmate comes into flipped view. “ but then i remembered. ” trusty fingers part the bag and deliver the first dose of coveted crunch to his lips. eddie pops another chip before he’s even swallowed the first. as he chews, his brows lift; his lips turn up into a satisfied smirk. “ you’re an airhead and this is a normal occurrence. ”
eddie clamps an unopened bag of crunch tators between his teeth. he’s got his left arm wrapped ‘round a paper grocery bag and his keys dangle from his right, because time is of the fucking essence and he’s got to set this shit down in his apartment immediately if he’s got any hope of surviving. it’s not life-or-death but this is life-or-something, and putting this bag down isn’t an option –– not when he’s on his last leg and the only thing that’ll bring him back on this abysmal morning-after’s a heaping helping of alcohol and salty snacks. he’s nearly got it, he’s nearly there –– the right key almost flips forcefully enough to land on the top of his index finger. it’s almost in the door, it’s––
“ mff–– fuggin’ damn it. ”
everything falls. except his trusty bag of tates. eddie tosses his hands up in defeat and stares at the squashed bag. bottle shards splice its interior and onto the carpet it bleeds out, slow and sweet. jack daniels, his fallen friend. eddie turns, chip bag still in his mouth, just in time to meet the eye of an unexpected hall companion.
“ whassup, ” he mumbles around foil wrapping. “ gravity’s bunk. ”
“WELCOME to Violet Vinyls…” el sighed as she heard the chiming bells above the door to her parents’ – well, now her own store. it’s still weird to think and say that. the store she would come to after school to do her homework in, the store she would run from school to and be welcomed by a loving embrace in. now it felt so empty. not because there weren’t any customers, there were a few every day, but because it just never really felt right. oh well. still, elaine was in no mood to be working. she didn’t REALLY have to be here but she questions other employees’ taste in music when the store is open. her gaze never left the pile of records the store just received as whoever entered walked in, she was too focused on finding what to play in the store as patrons browsed. “if you need anything let me know but if you don’t need anything, please feel free to pretend i’m not here and i will DEFINITELY do the same.”
that smooth accent draws a grin across eddie’s lips. he practically glides into the familiar shop, scanning the new displays and trailing his fingertips along vinyl covers lining his path. by the time he reaches the counter behind which his bandmate sits, silence ebbs into the space left by her words. eddie eyes the pile of records in front of her before crossing his arms atop the desk. “ mm. well. just a tea and a crumpet’ll do, ” he feigns pensiveness with a faked, honey-rich accent to match. long legs cross at the ankles. his half-assed britishisms fade as nimble fingertips drum alongside el’s current stack. “ you look like you could use a light. ”
AFTER a long night at Cherry Bomb Burlesque, ivy was more than ready to head back to her small home and crash. school in the wee hours of the morning and heading straight to work after for six straight days now were surely getting to her. exhaustion was visible throughout her features but regardless she did her best to put on a good show. the worst part? now she had to walk her way home. it was a stroll she knew far too well but honestly – she would rather curl up into a ball on the sidewalk and take a nap. ivy was so tired she didn’t even realize there was a couple strings flying loosely from the back of her corset from her performance which caught onto a fence by the sidewalk. “shit…” she whispered to herself. as much as she tried, her short arms couldn’t quite reach the right spot to unhook herself. with a small sigh of defeat, she felt her only option was to call for help from whoever she saw walking ahead of her in the distance. hopefully they were the helpful type and not the absolutely stay away from them type. “hey! hi! help…” she couldn’t help but chuckle under her breath as she tried to take another step forward but, of course, to no avail. “i’m sort of – stuck to the fence.”
tonight’s band of fools ditched for a round of z’s. what a pack of posers, quitting out as soon as shit was getting good. eddie stumbled from their club of choice freshly flyin’ about, he doesn’t know, two centuries ago ? ‘n now he finds himself teetering down semi-familiar streets, ankle-over-ankle, arms extended like a warped mix of bowie and a bird. he hums to himself, some new melody he met mid-trip, because he’ll be damned if that shit doesn’t etch itself into stone.
the curb morphs into a tightrope, and our makeshift daedalus, balanced on the edge of the fall, clamps his eyes shut just to test his luck. the burning cigarette between his fore and middle finger sighs smoke into vegas’s ever-lit sky.
pay no attention to the man behind the veil.
his kid sister’s voice breaks through the haze. agile heels pivot. eddie’s eyes flicker open and his lips stretch with delight.
“ greetings ‘n salutations, ” he croons, taking in the scene. ivy’s stuck in place. he takes a step closer and sizes her up, cig finding its way to rosy lips. “ ‘dunno about it, ” he teases, tipping his chin to the side. “ i’m kinda... on the fence. ”
sharp gray eyes size up their unwanted companion through a lung-staled waft of smoke. “ ‘ey. ” a tip of the chin. cigarette ash darts to pavement. crunch. eddie grinds that shit in, real good. nothin’ like a pair of trusty docs to do the trick. “ what the fuck’s your damage ? ”
or alternatively : yo, yo, whassgood ? the name’s liana ( she/her/hers ) and i am so friggin’ hyped to bring you my spoopy lil’ music man, eddie williams !! below the cut you’ll find a big hodge-podged mess of facts, potential connects, and other delicious chips of info. his favorites are hoppin’ jalapeno crunch tators, thanks for fuckin’ askin’. ( imagine how heartbroken he’ll be when frito lay discontinues them in the 90′s... rest in spaghetti never forgetti. )
— ❝ wait is that THOMAS HAYES ? or is that KEITH EDISON “EDDIE” WILLIAMS who arrived in las vegas TWENTY-THREE years ago? HE is TWENTY-THREE years old. last time i checked they were a GUITARIST IN CRIMSON & CLOVER / ARTIST AT ATOMIC TATTOOS . rumour has it they’re very BEGUILING and very HARUM-SCARUM. the CISMALE reminds me of SAY WHAT YOU WILL BY FASTWAY.
TRIGGER WARNINGS: DEATH, DOMESTIC ABUSE, VIOLENCE, DRUG USE/ABUSE, MENTIONS OF ADDICTION.
eddie is the lovely ivy williams [ @poiseonxivy ] ’s older brother ! they grew up in a contentious household here in vegas, with an abusive alcoholic for a father and a complacent/despondent mother. fed up with the abuse and chaos, their mother walked out on them when eddie was 13. he and ivy caught her in the act, and this savage kid called her out for being a coward and opened the fuckin’ door for her. “ die in a ditch, ” is the last thing he ever said to that sorry waste of a woman.
naturally, things with their father only got worse. he was quick to provoke and impossible to please. the williams siblings had to step up to upkeep their home, make sure bills got paid, etc., all while receiving the worst of it from their father. ivy, as the youngest, was blamed for the family’s downfall. eddie got berated and slurred at for his tendency to peruse his sister’s things, paint his middle fingers interesting colors, ask her to do his makeup on halloween. his father was the first person to ever look eddie in the eye and call him a faggot, and, well... that shit dug deep.
it’s not that he’s overly concerned about it. hell, labels are fuckin’ dumb, alright? he’d sooner be gagged with a spoon than told he has to live his life all boxed up. he doesn’t care that the lady at the bar’s stunning and so is the guy pourin’ her drink, alright? what he does care about is... what if he is that thing his dad said? what if he... what if he is the man his dipshit dad saw in him ?
guitarist in el’s band, crimson & clover ! the band formed several years ago and has been playing gigs ever since. it’s definitely made him grow as a guitarist : you can frequently find eddie chilling on fire escapes experimenting with new riffs and the like. he’s absolutely got that band aesthetic –– distressed tees, tight pants, leather, leather, leather. doc martens. beat up sneaks. jaw-length hair, wavy. usually teased on stage and left to its own devices off-stage. music has always been an escape for him, especially from the hellscape that was his childhood home. catch him chillin in el’s record shop, cig in hand, blissed out to the latest rock releases blasting in his headphones.
jake wheeler’s next-door neighbor / best friend ! we have yet to plot about this, but that’s a wc eddie fills & we could do something with that, too!
tw: drugs, abusive tendencies, mild violence. eddie’s genetics do predispose him to addiction. and, unfortunately, this bitch way more than dabbles in a haphazard lifestyle. he’s BIG into psychedelics, stimulants. alcohol. acid. he’ll pulverize the occasional bar asshole’s face. make fights out of nothing. but s’not a problem, alright ? he’s cool. he’s cool. ( this guy’s a sinkin’ ship in heavy ass denial. )
art. tattooing. art has also played a pivotal role in eddie’s life. from a very young age, he created edgy doodles: skeletons in their sunday best, ghost cartoons carrying guns. the late 60′s/early 70′s saw his school notebooks filling with vietnam-inspired strips, doodles, and sketches. he used to draw “tattoos” on his fellow delinquents during detention in sharpie ink. gave himself his first poke tattoo on his ankle ( a scrawled so what ? ) in eighth grade. now, he works as a tattooist at atomic tattoos. always flirts with the clientele. and they always leave happy.
tw: death. wears a dharma wheel pendant at all times, tucked beneath his shirt or, if he’s shirtless, just out in the open. he’ll say he found it in the street, but it actually belonged to a guy he started seeing his senior year of high school, in secret. glenn farley. he was older, around 27, but he offered up the first safe place eddie’d ever known. dude disappeared close to eddie’s graduation. eddie stayed angry for a long time, until his photo turned up in the obits : glenn was killed in a hit-and-run outside a dive bar.
on the topic of sexuality & gender expression : eddie honestly couldn’t give a flyin’ shit. he’s of the belief that existence shouldn’t be coded or explained. so, yeah, he’s male. and yeah, he’ll be attracted to whomever he pleases. but in a time where that shit’s not too common? not too accepted? he does feel like he’s playing hide-and-seek. it’s exhausting. and... there’s still something that nags him, at the back of his mind, when he decides to hook up with a guy. it’s all tied up with his family history ( see the stuff about his dad above ) .
eddie is very outspoken & unfiltered. he won’t mince his words; he’ll speak bullets without considering the exit wound.
he’d much rather have coffee and cigarettes than a meal. but if he’s gotta have food? and you’re forcing him? cinnamon waffles with ten gallons of syrup. delicious.
wears rings because hell, if he’s gonna punch you, he wants that shit to hurt.
smells like tobacco and amber and fresh-fallen rain.
likes makeup. tends to get away with some eyeliner/eyeshadow on stage, but typically doesn’t wear any day-to-day. maybe some eyeliner on his waterline, but... he’s learned how to get by.
cross his sister and he’ll eat your face for breakfast.
default greeting: blinking at you like you’re offending him by taking in the same air.
honestly he’s never thought to leave vegas. he likes it here. his crew? they’re good people. as in reckless. fun.
has almost a full sleeve on his left arm, and two bands curling around his right bicep. one ear pierced, but doesn’t always wear an earring there.
can he offer you a winter green lifesaver in this trying time ??
goes by eddie or williams. call him keith and he can’t be held responsible for what happens to you. the only person who’s got keith privileges is his kid sister.
thomas hayes has brown eyes but eddie’s are a staggeringly light blue-gray. they look like ice. he’s 6′1 and that type of lanky that tends to look sleek, enticing, and mildly emaciated. he does have muscle to him, but the guy doesn’t eat very often and he’s on a steady diet of destructive habits, so... he’s got that matty healy circa 2012 vibe going on
potential connects.
chaos crew. they hit the clubs. they try their hand at scheming and tricking the best poker leagues. chug beers, crush the cans, and toss ‘em in front of cars. experiment with drug cocktails and haunt the town. all laughs and dilated pupils and forgetting, forgetting, forgetting the cracks in their ribs, the scabs on their knuckles. nothin’ hurts when your blood pumps this quick.
diner pal. eddie rolls up to his favorite diner in the wee hours of the morning. 2am, 3am. when he can’t sleep or he’s comin’ down from a heckish night, he’s there, whole pitcher of coffee and a stack of waffles. mussed hair. an entire encyclopedia of wild stories. one night, he stumbled into this person’s booth high as all shit, and they’ve been inviting themselves to one another’s tables ever since. could be a romantic connection. could be platonic.
ex on bad terms. kid’s got commitment issues. i’d love to give them a source.
fuckbuddies. they could just be friends who get fucked and do the deed. maybe there’s feelings. maybe it’s a you service me, i’ll service you situation. either way, they’re indulgent. they’re reckless. and they’ve got no regard for any damage they’ll cause.
people he’s tattooed.
sworn enemies. acerbic words, gnashing teeth, icy glares. they’ll cross the fuckin’ street just to avoid being within a ten-foot radius of one another.
caretaker. a friend ( or even stranger ) who’s taken it on themselves to monitor this maelstrom. all i can say is... good friggin’ luck, kid.
obviously there are so many more but this is just a list to get some juices flowing !
if you want to plot, please feel free to message me !! i’m headed to the gym now but after that i’ll hit up the starter tags !! so flipping excited to write with you goons !!
