Travis knew next to nothing about the people that resided in the town of Riverdale, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t find ways to collect information. The things that happened there weren’t on a need-to-know basis though, he merely wanted to investigate the murders he heard about not long prior. There wasn’t a single moment where the killings could’ve been someone supernatural… there were no recorded animal attacks. He couldn’t recall one supernatural that didn’t use their teeth and claws to destroy. His aim wasn’t to help, and needless to say, travelling was something he did often. As exciting as Beacon Hills always was, he needed to get away from the old crazy and into the new.
He found himself tangled with a few young women at a party, and if he remembered correctly, the host of the party was named Cheryl. He crossed paths with her once before and ultimately found her annoying. Too eager to please those she looked up to, and too desperate for power over those she didn’t. It reminded him of someone— Theo, a less threatening version, of course. As a person who couldn’t drink nearly enough to get a buzz, nothing was more boring than watching a group of intoxicated idiots. After quite rudely blowing off the women, he headed straight for the door and down the driveway.
In a rush to leave, his senses weren’t as heightened as they could’ve been, and he collided with a tiny blonde. Eyebrows furrowed as the sound of heels snapping underneath shifted weight came to his attention, and a dainty hand gripped his bicep, keeping herself from losing her balance completely. The strong smell of alcohol on her was sickening, and he couldn’t help but step back as his jaw clenched. She was wasted, and even while she could barely compose herself, this girl had such an attitude.
The attitude wasn’t endearing in any form, and a scoff escaped parted lips. “I don’t know who you think you are,” Travis began, and a laugh then left him, a mocking undertone in his words. Eyes rolled, and muscular arms crossed over a broad chest. “I would offer you a ride home, but you’re acting like an entitled princess. Who has time for that shit?”
brooke was a supernova of contradictions -- and maybe if today was around the same time as last summer, she would have made this ignorant egotistical mutt cower beneath damaged louis vuittons. but as of lately, they were just another present her father had blessed her with for missing another awards ceremony. you see, that was the thing -- she was smart, and just like most things, it came easy to the blonde maddox daughter. whereas cheryl fought for attention, for power - for tricking fear into admiration -- with brooke, everyone simply wanted to be her friend, case in point. and though she had a sharp tongue of her own, brooke’s line of defense wasn’t as vocal as cheryl - it was quiet, and it would sneak up on you.
tonight, however -- wasn’t that night. after jake went missing, after months of hiding the fact she had feelings for him - and being sent away for the summer.. she was back, and it was like all the bad things that surrounded her, collapsed in a cage of horrible events. death and misery followed her - like a cloud, and you could sniff it out a mile away. he tall -- there was something in that scowl that reminded her of someone else.
her tongue presses against the inside of her cheek, and as he steps back, she shot him a glare upwards - steadying herself on her lonesome. only before, bending over and tossing kicking the shoes to the side. she didn’t care about the shoes - she didn’t care that they were ruined - where the old brooke would have flinched at the very idea of her designers being scoffed. there was that term again ---- entitled princess. she hated it.
❝ oh, you got all that off the first two seconds of nearly running someone over? ❞ she rolls her eyes, amber hues flickering around in the darkness now, deciding which path she’d like to take. so, she marches down the driveway, barefoot. ❝ if your driving is half as bad as your walking capabilities --- count me out, anyways. ❞ though, in her drunken state she stops pacing, and turns around with a hair whip. because one, she’s intoxicated slightly - and two, she’s tired of people -- STRANGERS - thinking that they know her. it’s bad enough she has to deal with serpents crawling up her back blaming her for jake’s death.
❝ you know what? screw you dude! you run into me, and then get offended when i actually defend myself? oh - i’m sorry i actually have a braincell unlike cindy mouth-breathing watson who by the way, was the girl you were practically suffocating with your tongue -- yeah, i noticed. ❞ she notices everything. and now, she pokes his chest with a frenched tipped finger ❝ you have absolutely no idea who the hell i am -- and you can take your judgey little eyes somewhere else because --- who has time for that shit? ❞ now she twirls back around, huffing and puffing back down the driveway for a second time.
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