UNAPOLOGETIC.

[evelynhalliwell]

RORY HIRSCH.

Evelyn. Of course it’s fucking Evelyn. 

It isn’t a conscious action, but he huffs under his breath, as is customary when he’s met with his girlfriend’s (and he loves the taste of the word against his lips, hopes to reveal it sometime soon) mother. Ava’s warned him about the blonde more times than either of them care to admit, and over the past couple of months, he’s managed to keep Evelyn at bay. It’s easier for him to get lost among the crowd during his mother’s parties and other such social calls, but when Evelyn confronts him in the Hirsch household, in the middle of taping no less, he’s hit with several problems all at once. 

So, first: damage control. He hopes the mitigate the situation, such as it is, with some semblance of courtesy. “Doorman? No, we Hirsches believe in the art of knocking,” he attempts a bit of a smile, hoping it lands as a witty quip rather than an insult. He turns off his phone — Candy Crush can wait, not when there’s a much larger problem to confront — before walking towards her, “she’s still sleeping. Late night last night. It’s just me today, unfortunately.” 

The smart-alecky comment isn’t lost on her, and Evelyn cocks her head, hands on her hips. “I rang the bell,” she quipped, as if having normal human manners would excuse her from breaking-and-entering into people’s homes, even if they were people she knew. “And no one bothered to answer. Did your mother teach you any manners, sweetheart?” She sniffs, clasping her hands together as she regards the man before her. The last time she’d seen him, he hadn’t filled out quite yet. Still growing into his looks, all those years ago — and now, a fully-grown man stood before her, virtually unrecognizable.

She takes one step closer, a sly look replacing the one of disdain. “It’s just us, you say…” And Evelyn begins to nod her head, a chuckle rumbling in her throat. “Really, Rory, can you be more obvious…” Despite all the plastic and sutures in her face, Evelyn still feels like the woman she was twenty, twenty-five years ago — well, everything except for how dry her vagina is, but she isn’t going to talk about that.

[evelynhalliwell]

AVA HALLIWELL.

special delivery for → @evelynhalliwell​ location: ava’s house time: 21th march, 2pm

Whenever her weekend wasn’t spent with Rory nowadays, Ava was usually found at her home, especially with everything that was ongoing on this island lately. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, for the brunette to hide away in her household, finding solace in the safe space that was the four walls of her home. Even upon her initial return to Catalina, this was how everything typically went during the day for her. For the fear of her ex-husband discovering her whereabouts (and still so, no less) and the chatters from the rumor mills on this island, it was the wisest decision to hide away from the rest of the world. To keep her life private, away from prying eyes so no one could take advantage of using the misfortunes of her life as a conversational topic, or potentially drag her into more trouble than they realised.

The brunette didn’t fail to keep herself busy today, waking up bright and early to head out for a run, before returning home to do some chores and taking the opportunity to bake a pie, which was one of her favourite pastime. She would make the car run to share her baked goods later, she reminded herself, as she often baked more than she felt comfortable to consume herself. Having not expecting any guests to pay a visit to her home today, it was why she suddenly grew apprehensive at the sound of the door opening, before her stomach sank at the familiar voice echoing through the halls her home. How the woman managed to get into her house without any warning whatsoever, she had no idea. Sighing, she placed the freshly baked pie onto the kitchen island, before wandering into the hallway to greet her step-mother. That was when she came into sight with not only Evelyn Halliwell herself, but also a camera crew crammed into her doorway. She froze for a moment, before someone cleared their throat to pull her out of her reverie. “Evelyn,” She greeted through gritted teeth with a forced smile, not wanting to show her extreme discomfort about the unwarranted attention around her. “Can I have a word?” She didn’t even give the woman a chance to answer, before pulling her into the kitchen and slamming the door behind them. “Evelyn, what the hell is this?” She asked incredulously, panic already coursing through her as she spoke. “Don’t you remember what I said about the cameras? I—I can’t deal with this. How did you even manage to let yourself in anyway?”

“A-va, sweetheart?” Classic Evelyn, barging into people’s homes without their permission — though, this time, she did have the key. Swiped and copied when Ava wasn’t looking, but it was only to protect her. God knows what she’d do if her ex-husband found her again; despite it all, Evelyn had never liked the man. Overbearing to a fault, she was only trying to protect her step-daughter, after all. As soon as the older woman caught sight of her oldest, she’d stomped in, tacky heels clacking against the floor. “There you are — really, you must answer the door when you hear someone ringing the bell. Quite rude, sweetheart, I thought I’d taught you that much, but clearly you weren’t listening with that pretty head of yours.”

It’s only when Ava comments on the cameras that her sickly sweet smile falters, and she turns her expression into one of obsequious confusion while the younger woman pulls her into the kitchen, as if she’d had no idea that her step-daughter was camera-shy. Years of practically shoving the girl to walk up onto stage in various pageants, and Evelyn still acted as if she didn’t understand Ava’s introverted nature. “Them? Oh, don’t worry about them. It’s just for the show. Just act as if they’re not there,” she replied, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. She reaches for the door, eager to let their blinking lights and microphones in, though Evelyn had been sly enough to put on her microphone outside. Even if they couldn’t film them, they’d hear every word. She expertly avoids Ava’s question of how she’d entered her home, cocking her head in innocence. “Sweetheart,” she coos, putting on her perfect mother act, despite she is everything but. “What’s really bothering you?”

[evelynhalliwell]

GARRETT GRAY.

Garrett’s used to not being heard. That’s the bulk of his job, really: show up to work, draw the littlest attention possible to himself, and make sure everything goes smoothly behind the scenes. But there’s something about Evelyn Halliwell’s nonchalance that hits him differently, and he feels some semblance of fury bubbling against his chest. He doesn’t have time to probe that feeling until a dog’s all but cozied up to him, already feeling the stray fur sticking on his sweater’s fabric, “Er, I’m not the—” he protests, but it isn’t heard as the woman launches onto a litany of instructions, only half-heard. Quietly he accepts his fate, the only consolation the dog who seems quite content to nestle against his chest, “—how do you take your coffee, Ma’am?” 

Evelyn doesn’t even hear the man’s protests, staring at him, blinking a few times. It’s clear that she’s mistaken him for another assistant that’s already gotten her coffee forty or so other times, but she never paid much attention to the various other humans scrambling about underneath the Housewives’ wrath. She narrows her eyes at the bespectacled man, crossing her arms. “You don’t remember?” She snaps. Her icy blues narrow further into slits as she scrunches up her terrifyingly hooked nose — god, she really needed to make that appointment. “You’ve gotten coffee for me for the past week, and you’ve just forgotten my order?” Really, Evelyn should’ve expected this. It was so difficult to get good help these days. “A splash of Almond milk, two Stevias. It’s not that hard to get that through to your little skull of yours.”

[evelynhalliwell]

ANDREW THANE.

Evelyn Halliwell is an idiot, that much has become apparent to him. Not to mention, she’s just rude, too. He doesn’t move when she tries to push him out of the way, the two ending up side by side. He’s been thrown around on the ice enough times to know how to stand his ground, having some petite woman push him at the bar isn’t going to change that. “Rum and coke,” he orders after her, rolling his eyes, the bartender seeming to feel the same frustration as him. And who are you? A brow arches as he gets his drink, wondering if this woman is serious. “We just spent sixteen hours on a private plane together.” He eye rolls, stating the obvious before taking a large gulp of his drink. He’s not going to be able to make it through this conversation without this drink. “My wife is Rowan.” He adds, before taking another sip. “You may wanna get your eyes checked, lady.” He settles with, resisting the urge to say something rude – It’s not his fault she’s living in her own world. 

Evelyn squints, pausing to regard the man before her — ah, now it’s coming back to her. It’s not her fault that the man made absolutely no impression on her. Only fitting that Rowan had married someone as unexciting as she was; really, at least Reina wasn’t afraid of provoking her. Pandering to the audience was to be expected, but it hardly made for good television. She sniffs, keeping her composure; after a full season of dealing with the antics of the other women, it was going to take much more than an offhand comment to throw her off her rocker. “I may be older than you, but there is nothing wrong with my eyes, thank you very much.” Her wine comes out, slid over to her, and she takes a careful sip. “I mean, really, is it my fault that you’ve been completely uninteresting? You clearly know who I am.”  

[evelynhalliwell]

REINA RHODES.

CLOSED / @evelynhalliwell​ LOCATION: on some boat in st. barts TIME: mid-day

This trip has been far from relaxing, but that’s to be expected when putting the six Housewives and their husbands together for a vacation. Reina’s been doing her best, trying to keep herself out of the drama and in relaxation mode, but she just can’t help herself from getting into it with these women. Like now, for instance. Evelyn seems to be having a meltdown over an earring and while Reina almost wishes she could just keep laying on the back of the boat they have for the day like nothing’s happening, but it’s almost too fun to antagonize the woman. “It’s a fucking earring, Evelyn, you’ll live,” she says, rolling her eyes and she lifts a hand to shield them from the sun so she can get a good look at Evelyn. “That shit is long gone, you may as well stop looking. A shark probably ate it.” Nothing like riling the woman up and making her panic that there are sharks swimming below them, though as soon as the words leave Reina’s lips she regrets them due to the inevitable shriek thats bound to come.

For the past fifteen minutes, Evelyn had been in a fit of tears — so much for a relaxing vacation — of course, while she’d been swimming, one of her earrings came loose. A diamond one at that, two lovely 3-carats encased in white gold, and now Reina Rhodes was insinuating that a shark had eaten it. “A shark?” She screeched, pulling herself out of the water. “Wait, are there sharks in these oceans? You!” She pointed at one of the poor interns as she ran out of the water in a huff, “go look for my earring. You can’t miss it. It’s a diamond worth your entire life,” she ordered, pulling herself onto the deck. Rubbing her eyes to streak her thick coating of mascara and eyeliner, she turned to the camera with a morose expression. “My earring,” she sobbed.

[evelynhalliwell]

ANDREW THANE.

– OPEN STARTER

where & when: st. barts, early afternoon

Andy’s not sure how this whole thing is going to go – He’s been on plenty of adults-only trips with Rowan before, but never like this. The cameras feel less foreign to him now, no longer as intrusive as they once were.But, a trip with all of the housewives to a resort in St. Barts is surely going to result in a few blow ups, and he took the last sixteen hours of the flight there to brace himself for it. The kids are with his mother, and he’s trying to remind himself this is a get away, even if it’s meant to be the finale of the season. Once they’ve arrived and their bags are up to their room, Andy’s happy to retreat to the beach and the bar that comes with it. “Another round for us,” he instructs the bartender, going ahead and ordering for those with him. 

The trip to St. Barts was quite the literal godsend for Evelyn. She needed the tropical vacation, even if it was with the very women that caused all of her stress in the first place. Mostly Reina, Rowan, and of course, her own flesh-and-blood, Cleo — but it was easy enough to avoid them. For once, Evelyn Halliwell didn’t want to cause drama — she’d started enough of it back in California, and this was her moment to relax. “Actually,” she cut in, pushing past the man, “I’ll have a Cabernet Sauvignon, Bordeaux if you have it, preferably 2015, but I’ll take 2009 if that’s all you have,” she said, not looking up once from her home. After a minute, she looked over, spotting the man standing next to her at the bar. She thought this was a private vacation. “Oh. And who are you?” She narrowed her eyes. He certainly didn’t look like someone who worked here.

[evelynhalliwell]

RORY HIRSCH.

His apartment has felt confining as of late, and there’s only so many Candy Crush levels he can complete before his energy level runs out and he’s forced to confront his apartment’s resounding silence. So, the family home. Rory loathes that it’s still the next best place to clear his head, even though it’s occupied by a bustling cast and crew half of the time —  but it’s still, by far, a healthier mechanism compared to just lying on the couch, glaring at the screen decorated with jellybeans and gumdrops, waiting for the energy bar to fill up.

He doesn’t walk so much as stumble into the room, his phone dangling dangerously on his hand, the familiar hum of the app from his phone effectively making his presence known before he even opens his mouth — and even then, what comes first is an indignant huff of breath. “You know the worst part about this game?” Rory says to anyone who’d cared to listen, “the waiting. And if I use my credit card to pay for unlimited energy, that’s it for me. I won’t be able to look back.”

Evelyn didn’t understand the concept of doorbells, let alone, one of knocking on doors, so when she arrived in a place, she just showed up, and expected to be greeted like the Queen of England. Of course, she’d done the same as she rolled up to the Hirsch estate in her Maserati Levante, right up to the front, popping out in a ridiculous purple and green outfit, heels clacking on the brick. 

She tries the front door — but like any home in the sprawling hills of Ventura, it was locked. So Evelyn teeters over to the back, trying every single door she could in her vicinity, until she found a sliding glass door that is unlocked, and lets herself in with a huff. 

“He-llo!” She calls out, but all she gets back is the echo of her own voice from the very large entrance hall — and in classic Evelyn fashion, she stomps into the first room she sees, finding two of the Hirsch children sitting in the spacious living area. “Oh, finally — seriously, do you not have a doorman?” She asks, incredulous, playing up her shock for the cameras. “Where’s your mother, sweetheart? We’re late for brunch already, even more so than the acceptable time frame for being fashionably late.” 

[evelynhalliwell]

ROWAN THANE.

“Get your fucking finger out of my face, Evelyn.” Rowan snaps and she hears a noise from a producer behind them and knows that is definitely going to make the final cut, along with whatever they’re hoping comes next. But she tells herself it won’t go much further than this; she is a patient woman who can roll her eyes and keep her composure through just about anything. But, fuck, Evelyn’s shrill voice really has this Martha Stewart act wearing thin and for a moment Rowan allows herself to think about how nice it would be to grab a fistful of blonde hair and bring the older woman’s plastic face down on the table top; get that nose up even more crooked and give Evelyn’s dentist an expensive reconstruction surgery to look forward to. But then she blinks and it’s gone, not having been pushed that far just yet. “I don’t think about you at all, but I certainly don’t think you’re nasty. I know you’re nasty and that has nothing to do what anyone has or hasn’t told me over the near ten years I’ve been here and has everything to do with your personality and the time I’ve spent with you the last few weeks.” Which is only half true – she’d come into this with a preconceived notion regarding Evelyn thanks to her friendship with Cleo, but the way her friends mother acts certainly hasn’t done her any favours.

Evelyn had a way of pestering people to their breaking point, even if she didn’t claim it as a skill, and for a brief moment, it seemed as if Rowan had gotten there. She pulled her finger away, sniffing as she averted her eyes, a nasty expression still in place, but for once, Evelyn was silent.

But the silence didn’t last long as Rowan continued her tirade against the older woman, and her gaze drifted back to the blonde, eyes narrowed into slits. Rowan’s words were certainly harsh, and it was only because her bitch of a daughter’s mouth could make its way around the island faster than Evelyn could say Cleo Leigh Halliwell. No one ever thought to listen to Evelyn’s side of the story, and oh, did she have plenty to say — but curse her good genes. No one could ever turn away a face like her daughter’s.

She had every intention to retort back to the woman, every bit as acidic as Rowan was to her, but instead, she steamed in her fury until she burst, and the tears came rushing out, this time absolutely genuine. Evelyn bolted up, shrieked and threw her half-full wine glass on the ground on a whim of cathartic insanity, tears already pouring down her face, streaked black and gray from her mascara. “HOW’S THAT FOR NASTY, ROWAN?” She screamed, and snatching up her purse from the next chair over, she whipped around and walked away, having completely forgotten about the cameras and set people around them.

[evelynhalliwell]

ROWAN THANE.

Actually that’s exactly what Rowan is insinuating but she knows better than to flat out admit that, and instead always tries to take a more subtle approach where Evelyn is involved. There is no denying that she gets some sort of pleasure out of setting the woman off, but she does prefer to do it in less than obvious ways, it just makes it a little more fun. “That isn’t what I said, Evelyn. Stop acting like everyone is out to get you.” Though it would be naive for anyone to think Rowan has no skin in the game when it comes to making an idiot out Evelyn. At her very core, Rowan values loyalty above all else and Cleo is her best friend; so she is aware of the shitshow of a relationship between the mother and daughter — and Cleo is where her loyalties lie, regardless of any television show she may be on with her mother. “But you have hurt people in the past. That’s just a fact, whether you claim the victim card this time or not. You can’t blame people for siding with history and what your past actions have pointed to when it comes to hearsay.” She’s always careful to choose her words, blaming other people and never outright saying that she agrees with them, careful to try and appear as a sympathetic bystander to Evelyn in hopes of dragging things out.

Did Rowan really say what she did? Evelyn knew from the moment she saw Rowan that she didn’t like the bitch — there was a niceness about her that she’d surmised was fake, or at least a tad condescending. Hmph. Being rational was so last year, especially since the cameras were just waiting to pick up the most melodramatic moments amongst the six housewives. Any trace of her upset already erased from her face, Evelyn crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at the woman, a snide, tight-lipped smile on her face. “In the past? Tell me; how long have you been on this island again, sweetheart?” Words affectedly mocking, she pointed a sharp fingernail at Rowan. “You have no right to tell me about my past. Who have you heard it from? My daughter?” She cackled, throwing her head back as she rolled her eyes. “If you think I’m nasty… that ungrateful child of mine is more similar to me than she thinks.” Picking up her glass, she sipped at her wine, sour look still on her face. “I’m no saint… but the things that girl says about me. All utter horse crap.”

[evelynhalliwell]

GARRETT GRAY.

“Yeah, but —” His protests are cut short by a litany of curse words from the executive producer, the unbearable invisible hand who’s yet to step foot in the set, and Garrett forces himself to keep his expression steady. He lets the man talk for another couple of minutes, the words going into one ear and right out the other, before a lull on the other’s end finally compels him to say, “…if that is all, Sir?” Those words are enough for the producer to drop the call, and as it drops, he feels his chest loosen ever-so-slightly, and consequently he lets out a breath he doesn’t know he’d been holding. 

“What do you think?” He says to the first person he sees, too exhausted to extend a greeting or any other customary courtesy, “should I just live in the forest as a goblin?” 

Without even listening to what the man before her said, Evelyn pulled down her sunglasses, groaning as she stomped on over to the man. “Thank goodness — are you the assistant? — never mind, here —” she said, plopping her little yappy Pomeranian into his arms. “That’s Emerald; she needs to be walked three times a day, no more than four blocks at a time, and fed twice — half-cup of dry and then a packet of that FreshPet All-Natural. Chicken, not beef; she will not eat beef — and her daily massage is at 3. Oh! — And would you be a darling and bring me a coffee?”

[evelynhalliwell]

CLAIRE WOODROW-MARLOWE.

tagging | @evelynhalliwell​

“Evelyn honey…” Claire’s eyes were gravitating towards the elephant in the room, or more like the elephant on her friend’s face, and she tried her best to make her disdain behind concern. “I…I heard about the nose. It looks….different.” The last descriptor coming in like a squeak as Claire tried to be nice. “You should give me your doctor’s number. I think I’d like to get a boob lift from him.”

Evelyn huffed, rolling her eyes as she poked at her nose in her little mirror. “You don’t have to lie, Claire, dear — I know it looks like an absolute disaster. Thankfully, I’ve already made an appointment with my plastic surgeon.” She snapped her mirror shut, folding her hands together as she squinted at the woman with a manic smile. “Oh, sweetheart, with your breasts I think you should go for a full enhancement, don’t you think? Just 200ccs could make a world of difference, you know.”

[evelynhalliwell]

CHARITY HOWARD.

special delivery for → @evelynhalliwell​ location: catalina island country club time: 1st march, 2pm

“Please, these women are clearly trying to get a rise out of you, your nose looks amazing. In fact, give me all the details of your surgeon. Just in case.” A smirk stretched across her features as she took a generous gulp of her vino. Charity hardly meant what she said, but it seemed as though the two housewives were possibly on the same side of the battle at the moment. She didn’t particularly agreed on the casting, but that was probably the entire point of it. Although she would love nothing more to get publicity and to display her distaste for some of these housewives on this island. It was best to keep the likes of Evelyn close than farther away for now. After all, they seemed to share common enemies. Plus, they were surrounded by cameras at the moment, so she was sure enough going to maintain her act for the show. “Honestly, they need to get off their high horses and get some reality check. This is our world and not theirs. How long have they been here for, compare to us? I don’t trust any of them one bit at all.” Perhaps, Claire would be an exception, but she didn’t think Evelyn would care anyway. 

Evelyn didn’t exactly dislike Charity Howard; for now, at least. The two had always run in similar circles on the island, which meant they saw plenty of each other over the years. She certainly was preferable to some of the other women they were co-starring with, who thought their younger age and beauty were something to hold over their heads. As if. Once upon a time, Evelyn had those same looks as well. And in an effort to keep them, her face was no stuffed full of plastic and Botox — unfortunate, but preferable, in her opinion, to wrinkles. Huffing, Evelyn sipped at her wine, side-eying the other women in the slightest; even she knew her nose looked like shit, but she wasn’t about to call out one of her only allies. “Please. These women are just hungry for any sliver of power they can get their hands on. That rumor about me? I think one of our lovely co-stars is spreading it, if you can believe it.” She rolled her eyes, a sneer punctuated the end of her sentence. “Reina Rhodes, probably. Owns that tacky little restaurant down in Avalon and thinks she can talk back to me.” 

[evelynhalliwell]

CLEO HALLIWELL.

The sound of her mother’s over-dramatic gasp only caused the blonde to erupt into a tittering commotion. The antics of the older ─ could nearly pass as an elder due to her botox ─ of a woman never caused her to remain level-headed but to further test the authority. “You actually remembered my name for once. How cute, Evelyn.” Riposting in a false-saccharine tone, it failed to reach her cerulean doe-hues, but it did allow a singular curl on her mouths left-hand side. Only to stick her hip out in a less than attentive matter. The deadpan of her overlay proved that she would much rather be plotting someone’s murder, preferably Evelyn, than being in the repellent smell wafting from her mother. Allowing her digits and thumb come in contact as a jeering sight played through, knowing it made the Rhodes kids laugh when they were younger but this is all she felt about her mother now. “Oh please, continue the show for the audience, Evelyn. You think they’ll sympathize with you?” An erupt, gashing, severe chuckle echoed off the walls. “You fucking wish.” 

Still, in a calm and collected manner, something that her mother should learn, all she could do is blink as a forced yawn fell through. Always being one for mannerisms, a hand cupped but not even caring if it showed disrespect to the other. “Last time I checked, I was a direct descendant of a Swedish princess, where does the relevancy of you come through?” A fleeting moment to add emphasis to her authority over the other. Only to hold up the palm of flawlessly tanned palm to inform the words were still coming. “Before you yap like a fucking Yorkie, I don’t care that you pushed me out of your vagina. Do you want a gold medal for what our bodies are meant to do? No? Great. Get off your high horse.” Only to allow her cerulean hues to roll the back of her head, hands collapsing into each other and falsing a smile to piss her mother off. Not a singular sign of distress coursing over her. There were other things far too worthy of her attention. “I don’t take commands from you. Go fetch me a bone.” 

At this certain state of Evelyn’s whole being, she looked like a fucking duck. The nose. The way her heels click-clacked on the marble floor. The parallels are uncanny. Nonetheless, her curiosity was piqued to know the purpose of her invitation. Once they entered into the confines of her bedroom, such a lavish sight upon all four walls, the nostalgia and lack of being sentimental did not concern her. The memories were fond. The moment she was able to move out on her own happened to be the best day of her entire life. Still, it did not phase her on the idea of her items moving to potential storage considering her extra bedroom at her place in Avalon had rightful ownership of Iris Rhodes ─ which they had just finished applying the wallpaper picked out by the younger girl. “Sounds exhilarating.” Bored, far too fascinated with her recent manicure as she admired it through the illumination beams of light. Suddenly, a thought to light more fire underneath her mother’s ass consumed her. The glint of hilarity and deceitful attitude consuming her. “Why are you getting a spa? Shouldn’t you be in a pond with all of the other ducks of Catalina Island? I’m pretty sure I saw your family a couple of houses down awaiting your arrival.” 

Barb after barb was thrown at the older woman, and each time, her little fish-mouth painted a bright, tacky red grew larger and larger, until she finally narrowed her eyes, shaking her head at her offspring. If Evelyn was a more sensitive woman, perhaps she would’ve ran away with sobs choking her throat, but whatever heart was left in the woman had long shriveled away into nothingness. “I sacrificed nine terrorizing months with you in me and this is how you repay me? You, Cleo Halliwell, are truly something,” she scoffed, shaking her head in disgust.

Evelyn’s pregnancy with Cleo had always been her toughest. She’d been criminally young, without a care in the world when she was blessed with (as her mother had so fondly said) with her oldest. Nine months of feeling her stomach swell and bladder shrink; there were women out there who enjoyed it, but every single one of Evelyn’s pregnancies were her personal hells. And then, for months after she’d given birth, Evelyn had holed herself into a deep postpartum depression, the sight of a little helpless baby inducing more loathing than love. Of course, the upside of her wealth was that she could hire an endless string of nannies and helpers to look after the baby, and the first two years, Evelyn was sure that she’d only held the baby a handful of times, all in the presence of company.

Hm. Perhaps that was why Cleo refused to bond with her.

“All I do is try to help your tragic little butt, and every single time, all you do is insult your poor mother,” Evelyn sniffed. “You should really begin to see more men of pedigree than hang around that little ninety-pound bitch with that tacky restaurant. I mean, really, I had you at twenty-two and here you are, a decade older than when I had you and still without a husband. And the more you open that terrorizing mouth of yours, the more I start to understand why you don’t have one.”

[evelynhalliwell]

REINA RHODES.

It should come as no secret to anyone on the show at this point that Evelyn is the bane of Reina’s existence. From the moment they met, the other woman’s been a nuisance to her, like a gnat buzzing in her ear that she just can’t seem to get rid of. Her dramatics rival Reina’s own and not in a good way, and Reina often wonders how a woman with such limited facial movement can be so fucking over the top. So why wouldn’t she plant a seed to Claire about Evelyn’s plethora of extramarital activities? It got the ball rolling for the season, which she’s sure everyone’s thankful for, and it put Evelyn in a bad spot which Reina couldn’t be more ecstatic about. The blonde’s been getting on Reina’s nerves so damn much because of it, though, that part of her is slightly beginning to wonder if seeing Evelyn crash and burn is really worth the headache it induces. And when she notices Evelyn coming up to her outside after she’d specifically walked away to take a break, Reina has to take a long moment to remind herself that she isn’t allowed to rip this woman’s head off and throw it into oncoming traffic.

The empty threat causes Reina’s eyes to roll, her head shaking in pure exasperation. “I’m terrified, Evelyn,” she says, the sarcasm practically dripping off of her words. The thought of Evelyn Halliwell having enough brain cells to even attempt to put Reina in her place is actually fucking laughable. She purposefully ignores the comment about her cigarette, instead turning around to lean back against the patio railing and face Evelyn fully. Of course, she doesn’t miss the opportunity to blow smoke directly in the other woman’s direction. Oops. “If you don’t want people talking about your fucked up nose, maybe go to someone who can actually fix it. Haven’t you learned from your first million procedures that your plastic surgeon clearly has no fucking idea what he’s doing? Don’t tell me you think that Botox looks good.“

Evelyn shrieked, a high-pitched monstrosity of a sound, hands flying to her nose to cover the crookedness. Obviously, the state of her nose was a sore spot for the woman, especially since the person who’d caused it was her daughter, her own flesh-and-blood, who seemed to have taken a shine to the little stick of a woman standing before her. “My plastic surgeon is perfectly fine, thank you very much. This was caused by the little terror I mistakenly birthed thirty-two years ago,” she sniffed, hands immediately reaching for her phone in the pocket to poke and prod at her nose again, figuring out what she wanted to have done next. She was due for a touch-up on her forehead, and gasp! — was that her smile line creasing through her Charlotte Tilbury foundation? Evelyn adored being on the show, but all of the stress and fighting was causing her face to wrinkle and sag, which meant she had to double up on the amount of facials she was getting each week.

Clicking her phone shut, she crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at the woman, composure kept in the best way she could. “Just you wait, Reina. What are you — forty? — get to my age and you’ll be begging for the numbers for my doctors to touch that pinched little face up.” Evelyn had never been against plastic surgery; in fact, she embraced the injections and knives into her skin ever since she’d turned eighteen — for the woman, it was just another way to beautify herself, like makeup was for women all around.

[evelynhalliwell]

CLEO HALLIWELL.

special delivery to ; lunatic @evelynhalliwell​. 

continuation from ; here.

Long by now, Cleo wondered if there was an encephalon occupying the space in her mother’s skull. Instead of extending the invitation of her daughter to stop by and pick up a few belongings, a text message from the mother ─  who soon would be blocked again ─  to drop on by as soon as possible. Well, soon as possible and Cleo did not go hand in hand especially when it had to do something with facing her mother. It’s not like she didn’t want to see the appalling damage of the botched nose job, which she was still proud of the incident, but the last thing she needed to hear was her mother’s attempt in guiding her daughters one too many years late. Some people needed to learn. It was in the utmost honor for Cleo to put the matriarch in her rightful place. It wasn’t like her sisters would ever dare. They were frightened to be written out of their mother’s will. How was she related to them? was all she began to wonder. In the typical manner of Cleo Halliwell, the woman made her appearance known from miles away. Each stomp in her lambskin Chanel flat, it was an uncanny parallel to her known nickname as Hurricane Cleo. People who wanted to take their dog out on a walk instantly turned on their heel and waited until the vexed, cursing underneath her breath of a blonde vanished into thin air. Her mind was rattling with ways for her to leave her mother with a parting gift ─  other than the sea of verbal words that dripped off her tongue with ease in its own vexed and comical laced tone. Something about walking up the driveway, seeing the sea of hurried patrons rushing in and out of the house, but most importantly, her mother’s recently purchased vehicle in honor of landing The Real Housewives of Catalina Island thoughts drowned her instantly. A crafty upturn of her mouth corners insisted this was going to be her target. 

It took her less than ten minutes to allow the damage to be done. It first started off with the tires and slashing them with the switchblade, that oddly enough she happened to have carried in her clutch but not threatening measures. It wasn’t enough. Not Cleo-ifed enough. Switchblade against the metallic vehicle from all four sides. The scratches were worse than scratching up a male’s back in sex. Still, something did not feel ideal enough. There needed to be a last hoorah in the hues of the girl. Luckily, with the status of the car being unlocked, it was a time when the female slashed everything in the interior of the car ─  leather seats, wheel, dashboard. You named it. Cleo and her switchblade touched it. Once the satisfaction of the car was up to her standards, all she could do is stand back a couple feet away and sigh in contentment. It was art that deserved to be showcased in a museum. Enough of the sight and focus upon the vehicle, she had to make her way into the Villa of The Halliwell’s.

An instant of entering through the lavish, yet hefty front doors, the blonde came in contact with her mother but most importantly, the botched nose. Only to allow the words of the other to be fleeting if anything ammo to cause her to retort back and false a beam. “Is that why you decided to wear purple to match with your bruised nose?” Tilting her head, index finger eagerly ready to further fuck up the distortion of the bridge, as a false angelic tone drifted through. God, how proud she was of that sight to this day. Only hoping and praying her mother’s surgeon decided to carry on with botching it up. It was comical. Her choice of outfit was minimalistic in tones of black and white. Nothing in comparison to the retching sight of her mother’s choice of wear. “I’m trying to figure out why I should take advice for you.” The blonde began lifeless, wandering further into the residency. “Considering, not only do you not know how to interior design this house to this date but you still fail to realize Purple and Yellow do not go together.” A swift hand entered into the conversation, holding it near her mother’s face. Dropping the point of the topic of their conversation about clothing before Cleo decided to go rampage through the women’s closest, just like with the car. Craning her slender neck, the tapered baby blue hues starred at her mother with a murderous glint in them, “What do I need to pick up? I have somewhere to be.” That location was not worthy of her mother knowing. “Heaven knows I want to save you from dealing with another broken item in your body. Consider it my gift to you this year on my lack of bringing a grandchild into this world.”

“Cleo Leigh Halliwell!” Her over-dramatic gasp reverberated in the entrance hall, palm immediately hovering over her face to cover up the crooked mess of her nose. “How dare you, you ungrateful little brat!” An annoyed expression made its way for a harsh scowl, though much of the minute movements were lost in the immobile muscles of her face. A small price to pay to zap away any wrinkles, but it did make her look considerably less intimidating.

“Purple is a royal color, sweetie,” she snapped, huffing as she gestured towards the elaborately decorated home. “And considering you’re a direct descendant of a Swedish princess, I suggest you start acting like one instead of turning that foul mouth on everyone and anyone that’ll listen.”

Spinning right on her heels, she click-clacked her way through the ornate marble floors, an intricately manicured fingernail gesturing for Cleo to follow along. Up the stairs, hand following along the gold-leaf foiled bannister, she led her daughter through to her childhood room, where a few cardboard boxes lay. “I’m having someone clear out your old room. I’m thinking of putting in a spa room here... could you imagine?” She paused, eyes scanning over the half-empty room in approval of her idea. “Anyways, I thought you might wanted to take some of it, considering you find every little reason to come and shriek at your poor mother…” Evelyn rolled her eyes, sipping from the glass of wine cupped in her hands.

[evelynhalliwell]

ROWAN THANE.

It’s not shocking when Evelyn begins blubbering and Rowan coughs, shifting in her seat in an attempt to hide the roll of her eyes and the amused grin that tugs up on her lips momentarily, making sure to put on a somewhat more sympathetic look when Evelyn looks up from her plat – even if her gaze goes to the cameras rather than to Rowan. She sips at her wine, choosing her words carefully while trying to gauge just how big of a meltdown is on the horizon. Briefly, she considers scolding Evelyn not to touch her nose, feigning concern about an already fucked up surgery and how she is just going to make it worse but she doesn’t want to open that particular can of worms yet.  “Well, maybe you should be less focused on who started the rumors and more focused on why everyone else is so eager to believe them.”

Immediately, Evelyn’s head shot up, expression all bite though her eyes were still tearstained, and she sneered at the blonde. “What are you insinuating, Rowan?” She asked, and if her forehead wasn’t pumped so full of Botox, it would have crinkled into a furrowed brow. “That I would be someone that would ever betray someone like that?” The older woman crossed her arms, sharp, manicured fingernails digging into the corners of her eyes to dry away any residual tears. “Hmph. Per usual, everyone insists on blaming the victim in this case. I swear on my poor mother’s grave, there is no respect these days.”

[evelynhalliwell]

for → @challiwcll​​ location: halliwell home time: february 26th, 4pm

Evelyn Halliwell needed no time to get used to the cameras following her around; in fact, she relished in it, having to be primped and perfect all the time. It was virtually what she’d trained for, ever since she was a little girl, and now, at fifty-four years old, as one of the stars of a Real Housewives franchise, the woman felt as if she was coming into her prime.

Of course, aside from her crooked nose.

Evelyn examined it from her iPhone, squinting at the off-centered tilt to her nostrils and huffed, clicking her phone off, half-wondering when she could get into Dr. Ahmed’s office again so he could revise it. It certainly didn’t bode well for her appearance when she’d demanded to see the footage so far — in every headshot, her beak looked terrifyingly unbalanced, and she’d screamed at the producer to fix it in post.

We - we don’t do that.

Yeah? Well, if you don’t, my lawyers will have a word about this! I’ll sue you… for defamation!

That’d been a couple days ago, and the memory was long lost in Evelyn’s cluttered mind, and today, they were filming a scene with her and her dear daughter, Cleo, who’d seemingly slit her own throat than express any sort of love for the older woman, however disingenuous. If Evelyn had been more self-aware, perhaps she would have lamented in the fact that her only daughter hated to be around her more than a thousand screaming babies, but as always, the barriers around her heart were rock-solid, and bomb-proof to boot.

“Ugh, Cleo, sweetheart,” she groaned, rolling her eyes as she swirled a glass of white in her hand, “do you insist on wearing those awful colors? Clashes awfully with your skin; you know us Halliwell girls need the warmer tones for our complexion.” Taking a sip from her glass, an eyebrow quirked, she shook her head. “I swear to god, sweetie, all my connections and you still can’t dress yourself.”