everybody else looks like they've figured it out.
#debtdealt — a dependent multimuse for redfordhq. written by clover. 27. they/he. est.
ᯓ★ mikey hopley. what do i owe you, what did i forget? ( left behind. )
ᯓ★ jahi ismaeil. what good has come from learning to pretend? ( left behind. )
ᯓ★ robin namuli. what happened to the charm of a small town? ( leaver. )
blog may contain disturbing themes, such as drug addiction / substance abuse, horror, mental illness / paranoia. always tagged, shoot me a message if i miss something & remember to use your filters in settings.
"Let's see...cheap red wine or cheap red wine?" Sol mulls over his choices (or lack of choices, really) tapping his chin as if the thought is deep. Really, what he wants is to pop open every bottle and start downing them in a line. What if he drank the store, he thinks. Do they have wine up in Departure heaven, he wonders. Is it the cheap stuff? "Hey." He turns to the person approaching in the aisle. "Do you know any cocktail recipes or anything like that? Hopin' to trying something'...new." He pauses. "Or maybe strong is what I mean." He pauses again. "Or maybe somethin' weird."
at first, mikey thinks this might be a nightmare. reasonable, right? running into your high school english teacher at a liquor store of all places is, indubitably, nightmare material — especially when your eyes are burning red, pupils are blown, and you look like you haven't seen sleep in a week. last time she heard that voice she was eight years younger with a working knee, but it still has the same effect it did on her then — eyes big and shoulders tense, like he's about to hand out a detention. she's blinking rapidly as she halts to a stop, cane stuttering against the tile as she stabilizes and promptly puts her weight onto it. this might as well happen, she thinks, then finally opens her mouth to speak. he hasn't looked her way yet, but mikey has a feeling he will once he hears her voice. "... uh, yeah, actually. a bunch. i'm a bartender now. can't go wrong with absinthe and champagne if you're looking for strong. as for weird... i dunno. it's gaining some popularity lately, but it still sounds weird as shit to me — the dill pickle martini? ever heard of that one? it's like, a dry vermouth as the rinse, right, and then some vodka, kosher pickle brine, and like... ten mustard seeds." a few seconds of pause beat by. "hi, mr. segura."
"Litter is so much more noticeable these days. I think my eyes always glazed over before. It was part of the landscape. Now, when I see an empty coffee cup on the sidewalk, it's all I pay attention to." Duckie shakes his head, disappointment in humanity imbued in his expression. "Getting it in the trash can is kind of the bare minimum, don't you think?"
honest, she'd meant to pick that shit up. that shit in question is the pile of trash she'd left about ten feet back under the tree she was sitting under before moving closer to the lake — a bag of powdered donuts, can of redbull, cup of coffee. all things mikey had forgotten in favor of rolling this close to the water and laying in the sunlight, and then was too fuckin' high to be worried about when she had all this beautiful sun to soak in. now she's sitting up, propped up on her palm behind her, head shaking, expression guilty. worse: mouth powdered. she doesn't know that though, not when she starts running her mouth. "oh, god, yeah. totally, man. i mean, come on. do your part, right? some people, man..." her head shakes, eyes shifting awkwardly.
open starter for ANYONE at the REDFORD PUBLIC LIBRARY
Meyers isn’t particularly worried as he treads lightly across the carpeted floors of the library. The woman at the desk had been vague when she complained about someone in the back corner who was up to something, but Meyers figures it’s one of the usual situations.
The little alcove in the back of the library has been a mild headache ever since it appeared in the 1987 remodel. It’s secluded from the rest of the library, and it can be a cozy, private space to unwind, or to avoid unwanted attention. Meyers’ predecessor had tried to stuff it full of book carts to discourage horny teenagers or “unseemly” people lurking in the shadows, and the efforts weren’t necessarily successful. But Meyers remembers before then, when it was the nicest seat in the building. So he’s put in a cozy chair, a warm lamp, and a small table, trying to emulate that quiet, comfortable spot he nearly fought other kids for on multiple occasions.
For the most part, it’s fine, which is the way it goes in all public libraries. Every once in a while he gently breaks up a makeout session. He’s had to remove a member of the Silent from that spot more than once– he won’t tolerate smoking in the library. And every now and then, a patron complains about someone sleeping back there, but Meyers always lets them lie until closing (or perhaps a little longer).
He doesn’t hear anything unusual as he makes his way over, nodding and waving at a few of his regulars as he goes. He doesn’t always rely on his hearing, but the library is quiet for the moment, and he’s sure he would have been able to pick out anything strange. But when he rounds the corner, he’s surprised at what he finds.
"predicament," he'd said just a few moments ago to the kid he found back here. "that's a noun. means a difficult, unpleasant, or embarrassing situation. that, little dude, is what we are in now. and this is why you do not bring slime to the library." robin's met with downright nefarious giggles as he hurriedly tries to wipe up slime imbued into carpet with paper towels he grabbed from the bathroom, of course — and he takes the laughter in stride only to get abandoned by the perpetrator. he expects no less but it still stings a little — right in the what the fuck am i doing with my life? chord. bullied by children on weekdays and on the weekends too now, huh? thing is, he knows this one. jared's one of his third graders and yeah, robin had come to the alcove in search of some much needed solace, hopeful to grade some spelling tests now so that he could spend the rest of sunday just kickin' back. no such luck.
when he's caught scrubbing at radioactively blue slime and accidentally, seemingly, making the situation worse, he takes an honest moment of pause before he lifts his head to look at who has approached him. he recognizes this guy — meyers griggs. nice guy. normal guy. reasonable guy, hopefully. with a slow blink and an increasingly apologetic expression, robin grimaces. before he can speak up and start defending himself, he hears a gasp over his shoulder; it's jared, hiding behind a shelf, suddenly now very scared of possible consequence. something about the fear gets to robin. there's a moment of exasperation where he just stares up at meyers, eyes flickering between him and the shelf, and he sighs. "... hey, man. sorry. i was... playing with my slime in here." it's fairly obvious that it's not his slime when jared gasps again, very loudly, not well hidden, but robin's sticking with it. he's no narc. "i'm cleaning it up. i promise." a few beats pass. "...might need to google how to get slime out of carpet, though. this is not working."
"... damn. i hate that you said it too." despite the content of that sentence, robin doesn't speak like he's all that upset — never does, not really. inconvenienced, sure, and he's already dreading what it's gonna do it his wallet, but he's not about to give this guy a hard time about that. not his fault. his tone's almost light-hearted as he stands there, hand on hip, head dipping down to look at the front of their truck, squinting as he tries to recall. "what, like roadkill? don't think so."
"... you shouldn't have come back." jahi's words are spoken sharp, cut like a blade through the night air. his stare is suspicious and analytical as he eyes alan — he's taking inventory of what's changed since he's been gone, and the answer seems to be not much. it's bad enough he left. got to get out. coming back with his tail tucked between his legs is just embarrassing. somewhere deep in his well of pity for his leader's bitch-ass son is the thought: you had freedom. why give it up? "why did you?" he stands in front of him in the road, imposing. he's not going to do anything. he's not going to hurt him. but, he wants to know.
there's a significant stretch of time — thirty seconds, give or take — that jahi stares at david like he's imagining strangling him or something, his previously existing agitation seemingly aggressed by being called out on it. he sits on the stool next to him before he speaks, blinking rapidly now after probably too long of not doing so at all, and he shrugs a shoulder. "that's just my face." ...kind of the truth, actually. "i don't really do that." relax. "and you are not a relaxing presence, david." and, yet, he's kind of one of his dearest friends. go figure.
when the door opens after-hours, frankie could tell you even without looking who it’s going to be. and she doesn’t, for the record, not at first. her head’s tipped down, preoccupied with combing over an email on the other side of the bar. jahi’s made his way to a stool by the time she hits the escape key. his glass, waiting for him already, is held hostage in her free hand. she’s aiming for shithead, but the expression comes out lazy, eyes half-closed and smile loose. “you know, a smile might be nice, sweetheart.”
to her ridiculous request and pet name, something stirs inside of jahi. hatred — or, arguably, some kind of depraved, latent horniness that specifically responds to this wretched woman's twisted, sick games. ( he'll stick with hatred. ) jahi eyes the drink in her hand expectantly, sitting in silence for a few seconds too long. his eyes flicker between her and that whiskey like it'll bring it into his hand by sheer force of will, but when she continues to just hold it, his left one twitches. that murky stare narrows, eyelids drooping low, and he speaks slow. "... no. i don't think i will."
do i seem anxious to you?
do i seem backed into a corner?
as if i had to make a move
but you could tell i didn't wanna
general.
full name — jahi ausar haji ismaeil.
nicknames — not advised.
age & d.o.b — 39 & november 12th, 1985.
gender & pronouns — trans man & he/him.
sexuality — bisexual.
ethnicity — egyptian.
occupation — owner of hackett's ax throwing bar.
background.
place of birth — sioux falls, south dakota deadwood, south dakota.
residence — redford, california. ( maple creek. )
known languages — english.
accent — freak. his accent is freak. he talks like a freak.
education — high school graduate.
parents — biological parents: ausar ismaeil, father. karima ismaeil, mother. he's never met them. adoptive parents are both deceased and he's scrubbed his records of the surname given to him by them: barney jones and florence jones.
siblings — two adoptive siblings. ( i'd list them but i'm planning on posting a wanted connection for them, kind of? not sure who'd wanna do that to themselves but. tbd. )
pets — no.
phys.
face claim — rami malek.
height — 6'2.
hair color — black.
eye color — murky green.
details — mastectomy scars on his chest, burns on his left arm. an expression that reads like he's always uncomfortable.
style — none. like, actually. he dresses based entirely on the feel of clothes, defaulting often to black t-shirts, black thermal shirts, and several pairs of the exact same brand of blue jeans. always wearing gloves.
build — tall, lean.
tattoos — none.
piercings — none.
physical health — dependent on various substances, hard of hearing on the right side, chronic migraines, and generally poor health that seems to be getting worse on account of hating doctors.
a closer look.
traits — paranoid, unpredictable, easily agitated, repressed, efficient, hardworking, meticulous, stoic, deceptive, stubborn, mysterious, loyal, intense, obedient, self-conscious, asocial, bizarre, overly cautious, independent, suspicious of everything and everyone, neurotic, unfriendly, delusional, stiff, awkward.
zodiac big three — scorpio sun, scorpio moon, scorpio rising.
alignment — true neutral.
mental health — paranoid personality disorder, ptsd, substance abuse, addiction to gambling. all incredibly undiagnosed and untreated.
pinterest — here.
playlist — here.
overview.
trigger warnings: substance abuse, mental illness, kidnapping, mention of ( emotional ) child abuse, death of a parental figure ( patricide ), death of a parental figure ( natural causes, i promise ), very brief illness mention ( dementia ), isolation, fire, and brainwashing/indoctrination of children.
click here to read. mind the listed triggers.
quick facts in case you don't wanna read all that.
— jahi was raised by an elderly couple that more or less kidnapped him and some younger siblings ( all from different families ), but told them they were adopted. excuse my lack of decorum in saying this, but they were crazy mole people. jahi was resistant to the ideology for as long as he could be but ultimately has wound up very, very deeply entrenched in the preppers cult.
— he's a complete mess. loves substances so much.
— if you're familiar with tlou ( fuck neil druckmann ), think bill.
— might have set his 'dad' on fire a little bit when he found out about the kidnapping thing. do not even worry about it
— he cares a great deal for his two siblings but he's extremely resistant to affection now. i'm on and off about requesting someone writes them since the backstory is so convoluted and i'd really hate to inflict jahi on anyone that deeply, but i think one sibling who joins up with the cult, or one who is desperately trying to bring jahi back down to earth could be interesting? can be any race since they're all 'adopted' anyway but they're gonna have to be younger than 39 and older than 35, because they're all moved out of the house by the time they're 18. whatever gender. i said brother at some point but idrc.
— i recognize that this is a pretty tough character to plot with so genuinely i will not be upset if you wanna skip this one. but if you do here's a little bit more normal information about him.
— things he likes doing: making weapons ( knives, axes ), woodworking, mechanical stuff, drinking, drugs, fishing ( at dove lake ).
— places he likes going: altitude 22, redford scrap yard ( to dig around in garbage and salvage things, of course ), swap meet ( to trade vegetables he's gardened — he's quite good at growing food, but he is a tough barter, be warned ), folded corner, the library, frisky's, appleyard's classic candies ( sweet tooth. what can i say. ), picked-thru antiques ( arguing with the owner )
— things he values in people: usefulness, generally. hard work. a backbone and good head on their shoulders.
— tbh i think people should bother him regardless </3 remind him he's human etc etc. dig out a soft spot with a spoon. or remind him why he really hates people. let's go
— he also really likes hustling at pool / gambling / counting cards. could be a few enemies from that.
THE SHAMBOLIC ― extremely disorganized and messy, their thoughts are often scattered as well.
✉️ — [ rami malek, 39, trans man, he / him ] — hey, is that JAHI ISMAEIL listening to LEAF PILE by THE FRONT BOTTOMS? they’re known around town as THE SHAMBOLIC, because they’re METICULOUS and EFFICIENT, but ever since the departure, they’ve become more UNPREDICTABLE and PARANOID. they’ve lived in Redford for TWENTY YEARS and work at HACKETT’S AX THROWING BAR as THE OWNER. if you need them, you can find them in MAPLE CREEK.
if i had the offer to do it again
make me invincible, invisible, or brain dead
if the body and the life were two things that we could divide
i'd deliver up my shell to be filled with somebody else
general.
full name — robin numali.
nicknames — rob, robbie, or just robin.
age & d.o.b — 36 & october 1st, 1988.
gender & pronouns — nonbinary & they/he.
sexuality — bisexual, masc lean.
ethnicity — ugandan.
occupation — third grade teacher at strawberry elementary.
background.
place of birth — rockport, maine.
residence — redford, california. ( staying in sea grove apartments; two bedroom, well furnished but not because he had any say in the styling of the interior. )
known languages — english, ASL, spanish, french.
accent — non-specific east coast-ian.
education — bachelors in elementary education.
parents — kaikara namuli, father. fayruz namuli, mother.
siblings — fisher, older brother. elijah, younger brother. kit, younger sister. rae, younger sister — disappeared.
pets — black cat named jerry.
phys.
face claim — daniel kaluuya.
height — 5'9" ft.
hair color — black.
eye color — brown.
details — perpetually tired expression, but his eyes are always warm — may be thanks to the fact that he spends most of his day gentle parenting children, but it's always been there. worry - pinched eyebrows. engagement ring that he can't quite take off, fidgeting fingers.
style — norm-core with eccentric accent. sweater vests. yellow tones and popping colors.
build — stocky, fit.
tattoos — none.
piercings — navel.
physical health — chronically bad back. best friends with his heating pad.
a closer look.
traits — open - minded, mellow, morbid, patient, kind, pessimistic, reserved, prone to escapism, creative, empathetic, witty, responsible, reliable, capable, bitter, always screaming internally a little despite his cool demeanor.
zodiac big three — libra sun, cancer moon, scorpio rising.
alignment — lawful good.
mental health — anxiety, depression.
pinterest — here.
playlist — here.
overview.
robin doesn’t hate his parents. you’d think he did, the way he spun out of his hometown the second he could, age eighteen — but he doesn’t hate them, as wildly imperfect ( and at times, downright difficult to associate with, bigoted and set in their ways ) as they can be. same can be said for the bulk of his siblings, of which he is one of five ( robin being smack in the middle ) but has semi - regular contact with two of them. semi - regular comes in the form of a groupchat that only his younger sister ( kit ) and older brother ( fisher ) bother to ever check, but their youngest sister ( rae ) has an excuse: she disappeared, along with a third of the planet. robin’s younger brother, elijah, just doesn’t really like them; but don’t worry, the feeling is mutual. robin spends a nonzero amount of time wishing he could trade eli for someone else who’d been taken, but we’ll circle back to that shortly. their family was a far cry from white picket fence dreams while not broaching especially dysfunctional territory, and when it came time for robin to go to college, shooting across from rockport, maine to berkeley, california just had to be done; if he wasn’t at odds with his parents ( he usually was ), then he was at the epicenter of a friendship dilemma with his high school friend group. attempting to play peacemaker, you know? that was always his role, whatever the dynamic. standing between eli and his dad while they screamed and panicked about eli’s life choices ( for instance, getting involved with loan sharks because he wanted to open a tie-dye shirt business ), pulling his best friend out of a fist fight with a guy who looked at him funny… then sorely regretting it when he got his ass kicked too. robin left behind a family that he loves dearly, but often could go without hearing from; same could be said about most of his friends, even his girlfriend at the time, who shot her way down to florida and wasn’t all that broken up about it either. merry christmas, please don’t call.
college was good to him. he had the experience you hear people rave about — met all kinds of people, expanded the world around him beyond the tiny town of rockport, and gave him the room to grow that he so desperately needed. he did the whole nine yards, living in dorms and working part time to keep himself fed, dating around and just generally finding himself. he’s always been this mellow, passive type, and there’s nothing wrong with that, but he tended to blend into the background of noise back at home; out here, he was seen. not just watched, not just worked around. eventually, they fall in love with someone that opens their whole world up — a guy named andrew that, frankly, becomes their whole future. they move to redford with him because there’s a job out there for him, and there’s schools everywhere, you know? not like he wouldn’t find work. six years ago, they land here together, robin starts working as a third grade teacher. they talk about marriage.
he dies. or, disappears, whatever — it’s all the same, right? he’s gone, and what is robin to do but keep moving. he spends most of his time in libraries and cafe's, doing jigsaw puzzles and teaching kids how to read who just look at words they have memorized and can't sound out. yeah, they'd trade their shithead brother for andrew back in a second. is that evil? maybe. yeah, okay, it is, but he's bitter, and eli's the devil anyhow. robin gets stuck on the odds of the fact that only one out of seven of his immediate family was taken, which would be extraordinarily lucky, if not for the fact that his husband-to-be goes too. it's all shit. he hasn't given up on life, but it's difficult to stay carefree these days.
high on amphetamines
the moon is a light bulb breaking
it'll go around with anyone
but it won't come down for anyone
and i won't come down for anyone
general.
full name — michael gerard hopley. ( yeah. it's what you think. )
nicknames — mikey, mick.
age & d.o.b — 24 & april 8th, 2001.
gender & pronouns — nonbinary & they/she/he, no preference.
sexuality — unlabeled, queer.
ethnicity — white.
occupation — bartender at altitude 22.
background.
place of birth — redford, california.
residence — redford, california. ( located in the cove, in a run-down one story, ranch house by the ocean. )
known languages — english, ASL.
accent — like if a valley girl should've spawned on the east coast but ended up over here. ghost of new jersey slips out of him sometimes. don't worry about it. : /
education — high school graduate.
parents — katrina and james hopley. both estranged, 'disappeared' status completely unknown. never met their dad, mom walked out when they were about fifteen.
siblings — james hopley, vanished. 5 years older.
pets — yeah, uh, do not give this guy a living thing to care for. please. he's a doink and he's barely alive by himself.
phys.
face claim — sophie thatcher.
height — 5'6" ft.
hair color — changes all the time, usually box - dyed blonde or something dark, like red/black/brown. had spray-dye blue hair ages 12 to 15 with the worst roots you've ever seen.
eye color — green.
details — frequent nose scrunching type. freckles on the shoulders, nose. has glasses that he won't wear and he's too scared of contacts to try. lip biting. one eyelid hangs just a little lower than the other, perpetually sat at half open. cartoonishly expressive at times because she doesn't know how to make her emotions seem earnest otherwise.
style — mix of picks of made from ease of comfortability and punk & goth inspirations. always carrying a cane with a skull at the head of it, which is mostly used for mobility assistance but also a nonzero amount of swinging at adversaries.
build — noodle.
tattoos — snail from adventure time on her left ankle.
piercings — left eyebrow.
physical health — poor eye - sight, as previously mentioned. typically seen wearing a brace on her knee — it's never really been the same since a heely's accident. ( dead serious. wiped out so bad, surgery was required. )
a closer look.
traits — captivating, perceptive, unfortunately also stupid ( high wisdom, low intelligence, alright? ), absent-minded, erratic, mischievous, flirtatious, friendly, compassionate, impulsive, self-destructive, irresponsible, idiot, constipation of the emotions to a degree, shockingly capable but this only seems to be in the regard of caring for others.
zodiac big three — aries sun, cancer moon, pisces rising.
alignment — chaotic good ( ? ).
character inspo — marceline ( adventure time ), rue bennett ( euphoria ), nat scatorccio ( yellowjackets ), ryan atwood ( the oc ), francis wilkerson ( malcolm in the middle ), klaus hargreeves ( the umbrella academy ), shane mccutcheon ( the l word ), doodlebob ( spongebob squarepants ), peter parker ( marvel, if he was stupid though ).
mental health — generally struggles with substance abuse of all kinds. isn't struggling with autism but definitely has it. bipolar i, medicated. ptsd.
pinterest — here.
playlist — here.
overview.
do you know where your children are? . . . the 2010’s aren’t the point in time of the relevancy of this advertisement ( 1960s ), and no one then really listens to the radio anyway, but it’s just as well; katrina hopley wouldn’t have known the answer even if she had held her head up long enough to hear it. and james i? the baby daddy of her first and her second kid? yeah, split before the little one was even fuckin’ old enough to be able to hold a memory. james ii, five years older than mikey, makes it his job to know the answer to that question for all of them after their mom drops the ball for the last time and leaves mikey to walk home three miles by herself after school when she’s just eight and he’s just thirteen. it’s because of his devotion to keeping them both afloat that she was cared for at all, and it’s for this reason that james vanishing eighteen months ago all but destroyed her.
even though her mother walked out when she was fifteen and even though that introduced a grief of it’s own kind into her life, she was still well looked after; and really, the absence of them didn’t change much when he was more her parent than either of theirs ever had been. she was loved by the person that mattered the most to her and that was enough. love is leaking all over the house she grew up in ( it suffocates her ), in the form of pictures on the wall that her brother cared to put up of the two of them and in all of the furniture he either bought with his own money or fixed with his own hands. in the way he used to set the table for her, even on days where she didn’t think to call home and let him know she’d be late, leaving him to worry ( and they were frequent. god, were they frequent ) — she regrets those types of things the most in his absence, and she hasn’t moved that last plate he’d left in her spot. never ate the food he saved, either. that had to go about a week after the departure. the seaside’s lonely when it’s a singular pair of boots tracking in sand and especially when she can’t hear james laughing down the hallway at a rerun of golden girls that he’s seen no less than eighty times.
mikey does things now without much direction, without much purpose — and they can blame that all day on the fact that they lost their north star, but the truth is that they were born aimless ( the way we all are ) and then never found something to make their reason. reason to work hard, reason to try at anything. they’re unregulated and unpredictable on their worst days, devastatingly charismatic and sweet on their best, and generally fumbling through life with almost an impressive level of mediocrity on every day in-between.
THE HELLION ― mischievous and troublesome, the epicenter of disorder.
✉️ — [ sophie thatcher, 24, nonbinary, she / he / they ] — hey, is that MIKEY HOPLEY listening to ST. IDES HEAVEN by ELLIOTT SMITH? they’re known around town as THE HELLION, because they’re CAPTIVATING and PERCEPTIVE but ever since the departure, they’ve become more ERRATIC and MISCHIEVOUS. they’ve lived in redford for THEIR WHOLE LIFE and work at ALTITUDE 22 as a BARTENDER. if you need them, you can find them in THE COVE.
