DREADFUL GIRLS.

EMMA CARDEL, 34. MANAGER AT cardel estate wines. i always feel sad for the girl that I was, because it never occurred to me that my mother might comfort me. she has never told me she loved me, and i never assumed she did. she tended to me. she administrated me.

[emmacardel]

ANNISTON CARDEL. 

EMMA & ANNISTON CARDEL

Anniston had been hovering around Emma since she found the remains. She was insisting on getting lunch, coffee, dinner- leaving her place later and later and coming back earlier and earlier. Anniston was sure she was a nuisance- she knew Emma must be hurting. She did not find the remains herself, and she could feel the cold grip of reality tightening around her heart and making her stomach feel as if it was sinking deeper and deeper. As if there was no return from it all- maybe in part, all the extra time with her sister was selfish. Being around her, around the people she loved and who loved her offered solace in the breathless cracks between a tragedy and where the world went on living as if someone’s heart hadn’t stopped.

Anniston thought of the people lost, holding her breath as she gently pushed the door open with her foot carting in baked goods in excess; her entire kitchen was overflowing- sugary sweet and laced with vanilla ache. Anniston let the door click behind her, “Em-ma-” Anniston called in a sing-song fashion pulling her sisters name apart as she found her setting the box in front of Emma with a personal triumph as if the cupcakes inside would personally solve all the sadness in the entire world. “Be my guinea pig and try my new treats.”

@emmacardel​

Being dramatic was not hard for someone like Emma Cardel. Around others, she might wallow and sulk, especially while hurt. Even if she wasn’t as hurt as she leads on, she just wanted attention. The validation that came so easily from others. But, when it came to her siblings, especially her little sister, she buries most feelings deep down inside. Mainly because she feels the endless and undying desire to protect her. From what, exactly? Emma might say everything if she’s asked because that seems the most truthful. Emma wanted to protect Anniston from everything and everything. In truth, she might have been one of the only people on this planet that she truly, undeniably loved. Along with their brother. That alone was a miracle.

When her sister makes herself known, she smiles, brows furrowed in amusement. She’s been aiding to her throbbing head, the one that hit the wet rocks so hard that it started to bleed. Though she claims she’s fine now, not wanting to worry Anniston, though the throbbing doesn’t quite subside. “You’re lucky I’m taking a break from my diet,” Emma says, her smile never faltering. The older woman plucks up one of her cupcakes, “Are they pot cupcakes or something?” She questions, both serious and joking. With that, she takes a bite, licking a bit of frosting from her finger after doing so. A chuckle sounds from her, “Shit, they’re really good..” The brunette trails off as if she was admitting defeat. “Are you stress baking, Anni?” Her older sister asks sincerely now but still attempts to keep the tone light. She was worried, could you blame her? Emma was still recovering from what she saw though she does everything in her power to not make it obvious.

[emmacardel]

ALEC HALKIAS.

SATURDAY, JUNE 6th, 2020. ALIBI, Port Elisabeth.

     “I’d rather not hear about it,” Alec groaned as he took a shot on the table, hitting the white ball and watching it smack into nothing but the edge. “Fuck—” The man stood up and moaned, stepping back from the table to let the next person take their go. “The McIvy’s have always been a disgusting family and all of them, aside from Alexander, are insufferable.” He paused, taking a swig from his beer. “Or were, in some cases.” The bias he had become accustomed to with was from loyalty to Hannah, an ironic thought given his actions a couple of years ago, but his own experience of her family had never been positive. “The old man was crazy, probably did it to himself.”

Death was something Emma has never truly considered. Perhaps, foolishly, she believed she’d be someone who’d live forever or go out victoriously. That alone should come as no surprise to anyone who knew Emma Cardel, even only relatively. So, in truth, death had never really bothered her. Her idea of it was warped and a tad delusional. But something about Donald McIvy’s death earns the contents of Emma’s stomach to stir uncomfortably. 

She hasn’t quite forgotten the image of falling into the water either, surrounded by wet rocks and pieces of the missing boat. It was haunting, burned into her mind. Yet she keeps an air of poise to her demeanor, just as always. Despite her trauma, she’ll be damned before she comes off as anything less than undeniably pristine and gorgeous. “Disgusting how?” The brunette asks, eyebrows shooting upwards in amusement. She did love gossip, that was for sure. Gossip with strangers was even more entertaining. She chuckles, “Wow, you certainly have a vendetta. I’d maybe keep your mouth shut, stud, or else people are gonna start assuming you had something to do with this whole thing. We wouldn’t want that, would we?” Emma was both joking and serious, though you couldn’t tell which by her tone. Brown eyes roll as she leans down, eyes trained on the pool table separating them. This wasn’t usually her speed but she was deeply competitive. So, why not? The white ball goes flying across, sending one of the colored ones into the hole before her. She smiles upon her victory even though she has no idea what it means, “Do you think the rest of the missing men are dead?” 

[emmacardel]

GALE DAVENPORT. 

“Oh – Hello!” Gale spoke, turning away from the window he had been peering through after having rang the doorbell numerous of times. Either he was being ignored or there really wasn’t anyone home. But where else would people be who were mourning their loved one? In the act however, he got caught by someone he heard a few steps behind him on the sidewalk. Nevertheless, he greeted them with a smile, not even embarrassed for having been spotted. “Do you live here? Or know where they are?” @elisabethstarters​

Anxiousness. A feeling Emma knew well, but not at this capacity. After having spotted the remains of the lost ship at sea, Emma has been keeping to herself. Much more than usual, at least. Her usual harshness was dialed back, as well as the sour attitude that’s given her a name here in Elisabeth. Right now, all of her cruelty was wiped clean. Anxiousness and sorrow fill the cavity inside her chest now and she can’t quite shake it. 

She’s even started going on walks, something she believed to be useless and annoyingly mundane. Yet, here she was, hands stuffed inside her pockets, enveloped in June air. It was nice enough, for the time being, something to distract her cluttered mind. That’s when she’s stopped in her tracks, spotting a man endlessly ringing at a doorbell. “Ew, no. This house is hideous.” She states, face scrunching. So much for her sour attitude being erased. “Why, are you trying to break in or something? If so, I’d probably not ask strangers on the street about the place. I’d be a little more discreet.”

[emmacardel]

MASON HILL. 

Mason had wandered off in search of a refill of the plastic red cup that made things seem incredibly less somber than they should have. He’d dropped Charlie off a night early, not wanting him to be around the rowdy crowd for the vigil. A part of Mason regretted it. Maybe he would have kept a better head if he knew he had to look after his son. Instead, he was a quarter of the way through the cup as he headed back for the log where he’d previously been sat. Or at least, he thought it had been the log he’d been sat upon before, but now Emma Cardel was seated there, annoyance painting her features in the light of the fire. “Mm’thought I’d been sittin’ere b’fore, but you weren’t here when I left,” his words melded together, the alcohol in his system making his tongue heavy and not quite working the way it should have. Still, he shifted to straddle the log, looking at the brunette as though he was trying to figure out if her question out. “I’ve certainly had better,” he stated though there was a hint of confusion to his tone. Maybe it was because she was only four at the time, but he would have thought she’d realized that he’d been through this before on a more personal level. “How’s your night, Emma?”

Sympathy was not something that came easy to Emma, hence why she has a hard time adhering to the sentiment this evening. But when Mason sits beside her, she feels for him. She doesn’t know him well, her sister had dated his brother once upon a time, and Emma having a sweet little past with Justin. But she was aware of what happened to his father. A fisherman just like these men lost at sea. While Emma was a cruel woman, she wouldn’t throw that in his face. Thankfully.

Her head cants to the side, lips pursing. She relatively regrets coming off so strong at first. Sometimes it was inevitable, her undying impulse kicking in. The brunette takes a generous sip of her wine before averting her gaze over to Mason, “I bet,” She says, “It must be hard for you right now. I’m sorry about that. How’re you holding up?” It’s the best she can do. In truth, it sounded much better in her head. Needless to say, reassuring words weren’t exactly her forte either. Though she tries and perhaps that’s what really matters. “My night’s alright. Exhausting.” Emma chuckles a little, attempting to lighten the topic. “At least the lanterns are pretty to look at.” Even though they’re terrible for the environment.

[emmacardel]

FORREST HOLLOWAY. 

If she truly had wanted him to stand there with her and search for her missing earrings until she was absolutely certain they were gone, Forrest would have done it. Emma’s hand tight in his grip, it was clear that neither of them would be going anywhere until she decided she wanted to. He had half a mind to give in to her himself, hearing her quiet pleading and thinking back to the phone settled in his back pocket. “I know.” Slowly, his head nodded, not needing his flashlight to see the look in her eyes. Defeat. And something told him that it had more to do with just the missing pair of diamonds.

His own sigh sounded when she ultimately made the decision to move forward. Turning slightly to better get a sense for the footing needed to safely exit the rocks, Forrest took a step forward, hand still in Emma’s. Only, he heard her squeak too late, the tug to his hand coming as a surprise as she pulled him too hard in the opposite direction. Forrest’s foot slipped out from underneath him, as did his hand from her grip, forced apart by gravity as the sudden feeling of falling overtook him. 

The contact between his back and the slick rock took the breath from him, the force of it against his head making stars appear in his vision, and his forearm making contact with a sickening crack he swore was louder than the sound of Emma’s screaming. Wildfire all but shoots up his nerves, a pain that spreads from head to toe, and he can’t hold back the guttural groan that passed through his lips. The spared arm reached instinctively to cradle the back of his head, though a wetness at his fingertips encouraged him to bring them to view, crimson slowly trickling down towards his palm. 

“Fuck.” He hissed through clenched teeth, dropping his hand into the water below, the pain only spreading as he turned his head in order to better view Emma, able to see the crimson dripping from her own features. His heart sunk at the sight, wanting to reach out, move closer, though his body protested. “I’m…I’m okay, Emma. Are you alright? Can you…can you get up?” He asked, though in the moment was unsure of how successful he would be in attempting so.

It was the brushing of something against his wrist that brought his attention downward. A broken plank of wood, floating in the water by his hand. He’d noticed one earlier, when searching with his flashlight, but hadn’t paid it much mind, focused on the missing jewelry. However, as Forrest got a better look at it then, something stood out to him, about the lettering, gripping the out of place plank in his uninjured hand and raising it to his slowly clearing vision. ST GRA. ST GRA. ST GRA…

Holy shit.

“Emma, I need you to…is that piece of wood still over there? Can you…can you reach it?”

The planet seems to tremble. But, really, it’s just Emma. Her body trembles as if she were in the cold, her hands still touching her face, attempting to wipe away the blood that slips down her face and under her chin. While silence suddenly envelops her, the sound of lapping waves and labored breaths being the only thing to blanket the air, she does everything to gather her composure. Though it’s proving difficult, her vision hazy and her head beginning to throb. The hand that was placed under her nose moves to the side of her head, pressing down on the area that’s also oozing crimson. 

Then Forrest speaks, breaking through the lack of noise, earning Emma to come plummeting back to Earth.

“I — I can — I can get up. I’m coming..” She says, voice shaking. It was strange to think about how this was the most sincere Emma has ever been. No dramatics, no exaggerations, nothing. She was purely and rawly Emma Cardel at this moment. No illusions. Emma will come to hate this moment in the coming days, not only because she’s lying there bleeding on a wet rock. Emma climbs down, attempting to help Forrest. Everything else seemed pointless. Her earring, the lantern, the mourning natives. Everything. All she wanted to do now was help him and get them out of there. 

A hitched breath sounds from her, “Wood?” The woman repeats, confusion, and concern plastered across her expression. Emma shifts, careful not to slip once more. “Hold on,” She says, voice still audibly shaking, reaching out for the piece of wood floating aimlessly in the water...

WE.

CE.

Chipped red paint comes into view, paired with scattered lettering. Pieces of the missing boat, the West Grace. Emma cracks, a strange little sob sounding from inside her throat. “Oh my God,” The brunette whispers into the evening air, stumbling back a tad. Shock moves through her body. “Forrest..” His name hits the air, escaping her mouth, in a sort of plea. She turns around once more, moving back towards Forrest. She wills through cries that rip through her system, reaching a shaky hand out for him. “Take my hand.” Emma says, not being able to fully fathom what she’s just seen. Who would, really?

[emmacardel]

FORREST HOLLOWAY. 

It was the third vigil that Forrest had attended in ten years. The third boat to go missing, the third crew to go with it, third set of lanterns lit to light the path home. Perhaps he’d been easier to fool, when he’d been younger, but at nearly thirty four years old, he knew better. Light the path home didn’t refer to their home of Elisabeth Island, but to the bigger, capital H Home that some found comfort in, as–much like the crew before them–there was a slim to none chance of them being alive. Though he was raised Catholic, the last church service Forrest had attended had been Elena’s own baptism, preformed at the insistence of his devout mother. The idea of believing in Something, capital S, was a nice one, he thought, but still one he struggled to put into practice. How could he, when he’d seen the look on Mrs. McIvy’s face? Or the pregnant belly of Connor Ward’s girlfriend?

He’d known Emma, once upon a time. Known her as well as a pair of fourteen year olds could. She hadn’t been his first girlfriend, but two years of his high school career had been dedicated to her, and in that time, he’d come to realize that they shared similar pressures from their families, who had been the catalyst behind their relationship in the first place. While it hadn’t been enough to keep them together, being able to share that part of his life with somebody had meant something, to Forrest. The knowledge that there was somebody so close that understood exactly what he was going through. He felt guilty, in that moment. Watching Emma. When he and Amari had gotten back together, contact between them had ceased. He’d left her alone, right as they’d begun to discover just how crushing it was to be so.

“Emma–” He sighed her name again, hearing more in her tone than just frustration, though he had little chance to speak before her foot slipped out from underneath her. He jolted forward, in the moment, catching her hand in his and managing to keep them both upright. A breath past his lips, chest rising and falling heavily with it as his eyes lifted back to her own. “We don’t have to go back.” He conceded, face softening as his grip on her hand strengthened. “But let’s just get down from here, okay?” He would hate to see her get hurt.

Emma.

Brown eyes watch as his face seemingly softens, her name breaking through the noise, the tight grip on her hand increasing with each passing second. Her shoe is planted firmly on a slippery, plank of wood, the moment feeling like it’s been plucked right from a movie. Was she foolish to make much of a small thing? To wail into the face of someone who did nothing to deserve it? Most likely, yes, but everything inside of Emma begs to differ. 

Or perhaps she was lonely. The fire inside her blazing, air strengthing her burning flames. You can add Forrest to the list of people who didn’t pick her. Tommy was up there too. As well as her own mother and father. All of which she had to assume looked to her with distaste these days. For what she did in her youth, to who she is now as a grown woman. Still the same, still as vindictive and gorgeous, but just grown. That’s the thing, she hasn’t changed. Maybe Forrest has. His face looks different. Even under the glow of a pale moon hung up in the sky, accompanied by stupid paper lanterns that irk Emma.

For a moment, she looks to them and thinks of the missing men. Missing. Gone. They’re probably dead, Emma thinks to herself, and then suddenly remembers the crowds of wailing natives that mourn the loss. The missing men. The pregnant girlfriend. The sorrowful families. What an impact they’ve had. They’ve certainly stirred up a fuss. Emma hates it. Probably because she knows nobody would mourn her. Jesus, what a thought. What a selfish one, at that.

“They’re my favorite pair,” Emma pleads quietly, tightening her grip around Forrest’s larger hand. She doesn’t think she’s ever even properly held his hand, even when they dated. That alone was a true testament to who Emma Cardel was as a woman and a partner. Which was, truthfully, not that much. Emma’s breath hitches, hating the vulnerability that oozes from her now. Finally, Emma moves, attempting to move her away from the wet rocks.

Though, something shines in the water. Her earring. Or, in the metaphorical sense, a glimmer of hope for someone like Emma. But not for someone like Forrest. “Hold on! I see something!” She squeaks, moving just slightly to get a better look. That’s when it happens. Something snaps beneath her feet and Emma miscalculates her footing and slips, bringing Forrest along with her. 

This time, she screams. The moment goes by so fast, Emma can’t quite decipher anything. She hits her face and her head, a surge of pain around her nose and temple. Blood trickles down her face and she’s quick to cover her nose, the source of the crimson liquid. She lies sideways on a wet rock, looking down towards the man, “Forrest!” She yells out, feeling her body tremble.

[emmacardel]

TOMMY GRAVES. 

He had spotted Emma from a distance, sat alone and seemingly content and Tommy couldn’t help but wonder if the Emma he once knew was still alive and kicking somewhere within her. He could see her, every now and then, in the glint of her eye or in the curve of her smile. And Tommy would smile fondly in return, because despite how poorly he handled their ‘break up’, so to speak, he still cared for her in some capacity, very much so.

“Well, I was gonna ask if you wanted a drink.” Tommy explained but sat down beside her regardless, his eyes instantly hooked on the flames dancing before them like some kind of grand display. “You look as effervescent as ever.” he quipped teasingly, stealing a sideways glance at her. The ironic thing was that he had known Emma in her prime, in the height of her pageants, and he knew Emma now. There was a stark difference between the two women, and Tommy refused to believe that he had been important enough to play a part in the catalyst that changed her drastically. Well, at least that was what he hoped anyway.

The compliment comes and goes one ear and out the other. But Emma is quick to grab it without being seen, only evident by the way her cheeks redden by Tommy’s sudden presence. It was a well-known thing that Emma Cardel was not a romantic being. You’ll never see her shacked up alongside someone she loved with children of her own running around and playing on the lawn. No, never. But perhaps Tommy had gotten her close to a particular breakthrough. One where remnants of love just slipped through the cracks, something finally sincere.

But, no. Like most things in Emma’s life, it was only a matter of time before they came crumbling down too. While it wasn't Tommy’s fault. Not entirely. Emma still found a way to spew her venom. It was a Cardel specialty. While she may not admit it, she was heartbroken. Heartbroken that he had chosen another woman over her, heartbroken that he had chosen a child over her. That, alone, was a testament to Emma’s immaturity in regard to these things. She had some growing to do, that’s for sure. 

“I know,” Emma says in response to his compliment, mainly to save face. Though she did think she was gorgeous, at least that was always a given. “Thank you for saying so.” It’s obvious that they’ve both changed. Emma, in a way, views Tommy in halves. Before and after. Something about that was depressing to her, especially as it’s paired with the inevitable doom of wondering what they could have been. Sometimes she still wonders. “I’d also love a drink, my glass is running empty,” The woman teases, head canting to the side. Brown eyes get a long look at Tommy, scanning his expression. Still handsome, needless to say. “You look nice,” She says, crossing one of her legs over the other, reaching one hand out to stroke his bicep, “How’re things, baby? Enjoying your evening?”

[forrestholloway]

Who: @emmacardel​

When: 8:30 PM

Where: Eastside of the Beach

Trying to find a diamond earring in the middle of the ocean was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Though, Forrest supposed he never had to attempt the latter, but he felt justified in his theory that the former actually happened to be much more difficult. How he’d allowed Emma to rope him into her search for her missing jewelry, he wasn’t sure, and the thought of having to witness the inevitable breakdown that would come with their inability to find it amongst the water and the sand and the dark didn’t appeal to him any more than the situation itself. He’d been unable to say no, though, an aspect of her personality that clearly hadn’t changed in the twenty or so years since they’d dated.

Balance unsteady atop of the sea slick rocks this side of the beach had turned into, Forrest sighed, looking away from the flashlight illuminated section he’d been half-hazardously searching over. “Emma, come on.” He sighed her name, her own steadiness atop of the rocks concerning him. “You’re gonna kill yourself looking for this thing. You don’t even know when you lost it.” His hand reached out for her own, not wanting her to slip on the off chance that she came with him willingly. “Besides, knowing you, you’ve got at least three backup pairs.” He couldn’t keep from laughing at his own joke, offering her an almost pleading smile. “Let’s get back to the vigil.”

[emmacardel]

Disaster strikes. From the naked eye, this situation looks absolutely ludicrous. Probably because it was. It takes everything inside of Emma not to wail like a child, to call her rich mother and complain about a lost diamond. But, when you looked close enough, was this a true testament to Emma’s personality or what she buries deep? In truth, each scenario was more than plausible. It wouldn’t be the first time she took action elsewhere in pursuit of burying her truest and rawest emotions. 

So, here she was, barely standing upright on a couple of rocks, looking desperately for her earring that had slipped from her grasp as she attempted to straighten it. “It doesn’t matter how many I have!” Emma wails dramatically, holding on tightly to a rock located before her. “I...do know when I lost it..” Her words trail off, her tone obviously uncertain. Brown eyes look towards Forrest once more, attempting to persuade him with her pleas. This tactic had worked once upon a time, the two having dated in high school to the absolute delight of their family and peers. You should have married him, locked him down while you could. Emma could hear her mother’s voice rang inside her mind like a blaring siren. Perhaps that’s what truly troubled her now, the look on her mother’s face when she finds out she’s lost an earring at a vigil, an island tradition. How dare Emma Cardel look anything less than polished. 

“Do you really care about this stupid vigil so much?” The brunette questions, her words cruel but somewhere the most sincere she’s been all evening. “Everyone here is a faker!” With that, she almost slips, reaching out for Forrest as she does so, a screech sounding from inside her throat. “Shit,” Needless to say, this was about more than just an earring. 

[daftorpunk]

It’s such a male-dominated industry. You can be a feminist, it’s just difficult because it sometimes comes back at you.

[emmacardel]

ALICE GREY. 

Alice didn’t think she would ever get used to the feeling of seeing into the past. This particular picture that painted the afternoon in hues of orange had been different back then — or perhaps she had been different, cynical, young. It bothered, before she left, how people could play the part of good neighbour and still be so overwhelmingly selfish as the people she saw on weekends at the country club. She found out, then, that real family was beyond those walls. Beyond the tennis courts and ivy covered walls. The main reason her mother fought so much to have her own life was because real love started with very simple things.

It was extending a hand when someone else needed, it was watching the sun set and the smell of the ocean. It was letting the rain pour on you when your best friend forgot their raincoat, because real islanders sure as hell don’t use umbrellas. That’s what she hadn’t understood back then — that all you could ever want in life was perhaps in the simplest of things. 

Emma, too, was a vision from the past. She was hardly different from what she had been, however,  like even the air around her behaved the same way: infatuated but cautious, careful not to get too close. Alice had always liked her, despite the warning signs. She was truly an interesting character and Alice had always been inspired by interest. In Alice’s eyes, Emma seemed like someone you could write an entire discography about. Dreadful, really, as art often was.

“I thought it was you,” she replied, amused but absolutely not surprise to find out she still had the bite that followed the bark. “It’s been a long time, Emma.” Alice smiled, and she too had a mouth made for killing, even as the kindest of words would spill whenever it was open. Kindness was a choice. 

Memories. What did they mean to someone like Emma Cardel? Did the come in the shape of all-knowing beasts, threatening to consume her whole? Maybe. Though most days, it depended on the situation, yet nostalgia was not something she preferred to dwell on. Perhaps because most of her most nostalgic sensations stem from an area of neglect and desperation. Even now, she tiptoes along the line between calm and desperate. She wanted to be liked, she wanted to be seen. Was that much obvious? Emma wasn’t sure, even as she avoids the sensation that makes a home inside her altogether. Emma was a woman who liked to believe she was made of the sturdiest glass, exuding a particular poise. A feminine grace. She did, in fact, but perhaps there were cracks on the surface. Ones just visible enough that you can see enough of her core, the rotten areas that have yet to be discovered and navigated. 

But there was something, Alice. She was someone Emma wanted to be liked by. Terribly so, actually. She was gorgeous, blonde, and successful. Not to mention she seemed to have captured the heart of her brother easily. But even now as he’s seemingly moved on and more developed, Emma can’t help the protectiveness that festers within her stomach. Though, a part of her does admire a good hit and run. Despite this, Alice’s talent alone for creating songs and scores secretly moved Emma. It was admirable, a passion she never quite had. Where did Emma’s talents reside, really? Within only her looks, it seems. That was about it.

Perhaps that’s what truly rattles someone like Emma. Alice has depth. Emma was just rotten fruit.

“Alice,” Emma greets, looking towards the blonde. She keeps that mask on, the one exuding poise and a sense of carelessness. Without it, the inner depths of her desperation would pool through her barely visible cracks. Emma swats a hand, “Oh, please, it hasn’t been that long. Don’t be so dramatic.” She teases, though she sounds a lot like her mother at that moment. Something about that makes her skin crawl. For now, she decides to ignore it. “Sit, let’s catch up. Anything’s better than watching weeping strangers launching lanterns into the sky that birds and sea life are gonna choke on come morning.” Emma points a finger, “That’s a song right there. Write that down.”

[emmacardel]

NATHAN MONROE. 

              Nathan vied to tour and never stay in one place past his welcome, long before the band was ever truly manifested, his tumultuous home life contributing to any need to run away. The band, wherever they went, had been his family, surmounting to far more than any blood relatives could ever provide; Nathan’s lack of connection to the lachrymose events prevalent as he stood around in a gauche regard. He had lit a lantern, perhaps out of some newfangled respect for those proposed lost, feeling more alienated if he hadn’t done so; Nathan aimlessly making his way through the crowd, alcohol in tow. 

               Nathan hadn’t expected to be stopped by anyone coherent, much less the winsome brunette who seemed in a dire need to strike up banal small talk in hopes of avoiding the more miserably affluent guests. “Been trying to avoid gettin’ cried on at every turn so…. it’s going.” Nathan was horrifically out of tune with all the happenings ensuing around them, the only ones he could mildly relate to those who cradled the island tradition close; providing a raucous celebration of their own. It was a tangibly strange sense that clouded them, the amalgam of reverie a stark comparison to those who wept and lit lanterns to supplement their grief. “This is where I return the sentiment, right?” A mild grin quirked at his lips, sliding down to the free chair that remained next to her. 

To stumble upon someone who was...well, just as misplaced as her, was the refresher Emma needed. It’s as if this man cups cold water into his hand and tosses it into her face. It’s needed and welcomed, for that matter. With that, Emma smiles, this time a tad more sincere than the lackluster attempts she’s been swimming in all evening. A sip of her wine is taken before she speaks, “Oh, the night is still young. I’m betting you’ll get a real good snotter resting on your shoulder pretty soon, unleashing their sadness onto your nice shirt.” Emma teases, eyebrows raising in amusement. It’s a tiny miracle that nobody’s taken it upon themselves to unleash all their unscathed sorrow onto her. Perhaps they knew better, with her tarnished reputation as the aggressive rich bitch. Despite doing what she can to obtain some kind of redemption arc, the thought of being someone’s emotional outlet made a shiver run down her spine.

As he sits, she speaks once more, “I’d much prefer if you sat there and looked pretty. No need to return a stupid sentiment.” She says, cheeky demeanor remaining. If Emma loved anything, it was pretty things and pretty people. At least she had that shred of goodness inside her. More lanterns clutter the sky, weeping people watching as they drift into the atmosphere and eventually into the ocean surrounding them. In truth, Emma has never cared much for anything outside of herself and her siblings. Though this seemed a little much. She can already picture the birds joking on these useless scraps of glamorous plastic come morning. “I’m assuming this isn’t your scene either,” Emma replies, averting her gaze from the sky over to the man beside her. “Being here makes me feel like I’m being cloaked in a wet blanket. Everyone’s so sluggish.” She sighs, “Tradition. It’s gonna be the thing that kills us.”

[emmacardel]

FRANKIE LEON. 

Frankie had known the individuals out at sea. It was her job to know those who went out on the water in the hope of bringing enough fish home to feed their families. While most knew that Frankie only appeared to deliver bad news, she’d still found a sort of taunting camaraderie with many of the fishermen. As long as they followed the rules, they wouldn’t have to see her. Most of the time she wished she could be blissfully unaware of the lives and faces of those who’d lost their lives to the unruly waters around them. At least then she’d be able to shake hands with mourning family members without her voice trembling.

“Fuck,” the brunette murmured as she stepped to the bond fire when her rounds had been done. Every condolences had been given to the right families, having whispered words of hope in the crown of their heads until she felt exhausted. Blinking back tears as dark hues regarded the lanterns, the brunette’s attention was pulled to the brunette. “Am I hiding your view?” she asked, stepping back as she peered to her left. A man whom she imagines the other has been checking out despite his age being close to ten years her senior.

Leaning down to take the seat beneath her, the brunette scoffs in frustration. “Do you know how much pollution these lanterns are going to do? I don’t know why this was better than people walking around with candles? I heard it was due to fire precautions but …” her hand shot out to the large bond fire in the middle of the beach. “Sorry — It’s been as good as it can be.” Aka, not that great. “And yours?”

There’s the guilt that Emma did so much to avoid. Watching this woman seemingly unfold before her was actually a tad moving. To be so passionate about something outside of yourself, to Emma, was admirable. Mainly because she could never quite get herself to that point. She either grows lazy or frustrated and will get up on her venture towards being a better human altogether. 

So, she sighs, lingering on her previous words. This time, she attempts to listen instead of act. This usually was proven difficult but this time she actually eases into the conversation rather than spoiling it before it can even fully begin. “People don’t give a shit,” Emma says, reverting back to her own brand of hostility, but not towards this woman. In truth, her tone now comes across as if she’s wagging a disappointed finger at the universe. Maybe that was another fatal flaw of Emma’s. Sometimes, she could see through people as if they were ghosts. “When it comes to tradition, people will latch onto it until their dying breath. Tradition is a conservative sport, especially in a place like this.” The brunette says, waving her beverage in the air, signaling towards the lanterns in the sky. “At least it looks pretty.”

Brown eyes avert to the woman beside her now, knowing her words won’t quite console her. Though Emma hopes she at least appreciates the honesty and takes it as a sign of comradery, in some sense. Emma’s never been good with these things, that much was a given. “What’s wrong? I’m sure the lanterns aren’t the only thing upsetting you. It’s a rough night for everyone, it’s valid.” Emma says next, a shrug coming from her. “My night is mediocre. Not that I came here expecting a party or anything. I just feel like some people may be overstaying their welcome emotionally.” Not the impacted families, of course. But a part of Emma will helplessly believe that some people may be stretching the truth or stretching their true emotions. “Those poor families, though..” She says, attempting to sound more human. Though she does feel it, she just struggles with her words sounding so.

[emmacardel]

JUSTIN HILL. 

Justin was never one to say no to grab for drinks. He often heard that answers could be found at the bottom of a glass and he was still searching for the right glass. Pay mind that he was no alcoholic. He hadn’t been drunk in a very long time, but he was definitely a social drinker, if the company was fun and enjoyable, definitely more so. He also felt more confident when he had a drink, something he was definitely still working on getting there without needing a drink first. Work in progress. 

What teenager Justin had never expected was that he’d be drinking in a bar with Emma Cardel. He had grown up in the financial upper class ever since his grandparents took custody of their grandchildren, but Emma Cardel had always been on a different level he had. The Cardel children all had ties to the Hill children, and his had existed earlier with Emma, even if he had to say he was closest to Malakai right now. The Cardel siblings all were very different, yet he had a good connection with all of them, and he was glad for it. 

“Hm?” He hummed, snapping out of his thoughts when she spoke to him. In all honesty, his thoughts had been with the missing fishermen and how his mindset had definitely taken a turn for the worse as it only reminded him of when his father disappeared all those years ago on open waters and he had to bury him a week later. It had manifested in his fear for being on boats and even the ferry made him queasy. But he didn’t want to spoil the mood and say that to Emma. 

“Just thinking about how the guy in sixth sense never noticed how everyone ignored him except for the little kid.. Like who spoke to him before the kid did? Surely it has to be noticeable..” He made up on the spot, taking a sip from his beer before he turned to Emma with an apologetic smile. “Does that top what your other neighbour is saying or are you slowly going to turn back to him now?” 

The man beside her was obviously lost in thought, or perhaps Emma was too intuitive for her own good. It was strange how in tune she could become to other people, all while seeming cold and rather distant. Brown eyes scan his expression once more, searching for an answer there that never comes. That’s when he speaks and Emma can’t help but smile, which makes newfound nervousness dampen her attempt at seeming undeniable and nonchalant. 

An airy chuckle sounds from her which is soon paired with a shake of her head, “You have a point.” She can’t help but respond, smiling down into her glass of red wine. “I haven’t seen the movie in a long time but maybe he grew used to be ignored. Maybe he thought he was a giant loser that nobody cared about.” A tad cruel, in classic Emma Cardel fashion. For a moment, she sounds like her mother, which earns a strange taste to bombard her tastebuds.

So, instead, she focuses back on Justin. One arm reaches up to rest her elbow onto the bar, leaning her head into her hand. “I’d rather eat glass than listen to the man beside me, Justin,” Emma says teasingly, her smile falling into more of a smirk. Brown eyes squint then, gaze stilled train on him, “I also know that’s not what you were actually thinking. It’s a good thought, but not what you were really thinking a second ago.” She says, tone still humorous but this time with a hint of sincerity. “Something worrying you?” In truth, she was also thinking about the missing men and the upcoming bonfire. But maybe not for the right reasons. Though, is anyone surprised that Emma’s intentions most stem from a relatively cynical area of herself? Not really.

[emmacardel]

EVENT: BONFIRE & LANTERN VIGIL. LOCATION: Tortue Cove. OPEN TO: @elisabethstarters​

Community. Something Emma never understood, mainly because she never experienced it growing up. As the people around her grow close, expressing condolences from the deepest caverns of their warm, pumping hearts, Emma feels sick. Irritable, even. It also earns an itch to spread across her skin, though it feels mostly internal. An itch she can’t quite scratch. Though she’s been to enough of these, an island tradition, yet she’ll never grow used to the way everyone seems so...close. What was closeness when all you have to give is a cruel gaze and a cold shoulder? Emma wasn’t sure, though she attempts to find a balance despite the nervousness that makes a home inside her stomach.

Brown eyes were glued to the fire before her, Emma finally decided to take a seat closer to the flames. Was it selfish that all she could ponder about was her reputation? Yes. Was she aware of this? Yes and no. Emma's guilt came in waves, especially as she heard the people around her hope and pray for the return of the missing men. Especially when she sees another lantern decorate the sky, illuminating the clouds that grow dark as the day grows long.

Soon enough, there’s a figure at her side, earning the itch ailing Emma to increase. There’s a deep inhale taken in, a look of annoyance gracing her stern and gorgeous expression. Oh, Emma, at least you have your looks and maybe your siblings. “Are you gonna just stand there or are you gonna sit?” Emma asks, attempting to blanket a sense of nonchalant to her tone. But, really, she just sounds plain. She clears her throat then, straightening her already pristine posture. “How um, how’s your evening so far?” Good enough.

[emmacardel]

JUNE CLEMONT. 

EVENT: bonfire & vigil LOCATION: tortue cove OPEN: @elisabethstarters

         they say that light will guide you home, but what if home was no longer within reach? what if you’d misjudged a reflection as a beacon and in turn got lost on the journey? what then? would you retrace your steps? or would you accept your own disappearance?  ━ seven days had passed and there still weren’t any answers. people gathered and they searched, but they also wept. a sense of helplessness clouding over port elisabeth as prayers for a safe return were whispered through the sands and swallowed up by the tides. the footprint those four men had left behind too big to fill and too small to find.

         june was conflicted. and her coping mechanism included a cold beer (or two, or six). smelling just like her father as she stood far from the flames. only watching a few lanterns find their place in the sky before she was turning a heel, the bottle she was currently nursing quick to press against her lips. licking back a couple gulps, hating how her body didn’t feel drunk enough. hating how she needed another drink in order to keep her head above water throughout the rest of the night. suppressed emotions swelling in her chest, crushing her ribcage.

         “ sorry ━ “ she excused, stumbling  a bit when her shoulder collided with someone else’s. “ i’m sorry. “ suddenly overwhelmed. breathless. as though reality hit her and she was faced with an inner panic that filled her eyes, overriding her system. she needed to sit down.

This might have been needless to say, but this was not Emma’s scene. While she comes from a well-known family, flush against old money and a reputation to match, she couldn’t help but feel out of place while amongst all these people who should know and respect her. But perhaps this feeling mostly stems from the well-guarded anxiety that festers within her stomach. Now, Emma was a relatively cruel woman. Prickly to the bone with a chilled heart to match. But there’s a part of her that wanted so terribly to impress these people. She wanted a redemption arc, something to hoist her out of the well she’s fallen in.

Though maybe the fact that she’s thinking about herself while at this vigil, lanterns decorating the sky, was more telling than anything else. The brunette sits towards the outside, nothing but the fire in the distance illuminating her undeniably gorgeous face. Oh, it was so easy to seem undeniably beautiful. Why was it so hard to mimic this beauty within the depths of her personality? A careful sip of her drink is taken, brown eyes scanning the various people who mingle and share their hopes. In truth, she does feel for the missing men. There’s something so silently daunting about the idea of being lost in this way. Emma can’t quite shake the feeling that something absurd was hiding just along the horizon. 

Before her thoughts bombard her some more, someone is bumping right into Emma’s shoulder, earning her expression to scrunch. “Ugh,” She mutters, smoothing out her sleeve. The woman beside her smells of beer and desperation, something Emma knows enough about. Not so much the beer, but the desperation. The former pageant queen thinks to leave, to leave this woman to her ailments. But, she thinks back to her tarnished reputation and perks up. Don’t be so cruel, Emma, help her. So, she sighs, holding a hand out, face still in a grimace. She’ll work on telling her face to follow her actions later. “You should sit. Do you need some water?” Emma then swats a hand, “Don’t be sorry, it’s nothing. Tonight is overwhelming for everyone. Here, sit.”

[emmacardel]

STARTER FOR: @jcstinhill​ LOCATION: Alibi. SETTING: Evening.

It’s not often Emma went to bars, mainly because a part of her was disgusted by them. She found drinking at home or with a friend to be much more fruitful than sitting on an uncomfortable stool, watching a bartender she didn’t know make her drinks, all while sleazy looking men with round, red faces and stubble stare at her from afar. So, being in a bar, for Emma Cardel, was like being a caged animal. But perhaps with a personality as restricted, stern, and bold as hers, she always resembles a caged animal. Hence why her desire to lash out within her own brand of cruelty grows profound at this moment. A nearby patron had been going on ignorantly about something political that Emma decided to tune out. Mainly because if she didn’t, she might combust like a dying star in the middle of this establishment.

“It amazes me how much people can say when they don’t know what they’re talking about,” Emma mumbles into her glass of red wine, now turning towards the familiar face beside her. Justin Hill. A memory come and gone. He was sweet back in their high school days. Dorky, that’s for sure. But everyone seemed dorky to Emma who was the proclaimed pretty, rich one. Either way, they had kissed once. On a dare, that is. Before then, Emma might not have given him the time of day. 

A sigh escapes her then, her own lackluster attempt at collecting her composure. Brown eyes scan Justin’s face, looking for an answer in his expression. He was much handsome now, sporting a square jaw and a classic smile. In a way, Justin reminds Emma of a modern James Dean. Though she’d never confess to that much. “Penny for your thoughts? Anything to drown out the moron beside me.”

[rogerdeakinsdp]

Gemma Arterton as Grace Ballard in Murder Mystery (2019) dir. Kyle Newacheck