I think you've got me confused for a better man

@deadxndfriends

Dependent blog for @boneyardfm

96 posts

HEY, i think i just saw ÁLVARO REYES walking down the strip. stop by to catch up and you’ll learn the FIFTY-ONE year old is working as a PROJECT‌‌ MANAGER‌ AT DEADLY POSSESSIONS HAUNTED MUSEUM and lives in THE CROIX TOWNHOUSES. given they are RESOURCEFUL but RUTHLESS, it’s likely that they ARE a vampire. on the flipside, rumor has it that HE TRIED TO KILL THE VAMPIRE THAT MADE HIM AND THEY’RE HUNTING HIM DOWN TO RETURN THE FAVOR and it keeps them looking over their shoulder. i bet you can find them tearing up the dance floor to PARANOIA - HEARTSTEEL and you’ll know why they’re called THE VULTURE. ☾ .⭒˚

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#boneyardintro #TW for drug mention

He let out an exaggerated sigh when the man alluded — rightfully so — that carrying a textbook around a biker bar didn't blend him in well. "God, if I didn't think my brain would explode all over every single page I've been working on if I took a break, I wouldn't be carrying it around everywhere." But now that he had been interrupted by the appearance of the patron, Dustin supposed he could afford a drink, and waited for the other bartender on the shift to wander their way before he requested a gin and tonic. It wasn't his usual order — straightforward wouldn't pack a punch in any of the essays he had to write, so perhaps he was hoping it would ease the troubles that were brewing about every single one. "Al," he repeated the name, "Oh. Wait. Do you work at that haunted museum? I have a friend who does the tours." That might not be the best start — Dahlia Ramos wasn't known for her stellar social skills ( which added to the irony of her choice of a job. ) Sticking out his hand, the former carney shook, if a little unsteady and stiff in postulation. "Nice to meet you. And sorry to hear half the roof bit it in the storm. I saw some of the damages when I was hurrying home after work that night. Lose any of your valuable stuff?" Accepting the drink from the bartender, he fashioned a napkin as a makeshift coaster, glancing under his arm at his bookbag, murky hues darting back to his companion. "Astronomy science. I've been working on my post-graduate for... five years now?"

A gin and tonic. Not the way he'd expected the man's taste to lean - at least not without a classier venue and a crowd to try and convince he was more interesting than he was - and notable enough to have his eyebrows shifting just a hair upwards in surprise. They were knitting together a second later, suspicion flitting across his features before it was replaced with a more neutral smile, the hand given a cursory shake before being dropped.."Is that right?" A friend of a friend wasn't something that would warrant concern under normal circumstances but with Dahlia? Making use of a human who happened to be in the right place was just common sense wasn't it? Still, he didn't have any proof that she was up to something and it wasn't the first time his former family had passed through the city. Now wasn't the time to worry about it. “I'll have to tell Dahlia you said hi.” He laughed at the would be apology, shaking his head. "Wasn't my roof." It hadn't been his problem to deal with either, and he'd been more than happy to let Graham deal with the insurance company while he'd enjoyed the time off. "Best thing about everything being haunted - couldn't destroy most of it if we wanted to. Pain in the ass getting all that glass up though." It was almost reflexive, the curious tilt of his head, a slight leaning in the other's direction. "That's what, the horoscopes and shit?" A trick he'd learned from his "sister" (or at least that what she'd been when they needed to get in with some trust fund kid too stupid or too horny to ask too many question) in the '70, when the country had been riding the high of putting a man on the moon and an army of starry eyed nerds had been convinced they'd be the ones to get humanity to mars. In the years since it had almost never failed to get some sort of reaction. "Hadn't realized it was so complicated. There's degrees in that now?"

#[Álvaro - Threads]#with: dustin #I fear he never stops being Like That he just has to get his second wind sometimes #Me having to cross check dates on my own threads like a conspiracy theorist #Everyone thank spreadsheets because we'd never have anything sorted out otherwise #Thank you spreadsheets #Sometimes I just type whatever and hit post I fear

“A day?” Matevos laughed. Silly. He put the coffee down, before picking it up again - without realising - and taking another sip. “I made it a full morning, then I accidentally made a pot of coffee at work. Not that we had clients, 1st of January and all, but I was going to walk the dog and usually I drink a cup before I go and one when I get back. First one to my lips… promised myself I wouldn’t take a second one… but that was a lie too.” He grinned. Because despite that he’d failed, the fact that he’d even thought he wouldn’t was laughable. If there was rehab for coffee addiction, someone was bound to drop him off at the doors.

“Weeks?” His eyes went wide, and he looked around as if looking for hidden cameras. “That’s a dangerous bet to make. What could possibly hold up against supporting my coffee addiction. I can take up chores, but I’m not sure that would interest you. Hmmm…. Al, what does make you tick huh? What are your New Year resolutions?”

He hadn't even made it to noon. Álvaro was almost impressed with how candid the man was - in his shoes a full team of FBI agents couldn't have pulled that confession out of him - but then the self aware addicts were some of the weakest willed. "A week." He clarified, as much for his own personal sanity as his wallet. Matevos was amusing but knowing just how much he was over-caffeinating over an extended period was more intimacy than he really wanted with the man.

The question made him pause, letting out a laugh before he could stop himself. "…What makes you think I need resolutions? Only reason I'm not getting something done is not having enough hours in a night." His fingers drummed against the table, considering the problem with as much faux seriousness as he could muster. "Could always open up a tab at the Cat, can drink a lot when someone else is footing the bill. Be a drop in the bucket compared to you, though. The waiter returned, a cup of coffee that he was now starting to wonder if he really needed delivered and he took the opportunity to size the other man up as he stirred sugar into the cup. "…How much free time you got?"

#[Álvaro - Threads]#with: matevos #Got to work an accidentally made a pot of coffee - truly the most relatable man

"Doesn't mean I didn't plan on having anyone to join me." Which wasn't true since it was clear that Santi had intended to dine alone. It didn't seem like other guy wanted to leave the table. He would put up more of a fight, but he was tired and his head hurt. Fighting was something he didn't want to do. Plus maybe a little company wouldn't be that bad. "No dessert is a shame. I was really looking forward to having a slice of cheesecake." Santiago liked to believe he could read people, to observe them from afar. He could tell the server had a gluttony problem. But he wasn't one to judge. Everyone had their faults. "How do I got you beat? Did I actually win this game?" He tries to smile back, but it doesn't quite reach across his face. It hurts too much to smile. "Yea, I do have to stop. I can't take the pressure from headaches." He groans softly, his fingers massaging his temples. "Just holidays and my birthday. I feel like drinking will make me appear to be more...American...I guess."

It was his way of fitting in and trying to assimilate into the normal society like they want foreigners to do. It was a struggle, but one he worked hard to achieve. "I know you right?" He finally asks, realizing that maybe he did see the other around before. "I'm Santiago, but I think you already knew that."

"…That right?" Álvaro doesn't tell the other man that he's full of shit but his thoughts are obvious in the slow way that he blinks at the statement and the pointed look it garners. "Then I'll move when they get here. Sure they won't mind." The words are more sarcasm than saccharine like he'd been aiming for but it hardly mattered - they both knew he was there to stay. "Not missing out on much. Cheesecake here is shit." He assures, disdain at the servers weakness turned outright disgust at the memory of the soggy disaster he'd only been stupid enough to try once. "Dishwasher's got-" He pauses to consider the door to the kitchen, the man in question having been dragged back to his station. "…Another hour in him, your guy didn't even make it to the lunch rush."

When was the last time he'd been hungover? Long enough that he couldn't even begin to hazard a guess - which was probably why Santiago's explanation couldn't muster even a lick of sympathy. "Looking real patriotic right now."He scoffs, shaking his head. "Might want to stick to baseball, seems a little more your speed." Less than five minutes turned out to be how long his breakfast buddy was willing to live in mystery. Álvaro didn't know whether to be impressed or annoyed that he'd admitted defeat so early. An arm drapes over the back of his chair, a smirk on his lips as he arches an eyebrow at the other man. "Those the deductive skills you putting to work in court? See why they're paying you top dollar." After a moments consideration he provides an "Alvaro" in response to the mans information fishing; he doubts it'll be of much use to him anyway. "How's your husband, Santiago? Didn't want to join you in the great American pastime?"

@ofdesertroses

#[Álvaro - Threads]#with: Santiago

...

"Depends on what you want." The upside-down view isn't nearly as gorgeous as it is right-side-up, but Oz enjoys it anyways. Entertaining, at the very least.

But soon they're moving, and Oz hopes their cologne will mask most of the pot smell... or at least mix with it. Maybe just be a nice herbal scent instead. He pushes the wheelchair along towards the entrance, with a sidelong glance to make sure Al's coming along.

The tickets are tucked into their breast pocket and Oz sees the giant marquee up above the theatre... they turn their gaze back to Al again, dark eyes alight. "You ready? Because I'm so fucking ready. Get the door for me, handsome. It's my birthday and shit."

It's funny, almost flattering to find Oz's searching gaze directed his way —as if they might actually be in danger of losing track of him when Al had gotten the tickets, picked them up and driven them there — and a smirk pulls at his lips, a teasing eyebrow arching. "Nah. Thought I'd get all the way here and decide if I wanted to stick around once I saw the place." It's unclear whether the scoff and rolled eyes are for the order of the compliment it's wrapped in, but he reaches for the door handle regardless - had always planned to- holding it open for his companion.

"Better be handsome, hard as these tickets were to get" Though phrased like a complaint, there's clear bragging in the words. He'd known exactly what seats he'd wanted the moment he'd seen the commercial, a discerning eye all but unavoidable after decades spent pulled into theaters in the tow of the older vampire. That they'd proven challenging to get had made the acquiring almost as satisfying as dropping his prize into Oz's lap. They're saved from another sarcastic comment about their birthday by the tickets taker, a vacant looking teen who'd apparently prepared for the show the same way they had. "Left." Away from the stairs and objectively worse seats; a cue that's probably unnecessary given the signs but his steps have sped up, the display of disinterest cracking under the combined anticipation of both the show and Oz's reaction now that they're practically seated.

#[Álvaro - threads]#with: oz #Filed under posts that ended up being twice as long as needed for absolutely nothing #My D key has given up the ghost and I'm doing bs to cope if you see a grammatical error explained by that just pretend that you didn't #Any other errors are all me yolo pretend you don't see them either #Getting around Al's constant issues with authority and orders by *checks notes* slapping a compliment on them. Ok

nxnbinarydracvla

Know I can still put you out, right? Forms of affection came with a sharp set of teeth, more bark than bite, and that was the banality of Cyrek's relationships throughout his life. Which explained why it took a village he'd managed to marry at all. "I won't go down without takin' somethin' with me, so if you wanna actually lose your eye, I wouldn't." He grinned after he said it, the lopsided, harmless kind that didn't match up to the tonal equivalent of a wet blanket — and as if to accentuate his point, mostly to lay in on the vexation, he took another step toward Alvaro, arching an eyebrow and facing his scarred cheek outward. "I'll let ya have the first hit on my ugly mug if you're so bold." Then, he dropped the act; there were other matters on his mind that took precedence and he couldn't uphold the playful demeanor for an extended period.

The grift of a smile danced ephemerally across his features, a glint of mischief in his brown eye, the opposite in green always privy to betraying the slight of vulnerability that his emblazoned personality couldn't keep under wraps. The punk appeared to think about it for a moment, taking entertainment in the thought of irritating the occupants of an otherwise quaint neighborhood, which would perhaps land with a little more zest than a trailer park that was used to no-good since Cyrek and Stella were of the ripe age of sixteen. "But my siblings are here, so they'll do all the annoyin'," he said then after the inappreciable realization that his lot of younger siblings were crammed around the area, rolling his eyes slightly, "And I thought I'd get away from all that shit after I got my GED." Turned out, it didn't matter what age you were. Your siblings were going to haunt you for the rest of your fucking life, and if he were so auspicious, maybe with the suspension of any more pranks and swapping shampoos in the shower.

"I don't think they're squealers. 'Less you think they'll stir up a big stink if you rough 'em up," it was the kingpin's wordless way of asking for the debt collector's insight. He wasn't the type to lead without being open to advice; after all, if the past few months' had taught any of the Cactus Cats anything, it was that there was strength in numbers over being separated from one another. "We could use the money. Or some kind of money. Winter gets rough." Not explicitly for the Fawn pairing anymore, but he wasn't blind to the Cats who didn't have supplemental income to their name, or fumbled without it.

Familiar with them. Mismatched eyes narrowed, blurting out bluntly, "If you tell me their leader's your ex or somethin', I'll really kick your arse." Don't shit where you eat, or whatever the American phrasing was. As if he had a leg to stand on when his own wife was the outstanding road captain up until they figured their shit out. With invitation, the goth blended with the shadows and crept deeper into the home, rounding around Alvaro and making for the leather couch. There was instant relief to be found curling up in it, the aching muscles and lingering soreness he had chalked up to a cause-and-effect of having his intestines flailing about in the open mere months before, he situated himself with feline ease. "Yeah, sure. Water or soda's fine."

Lips pressed into a thin line, eyes narrowing as if he was actually giving thought to taking Cyrek up on his offer. It was a ploy he'd used often enough in his younger years- when the risk of getting punched in the face had been more than worth the reward of getting to hurt the other side- irritation and invitation as a means to provoke. Turned against him it was so annoying that it almost circled back on itself into being funny. Almost. His posture eased, eyes rolling - his side of the tacit understanding that this was neither time nor place. "You're too nice to 'em." It was something he'd always found baffling about the bunch, the whole lot insisting on hanging around the same place when they were all old enough put the other's in their rearview. "Stop coddling them, give them some real consequences and they wouldn't be up your ass all the time. Don't remember the last time I had to deal with either of mine." Probably when one of them- likely his sister, a meddling, busybody bitch from the day she'd been able to talk- had gotten enterprising and tried to have him declared dead

"Don't think they'd squeal." Doing things his way didn't mean that he couldn't agree where the kingpin was right in their assessment. "Not worth the trouble. Casinos aren't exactly busy, only thing happening right now is the rodeo and I don't see any of this bunch getting on a bull any time soon, do you?" It wasn't just the cats that winter could be rough for after all, even if he was at least a little more inclined to feel some sympathy for his fellow bikers. "Press too hard and they'll start running. Stupid ones'll lose what they've got trying to make it back fast or skip town. Honest ones'll put a bullet through their skulls or get it from another shark. Lose the client if we don't get stuck fighting someone else to collect. " Admittedly that left the problem of what they could do to make a quick buck that catered to their weaker members skills. "Christmas is coming. What's popular this year? Always a few parents willing to shell out top dollar once the stores sell out."

Alvaro froze, as if that unfortunate, lucky guess had hit a physical mark, hands shoved into his pockets in a show of casualness that he didn't feel. "Won't tell you then. Make this conversation real short." The need to be polite to guests that his mother had fought instill had managed to stick but nothing could shake that spiteful streak. That very streak had him moving into the kitchen so slowly that it threatened on an amble, a glass filled with ice and a can of coke dug out from the fridge at a speed that suggested that the task was truly monumental. After barely a moments consideration, he grabbed a beer from the fridge as well. He deserved it, if he was going to have to deal with this.

The offering was dumped unceremoniously onto the coffee table in front of the other biker before he took up residence on the opposite end of the couch, the lid popped off of it's bottle with practiced ease. "Wasn't the leader that went after Kael, if that's what you're worried about." It wasn't and he knew it but it was easier to offer something in situations like this. If the conversation couldn't be avoided it could at least be controlled. "Job that sloppy? Would bet money they didn't know about it. Sure as hell didn't sign off on it."

#[Álvaro - Threads]#with: Cyrek #Suicide TW #Mentioned in passing but mentioned never the less #You have one mutually evil ex and no one will let you live it down 😔

Andrea had noticed the woman at the front of the restaurant and just by looking at her could tell she really didn't want to be working there. She was thankful that she got to work in a place that she loved so she didn't look as miserable as that woman did. "I think so too, I mean I have a feeling the next time I come here, she'll either snap and quit on the spot or she would have quit." She took a small sip of her drink, watching from her seat. "Oh my goodness I feel so sorry for her, a few kids too, this could be her breaking point."

"Glad to see that we are in the same boat when it comes to resolutions, they are just stupid if I'm being honest with you." She spoke, leaning back in her chair. "Oh now we wouldn't want that now would we." She couldn't help but smirk, eyes following the waiter, staying on him until he left the two of them alone. She noticed the waiter shudder as he left, possibly from the look she gave him. "Who's to say that I'm not just taking a break from partying. Always good to have some time off from it." She admitted. "The best of the best, if you're up for one I have a few written down. I am sitting here wondering if I should go to one or just head home for a good nights rest."

'A few kids too'. He had to do a doubletake, looking back as subtly as possible to confirm that, sure enough, hidden among the I♥LV baseball caps and "Viva Las Vegas' shirts were a few snot nosed brats. He couldn't quite manage to stifle the derisive laugh that the realization brought, not nearly as sympathetic to her plight as his table mate. "Name tag said Cheryl." It had been notable for the glitter pen it had been written in and the little heart next to the name - clearly not written by the woman in question. "Whoever comes back first has to ask for her and report back."

Álvaro gave a hum of acknowledgement at her words, unable to come up with any real argument — the restaurant was lively but not in a way that required any true engagement, she wouldn't be even be the only patron using it as a midway point between events. "Head home, on a holiday? Be a real waste." He joked, considering her offer with more than a little interest. "Anything with a half decent band? He asked - stopping by the Doll House wouldn't take up the whole evening, after all. "Think I've had about all of that dance shit I can stand." Disco had at least been tolerable but what seemed to pass as club music now seemed to be made to cause a headache but then he'd always preferred an intimate bar and a live band.

#[Álvaro - Threads]#with: Andrea #Adding techno to the list of things he's pissy about I guess #Compiling terrible takes into a character #He should NOT be at the club

Sometimes Naomie walked into a room and wondered if she would walk back out of it fundamentally changed. It was a series of decisions, many beyond her control, that had carried her through the last twenty seven years, but each decision lately felt a lot like picking which one was going to fuck her over the least. She had awakened in the middle of the day not long ago in a puddle of sweat, and had realized that she no longer had a choice, but rather the carefully curated illusion of a choice.

Naomie lied to herself often. She lied that she was choosing the drugs, and the sex, and the company she kept. She lied that she was choosing to protect her father because he would do the same for her if he could. She lied that she wasn’t afraid. When she cried, she lied to herself and said it was because she wanted to, and not because her life was essentially her carving her insides out with a spoon and feeding it back to herself by force. Sometimes she lied to herself, that she had accidentally taken more than she should have, and hadn’t actually been trying to end whatever fucked up wash cycle she was on: wake drugs sex sleep repeat.

Naomie lied that she had a choice, because it was easier than realizing that perhaps her ability to choose had ended 11 years ago. So she lied to herself here, facetious in the face of fear, because she was afraid, not of Al, but of trying to do something for herself. Of taking back, and of demanding more. And yet she looked at Alvaro, and knew that despite what his price would be, she would choose to pay it in exchange for backtracking up the road that was her life, and righting one of her universe’s many wrongs. Naomie sat down opposite of him as she gave her name over, “Naomie”.

Her hands instinctively curled in her lap, her nails pressed into the meaty part of her palm. She realized that she was nervous that he would look at her and decide she wasn’t worthy of his time.

“I hear–” Her voice was hoarse and she cleared her throat before trying again with a bit more certainty, “Well I’ve been told you can get something back, if someone owes you something. I have–” She sighed in frustration, felt her foot bouncing up and down subconsciously on the foot bar of the stool. “I have money, and I’m willing to pay. Something was taken from me, a ring, it was my mothers. And the person who took it from me…” Naomie clenched her jaw. Talking about things like this always felt like reliving it and she was angry at the thought that something could hurt her long after it had happened.

“I want it back. And I want it to hurt.”

Naomie. Biblical, cute in a way that suggested that it was given by a well meaning parent and not chosen for it's implications of sex appeal and a fun time, no strings attached. Al had expected a Kitty or a Roxie, the kind of name you could find in a club or at a corner no matter where you were— usually attached to a girl nearly identical to the one sitting across from him. He hummed, an acknowledgement of the word tinged with something that might have been approval. Honesty was something he could appreciate. It made a working relationship easier even if he would still look into her before he put in too much effort, paranoia enough reason to do his own digging if certain names too often in the local paper weren't.

The 'not enough' that came to mind at her declaration that she had money was stopped before it could leave his mouth, lips pursing as he reached for his beer instead. Something else to appreciate- that she expected to pay with money. It was one of the reasons that he didn't often work with working girls or dancers- the desire to trade in access rather than assets. The illusion of interest (or worse, the absence of it) was boring at the best of times and insulting at the worst.

Of course, there were those in the city with worse taste.

Details could be filled in between her agitation and the nature of what was taken. It wasn't hard to figure out how someone might steal something as intimate as a ring from a girl like Naomie. Suddenly, it made perfect sense how she'd ended up in his lap. Anyone with half a brain would become less of a bleeding heart with a baby on the way.

Her anger was what made this sad little tale interesting. He got the feeling Naomie didn't have a lot of malice in her…At least not yet. With a few more years and the right push? Even rabbits could be provoked into biting. "…You want it to hurt?" There's a hint of laughter in the words- repeated more for her understanding of her words than his own- amusement rather than condescension. "How hurt are we talking?" Not that he made a habit of hurting people for money - he wasn't a hitman and even if he was, he doubted she had that kind of money. No, if he was hurting someone they'd earned it: irritation, insult, the audacity of wasting his time - something to make them less valuable than their ability to stave off both bloodlust and boredom.

His fingers drummed against the surface of the table, shoulders half lifting in a show of resignation. "I can get it back." Complete confidence but why wouldn't he be confident? The kind of people going after easy prey like Naomie weren't Vegas' best and brightest. "What's the catch?" He wasn't any more convinced that she needed him specifically for this than he'd been when she sat down. "Skipped town? Hard to find? Sold the damn thing? Easier if you tell me up front, don't like surprises, Naomie."

#[Álvaro - Threads]#with: Naomie #tw implied sa #If you're ever like “Girl what the fuck are you on about?” please know that I am too #He's a luxury few can tolerate tbh #I've already made my weekly apology for him but Naomie deserves her own special one #The Young Gun isn't catching strays but she IS getting grazed by them for no reason here

...

The lean-in, the look on Álvaro's face. Oz's hooded eyes stay pinned on him. The former hitman makes no comment about the whole 'classy' conversation, because they're far more invested in how close the other vampire gets for the joint, no hand reaching out, but instead it's silent approval to...

Oz's thumb brushes the other's lips. The briefest slip over the lower one before he positions the joint to let it hang from Al's mouth. The word gorgeous slips through their subconscious and nearly makes it out into the air... instead, it swallows like a lump in Oz's throat.

Hooded eyes flicker back to Al's. "You're not everyone." Could never be. "You're far better."

It would sound schmaltzy and sarcastic if there wasn't the tiniest, sincere grin on Oz's face as the other vampire is already getting out to grab the wheelchair from the back. Oz grabs the handle above the window to ease into the chair and turns his head up. An upside-down look at Al.

"Joint birthday celebration, then. You already gave me a joint and Cirque Du Soleil so I guess I'll have to make it up to you, huh?"

You're far better.' It feels like winning, a decisive victory in the little game that they're playing. Under the circumstances, the smile on his face is hardly surprising- broad enough that he curls a hand over his mouth in a bid to stifle it, thumb swiping over his lips in an absent echo of where Oz's had been mere moments before.

Oz's head tips back and Al finds himself struck by a thought. They really did have beautiful eyes; wide, dark deep and…The girl he buys from is clearly underselling her little garden. He sure as hell didn't feel like he'd smoked enough to be thinking anything that stupid. "…So you're saying you owe me?" Thankfully, his mouth could be counted on if his brain couldn't. An eyebrow raises, fingers slipping from the back of the chair to press into the librarian's shoulders as he leans in, words only just above a whisper. "I'll remember that."

It's little more than pretense, something else to poke and prod with, an excuse to spend more time in the other's company. After this many years was it even possible for the books to be unbalanced between them? Pulling away, he reaches to push the door closed, steps back so that Oz can maneuver around him- they were the one with the tickets, after all.

#[Álvaro - Threads]#with: oz #He's /not/ being an asshole but I still feel obligated to apologize for whatever the fuck it is that he /is/ doing 🤡

Finding Vampires, obviously, but instead Bonifer shrugged, as if the theme hadn't even come to mind when they were being artsy. "I have yet to find one. It will come to me, when I have enough material," they said. They'd listened to actual artists talk often enough in their line of work, interviews where Bo was the interested party, hoping their voice on the radio and the answers to their questions would make for an interesting story. "Photography happens, it would be fake if I went out there with a goal, too much posing, too much... make-ability." That had to be some accepted term.

Though they didn't have to lay it on that thick. They didn't think the other was an artist.

"That stupid though?" Because it would be really dumb. And Bonifer planned to burn these pictures soon as they got home.

"Ah, a pomeranian. I hear those tend to bark a lot at anything new." He thought back. "My neighbour when I was young had three, they never shut up."

'Make-ability'. Álvaro arched an eyebrow at the made up word but didn't comment. Definitely an artist, then. One of the aimless kind with more free time than vision or skill. It was endearing to know that there were always a few kicking around. "Ever consider taking more of these outside? Don't think natural lighting ever hurt anything." Vegas wasn't as flashy during the day but it wasn't an ugly city. Admittedly, most of the roaming photographers he'd interacted with had been decades ago, usually in the vicinity of a beach so maybe he was biased. "Never heard of anyone burning to death in the sun, at least."

A shrug, he'd long since stopped underestimating just how stupid people could be. “Can't be more stupid than going on a dating show.” He chuckled. "Guess even serial killers need good PR."

So the creatures constant yapping hadn't been for his benefit. Interesting. If anything, he thought even less of the thing and it's actual owner now, but he nodded regardless. "Makes a great guard dog." If there was a hint of irony in that statement, he could only hope it could be excused by the fact that they were talking about an animal that could be mistaken for a fancy rat. "Better than any alarm system, ant can't get in without me knowing. Never felt safer."

#[Álvaro - Threads]#with: Bonifer #Sorry about his ongoing beef with dogs 😔#The vampire drama they don't warn you about

The dance of digits continues until Oz maneuvers it out of Al's grip- not that the other was really holding too tightly. They can tell he'd given up after a short time. Just... long enough to linger. For a moment.

"Don't think I've ever said I was classy... is that just the energy I exude? Or is someone talking about me behind my back?"

Oz speaks far more when around Álvaro than in the company of most others. The librarian is quiet, and reserved, and sits and organizes. Hooded eyes watch with silent judgment and even on the topic of books, they may give a few recommendations and then return to the solitude of an empty aisle.

"You should be used to them by now." Another drag, another plume of smoke that wafts around the car and out an open window in a lovely haze.

It looks like they're finally nearing and that gets the glint in their eye enhancing tenfold. "I'm sorry, should I not celebrate my birthday because everyone has one? Could've sworn this was also a late celebration of my life." A dumb grin of pursed lips and a leer to the side. Catching Al's eye as the butt of the joint is passed back one more time. "My mistake."

Pulling into one of the few spaces left in the parking lot, Al took the chance to give Oz's outfit another look- both sarcastic response to their question and a confirmation for himself. Unsurprisingly, his companion is still sharply dressed, still seemingly intent on spending as much time as possible looking like they'd stepped out of a magazine— be it the cover or one of the more risque center pieces that had stores wrapping them in plastic as if shirts with holes were what would cause the moral downfall of society.

"Not the one using the word demure." He reminds. Al sure as hell wasn't going to tell his companion that he thought he was classy; it was really just a matter of knowing more about what seemed to be considered taste than most of societies upper echelons and a convincing show of superiority and arch disdain…at least when he wasn't talking. "Being used to it doesn't mean I have to let you get away with it."

The gear is pushed into park and he leans over the cars center console, though he doesn't take the offered blunt right away, gaze flickering between their hand and his companions face. Oz had taken the initiative to place it himself earlier, what did it hurt to see if he would now to? Curiosity and cats or whatever. " So I'm everyone now? You're almost as bad as Moreno."

The scoff of laughter makes it clear just how sincere Al finds that seeming remorse and he finally reaches to pluck the joint from Oz's fingers, dragging the little it has left to offer into his lungs. It's not enough for an impressive smoke ring but that doesn't stop him from blowing the wispy one that he does manage at the other vampire before laughing and grinding out the butt into the ashtray. "You're full of shit. Get out of my car." Of course, it's Al himself reaching for his door handle and climbing out to retrieve their chair from the back seat.

#[Álvaro - Threads]#with: oz #drug use tw

Best view in the city? Oz doesn't fight him on that, even if the outside of the car window is scaffolding and old tarp. They just raise eyebrows. Shrug.

That's one of the many problems of old beings with dubious morals- no one wants to be wrong, and no one wants to be vulnerable. It's teases, nudge-nudges. Despite Oz being nearly 300 years old, he can't help but to be a bit immature when he's around Al. To refuse to give in, to try and one-up the other.

Still. It's infuriating, when their fingers brush and this idiot has that handsome grin on his face. When they sit in the car together and Oz leans in to take the joint back, and they can practically breathe in Álvaro's smoke instead.

It takes restraint not to.

Fingers slip between Al's to grab the joint back, wrestling it out with . "It's my birthday, asshole. Don't go hogging it." They murmur with a chuckle, voice mellowed out and warm in the pit of their throat. "And you know I'm a heathen- would probably burst into flames in a parish." A beat. "Perish in the parish." Oz's smirk grows tenfold then, and they nudge the other with an elbow.

"You have to laugh at that, it's my birthday."

The smile spreads, slow and satisfied across his features. Impatience wasn't the response he'd been after but it was something - still provided that thrill that came with getting a reaction out of his companion. "What happened to please? Thought you were supposed to be classy." The low roll of the complaint off his tongue and fingers practically laced into his own in their insistence are compelling request in their own right. He doesn't put up much of a fight before relinquishing his grip. "Don't wanna hear shit if you get something on your clothes."

The joke is bad, almost painfully so and the road is forced to bear the brunt of his reproachful look, lest he miss their turn but the disdain is clear enough in his next words. "Going to need last rights if these are the jokes you're planning on telling." He mostly manages to fight the traitorous smile the tries to bubble up as Oz elbows him.

"Not the only one with a birthday." A detail that's unimportant in the grand scheme of things — they're out together, he has the librarian's undivided attention, it's not like he's losing out — but the opportunity to turn his own weapon against him is too good to pass up. "Think you owe me a drink for that one."

#[Álvaro - Threads]#with: oz #Daily Double of Al actively lowering the maturity levels of the people around him

His goading is a boring tug-of-war, one hand lazily wrapped around metaphorical rope, and her eyes are rolling over and over until she looks a woman possessed. Lines she's heard before, cuts too shallow to draw blood. "You'd know all about cats," she snarks, the defective wound he'd left behind festering.

She's not threatened by him. Wants to throttle him, actually, the more he condescends. The more he presses and pries for a rise out of her. Knows which buttons to push, and she knows exactly what he's doing. Knows this antagonistic game between them like the veins that caress the back of her hand. Like the greys that hide in his wealth of his black locks.

She can't hide the amusement in her eyes, though, pulling across her lips, It manifests as a laugh pushed out in a harsh exhale. She's shaking her head, thinks he's kidding, then states the obvious. "Oh, honey," she laces in false-pity, "You think I'd poison you?" A quick snap, a drop of her expression, and a tone harsh and unimpressed. "Get fucking real, Al."

If she was out to kill him, she'd make him suffer something slow and painful. Something worthy of his renegade. How devastating, that she was left to mourn with little more than a fantasy, again, over a call that wasn't hers to make; at her best Amala was recon, in spite of how eager she was to become his illicit karma. Anyone's, really. It's been a minute since she's flexed a talon or two.

Instead, she ruins the gift. Keeps her gaze stern and steady, locked on him as she licks a stripe over the icing and takes a bite out of the side with confidence, and set it back. Takes her time in the silence until she's sat back, arms folded over her chest, gaze searing into his. A manicured finger swiping at the corner of her lips, ladylike and unperturbed. Petty is as petty does.

"Sit. Down."

He could only hope that she was calling him a pussy. Was it uninspired and childish? Yeah, but considering the alternatives it was probably the best she could do. If she was hoping to scare him with knowledge of his current affiliation - no real secret to begin with - Dahlia had long beaten her to the (literal) punch and if she was taking a stab at the Cats as a whole well… Only one of then was sitting in this kitchen seething in impotent rage over their own tied hands. She'd walked in with so much confidence that he'd actually convinced himself that she might be bringing something new to this little game of theirs.

Embarrassing.

"Met enough dogs to know that they bite." He explained, slow and patient since it seemed that she'd forgotten who she was. "More likely to stick a razor blade in there, but I try to give you a little credit."

Despite knowing what would happen when he'd made his challenge, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret over the cake. It had looked good, despite it's origins. The almost petulant look on her face – as if she'd actually accomplished something with her little show– is a decent enough consolation, though. Álvaro kept to himself that he'd seen Sooyung pull a similar stunt several years and a fraction of her age ago.

What he didn't refrain from was laughing, shaking his head as he circled the distance back to his own chair. "Guess the parties over." The cup is placed on the table, pushed to the side so that he could rest his his elbows on the wooden surface, fixing her with a stern look. It was early — he'd have been tired even if she hadn't been there to annoy him. "Was there a purpose to this little visit or did you just miss me that much?" She'd ruined her own pretense for coming and he wasn't going to keep it up for her.

#[Álvaro - Threads]#with: amala #Obligatory apology for him - I personally think she's icon #Making a second character but it's just Al with better taste

It's admittedly been awhile since he's seen Álvaro. Business has been steady and Sol's been looking at the boring bullshit that owning said business unfortunately involves- paperwork. Taxes. Scheduling. Because he's too nice and gave his manager the winter break they wanted.

Between that and whatever the hell has been going on with the families and the old farts in power, Sol just wants a drink. He's been practically living in the Doll House at this point, so a restaurant had seemed like a good change of pace.

And there's one of the only other old fuckers in the Cats. Sol can't help a tired grin as he walks over and sinks down to sit across from him. "I'd say you, if I believe you made resolutions in the first place." But no, not something he could envision him doing. Not like Sol does it either.

"...The hostess. She looks stressed enough to re-start a bad habit by the end of her shift tonight." Sol taps ringed fingers on the wooden table. "...You buying?"

What was it they said about speaking of the devil?

"Just the person I wanted to see." Not that he didn't enjoy making a trip to the Dollhouse but if he could free an hour that would have been spent lounging around the loan shark's office while he fought for attention with paperwork he wasn't going to complain. "Surprised you're out, thought they'd chained you to that desk of yours." There's something near sympathy in the comment as he shrugs out of his jacket, tossing it over the back of his chair.

Sol's answer to his question doesn't wipe the smile off his face but it does earn them a sharp, annoyed huff of laughter. "Remember that next time you want something followed up on." A threat that would have held a bit more weight, perhaps, if he hadn't spent most of his day doing just that.

"What are you, my girlfriend?" Despite the griping and the eye roll accompanying it, he nods. "Yeah, I've got it." It wasn't like the loan shark had ever begrudged any of the cats a meal or a drink or gone out of his way to make Al's job difficult, what was one meal?

"Saw Roy Harmond today. He's found Jesus." He has to fight to keep a neutral expression as he makes the announcement. The very idea was laughable when the man made a revolving door out of the their office, with some new and increasingly absurd reason for borrowing every time. "Showed me his new church suit."

#[Álvaro - Threads]#with: Solomon

Matevos was drinking coffee, he'd actually told himself, before going to the restaurant, that he'd stop. Or at least drink less of the caffeine. For his heart, for the DOGS, but alas. He had already failed that resolution. Like he did every year, every single year. He was reading a book - on dogs - while sipping from his fifth coffee, and almost bouncing out of his chair. Either because the book was that good, or because of the amount of coffee rushing through his veins.

And the coffee here was that good.

He grinned when Alvaro sat down. "I am afraid, bruv, that would be me," he said. "I already failed my New Year's resolutions. But... if we're going for the person after me, the owner, hands down. He's going in head strong with a few dreams of how to better his business, maybe say he's not going to cuss at employers or something, and he will fail by tonight." The vet shrugged. "What are we betting for?"

There was something fascinating about observing Matevos' when he was in the throes of a caffeine fix. Al had found himself wondering more than once if the man liked dogs so much simply because they were the only ones who could match his energy, given that he was at that very moment turning reading into a high stress activity. Between the empty coffee cups on the table— he had a gut feeling there has been more and the waiter had simply given up— and the fact that the man in front of him was all but vibrating through his seat it didn't take a genius to figure out just what his resolution had been. "Did you even manage to make it a full day?" The doubt in his tone made it more than obvious what he thought the answer to that question was.

His eyebrows raised at the question— he hadn't really intended to put anything behind the idle speculation — and he doesn't think for very long before offering up. "Weeks worth of coffee." A dangerous gamble, under the circumstances but with one obvious and exploitable flaw. "If you can prove it." The other man's bet had sounded less like observation and more like idealistic fiction, after all. A grin spread across the debt collectors face, sharp and predatory. "What are you putting up if you lose?"

#[Álvaro - Threads]#with: Matevos

"Shut up." It's not the first time Oz has been called old, and it won't be the last - especially if they want to keep hanging out around Álvaro... which, of course they do. That idiot next to them in the car is one of the closest people they've got.

Oz lights up and takes a long inhale. The smoke releases from behind his teeth and he glances... and catches his friend's eye. "What?" There's a little smirk on the former hitman's lips when they see Álvaro watching. "See something you like?"

Then they hold out the blunt for the other- giving an easy out to assume Oz was talking about the weed. Still, there's a little glimmer in their eye as they put the joint into the others mouth for him.

"Think the books have made me boring? Turned me into a demure little librarian? Shit, tell me how you really feel." Oz enjoys the warmth in the back of his throat as that one puff sits in his chest. Emanates under his skin... it's nice. Oz reaches for it again. "Thanks for keeping me fun."

He grins with all the smugness of a victor, laughing outright at the other's irritation. They might not have been arguing, but Al still considers the order a win; it's an accomplishment to leave Oz without some sort of comeback, after all.

But, as was often the case between them, the little victory is short lived. The upward quirk of Oz's lips makes the spectating feel almost voyeuristic, the line charming despite being cliche enough to border on embarrassing. Al rolls his eyes, reaching for the joint only to find that Oz is a step ahead of him, their fingers brushing as he's forced to take replace their fingers with his own or risk dropping the damn thing and truly embarrassing himself.

He drags smoke into his lungs, lets the faint sting and rush or warmth against his throat provide an excuse not to respond immediately to the question. "Best view in the city, this time of night."Eyes once again focused on the road, the statement could easily have been about the strip, even if they'd exited the more flashy end of the road for the section that seemed to be in a constant state of construction.

"Seen some of the shit you wear. Never been demure a day in your life." Al scoffs, the word feeling pretentious, practically a joke under the circumstances. "Worried you'll start getting strict like the school nuns. Not sure I want to know what you'd manage with a ruler." After all, he was more aware than most of what Oz could manage barehanded. Despite the silent request, he doesn't hand the joint back immediately, shifting it to the hand holding the steering wheel to reach for the cars ashtray to tap away the excess. "Someone's got to, might actually end up working in a parish at the rate you're going."

#[Álvaro - Threads]#with: oz #Yapping? Yapping #I don't know what I'm on about either tbh this is twice as long as it should be please don't feel obligated to match #Drug use tw

Andrea was somebody that liked to do things alone at times, whether that be shopping or even dining out. While she loved going places with friends and Relia, there were times where she wanted some alone time. She headed to the Hard Rock, some place that she hadn't been to in a while so she though it would be nice to relax and people watch, a habit that she gotten off of her grandmother. Taking her seat at the table, she ordered herself a drink and began to people watch, seeing couples, families and friends all around her.

Humming to herself, she got her drink and ordered her food, however she hadn't noticed a familiar face coming over and sitting with her. She couldn't help but smile, taking a small sip of her drink before she decided to answer. "I mean I might have to agree with you on that, but did you see the hostess when you walked in, I think that she might be the first." She replied. "I never make any resolutions, that way I can't break it. What about you, make any of your own?"

If she was put out at finding herself sharing a table, she certainly hid it well. Even the hostess— who had been eyeing him with the intensity of a guard dog letting a wolf loose among it's sheep despite the full force of his deceptive abilities— had begrudgingly accepted that he had been meeting a friend and gone back to scowling at newcomers. He returned her smile with one of his own, accepting that he would have to pay for her meal simply for her willingness to play along. "Think she's been making that resolution every day for a while now." Whether that resolution was to quit or not to kill a patron was anyone's guess. "Might be on to something with her breaking it though. Barely holding on and a party of 12 just walked in."

He laughed at the question, quick to shake his head. "Don't make resolutions. Wouldn't wait around to get started, if I actually wanted to do it." He responded, shrugging a shoulder. "Besides, I'm trying not to pick up too many good habits." The waiter returned, his drink in tow and he took the opportunity to sip from his glass as he waited for the man to clear off. "Surprised you're done partying already." At least, one could assume— their relaxed demeanor a sharp juxtaposition against the hungover and those clearly ramping up for something more exciting. "Would've thought the shop would give you leads on the best parties in town."

#[Álvaro - Threads]#with: Andrea #HERRRRR!!! 💞

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