𝟑𝟑𝟑

𝔬𝔫𝔩𝔶 𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔣 𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩

[dcviilish]

𝖌𝖔𝖔𝖌𝖑𝖊 𝖉𝖔𝖈. 𝖕𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖙.

the devil ; a study in red wine stains on a white dress , wishing on dandelions even though they’re weeds , the crackling of pop rocks , never staying in one place too long , you can’t disappoint people that expect nothing & attention by whatever means necessary .

as penned by peach for @lastseenhq.

[pityous]

he doesn't reply to her whining, the same way he was taught to when he'd throw fits himself growing up. she'd tire herself out eventually, or give in. a satisfied sort-of smile ghosts upon his face as he hears her retreat, and he makes quick work of assembling their late night dinner. his sandwiches weren't made with the same love or care he was used to (he'd only kept the ingredients in the fridge for benji to make when he came over). they're sloppily thrown together, but he pauses at the last minute before setting the plate on the table, almost self consciously throwing a nearby granola bar onto the side of the bread where cheese spills out a bit too much.

he glances up at her once she's changed, pushing the plate forward on the counter "yeah. i can sleep on the couch if you want, too. i don't care." romy assesses the fit of the pajamas on tris, the way the bottom of the pants drags, before he's rummaging around in drawers and producing safety pins "fun night?" he questions as he kneels down, rolling and pinning the pants legs

[dcviilish]

“i think we’re a little bit past modest gentleman, romes.” but there was something sweet about the the offer. innocent in a way tristan wasn’t really sure she deserved. the fact he didn’t want anything from her. at least, not the typical thing. he was being nice for the sake of being nice. “it’s your bed. y’know, if you don’t want to share it, you can send me to the couch.” but it’s not cockiness that made tristan sure he wouldn’t. it was the food delicately placed on the counter and the way he quickly got to work with safety pins on the bottom of the pants. “worried i’m gonna scuff them all up?” it’s playful teasing — it’s an attempt to diminish the care he gave.

yet she immediately undid all of that playing it cool when she actually answered his question. “no.” even though she had tried to convince herself it would be. that it had been. “i mean, c’mon, it’s wrensted.” a post large scale tragedy wrensted. a post amelia wrensted. “but the after party isn’t looking so bad. a sandwich, nice company — and did you know how soft these pyjamas are?” probably, considering they were his.

[temprnce]

something in tristan’s tone sets leah on edge. typically, she laces a humor through all their interaction, poking and prodding at leah in a way that’s playful, if grating. like an obnoxious, small dog, leah has always seen tristan as all bark and no bite, but there’s genuine anger behind tristan’s words tonight. not that she’s scared of her, but it does set them up for a different interaction than she's used to. she doesn’t even dignify the stacy martin comment with a response; tris is way beyond help if she thinks stacy and leah have anything in common. as tristan speaks, leah’s quickly coming to the conclusion that she knew amelia better than leah thought. there’s a haunted kind of look on tristan’s face that she’s never seen before, and she’s quick to attribute it to grief. not that that makes leah see her behavior in any kinder of a light. drinking herself into oblivion is pathetic, self-indulgent, and entirely useless to everyone. while it may help her forget in the short-term, there’s no amount of alcohol that will change the fact that amelia’s dead, and the hangover will likely only make remembering in the morning hurt more. leah has no patience for it. “tristan, if you don’t want me to think you’re a fucking idiot, stop acting like one.” maybe she’s not driving, but stumbling around at night, dressed in dark clothes really isn’t that much better — it’s like she wants to get hit. as if this down would know what to do with two dead girls. for a second, the cruelest part of leah wonders if that isn’t what this is: an attempt to get herself killed in a desperate ploy for attention. given everything else tristan has ever done, she wouldn’t put it past her.  she pushes the thought aside, a fresh wave of annoyance rising in her chest as tristan stumbles. “you know you’re embarrassing yourself, right?” it’s spoken matter-of-factly as leah can only imagine a few public showings that would be worse that this. “if this is about amelia, pull yourself together and stop making someone’s suicide about you.”

[dcviilish]

“i think we both know you made your mind up on that one a while ago.” and tristan had never given her a reason to reconsider. never cared to. if she really stopped to think about it — beyond delusions of immortality and grandeur, when the music stopped and big light came on — did tristan even think any different? as a surprise to no one, that wasn’t something she’d be unpacking with leah. with anyone, really. but least of all leah.

obviously it wasn’t needed, considering leah carried on.

“god, not everything is about amelia.” tristan didn’t think leah’s world revolved around in amelia, even in the slightest. not before she died or after, but deflection was the easier conversation. “figured you would’ve assumed she was above me.” well, she still could’ve. technically, she was. they weren’t even, that’s for sure.

except still thinking that but assuming tristan was torn up about it probably made things seem way more pathetic than they really were. there’s a small bout of insecurity that wants to explain that assumption away. no doubt fueled by the alcohol. maybe even the hangover that she had drank away when she had woken that morning. or afternoon, if we’re being real.

“trust me, i know everyone has bigger and better going on right now.” a direct contradiction to her saying that not everything was about amelia just a moment ago. “i know i wouldn’t do amelia numbers.” which, somehow, was the closest tristan had gotten to cracking a joke. “so don’t worry. not about me. loud and clear.”

the words held a weight leah couldn’t have even meant to strike where it did. in a serious way she wouldn’t discuss with the other woman. it’s why she had tried to distance herself from some of those closer to amelia. juniper, romy, eliza — even if she failed, she had tried. because it wasn’t about her. it was about them.

“but don’t worry, i’ll take that to heart. wouldn’t want to embarrass myself, right?”

[sundrifts]

she   flinches.   looks   up,   eyes   red-rimmed   and   glossy.   “no,   tris,   she   -   she   wouldn’t   -”   her   throat   tightens;   she   swallows   so   hard   it   hurts.   “amelia   wouldn’t   hurt   herself.   she   wouldn’t.”   juniper’s   words   come   out   sharp,   defensive.   “she   hated   pain.   she   cried   when   she   got   a   paper   cut,   for   fuck’s   sake.”   she’s   trembling,   but   it   isn’t   fear   -   it’s   anger   and   sorrow   in   its   purest,   most   helpless   form. 

“she   was   dramatic,   not   -   not   hopeless.   she’d   threaten   to   quit   life   every   time   she   broke   a   nail,   but   she   didn’t   actually   mean   it   !”   she’s   talking   too   fast   now,   words   spilling   like   water   from   a   cracked   pipeline.   she   mumbles   some   more   words   but   they   tangle   in   her   throat,   strangled   by   disbelief   and   whimpers.   “…   she   was   stubborn   and   selfish   and…   sometimes   cruel,   but   she   wanted   to   live.”

juniper’s   fingers   find   tristan’s   arm,   gentle   but   desperate.   it’s   a   touch   that   pleads   don’t   move,   don’t   leave.   “they’re   wrong.   the   police   -   they’re   covering   something   up…   they   have   to   be.”   she   sounds   like   she   should   be   wearing   a   tin-foil   hat   !   “they’re   protecting   someone   -   one   of   their   own,   maybe.”   her   breath   catches,   lips   catching   the   salt   running   down   her   cheeks.   “that’s   what   happens,   isn’t   it   ?   cops   protect   cops   ??”

[dcviilish]

turns out when people talk about a case that shook a small town, it wasn’t the mass mourning they always pushed in the movies or the documentaries. the world wouldn’t stop for amelia castro. though she’d throw a fit about it, that wasn’t something anyone would have expected. the surprise — wrensted didn’t even stop for amelia. people got up and went about their days and the majority of those that didn’t turned into conspiracy theorists.

the soft spot for juniper she could never seem to get rid of justified it. it’s denial. holding onto a mystery means holding onto amelia. she didn’t have to face the fact she maybe didn’t know her best friend as well as she thought. that things could be hidden from her. “maybe you’re thinking about the wrong pain. okay, maybe that — ” the words weren’t difficult to conjure because of the subject matter, but the receiving end. with all things considered, she didn’t want to be the salt in the wound. “maybe that stopped the pain.” was that, in a sick and strange way, comforting?

“isn’t that how those things always go?” not juniper’s cop theory, but the only option tristan would consider. “they had an amazing life, they were so happy. they’d never do that — and then they do.” the way gossip spread… no wonder she’d try to keep those cards to her chest. “it’s shitty. it’s really shitty.” and tristan wouldn’t say it out loud, especially not to juni, but she was pissed at amelia for it. for keeping it from them, for doing it — for all of it. “but it happened and none of this is going to do anything but fuck you up. if it was some conspiracy, the cops wouldn’t let that folder out of their sights. they’re not masterminds. they’re stupid and shitty. it all comes back to shitty. it’s just,” a sigh. “shitty.”

[mcrvelouspersona]

"Hey, do whatever you want, I'm not here to police." Though she certainly hoped no one was spending more time with the Tommy Chapel than was absolutely necessary. The Tommy Chapel may have miraculously not been thrown behind bars yet, but he sure got close to it more than a dozen times in their youth! How he stole a cop's taser (fair) and never got caught, despite going around the neighborhood and tasing anything that breathed, was just further proof of the WPD's incompetence (and/or simple disregard for Wrensted-not-Wrensted).

"I just have something I think you'd like more." -- Not by virtue of assuming she knew really anything about Tris, just by virtue of it being objectively better! Thus, she withdrew a plastic bag, sealed by yours truly, with two joint and some other plastic bags and baggies inside. "It's her sampler." Indeed, Dolly the Daytime Hooker (a joke May did not steal from Greg Garcia) was officially expanding her services, trying to branch out and become Dolly the Daytime Dealer, and Mick was more than happy to help her in her ventures... even if that meant spending money on drugs not intended for herself!

But, christ, if Tris's defining features were going to make their way to Mick through the words of the Tommy Chapel? The Tommy Chapel who had made one of his goonies friends eat a chipmunk because he called it cute? Man, deal with grief however you need (she had never been great with grief, herself), but do your best to go through Dolly the Daytime Hooker Dealer instead of the Tommy Chapel. Better quality, better prices, and a lot less questionable in character!

[dcviilish]

it’s not that tristan was passionate about expanding her horizons. tommy chapel was a stupid boy, which meant she would always have the upper hand. was there risks associated with that? sure. sue her and her lack of self preservation. it’s not like she wasn’t aware of them. white lighter comfortable in her pocket. it’s not those concerns as the driving force behind tristan’s actions as she reached to snatch the bag from mick.

she could have been a little nicer about. or more chill. if not for mick’s sake, then her own dignity. was all hope for that lost in wrensted? tristan mei would alway be tristan mei. “sounds a lot like policing.” a life lesson you’d think she’d know by now: don’t be a bitch to the person giving you free drugs. assumed free. mick might have been accepting something in return, but tristan had already decided giving her friend ( ? ) consideration was return enough. as if tristan wasn’t the one gaining something in this situation.

“why do you even give a fuck?” a small play in a grand scheme to take down tommy chappel? seemed more likely than being concerned about where tristan specifically was getting her highs from. or perhaps this was some weird strain of girl code she hadn’t heard of… for tris and dolly. two birds, one stone.

[lovestereo]

Visit Original Link

[temprnce]

leah has never experienced death like this. it’s been three days and the spectacle of it has only grown, sucking everyone in wrensted into its cloud of misery. people really seem to give a shit that someone young is now dead. it’s ironic, leah can’t help but think, that amelia’s death has more of an impact on the town than her life ever would have.  having left romy’s and proceeding to escape from the catros’ circus of a home, leah headed to water’s edge. the bluffs were blissfully empty, and the alone time was precious. she was there for a couple hours, letting the sounds of the waves crashing against the rocks below wash away any thoughts of amelia. on the way home, the gas light in her father’s camry turned on, leading to an unexpected detour to lone pine. the gas station is empty enough that she can hear the chime of the bell above the shop door; her eyes lift at the sound, and they’re met with the sight of tristan. the pump clicks off a second later. she’s replacing the cap when she replies, “i can afford a tank of gas.” or rather, her father can afford a tank of gas, considering leah’s getting gas on his behalf. and unemployed. “but thanks.”  she folds her arms over her chest, carefully assessing tristan in the fluorescent light of the gas station. she looks terrible; hardly able to stay upright. her jaw tightens as her eyes flick dismissively away from tristan. it’s mostly contempt that leah feels for tristan. it’s all so incredibly indulgent in her eyes. she doubts it’s truly grief that has tristan swigging from a bottle of grocery store whiskey (though, admittedly leah kept tabs on neither amelia nor tristan, so maybe they’ve bonded), but even if it was, this is hardly the way to deal with it.  with a mostly blank expression, leah turns back to tristan. “how are you getting home?” the tone with which she asks is revealing: sympathy is entirely absent.

[dcviilish]

it was a shitty olive branch, tristan knew that, but there was been the clearly false hope that she would just be ignored. “what an achievement. you should be so proud.” it usually rolled off her back. tristan notoriously never took things seriously.

as far as their usual interactions went, leah was playing the part perfectly. it was tristan that wasn’t normal. blame the bender, blame the anger. the desertion. if you could even call it that. “i’m sure stacy martin could afford lipgloss but that didn’t stop her from cashing in on the five finger discount all sophomore year.”

and yet, in the weird reality of it all, tristan should’ve been grateful for leah. her defences shot up, she lashed out — but god it was better than the alternative. something soft, laced with pity. maybe it clawed at insecurity. it cradled abandonment issues. leah hated her. they were both aware of that. it was perhaps the most stable thing in tristan’s life. a revelation both surprising and yet typical. of course she would be.

there was nothing tristan could do to sabotage it. blow it up. push her away then pull her in. not like everyone else. did she have leah in any sense of the word? no. but what better way to ensure you never lost someone?

“i have legs.” and it’s not like kiri would be waiting up for her. there was no rush for tristan to be anywhere. she could take as long as it took to stumble home, considering wrensted was nowhere near massive. “don’t worry, i’m not a fucking idiot. you don’t have to wrestle keys off me.”

tristan was reckless, impulsive, destructive — but only to herself.

“congratulations, you’ve done your part to give a shit about the innocent souls of wrensted.” the overdramatic bow causing a slight stumble that one could almost argue was karma. “i’ll see ya later, leah. enjoy paying full price to prove a point.”

[sundrifts]

tristan’s   face   says   it   all.   the   colour   drains   from   juni’s   own   before   the   sob   even   hits   her.   it’s   not   a   clean   thing   -   it   tears   out   of   her   throat   like   something   dying,   wild   and   unwilling.   her   whole   body   jerks   with   the   sound;   her   breath   splinters,   catching   on   the   edge   of   every   inhale.   the   folder   on   the   couch   might   as   well   be   a   grave.   confirmation   sits   between   them   like   a   damn   corpse.

she   staggers   back   a   step,   shaking   her   head   so   fast   it   looks   like   she’s   trying   to   undo   time   itself.   “no   -”   the   word   comes,   useless.   “no,   no,   no   -   it’s   not   -   it   can’t   -”   her   voice   fractures,   half   scream,   half   prayer.   “you’re   supposed   to   tell   me   they’re   fake.” 

her   body   folds   in   on   itself,   shoulders   curling   inward,   spine   bowing   as   if   she’s   collapsing   under   a   weight   that   isn’t   just   grief   -   it’s   guilt,   disbelief,   realisation.   she   makes   a   sound   that   isn’t   quite   a   word,   just   a   howl   caught   behind   trembling   fingers   pressed   to   her   mouth.   “please   -   tell   me   somebody’s   just   messing   with   me !”   the   plea   unravels   mid-breath,   voice   wet   and   breaking.   they   weren’t   supposed   to   see   amelia   like   this.

juni’s   body   sinks,   half-kneeling,   forehead   pressed   against   her   arm.   tears   drip   freely,   darkening   the   fabric   of   her   sleeve.   “she   was   there   the   whole   time,”   she   chokes   out.   “she   was   hurt and alone for so long !” seared into her mind, she can still see it - the cold phrasing of the report. lacerations to the wrists. presumed self-inflicted. oh, the sterile certainty of people who never knew her. “someone   fucking   killed   my   best   friend !”

[dcviilish]

it’s not relief when tristan saw juniper stumble back, but something adjacent. she never wanted to see the other woman in pain, especially not like this, but it quieted some of the paranoia that had been shouting over the ringing in her ears. this wasn’t something calculated and cruel that tristan was the sole victim of. juni wasn’t trying to torment her.

it’s masochistic… it’s the least she can do. tristan reached for the file once again. cracks it open just a little, just enough to slide the photos out, and place them face down on the couch. the page of writing is the only thing left when she finally braves opening it up fully. she read the words. read them again. over and over, trying to find anything that she could flag as wrong. see, this was clearly written by some twelve year old. they didn’t know how to spell decomposition and this line is from CSI.

but that gotcha! moment never came. that was the easier portion. both for tristan and any faker. the hard part?

there was no hesitation when tristan reached for the photos. if there was, juniper would have been able to see the way her hand shook. cold, detached tristan just there to tell her it was fake. it came once her hand was firmly on top of them, when she had to will herself to bring them back into view. she couldn’t imagine being juliette.

the first thing she looked for was the confirmation that it was amelia. the things that time couldn’t touch. her clothes, though notably changed, still hers. her shoes, her hair out just enough to sit around her like a halo. the question crossed her mind, had she posed? did she sit there a play with her hair instead of writing them a note? had she just fallen back from sitting up? the first hurdle was out of the way. it was amelia. not just some still from an indie gore horror movie no one would recognise.

she scanned for weird lines that would suggest photoshop, ai — any straw she could cling to. all of it beating her. “i can’t,” the admission no louder than a whisper. tristan wasn’t even sure if juni would be able to hear it over the sound of her own cries. “i’m sorry, june. i can’t.” and she wouldn’t lie to her.

tristan looked up to juni, hunched over and crying. it made her sick in a whole new way. “your best friend did.” tristan had taken their word from the original broadcasting of the news. not because it made her feel better. there was no peace or relief. when amelia had run away without saying goodbye, there was a silver lining. she got out. to leave in this way without a goodbye, it was almost cruel. every conversation they had that night, weeks before. how long had amelia known what she was going to do? there were pens and paper in that fucking house, tristan would bet money on it. but juni didn’t deserve the lash of her rage. wouldn’t understand why in the first place.

the paper clip returned the pictures back to their original spot, sliding off the couch to kneel next to juniper. she was well aware that she could be risking a bloody nose like chief taylor had gotten, but she wrapped around the other woman. “i’m sorry.” that this happened, that someone dropped that file off, that she opened it. all of the above. take your pick.

[knewitalls]

"you thought you needed help looking cool?" william asked, the question laced with skepticism. far be it from him to be the arbiter of coolness, but he was pretty sure she needed no assistance on that front. tristan was one of the coolest people he'd ever met, which was partially why it had been such a surprise when she had engaged with him first all those weeks ago. on paper, they seemed quite incompatible. opposites, really. but in reality...?

will was still distracted by her nearness, by the fact that if he wanted to, he could just lean down and pick back up right where they'd left off, but now that he'd made his choice, he was going to stick by it. which meant establishing a tiny bit of distance - if only so his senses could properly snap back into place (standing too close, all of his senses were entirely too attuned to her).

"i think the term fan would be more accurate, as i have attended zero shows. i think there's a travel component to the actual definition," he pointed out before leaning down for one last, brief kiss. he only lingered for a beat longer before wandering towards the first item he saw.

"wait, wait, wait... is that a lava lamp?" tristan's room was full of surprises.

[dcviilish]

“so it worked.” spoken like an achievement. as if his conclusion had been drawn from the brief time spent in her room. like she had fooled him. “it’s a cog in the machine, william.” of things she would claim to be performative rather than admitting an interest in? “you can get pretty much anything off amazon nowadays. i could pierce your ears right now if you don’t care about the ethics of the piercing gun or needle debate.” and none of her typical friends were the type to. “or, shit, i’m sure there’s one somewhere, but that’s a liability. i’d have to make you sign a waiver.” completely unserious. will had surprised her before, but there was a limit to everything. probably about twenty steps back from a piercing, if she had to guess. “don’t even get me started on the secret trophy collection.” tacked onto the end as if it were a joke, though they actually did sit in her closet. “cogs, man. it’s an illusion.”

the distinction between groupie and fan made tristan roll her eyes, head thrown back slightly in typical dramatics. “i said groupie for a reason,” she teased. when he kissed her again, she grinned as if he had fallen for her trap. “that makes you a groupie.” though he wasn’t wrong about the travel aspect. “and be real, you know you attended that paris show in your heart. did you know there was a vegas stop they just glossed right over? bitches, right?” then a glance at will, as if she had forgotten it wasn’t a friend in her room. not eliza or mick, but a guy. “you’re actually not allowed to agree with that.”

tristan moved to follow will, switching the lava lamp on at his question. “have you never been in someone else’s room before?” the possibility that he was so interested in the tiniest things because they were so tristan didn’t cross her mind even once.

[pityous]

"well, you're sort of striking out hard. so, fitting i guess." believe it or not, it's his way of being polite. acknowledging what he would so kindly describe as her drunken babbling "change. i don't know. you can't be comfortable. and i'm not—" he blows a breath out, like he was being forced to speak "i'm too tired to take you home and i'm not letting you go by yourself. so. pajamas." he insists, shoulders lifting in what should be a casual shrug but feeling heavy. he doesn't even wait for her to confess before he's placing the clothes into her hands and turning away, heading for the kitchenette and opening the fridge "yea, neither have i. sandwiches fine?"

[dcviilish]

“no, fuck you,” tristan protested, but her tone betrayed her. more whine than malice. “i’m not staying where i’m not wanted.” but she ran her thumb over the fabric that had been given to her as she watched romy walk away. there was no denying the set was soft. “yeah.” she caved. something she’d blame on the alcohol later. “thanks.” she followed romy’s lead from earlier, turning her back to him before she got changed. even though he was pre-occupied. immediately, he was right about it being more comfortable. which almost made her feel a little bad for fighting him on it. “do i still get to sleep in the bed?” not that she really slept the other times she had been over.

[knewitalls]

it hadn't really made sense to william that he and tristan ended up at the local motel that night, given that one involved party's apartment was sitting completely empty. however, in the interest of protecting liza's privacy he hadn't made any alternate suggestions once tristan's proposal had come through. two well fed cats, one pre-paid stay, and several hours later, and william was sleeping soundly.

until what sounded like the slam of the door.

to say it had been a rough 24 hours would be an understatement, but as per usual, will had been managing decently well. the same, it seemed, could not be said about tristan. the girl he was... seeing? dating? in a relationship with? (though social cues were not his forte, now did not seem like the time to define it!) who, by his count, had been gone for about an hour.

by the time she finally returned, it had been long enough that he'd questioned whether she would come back. if he was meant to go looking for her. if he was supposed to take the hint and leave or if something else had happened overnight that had demanded her full attention. but, ever-observant, he'd noticed her phone by her side of the bed. somehow, he'd done the math from there.

he'd been scrolling on his phone to pass the time, checking the comments on the little used wrensted reddit and various social posts about amelia, scanning and searching for any little tidbit that could make things make sense. when he ran out of amelia-related posts to review, he shifted to some light reading on dark matter, an article that summarized a recent study. and then another article. one more and then, finally, tristan was there.

it was still dark, and it was probably kind of weird that he was just sitting there waiting, but he couldn't help it. he set his phone down on his bedside table and glanced towards her. and that, it seemed, had been enough to draw her attention. and also freak her out.

"it's a perfectly normal time to wake up," he lied, a glance at the clock evidence of the early morning hour. still, he nodded at her excuse even as alarm bells he didn't even knew existed rang in his head. "both of those are basic needs to sustain life, equally as human as house plant," he pointed out.

obviously, there was water in the room - it may have been outdated, but there was a sink. two glasses. so, that was illogical. but if that was a lie, where had she been? what had she been up to? "all good, or?" he asked, eyes flicking towards the door and then back. it was his way of getting at things without actually stating them, but he was prepared to verbally raise the topic if needed.

[dcviilish]

“the sun isn’t even up yet.” but tristan didn’t actually know what time it was. perhaps it was creeping into those weird hours that morning people did consider acceptable. she couldn’t look at the clock. as if the tick over from midnight would officially start the post amelia portion of her life. when she was just a runaway, she wasn’t really gone. she was a postcard away. probably addressed to romy or juni. something she’d hear about through the grapevine, rather than ever receive. but she’d hear about it.

with her, amelia took that hope.

the reassurance of human v house plant, pretty much confirmed that it wasn’t a normal time. tristan assumed he was just trying to make her feel better. it was a kind gesture — it made her chest feel tighter. “okay, whatever, human.” though she knew it wasn’t correcting her, the defensive tone still slipped out as if he had.

tristan’s eyes flickered around the room for anything she could look at instead of him. anything to ignore the fact she could feel his gaze. or just lingering paranoia from someone pulling up when she was trying to pull herself together alone. honestly, she couldn’t tell which option was worse. there’s temptation to sneak a glance, hope to see william already rolled back over. or scrolling through his phone. instead, trembling fingers wrapped around the handle to the mini bar in the room.

“yeah.” the nod of her head following soon after, considering how uncharacteristically small her voice had come out. “uh, do you want anything? there’s a guy on the front desk, he’s pretty chill.” rough translation: tristan was pretty sure she could flirt her way out of the fine. the tiny bottle of whiskey taken from the shelf.

for a few seconds, tristan just focused on the feeling of the cold glass against her fingertips. she wasn’t overheating. far from it, considering she had just come in from the outside. but it was a jolt to the system that seemed almost grounding. quickly discarded for other coping mechanisms with the crack of the seal.

“maybe you should call liza.” at this hour? “she might need you back home. or, i mean, just if you want to. it’s fine.”

[mcrvelouspersona]

who: @dcviilish what: tommy chapel lives where: wouldn't you like to know weather boy

Although it had been years since Mick had traded the dilapidated house for the two slight upgrades there were a motel and a trailer park, her roots still laid firm in that, quite literally, bloody castle and all that surrounded it. She still knew them, her old neighbors and 'skinning squirrels for fun is a passion of mine' cohorts, just as well as -- if not more than -- the more centered folks she had gone to school with, associated a bit more with now. Thus, Mick was very well-versed in what all of those 'punch me so I feel alive' 'friends' were up to as they entered adulthood. And Tommy Chapel? The Tommy Chapel? King of them all? It was almost surprising that he was selling drugs -- so much more lucrative than any other job anyone in their right mind could see him in! Why, it was a shock he had gone this long without being in prison! And word spread, and word spread, and word spread, and word made it to her. There had been an uptick in his business since the news of Amelia's death, what a score! But there had been nothing notable -- not to them -- about any of the clients (as he, a very professional businessman, called them). To Mick, on the other hand... "Tommy fuckin' Chapel..." she said, meandering towards Tristan... wherever they were. "There's this one girl, higher quality and same charge, who didn't rip tails off squirrels for fun when she was a kid who I could hook you up with instead. Woman run business, better lay..."

[dcviilish]

in the wake of amelia, to say tristan wasn’t doing well would be an understatement. the shock of finding her would have been enough to set tristan off. for someone that acted too cool for all of it, tristan could be extremely sensitive when something managed to pierce her guard. reactive.

all of that was before the bomb juniper had dropped on her. more accurately, shown her. the pictures, the words that were somehow just as graphic. there was no longer just grief to drown out, but the information that had burrowed itself into her mind. while she loved a good horror movie, it was different being someone she knew so well.

yet also, someone who was meant to be a stranger. someone that everyone else had more of a right to grieve, or seemingly didn’t care to.

“what’s it matter to you?” tristan didn’t really have a reason to get defensive with mick, besides the fact it felt like a criticism. something that tristan had gotten wrong. “i don’t remember asking for your opinion on who i’m spending my time with.” if you could call it that.

[sundrifts]

the   sound   of   the   knock   against   the   door   splits   something   inside   of   juniper   -   like   a   porcelain   cup   that’s   already   got   a   crack,  splintered   further   by   a   soft   touch.   she   stands   very   still,   her   hand   hovering   over   the   doorknob,   skin   clammy   and   cold   despite   the   stale   heat   lingering   in   the   room.   the   lights   have   been   dimmed   for   what   feels   like   hours,   the   curtains   drawn.

there’s   a   folder   that   sits   on   the   table.   beige,   ordinary,   the   kind   of   thing   that   should   hold   tax   documents   or   school   behaviour   reports.   instead,   it   holds   her.   amelia…   kind   of.   there’s   photos   followed   by   what   she   assumes   is   police   jargon.   someone’s   tidy   handwriting   noting   the   wounds,   the   knife   found   beside   her,   the   way   her   mouth   was   too   clean   for   the   fire   to   have   been   her   cause   of   death.   juni   can’t   stop   seeing   the   words   stage   of   decomposition   -   a   phrase   so   sterile,   so   ruinous.   she   shouldn’t   have   looked.   she   keeps   telling   herself   that.   but   she   had.   and   now   the   images   feel   like   they   live   behind   her   eyelids,   flickering   every   time   she   blinks.

tristan’s   voice   pulls   her   back,   muffled   through   the   wood.   june?   it’s   tristan.   of   course   she   came   –   she   always   does.   juni   isn’t   sure   whether   to   be   grateful   or   sorry.   the   hinges   sigh   when   she   turns   the   knob   to   greet   the   other,   but   her   smile   falls   flat.   she   doesn’t   know   how   to   start.   hi   feels   wrong.   thank   you   for   coming   feels   worse.   finally,   she   exhales   a   shaky   breath.   “someone   left   me   somthing,”   she   swallows   hard,   her   voice   cracking   into   the   hallway.   “and   i   need   you   to   see   it.”   not   help   me.   not   tell   me   what   to   do. just   that   – see   it.   because   once   tristan   sees   it,   juni   won’t   be   alone   in   knowing   what’s   inside.   was   that   being   selfish?   “it’s   on   the   couch.”

[dcviilish]

the juniper that opened the door was somehow exactly the juniper she had expected, yet also someone so unfamiliar to tristan. she knew she was upset. the loss of amelia had come very suddenly — at least, to tristan and her firm belief of the runaway theory — and before she was even laid to rest, someone was pulling pranks on her best friend. “what is it?” but a location worked just as well.

tristan made her way to the couch with a practiced ease that would surely be salt in a reopened wound if there weren’t more pressing matters at the front of her mind. when the only thing on the couch is a basic manila folder, there’s a small sigh of relief that leaves tristan’s lungs. it’s not that she thought juniper was being dramatic. no, she had every right to be upset. it’s that she was expecting some kind of mean letter. ‘amelia castro will rot in hell!’ the kind of bitchy shit tristan had been tuning out since high school. she had skin thick enough to deal with that. to take the brunt of it for juni.

she was entirely unprepared for the horrifying sight she was met with upon opening the folder. it was amelia. not as tristan remembered her, but as warrick and juliette had found her. she knew whatever was in here had upset juni, but she still thought that was the kind of thing you gave someone a heads up about! “what the fuck is this?” tristan hissed, shoving the folder away like it had the ability to maim her. “is this a prank?” except not one juni was the victim of. “i needed to see — are you fucking with me? this is sick, juniper. sick!”

[dcviilish]

@amstrength , bitter end coffee. three days post-amelia .

being at bitter end was almost like a cruel joke. a taunt. not because of the name — but felicity rowe had been making her stance on that very clear via facebook! as if the town hadn’t seen a bitter end before amelia. no, in a way that was much more specific to tristan. where she was the punchline. that she would just have the coffee. take the alertness, sober up. that it would do anything but make the headache worse in a few hours. that she wouldn’t immediately find relief in the hair of the dog.

seeing benji in front of her in line should have been the cue to duck her head. pretend she hadn’t noticed him. on the back of the prank, the worst possible news dropped. he probably had enough people stopping him to talk — good and bad.

but then again, tristan and benji had never expected heavy emotions from each other. she’d continue to tell herself that even after something almost resembling emotions had slipped through the cracks last time they spoke. she tapped on his shoulder gently, speaking before he had even turned around. “you know, i heard pay it forward chains are all the rage at the moment. fancy a little good karma, stranger?”

[dcviilish]

@knewitalls , the goodnight grinn. the same night amelia was found / early hours of the next day .

tristan had done her best not wake william when she slipped out of the bed. it was far from the first time she had left someone sleeping alone, but these were unique circumstances. a certain unsteadiness to the movements. she had wanted the company until she didn’t. she lingered in the room for a moment, wondering if she should intentionally wake him. tell him that eliza and the cats probably needed him. kick him out. or pick a fight to feel something, make him give her the goodbye that amelia hadn’t.

instead, tristan fled. the motel door shut behind her with a click that was definitely not delicate enough for the hour. the thin fabric of her shirt barely doing anything to lessen the chill of the night. of the wall when sat with her back against it, knees hugged tightly to her chest. her phone sat on the bedside table, so tristan didn’t exactly know how long she had just sat out there until headlights pulling up ruined her extremely public private space.

when she rushed back into the room, it wasn’t as peacefully still as she had left it. the slightest stir from william’s direction caused tristan to whip around. “what the fu- what are you doing up?” then the realisation that she had probably woken him in… all of that. “sorry, i just needed some water.” that she absolutely did not get. “and fresh air. god, i sound like a fuckin’ house plant. just go back to sleep.”

[dcviilish]

@repudiates , juniper’s place. the day after amelia was found .

the last time juni had invited tristan over hadn’t exactly gone well, considering how fast she had tried to flee. the argument that had come as a result. seeing her again hadn’t been a bandaid to rip off and then be done with. it didn’t hurt for a second then fade. it was more like a splinter. something that could be fine for a while, until something brushed over it in just the wrong way.

it probably wasn’t smart, but there was part of tristan that wasn’t sure she’d ever really be able to say no when juniper called. especially not when she seemed so scared. her mind went to the worst, something akin to the prank at the birthday party. at least that would explain why she hadn’t invited romy or benji.

or perhaps that was just an excuse to take the weight off her own shoulders. discount the possibility that juniper had chosen her.

now, standing in front of the door, knocking seemed like an impossible task. she could just turn around. leave without an explanation as juniper had done. her knuckles hit the wood before tristan was even aware she had raised her arm, muscle memory made the decision for her.

“june? it’s tristan.” not another random someone to terrorise you!

[dcviilish]

@temprnce , outside of lone pine gas station. three days post-amelia .

everything sucked. in usual tristan fashion, there was an air of dramatics to it. however, this had become a town wide phenomenon. at least, a good chunk of the town. if not because of amelia — because of the tragedy.

wrensted didn’t feel like a place with many blessings to count. if tristan had to pick one, however, it would be the leniency of fender. a bigger city ( or a worker with someone to report to rather than the owner ) likely would have refused service at the stumble of tristan’s step. the knowledge of that made the pity in her eyes almost tolerable. it was far from the ideal, but tristan was still getting what she wanted. even if it came with the sad eyes of ‘you knew her, didn’t you?’

luckily for them both, fender didn’t ask.

it’s almost a clean getaway, until tristan stepped out into the cold night air — only to come fact to face with leah. there were plenty of people tristan was avoiding as an act of mercy towards them — liza, romy, juni. the people that had more of a right to the pain tristan was trying so hard to numb. leah was perhaps her most selfish addition to that list.

embarrassing wasn’t the word, but some kind of insecurity that simmered under her skin. it would come as a surprise to no one that leah was handling things better. not to mention that if tristan were more like leah, knowing amelia wouldn’t have been a secret worth literally taking to the grave.

“fender’s in a good mood.” in lieu of any greeting — any forced small talk of how are you holding up? as if they would ever be the type. “bet you could bat your eyelashes into a discount or something.”