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isidorescastillo:

Small towns felt notorious for their fake nice personna- it was one of the things Idisore had liked most about being in the Marines. It was all fuck you this, suck my dick that. So much more his style; but even so, here in Cassel, in a quiet bookshop no less, the abrasive nature of the stranger took the biker aback. Only for a moment, the surprise flashing across his eyes, gone in a blink and so easy to miss. “Well, since you were kind enough to ask…”

In truth, the last thing that Isidore had the patience to read was an owner’s manual of his grandparent’s ancient microwave back at home; and no, it was still broken, and yes, he’d given up on fixing it. There wasn’t even a chance for Isi to fire back something equally spiteful and full of snark before she was speaking, again, and displaying a book that was all too hilarious for him not to have to struggle to bite back a satisfied grin. “On the fuckin’ nose,” Isi replied sarcastically, but took the romance novella from her all the same, flipping it over to gaze at the back as if he were interested.

Two could play, even if he wasn’t all too sure what the game was. “When Victoria first saw him, she was overcome with lust, breasts perking up under her gown as if reaching for him,” Isi was reading aloud now, a random page chosen, and taking no care to be quiet. With a serious face, he raised his eyes from the novel and back to the stranger, giving a contemplative frown. “I don’t think I can bring this to my grandma for her evening reading. I’ll give you another shot, since I’m feeling generous.”

The book closed. Isidore placed it randomly on the shelf, and crossed his arms; a challenge within his body language. Gimme what you got.

Darcy’s eyes widened just so as the man began reading an excerpt from the novel - loudly, without any of the shame or embarrassment that came with the hyper masculinity she’d pegged him for. Okay... perhaps the people of Cassel were a little spicier than she’d originally given them credit for. Maybe they had to be, with nothing of note to occupy them besides the banalities of their own minds.

“You mean, you don’t bond with Grandma by doing all the different voices for her?” Darcy quipped, watching as he returned the book to the wrong shelf. Anarchy in action. How helter skelter of him. This wasn’t that type of true crime documentary though, so Darcy reached across the space between them, grabbing the book again so she could put it back in its rightful spot.

She locked eyes with him, still leaning into his personal bubble. “Stay right there,” she said before turning away, disappearing around the shelf. The store’s organization could’ve been better; it looked as if someone had ordered everything by their own personal taste rather than any discernible system. So it took her a moment to find something decent for Cassel’s buff, tattooed Little Red Riding Hood to take to his grandmother’s house.

She reappeared after she’d found what she was looking for. She held out the book in his direction - The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoevsky. “I thought maybe Grandma is a woman who enjoys the classics.”

#isi #isi 001

marleymostlikely:

The Orphan’s Tale. Marley, noted with a silent laugh, that it could’ve easily as been the story of her life.

Though, if she really thought about it, she’d know that her father’s status remained very much a mystery. She assumed that he was alive somewhere, but dead to her still counted as dead, did it not?

She needed a new read, anyways. She still wasn’t sleeping at night, and the owner of Ray’s had taken notice and chalked it up to the graveyard shifts he’d been scheduling Marley for. There’d been no explaining to him that those graveyard shifts actually didn’t keep her any further from sleep than actually being in her mother’s trailer did, and that her options were either stare at the tin ceiling until she wanted to scream, or at least prove to be somewhat productive and pour coffee.

The copy of the novel was turned over in her hands, allowing her eyes to scan the back cover for it’s synopsis, when the sound of a voice being called in her direction made her lift her head. Her eyebrows raised curiously at the warning, glancing back at the novel’s fairly unassuming cover, as if waiting for a ghost to jump out of it and reveal itself.

“Just this particular copy, or..?” Though typically not one to back down from a challenge, the last thing she needed on top of everything else was to figure out ghosts were in fact real because one decided to torment her out of the pages of a book.

...

“The whole lot of them,” Darcy confirmed with a small but severe shake of her head. Before venturing out into town, she had toyed with the level of witchiness that she wanted to exude. Unfortunately, she’d decided to mostly reel it in and go for a modern realism, but boy did she itch for a little of that Long Island medium campiness. It would’ve been so stupid and so fun. “Those words in that order. It’s like reading the Latin at the beginning of a horror movie. So to speak.”

Darcy sized the other woman up from the side of her vision. She was... drab. Unremarkable. Sad... or tired... or both. Darcy was not a real psychic (spoilers), but perhaps there was something to the transfer of energy because she felt exhausted just looking at this walking clinical depression diagnosis. Maybe she could use that. Maybe Marley was another person in Cassel who needed Darcy’s particular brand of assistance.

“I realize this is going to sound strange, but is everything okay?” she asked, feigning interest in this woman’s personal life. “Your aura is very... blue. But less like a clear sky... more overcast.”

#marley #marley 001

itskittylee:

kitty had never been too big of a reader, never had the patience to sit around and read. but at this point she was desperate, the utter lack of things to do in cassel was truly on it’s way to bringing her to tears from boredom. that’s how she’d found herself in bookend’s on her lunchbreak, looking for literally anything to aleviate the boredom she’d felt since her return.

“well thank god for that. a little bit of excitement.” she says with a slight smile and a quirk of her brow. this girl was an unfamiliar face, and kitty was suddenly struck by how much the town had changed since she’d originally packed her bags and left. “will i curse the whole town? or is it one of those ‘you’ve got seven days before you die’ kinda curses?” still, she puts the book back on the shelf, gaze flickering over the other books available.

“you’re not from around here, what brings you to the middle of nowhere?”

...

“Definitely more of a Ring franchise type of curse, but I don’t think it operates on a strict timeline,” Darcy replied, a touch of genuine amusement to her tone. People with an open sense of humor were always hit or miss. They either made the days go by more easily, or they ruined Darcy’s entire empire by making her look like a joke. It was a fine line to dance upon but it wouldn’t hurt to have an actual ally in Cassel.

“I wish I could say I was in town to see the sights. You know... the railroad tracks... the Ruby Tuesday’s just off the highway... but I’m actually here to help with the Andrews investigation,” she said honestly, though ‘help’ would wind up being a questionable concept. “I’m in the business of finding lost things and Casey’s story felt really important to me.”

She turned away from the shelf of books, facing the woman next to her. “My name’s Darcy, by the way. Don’t tell me you’re the town welcoming committee, sent to figure out the new girl?”

#kitty #kitty 001

stllagarcia:

Stella had stopped in the bookstore for something to distract herself, something to do. A new book to add to her collection in her office at the school - half of them borrowed by the students, half of them unread but there for decoration, a chunk sitting in a pile in the corner that she’d yet to put away on the shelves. She’d read a few pages, get bored, and toss the book to the side.

It was something to do. And in a town like Cassel, half the battle was merely finding something to do.

“Cursed?” she asked, an eyebrow raised but playing along. “I’m a little too old to become an orphan myself, so are you saying any children I might have down the line are destined to become orphans, or is it more subtle than that?” A smirk, a glance at the stranger. A new person, just like she’d been once upon a time. “I never thought our little bookstore was capable of holding onto cursed objects - though, maybe that explains the fate of this town.”

...

The school guidance counselor was a figure she’d loathed back then and a figure she wanted little to do with presently. Unfortunately, Stella was potentially a wealth of information - both on Cassel in general and Casey herself. Darcy could disguise the sharp spines of her personality long enough to make a necessary connection. If she was lucky, Stella would be a huge gossip, and she could get good info with as little effort as possible.

“Actually, a little less subtle than that,” she said. “It’s more along the lines of imminent death, unfinished business... all the classics. I suppose it could work if you already had children, but something tells me you don’t.”

The something was literally the very words Stella had just spoken, but it was all about the phrasing. It made Darcy seem more intuitive than she actually was.

“I doubt one book has been Cassel’s downfall, but the little things add up eventually. Enough darkness in one place, it’s bound to manifest. Especially in little towns like these... Sorry, I’m being a total downer. Maybe we should start over. I’m Darcy.” She held her hand out, offering it in the space between them.

#stella #stella 001

kitgallagher:

“Sounds like my type of book, then,” she shrugged, renewed interest in the title she held. To be completely honest, she hadn’t been the most excited about it — it was a common thing for her to venture into the book shop and come out empty handed. She wasn’t sure why she couldn’t find a new piece of literature that satisfied her curiosity: anything she picked up made her feel restless.

To continue the trend of honesty, one could say the restlessness wasn’t entirely brought on by the books themselves, but by her current situation. She was being pressured at the station to change the tone of her podcast — while she agreed it was not productive to talk about ongoing investigations, her public constantly asked for her opinion on the happenings of their hometown of Cassel, IL. Or, largely, happening. The one thing.

The problem was that, due to her personal relationship with said one thing, she couldn’t bring the most unbiased opinion to the forefront — often lapsing into sardonic quips directed at those responsible for her cousin’s case. It was also extremely uncomfortable to be pressured into talking about it when, once again, her family was in shambles. What a tragedy it was, the not knowing. A different mystery would be a welcome distraction. “Tell me more about this curse, love.”

...

Darcy was familiar with Kit Gallagher, though they had never spoken before. The girl had a face for radio, after all, and Darcy had been listening. She’d spent countless hours researching all she could about the case so as to appear effortlessly informed when she approached the rest of the Andrews family with her proposition. The fact that Kit was closely related to her targets made this particular interaction a pivotal one. Lest Kit call her auntie and blab about the horrid bitch she’d met in the bookstore, forever cinching Darcy a Midwestern failure.

She had not moved to Illinois for no reason.

“It was published in 2018,” she explained, motioning toward the sign above its shelf that read Recent Releases. 2018 was three years ago then, but Darcy supposed that was a side effect of living in a pocket outside of time. “But written in the 1600s. It existed in Purgatory for 400 years, because anyone that tried to share it with the world suffered a tragic death. I’m not sure what changed three years ago, but personally I prefer to hedge my bets and stay clear of the dark omens.”

She smiled, morphing her expression into something both friendly and impressed. “Not you though, huh? I’ve heard that podcast of yours. The dark is like your thing.”

#kit #kit 001

isidorescastillo:

Making an appearance at Bookends wasn’t for Isidore’s own benefit; he was never a big fan of reading, wasting his time with idle hands, when he could be creating something of his own. Those with the patience needed for books; the pages, the words, the never-ending expanse of a story, the ability to be consumed within a world whirling in your mind-

Isidore couldn’t relate. But his grandmother could. She loved reading, and many of his fondest childhood memories had something to do with her window seat facing the sunset. He’d listen to the stories she loved with a new appreciation for what a book could provide, so Isidore now found himself with a dusty fingertip as he dragged it along the spines of rows of books.

Sleepy, untouched stories in a sleepy, untouched town. Even the smell of paper and ink seemed to be as subdued as the rest of Cassel, and it was these somber thoughts that occupied Isi’s mind before the words of the young woman reached his ears and he gave a half-startled glance up from the novel in hand. I’m tired of these tame romance novels they keep feeding us here, his grandmother had complained about the selection of books in the assisted living facility. I want something to make me think, give me a little bit of a scare. Shocking, riveting-

“Is it?” Isidore felt an eyebrow quirk over his always-furrowed brow, still gazing at the brunette and her serious expression. “Fine, I’ll bite. What do you suggest instead?” His words were emphasized with him decidedly replacing the “cursed” book back on the shelf, turning towards her expectantly.

...

Darcy enjoyed being a divisive figure. The people she came across in life either loved her or hated her. Rarely was there a space she existed in the middle, and for good reason. She hated it. The emptiness of being ignored. Or worse, politely placated. So when the man she’d addressed put the book away, looking toward her with interest, she was overcome with the thrill of the catch. Like a fisherman getting a bite on the first cast.

“Hmm...” she mused, tapping her fingers along the spines of old books. “That depends on what type of reader you are.” She looked at him, her eyes wandering over his image. The tattoos, the dark, mysterious vibe. She knew the type. Too cool to care. Barf. “Like... first things first, can you read? Or was Cat in the Hat the last book you got through beginning to end? I could find something that’s mostly pictures for you, if you need.”

She plucked a book from the shelf. It was a pulpy romance. One of the classics, with Fabio on the cover in all his shirtless, windblown glory. She tilted it toward the stranger. “Or maybe this is more your style. Pulsing members, heaving bosoms? It’s such a toss up, I can’t decide which of the two feels more you.”

#isi #isi 001

masonhqs:

Mason, who had his feet up on the counter as he read his copy of Sharp Objects, sat straight up when he heard the exchange in his store. The customer holding the book looked at Darcy in horror, immediately dropping the book to the hardwood floor of the shop. The thud of it hitting the ground made Mason spring out of his chair and hop over the counter.

“No, no it is NOT cursed!” he yelled to the customer who was now running away. The man picked up the book from the ground and tried to juggle it between his hands as if that would prove it wasn’t supernatural somehow. “NOTHING IS CURSED!” Mason yelled, but he was only met with the ring of the bell on the door and the sound of a slam as they ran out. He huffed, inspecting the book for scuffs before clutching it to his chest like pearls.

“You have some nerve saying my books are cursed! This is like– the most uncursed book shop on this wide of town.” It was the only bookshop on this side of town, but…

Mason squinted at the woman, pointing The Orphan’s Tale accusingly at her. “Did Barnes and Noble send you? Are they finally tryna run me out of town?… Well guess what, beyotch, I’m like the US capital, you can’t move me!” Mason stopped to give that sentence another thought before retracting his statement. “Except for that one time they DID move the capital. Other than that, I am unmovable!”

...

The chaos that ensued brought a small smile to Darcy’s face. It was an expression of success, the pleasure that came with realizing you had been right: this town was full of gullible idiots. Most small towns were that way, if you played your cards correctly. This game was going to be fun and it was going to be quick. Just the way Darcy preferred it.

“Have you ever considered that you shouldn’t be selling cursed books?” Darcy retorted in a flat, unbothered voice. She stood calmly in the face of the store... owner? manager?’s paranoid frenzy. Darcy always felt like she had the upperhand if she was less emotionally invested than whomever she was speaking to. “It’s reprehensible. You’re practically taking advantage of Cassel’s uninformed, uneducated masses.”

She slipped a novel off the shelf without reading the title, holding it up in front of her. “But I promise I’m not in league with Big Book Corp. Just new in town, making the rounds. In fact, to make amends, I’ll be purchasing this. It’s my favorite, ever since I was a little girl.”

#mason #mason 001

zenndaya

According to my business partner, Christopher, my anger is an “issue”.

DEAD TO ME — 1.01: Pilot

#about

williamdeuxfois:

William had always been greatly fond of books.

He’d discovered his ability to speed read at a fairly young age and by the time he was eight he had gone through all of the age-appropriate options in the library with a speed that alarmed the town’s small library staff. By age ten he was reading his parents’ college-level texts, seeking to understand concepts that wouldn’t be introduced to him in school until almost a decade down the line.

He preferred non-fiction, the works almost always providing a clear use to him (even if it was simply biographical knowledge). However, when he was particularly ‘in his feelings’ about a situation, he’d occasionally pick up a work of fiction to take his time with.

That day was a work of fiction day.

His precious Science Club was on the verge of disbandment, his dissertation work was piling up, and he was still unsure of where he fit in with his old pals. He had known that coming home wasn’t going to be easy, but since the disappearance of Casey Andrews… life as a male teacher in Cassel had grown exponentially more difficult.

Eyes scanning the shelves at Bookends, William had just picked up a book from the historical fiction section with a title that seemed interesting when he’d turned and spotted a stranger nearby. Odd, for the town to have a stranger, but he’d been away for some time and there were still people he was re-meeting for the first time since his arrival. He didn’t think anything of it.

William was fully ready to turn away without comment, his attention already refocused on an absolutely not funny copy of Lolita in the Cassel Recommends section, when the girl spoke up. Loudly enough that both her words and the fact that she was specifically addressing him were clear.

“Define cursed,” he prodded. “I’m aware that some use it to mean ‘bad’ but the traditional sense would be more entertaining.”

...

Back in October, Darcy had been living in Brooklyn. The man she was seeing scamming at the time had been obsessed with Halloween. He’d even shelled out $300 for a 12-ft skeleton from Home Depot. Darcy had long since moved on from that man. To think that the skeleton had too. For here he was, standing before her with a book in his hand. The mad lad had even learned to read. Good for him.

“It’s translated from a Spanish manuscript that was written 400 years ago by a monk who broke his vows,” she explained. “400 years and it’s only been published recently. Why do you suppose that is?”

The best thing about jumping around the country was that Darcy could reinvent herself in every city. A new story would begin to form the moment she arrived, but it only came to life in the telling. In Cassel, her intention was to lean into the psychic thing. The cursed book bit was a nice coincidence.

“Because anyone who tried sharing the thing died,” she explained, her tone dry in either sincerity or sarcasm. Few could tell the difference, including Darcy most of the time. “Possibly in very grotesque, painful ways. Plucking it off the shelf could have all kinds of consequences. Hasn’t this town had enough, Pandora? Have some shame. Close the box.”

#william #william 001

open starter. location: bookends

Darcy had been in Cassel for a week. She’d hated every second of it.

Cassel, Illinois was so much like the nowhere town in Georgia she’d sprouted from. Both places had the same sleepy population, the same crumbling buildings, the same hazy concept of time. Days were measured only by the appearance of new wrinkles, in faces or on sidewalks. An entire town slowly disintegrating while those who lived in it had long ago accepted their fates.

It made her miserable, but there were few places Darcy lived that had ever made her happy. She put up with it for work, knowing it was temporary. Once her money was made, she would be off to the next place. Some other sad town with sad occupants. In the in between, she found small ways to make the days interesting.

Thus far, Darcy had been exploring the town, getting to know its inhabitants from afar. It was always how she acclimated to a new place, learning its ins, outs, and avenues. A successful con was always a well-informed one. When she discovered the bookstore, she’d finally felt like she found a personal haven. Just like when she was a young girl, Darcy lost herself in novels.

She found a custom shelf the owner or an employee had created of town favorites. She ran her hand along the dusty spines, learning about Cassel through the titles of their favorite books. When she spotted movement out of the corner of her vision, she glanced over without turning her head.

She hadn’t spoken to many people yet. She was always hesitant to feed the animals, so to speak. Now felt like as good a time as any. If she wanted good information about Cassel before she approached the Andrews family, she would have to get it from the people who knew best.

“That book is cursed,” she said, raising her voice in their direction. She pointed to the copy of The Orphan’s Tale that they held in their hands. “Read at your own risk, but I’d pick up something else if I were you.”