belle

Eden Moreau, 28, Clerk Fable City

[fauxbelles-blog]

huntsmanwalker:

Time: 12:20 am Location: Triton’s Car Park Status: Open

He’d been one of the firsts to reach the scene. The party itself wasn’t really his kinda place, but he’d wanted to go, wanted to make sure nothing fishy happened. He hadn’t bothered dressing up, either, wearing only a long-sleeved shirt and jeans to appear at least semi-casual. Sticking out like a sore thumb, he’d taken a seat at a table in the back, watching people dance and sing awful karaoke songs while he enjoyed a chilled bottle of beer. It was late into the night when he heard some of the kitchen staff ask what was burning. Then someone opened one of the exit doors, allowing the smell to grow stronger, to become more distinct. No, that wasn’t from the kitchen. It was gasoline.

Logan shot up from his seat and headed toward the door, already seeing the glow of a burning flame before he could even step foot outside. He ordered some of the nearby staff to hurry and get as many fire extinguishers as they had. Surely the fire department had to be on their way, the bonfire too big to miss. But with ten or more cars ablaze in front of him, he wanted to keep this from spreading, from damaging more than just the cars. God forbid someone actually be in one of these cars still. Not again. Please not again. The workers were gone and back within a couple minutes, handing Logan one as they all spread out to extinguish what they could while staying clear of the smoke. Despite the sheer number of cars affected, and the fact that no one could know what was inside each one, the fires themselves were put out quickly, and without any additional harm done. All the cars had, luckily, been empty of people and combustible items.

It wasn’t until he knew the cars had sufficiently cooled down that he approached the bunch of them to evaluate what kind of damage had been done. It was then he saw a Mercedes with a peculiar mark on the charred roof, a symbol he’d become aware of recently. Fucking Augury. He ran a hand over his mouth, sirens approaching in the distance as he made his way to the remains of his car. Well this week was just getting more and more complicated.

After he finished reporting on what he saw, he stepped off to the side to let the guys do their job with cleaning up. He had to think of what to do next, had to think of whether he should see what insurance would cover or immediately check and see what files the FCPD had on the Augury. Leaning against the outside of Triton’s, away from the crowd, he banged his fist against the wall, inhaling deeply, then exhaling as he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he realized he wasn’t alone. “Sorry,” he said, sliding his hands into his pockets so they wouldn’t ball into fists. “Been a long night.” Happy fucking Halloween, right? “Your car get mixed in with all that?”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” She blinked, brow knitting together, “or I suppose I did, because you’ll do yourself an injury hitting a wall. Can’t have that.” She leaned back against the brick, inadvertantly making a show of how solid it seemed to be.  Happy fucking Halloween seemed to be the sentiment of the evening, and honestly it was unfortunate for it to be getting such a bad rep. Happy fucking Fable City should have been the exasperation, but she didn’t really feel like criticising Logan by association. "Were you here already, or part of the cavalry?”  It was on the tip of her tongue to say it didn’t seem like his scene, but then she didn’t really know what that was. Was merely disappointed she hadn’t been afforded the opportunity to hide behind him when things got too social throughout the evening. Attending the party was a mistake, especially now with the smell of smoke lingering in her hair and on her clothing, set to stick inside her nostrils for the rest of the night. Unfortunate associations all around. 

“I suppose this is the one time it’s lucky I don’t have a car. That wont incriminate me will it? My jealousy of those who don’t have to suffer our lecherous bus drivers or sore feet?” Her lips quirked at the corners, didn’t quite manage a smile or the levity of the joke. Probably because she shouldn’t have made it, even if it was an attempt to draw some stress from the man she had found hitting a wall. “I hope no one was hurt at least.” 

[fauxbelles-blog]

rashidzaidi:

TRICK OR TREAT

TIME: 10:35 PM LOCATION: Triton’s Car Park STATUS: Open

He’d seen people scrambling first, noticed people grabbing onto one another with terror upon their faces, saw them scatter as if someone had fired off a warning shot. But the music had drowned out his ears and the whiskey had dulled his senses, his reaction time far slower than it should have been at a time like this, at a scene like this. Shoulders shoved and arms pushed and voices yelled, but he couldn’t focus on any of it, not with the overwhelming and all too familiar ball of anxiety rising up his throat as he was forced to join the herd, as he was ushered out among the swarm. 

He saw the flames second, roaring to life just across the street as black fumes billowed out of the opening in the wall of the garage, but he ran the first chance he got. He made a break for it when the sea of strangers parted, needing space and air to breathe. What the fuck? Someone gasped beside him and he whipped his head around to gawk, the interruption in his panicked thoughts a welcome distraction. And he shared the exact same sentiment. Random cars set ablaze, a warning, a message—who could know for sure? Mild terror glazed over his already numbed exterior, settling into his bones as he stood wide-eyed on the pavement. Curios, the timing. And at such a grand affair, no less. What the fuck, indeed. 

He heard their voices third, the men in blue with their flashlights raised high and their fingers just inches from the trigger. Rashid Zaidi, come with us, they’d said, pulled him away from his scorched, once white and now singed black Toyota Camry and insisted on speaking with him. Where do you work? The University. Where do you live? The Woodlands. Did you have any enemies? Yes. No. It was routine, as routine as can be when you’re standing in front of your burnt-to-a-crisp mode of transportation while answering questions from the police, but he was confident he handled it well even in his inebriated state—in fact, it only helped.

After the commotion, he’d wandered back down to the front of the entrance and toward the crowd, not really sure if he was seeking comfort or simply trying to blend in, but it covered both bases. He was careful to stick to the outskirts, pulling out his pack of smokes and lifting one from the box, but as he lit the cigarette a shadow emerged from over his shoulder and he turned to greet the fellow victim, perhaps perpetrator, maybe just innocent bystander. 

“Quite a night, huh?” he let out a half-hearted chuckle, “Happy Halloween.”

She’d seen fire before. A building alight, with flames finally under control and dulling down. She’s seen it before, worse than this, more contained after causing most of its damage. Maybe it’s why she’s a little more composed than the others, a little numb. Maybe it’s why she shouldn’t be.  Still she inclines her head toward the burning vehicles in the only action that doesn’t appear entirely nonchalant as she responds to more invested onlookers. Hmming and nodding at regular intervals that yes this is terrible, awful, frightening. It probably is, she hasn’t really thought about it.  It’s almost comforting when Rashid speaks, doesn’t gasp or cloy or demand her attention by being excessively affected by all of it- is apparently as disinterested in this competition of reaction as she is.  “You too.” the tone of the sentiment is lost on her, when she wishes it back with no hint of sarcasm. “Were you enjoying the party?”

[fauxbelles-blog]

calebdier:

Truth be told, Eden knew him better than most people but their friendship was still something that was superficial of sorts. They were both private people, never talking about their pasts and what they believed in and who they wanted to be in the future. It was only familiarity and how much time they were forced to share together that bonded them at first, eventually bleeding into their love for literature that allowed the both of them to open up that facet of their lives to each other. Aside from that and the protectiveness he felt over her, he didn’t know much about her and she about him. It was, however, enough for him to tentatively call her his friend rather than just a neighbor.

Stepping through the door she held open for him, he allowed his shoulders to sag with relief as he exited the tension-filled building, the cool night air instantly making him feel better.

“I don’t know,” He admits, tucking his hands into his pockets as he walks towards their building. A part of him only went to the meeting in an attempt to find out and dig a little, but that was clearly something that no one else had really thought of. It had all gone to shit a lot faster than he would have anticipated.

Even so, he wants to quell whatever anxiety he’s instilled in her. Panic is the last thing any of them need, undoubtedly looking more like guilt to anyone else. “I wouldn’t worry about it, it was just something that I was thinking about. I tend to… watch my back a little more closely than other people.” He mutters the last part, so soft that he believes that she may not be able to hear it.

She’s not sure if she’s supposed to hear him, if he isn’t just admitting something to himself rather than talking to her ; but she catches it anyway. Thinks better than to remark on it, even when all she needs do is smile and nod knowingly because they’re in the same predicament. She pulls at her jacket again instead, folds her arms across her chest as they walk.  I don’t know. She doesn’t either, and it should bother her more than it does, but there’s an almost determination to believe that this was a singular event, that Eric really was toxic enough to incur someone’s wrath. “Who knows, case might be closed by this time tomorrow. I’m sure it’s everyones number one priority given who the.. deceased was. Both Mayor and a Woodlander, two crowns that can’t be ignored.” Whereas if it was one of the Strays.. there’s no point in even saying it. She’s trying to be light, but it’s difficult when the imbalance is so glaringly obvious. No one would have called that meeting for one of them. It’s doubtful there’d be so many accused, that it wouldn’t just be written off as a Stray getting themself into harm. There’s a few she trusts to care, the Sheriff for one, but the real power lay with Eric, and now she supposes Valerie.  “Would you care about the murder if you weren’t accused?” She doesn’t mean to ask, but there it is. Essentially what Carter had asked her earlier, and the truth is that she doesn’t even care now. Shakes her head, “You don’t have to answer. It’s just..”  Just nothing, just pointless. Maybe she wants to hear that Caleb hated Eric as much as she does.. did. Maybe she wants to hear he nothings him the same.

“Anyway.. don’t worry your pretty little head. I’ll walk you home, check the hall at night.. we can set up traps like in Home Alone.”

[fauxbelles-blog]

miinahan:

She’s letting the three words sink in. ‘It’ll get easier.’ But the thing is, it never does. She knows from personal experience. Which seems to be good. She already knows how to deal with a tragic death. Although this one is… different. She knows if she hadn’t lost her parents the way she had she probably would’ve been a bigger wreck over Eric’s than she is. She knows ways to cope now, even if the situation is entirely different than it was the first time. 

“I hope so…” she’s murmuring. Mina has to hold hope that it’ll get better once the murder is solved. But the fact that these suspects are all people she knows, some people she cares about a lot, makes her feel like it’s not going to be. She’s going to have to learn how to deal with this and she’s not sure she’s going to like any outcome. 

She’s pondering the idea of going home, before slowly shaking her head. “I don’t want to draw anymore attention to myself, you know? I already have way more than enough shoved on me. If I leave, that’ll probably make me look even more suspicious.” She knows she shouldn’t be stuck on appearances, but Eric has drilled that into her brain in the past year that they had been dating. And not to mention she has to act right because if she wants to be a famous musician, she’s going to have to have all eyes on her. Appearances are a huge thing in her life and she has to keep it up.  

There’s a part of Eden that thinks Mina must be hugely naive to have ever gone anywhere near Eric, or else incredibly calculating and well-aware of who he was. It seems doubtful that his girlfriend could have been tricked by him for so long, unless he truly was a different person for her. It’s tiresome to think about at all, when she doesn’t want to waste any more energy on the man. He’s gone, and she can’t wait to be free of all this and free of him.  The fact Mina thinks her departure might look suspicious, has thought about the appearance of her actions, gives credence to the idea she isn’t entirely naive. It would be nice if she had walked in to her relationship eyes open. Questionable, but better than the alternative. 

“I don’t think anyone could blame you for leaving though. I know I want to, so maybe that’ll take the heat off if I leave first.” She shrugs. She’s not trying to do Mina a favour, or that’s the story she’s sticking to. She’s going to leave, she knows it, is desperate to get away from everyone and most of all the subject at hand. 

“Everyone’s so busy.. conversing that they probably wont notice.” It’s not her place to press further, so she drops it. “Anyway, this will all be cleared up soon enough.. ” and people will find some other reason to judge each other. “Do you want a cup of tea or something then? I think I heard they left the kitchen open for this in case someone got set on fire, so you’d still be in the building if anyone wanted your attention.” 

[fauxbelles-blog]

Q1: How much do they reveal on social media? Also, are they ever unwise in their social media use? 

Eden doesn’t personally use any kind of social media. Her phone is ancient and she’d rather not actively involve herself in the social lives of others.

Q2: What kind of content do they like to post?

N/A

Q3: Do they have anyone blocked? What would it take for them to block somebody?

Lbr Eric would have been the top contender for being blocked on the brothel insta, but he had too much influence for them to do that.

Q4: Would the police find anything suspicious on their social media?

The brothel has an instagram for setting up new clientele, but it’s mostly harmless aesthetic pics that represent each of the girls. eg Eden’s used to be a photo of a bell. It isn’t used that often, only if someone introduces a friend who wants an appointment off-site or to use the escort services. It’s doubtful the police could crack it unless blatantly told about it, and even then it wouldn’t lead to anyone specific unless clients weren’t cautious. Otherwise there may be photos on Eric’s accounts with her in the distant background, if he was either stupid or arrogant enough for it.  Anything suspicious would have to involve other people not being careful enough. Eric might have thought himself infallible but Valerie wouldn’t have messed up and posted anything.

[calebdier-blog]

◤ ✕ ・。* send me 📞 and a ship and i’ll tell you… @fauxbelles

your muse’s contact photo in mine’s phone

your muse’s name in mine’s phone

your muse’s ringtone in mine’s phone

how often our muses text: pretty often, despite the fact that they see each other most days.

what our muses normally text about: it’s a lot of back and forth about books, the complaints about the state of the building, her baking, and work in general. and maybe, eventually, his mother.

our muses’ last few texts

[emmeleung]

send me 📞 and a ship and i’ll tell you… @fauxbelles

your muse’s contact photo in mine’s phone your muse’s name in mine’s phone how often our muses text (maybe sporadically?? starting when one of them has a question to ask, maybe when they do text though it turns accidentally into a long ass conversation) what our muses normally text about (maybe plans they make, either together or about eden volunteering with the kids emme works with and vice versa?? can text the other when they want a rational conversation?? also the all soft shit between angst) our muses’ last few texts

[fauxbelles-blog]

calebdier:

“I was never one to beat around the bush, you know that.” Eden was one of the few people in this room he genuinely cared for, perhaps it had to do with the fact that it was his job to protect her at the brothel or because they lived in the same building with the same leaky pipes and broke water heater. He didn’t care much for the company of others, but her presence had always calmed him more than aggravated him and he was slightly relieved that she was here, despite being a suspect. He knew that she must have had her reasons, but he hardly cared. If it was Eden, then he was assured that he wouldn’t be next and that was all he cared about.

“No matter what we say or do, they’re going to think we did something anyways. It’s pointless to sit around and listen to them argue when we both know it’s going nowhere.” Choking down a chuckle at the thought of Eden not wanting him to look guilty by association, he shot her a rare smile of his own. “Shouldn’t I be saying that to you? I don’t care if you don’t, I’d rather just leave now so we know whoever did this isn’t following us and making us their next victims.”

Whenever anyone finished a sentence like that, with such familiarity, ‘you know that’, she ended up wondering how much of themselves they were offering up to her to imagine that she could predict their actions. More than that she wondered why, why they expected her to have more than a vague inkling about their habits. She was fairly sure that the reason she was able to estimate Caleb’s actions sometimes was purely because she read a lot of books, could read him like one. And that wasn’t a fair assessment at all when she was trying very hard not to really know anyone. With him it was a lot harder to avoid than with others, too much time spent in the same locations, an almost essential need to quell boredom with conversation or interaction.  She pushed the door open and stepped through, holding it on her way to prevent it falling back on him. It shouldn’t have been such a natural reaction. Closed doors were far more appealing.  Waited until they were both through, the conversations in the hall almost muted as she stepped away, before she continued talking herself. “You think there might be more..?” She can’t bring herself to say victims when Eric Rousseau was the cause and not the result of such. Hasn’t actually thought about the chance that Eric wasn’t a singular and very specific target. 

Even if she doesn’t put much stock in it, she shivers a little, pulls her jacket tighter around her shoulders as she scans the street ahead. “That’s not something.. that..” grazes her teeth against her tongue to prevent a continuation, “This was so public though.. I suppose it makes sense if it was meant as a message.. but I hope that message wasn’t more to come when they clearly weren’t worried about being caught.” 

[fauxbelles-blog]

wolfesque:

Carter scoffed, “True, especially knowing this city. Finger pointing’s basically our trademark.” Just like with your father’s case. Although he couldn’t tell her the truth, he’d surely lose his job, he was often the most willing to listen to her pleas over the last few years, because he felt so guilty. Because he knew what it felt like to have only one parental figure to rely on, only to lose them. 

“Then you really haven’t been paying attention,” he reprimanded, much quicker than he’d like. Carter blinked, abruptly tearing his gaze away as he recalled: of course she would’ve been paying attention to other things. “Nevermind. Consider it a good thing, I guess, that you haven’t been too bothered by him.” 

A light, albeit brief, chuckle escaped him only because Eden’s statement was so true. “And that’s exactly why I hate political figures: they make for the most unsolvable cases. That leads me onto one question I’ve been wondering, though.” He lowered his voice, scanning to make sure no one else was listening before he turned his head her way: “Would people even care if the culprits were never found? Would you care?” 

“Some people seem to be scared it’ll happen again, so I’d rather we didn’t need to worry about murderers on the streets.” Maybe she should have been a politician, though she doubted her answer would be enough to placate Carter, that he wouldn’t just press for a more substantial one. Strangely, or reasonably the thought hadn’t crossed her mind that Eric’s murder wasn’t just a one-off, and that Eric’s murderers weren’t purely motivated to the act by the fact it was that particular trashbag. Yet a few people had mentioned the concern, and so it was easily plucked from her mind in the moment.  She didn’t even need to respond to Carter’s assumption that she hadn’t been paying attention. He was partially right, after all, but it was far better that he believed that she hadn’t been bothered by Eric. It was better she believed that too. 

Her tone was low enough that it need only remain level to continue, no one near enough to overhear as far as she could tell from a cursory glance. “Would you care, Deputy? Do you think it was a one time crime?” 

“I’d like to think that if you didn’t get into law enforcement to,” she smiles softly and looks to the ground, because it’s really not a criticism even though it should be, but she doesn’t have the energy to be sour about it “enforce it, that maybe you and the Sheriff care enough to clear the names of those who are innocent.” Just a little tired of wishing on stars and Sheriffs, but there’s really nothing else for it. “Seems this entire place is at your mercy, yours or the murderers.”

[fauxbelles-blog]

emmeleung:

LOCATION: library, (days before the event meeting) TIME: morning TAG: @fauxbelles

This time of the morning, the library is vacant. Just a great hum of a running air conditioner and the clap of books as one of the librarians stacks them in the shelves, that’s all a usual sound by now. Emme pauses in the entryway before walking any further, eyes following a line to Eden’s reading corner, where Emme’s eyes search for hints of the other woman behind bookshelves before making her way toward her.

There’s a usual box in her arms that she has each time she arrives here, crayons and markers and spare paints on top of a stack of blank construction paper and drawings a few of Eden’s kids haven’t finished yet of all the stories she reads to them. A usual grin on her features as meets the other with a quickened step.

“So,” she begins, starting quickly, but making sure to sound quiet as she places the box on one of the tables, “A few, or a lot, of the crayons and markers were broken in one of my classes, but they should be fine. If we run out, there can be a few experimental drawings,” she gestures to the finger paints as she places out the stock where the children gather. “I should be able to stay this time, but you might have to catch me up on the story.”

With how quiet it is above the background noise, it’s easy to hear even the quiet swishing sounds of the doors and the soft pad of footsteps on the carpeted floor. She’s well aware someone else is there, but doesn’t lift her head to see who it is. Refuses to look, in fact, for she’s learned from living in all the bad areas that a lingering gaze can signal more than curiosity to some. And in the decent and dangerous areas alike, she doesn’t appreciate the way others are so eager to appraise new arrivals on the scene. So she doesn’t know who it is until Emme begins to speak, and even then she’s not so familiar to forego the addition of the box and the topic in such assumptions.  Her hands are busy settling a plastic tablecloth over the joined desks, plucking at the corners and trying to stretch it as far as it will go. “Can you..?” she gestured to the side Emme was on, hoping the two of them could make it drop a little more to cover the edges too.  “I think there’s a sharpener in the office so we can double up on the broken crayons.” 

When the desks are covered as well as they can be, she takes to tapping along one of the bookshelves, searching titles before her hand rests on a spine and pulls the book free. “We just finished The Elves and the Shoemaker. You should read it if you have a minute, but I can definitely spoil you otherwise.” 

“The Sheriff’s been busy with, y’know, so I picked one that didn’t use many voices just in case he couldn’t make it. Really it’s a good story though. I’ve got a few options for today, but since you’re able to stay why don’t you pick?” 

[fauxbelles-blog]

miinahan:

Mina’s nodding. “Yeah, at least everyone wants to help…” she’s letting out a humorless laugh at that, scratching the side of her face. “Even if it’s just yelling and throwing out accusations…” But they’re trying. In their own way. Even if the tension is through the roof and everyone is either angry, upset, or just plain annoyed. 

“I really hope so. I kind of want everything to be over. It’s been like… a nightmare…” she’s saying, softly, and she’s being honest about it. It hasn’t been like a nightmare, it’s pretty much been a nightmare. One that she’s sure that she won’t be able to get out of for quite some time. 

It didn’t particularly surprise her that someone would have motive to see Eric gone. She had more than enough herself, even if she hadn’t considered murder. What was confusing was the idea that things hadn’t immediately improved upon his death, that they were all seemingly still stuck in his legacy; trapped, miserable, or degraded, particularly in the case of the strays who didn’t have so much influence. She wouldn’t call what any of them were doing helpful, couldn’t imagine what would stir anyone to want to solve Eric’s murder unless the reasons were purely selfish. Not for him. No one owed him anything. Certainly not Mina, and yet there she was hoping or believing that anyone could want to help, that Eric might deserve that. 

Wouldn’t they ever be rid of him? 

And there it is again, the moment that hangs where ‘I’m sorry’ seems the polite way to go about things. She can’t do it. Eric’s the one who should be sorry for putting Mina through this, for putting any of them through it. Even in death he was still causing trouble, still a self-serving bastard.  “It’ll get easier.” She’s said the same thing twice now, because it’s the only thing that she can bring to the table, the only reassurance that doesn’t betray how much she hated that man and how little she cares about persecuting those responsible for all of this. "The future will be brighter when this is all sorted out.” Apparently she was a greeting card. “Do you want to go home maybe, dull the noise a little bit? Things seem to be winding down and there doesn’t seem much sense to staying if it’s just going to continue like this. I’m sure you could use a rest from all this.” 

[fauxbelles-blog]

miinahan:

Mina can’t help the soft, humorless laugh that escapes her lips at the woman’s words. “I hope not. Everyone’s ganging up on everyone and you’re right. The mob mentality is awful…” she’s pausing and shaking her head. And it is. One person starts pointing fingers and that person will point fingers to keep it off of them and so on and so forth. It went around the room. Mina hadn’t, but she hadn’t wanted to talk anyway. She was here to listen, to figure things out. And that’s what she had been doing. Up until Eden spoke up.

“That’s true. But it was Roland who thought of this…” but Logan and Carter are here, as well. So at least they know what to really look for. Mina does not. Which is bad, in theory, especially if she wants to get to the bottom of this. She lets out a sigh, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger. “This could’ve gone a lot better…”

When she realises who her conversation partner must be (more through process of elimination than actual familiarity), there’s a moment where she thinks to offer her condolences. It’s what people are supposed to do, only polite, and yet it doesn’t quite fit because there’s not a doubt in her mind that Eric’s girlfriend isn’t better off free from him. Eden holds far too much unwanted knowledge in the subject to be able to pretend this is anything but a blessing for the girl. So she doesn’t, but neither does she proclaim how grateful Mina should be to be disentangled from him.  Her lack of comment on such a bereavement might appear only as ignorance to who Mina is, and wouldn’t that be fortuitous, a way to keep her at distance. 

“I didn’t realise it wasn’t arranged by the police. I’m sure there’s a few others in the same boat, but at least everyone wants to help with inquiries, even if that’s not how it’s turning out.” She looks away to some of the others, the relative unease of the room. It’s not difficult to look at Mina, she’s not ashamed, and she’s certain she wont reveal anything, but it seems reasonable to keep her focus away at intervals, avoid the illusion of a connection. 

“It could have gone worse too. It’s just a bit raw, I’m sure it’ll settle down after tonight and it’ll be easier for the Sheriff to get to the bottom of this.” 

[fauxbelles-blog]

dragonscaledrake:

The differences between animals and humans is this. A lion will pounce without thought. It cannot see the trap before them. It cannot consider anything other than the moment it lives in. It attacks, it hunts - because it responds only to its most primal instincts. But a wolf infused woman? She is the most dangerous creature of all. She understands what it means to wait - and how sometimes, it is more important to circle your prey rather than tearing them to shreds. Oh, impatience might tap its way through her veins, but winning is more important than anything else. That she understands.

Even so, she nearly loses it when Eden wanders through the door, Caleb at her side. There’s a brief moment - and something that might be humanity underneath. But then the mask slips back into place, corrupted with hatred. Her eyeballs burn as she stares. But they hurt harder when she tears them away, intent on appearing superior. But wounded pride hurts most of all. And Eden? She tore it to shreds the moment she chose Eric’s bed over her own. Just a whore. Just pride. Nothing else. 

It cannot be.

And so, when Eden opens her mouth, Valerie thinks not of plump lips and twisted limbs, but venom and poison, willing it into her tone. It may not be her she addresses, but she will reply all the same. Almost hissing, Valerie uncurls her tongue, hushing her tone so that her words are for Eden - and Eden alone. “Gee. I hope so. Let’s make it a weekly thing. Oh - and bring cupcakes.” Voice dripping with sarcasm, she rolls the balls of her eyes into her skull. Probably too stupid to commit murder. No idea why she’s here. Valerie can’t help but wonder if this motley group of people know her secret. She wonders what it might be like to expose her. No, that’s foolish. Best save it for a different day. You never know when you might need it. “Considering they turned up to the meeting, I’d say the situation is a lot more complicated than that.” She points out, always needing to be right.

Ridiculous how, even with her eyes on the woman before her, attention locked, she’s almost surprised by who it is. Of course, she’s having trouble placing Valerie lately, wonders if it’s a case of absence affecting and twisting memories, or even if it’s just the change in setting distorting the person she believed her to be. It’s easily dismissed, both excuse and fleeting thought, because really Eden doesn’t imagine she’s fully familiar with anyone, that her perception of them should be something solid or meaningful. She offers care in the moment, vaguely, generally, for everyone, and that might be more cruel than simply avoiding them and remaining intangible. Certainly seems as though Valerie faults her for something of the sort, if she’s to take their recent and rare interactions as leading clues.  It might be better if she were to behave similarly in response, jagged edges and bared teeth, but the problem is she doesn’t have enough motivation. Never seems to.  Part of her wonders if the cupcakes mentioned are some pointed allusion to her visits to the Sheriff’s office, if it’s something she can use to fuel a return in anger. The question drops far too easily to render her oblivious, in appearance at least.  “Do you think the Sheriff incapable of solving the case in a timely fashion?” Her expression is curious rather than accusing, no intention of performance. “I’d rather this not be a frequent thing, when it doesn’t seem to have helped anyone.”

Honestly, she hasn’t been paying much attention to who’s organising what, or the intentions behind such gatherings. Simply shows up to put the least amount of effort into clearing herself as a suspect, doesn’t even challenge accusations because public opinion is meaningless or has always been against her. It only matters whether the law believes she’s innocent in this case. It’s a stark contrast to how fiercely she attempts to have her father’s name cleared, but then she’s always been one to sacrifice herself and honour him.  “It could have been fruitful for the investigation, if people weren’t so eager to offer accusations instead of information. I hope it’s not hindering your job any to be considered a suspect.”

[fauxbelles-blog]

calebdier:

His gaze softened slightly at Eden’s logic, knowing full well he was misdirecting his anger at someone who didn’t deserve it in the slightest. Caleb had always been quick to frustrate, his massive ego always getting the best of him and throwing him into more trouble than was needed. He only needed to remind himself that he had no guilt to admit to. Releasing a rather tense breath, he allowed himself to relax slightly as he peered over at Eden once more, something of an apology flashing in his eyes before reverting back to his usual demeanor. His tone is sardonic for his next question, bordering on teasing. “So what you’re saying is that this is a giant waste of time?”

Looking around the room at each of the suspects, Caleb only found himself bored and restless the longer he stood in the corner, finding this just as futile as he thought it would be in the beginning. Everyone was still in a frenzy, uselessly throwing out people’s names as if it would do any good. Quite frankly, it was the perfect time to slip out. “Do you want to leave?” He asked, glancing at her again as he gestured towards the door.

“I think that’s exactly what everyone’s avoiding saying.” Perhaps she should have been a little more rattled by his outburst, his bark when he was more than capable of biting, but she was too comfortable in thinking of Caleb as a protector instead. Although they had very different jobs to perform, they still had the same workplace, still had the same direction to head at the end of the night. The same people to look out for at the brothel. Odd that she often found herself looking out for him as well. This must have been one of those times, because rather than let him fall victim to the mob witnessing another potential outburst, she nodded. I never wanted to arrive.

Despite the fact everyone seemed to be preoccupied with their own concerns or accusations, she doubted their departure would go unnoticed. “You realise this will be case closed though? There are two of us, we’re leaving, obviously guilty.” Casts a cursory glance at those nearest, the most likely to witness or obscure, before looking back to him. “I wont be offended if you’d rather not be associated with me.” 

[fauxbelles-blog]

maxmarroquin:

TIME: 8:30. LOCATION: Town Hall. STATUS: Open.

“This? Is a complete waste of time. I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, Mr. Park, but this isn’t a whodunnit — someone was actually murdered, and, believe it or not, trying to intimidate the killer out of the shadows isn’t going to do anything but up the already rampant paranoia. Save the pitchforks for when we actually know who murdered Eric Rousseau, and, for God’s sake, let the police do their damn jobs.”

His own outburst remained at the top of his mind as the meeting drew to a close, his own anxiety at an all-time high. At the very least, Max was grateful he remained poised, despite shouting down one of the most important men still alive in the city. Accusations were being slung back and forth like mud, and he never wanted to dirty himself in the crossfire — though he’d be hard-pressed to admit it, Max certainly saw himself above the rest of the city’s squabbles. He wished he had never been obligated to attend, wanting to separate himself from the tragedy as much as possible. He was well-aware of the implications of his heel-faced turn, Eric’s body not even cold before Max had begun his criticisms, tearing apart his supposed friend’s legacy in written form, piece by piece. Despite his own personal feelings towards the man, they had maintained a facade of friendship for several years, so his apparent turn in loyalties would be, as he well knew, suspicious enough.

He needed to play it cool, but that was easier said than done. His rant had betrayed more of his feelings than he would’ve liked, and that put him in a more vulnerable position than if he had remained silent and sucked it up, tolerating the nonsense. Max wasn’t a politician like Eric Rousseau was, but he wasn’t an idiot, either. He knew he had a reputation to maintain, some degree of professionalism so he could keep this identity he’d so carefully constructed — and be able to discard it when enough time had passed. Life wasn’t a game to him so much as it was a program — and that outburst, like any other decision he’d made before, was a questionable command in a long string of writings. It didn’t have any particular inherent value, positive or negative; it was the mistakes he’d make later that would make it disastrous. To ward that off, he’d have to correct. And that meant he’d have to do the thing he dreaded most in this world: Max would have to schmooze.

A subtle swig from his flask in the coatroom later, and Max had re-appeared in the crowds to mingle. Wine on his breath and a sense of ease falling over him, and he was as ready as he’d ever be for the uncomfortable interactions to follow. Without further procrastination, Max jumped in, sidling up to the person closest, wearing a carefully neutral expression. “This whole thing is so performative – leaves a bad taste in my mouth.“

She’s grateful to him, even though she knows it wasn’t for her benefit, wasn’t intentional. His words saved her anyway. Grateful to him, but when doesn’t she have saccharine platitudes on the tip of her tongue, ready as offerings to press forward and form vaguely pleasant thoughts of her. Whisps of impressions she doesn’t really need to put effort into. Somehow it doesn’t seem the time to abuse it, so she thinks better of laying one at his feet. “Thank you.” Does it anyway because it seems more polite on the off chance he remembers. “For speaking up. It’s uncomfortable being the centre of attention.” There are many would disagree she’s sure, but in her case it’s a statement.  Her lips quirk and drop. for she only has a fleeting excuse to present anything close to a smile, softness in gratitude. 

“And you’re right. It’s not a charade”, she glances away, more because she has a habit of letting her gaze linger on a face too long than because she is surveying the rest, “but I suppose it makes it easier for some to actually imagine it’s more theatrical than real. Cover up whatever they’re scared of revealing by placing the spotlight on someone else.” 

“Fear seems to be the motivation for most things right now and that’s not really helpful in this situation.” She can smell the hint of alcohol from him, or perhaps she is making too many assumptions just like everyone else. It’s a reasonable guess only because she’s so familiar with it from work, from Eric. Wonders if it’s fear that’s had him reaching for the bottle. That bad taste he mentioned. 

[vickys]

[fauxbelles-blog]

wolfesque:

TIME: 8:00PM LOCATION: Town Hall STARTER TYPE: OPEN

Although the room had simmered to a drone of agitated murmurs, the noise, the accusations made beforehand still left a bad aftertaste. Especially for the Deputy Sheriff who, quite frankly, clung to his anger like a lifeline. After all, one couldn’t miss the way they all glared at him and Eden for something as simple as arriving late. “Honestly, there’s no point to this meeting if we’re just going to fucking point fingers,” Carter seethed. 

He wasn’t even addressing a specific person, necessarily. But rather, he was fuming to himself as per usual. Like an animal pacing around for prey that hadn’t even arrived yet.

Nevertheless, he caught another’s eyes landing on him, and so he slid his gaze their way. A sardonic smile crept along his lips, voice dripping with false saccharine. “I came here for a genuine discussion. I’m here to talk about how - hey - the majority of us hated Mr Rousseau, so we may as well sort out who doesn’t. How about you?” His final words were spaced out deliberately, eyes narrowed. A test, this was. After all, if he had anymore people on his case, they might as well be sorted out now.   

“I think that’s the entire point of the meeting, for some people anyway.” She shouldn’t have said it, a little too much weariness in the tone for someone trying to avoid encouraging anything more than a perception of neutrality. It slips out though, because her proximity to Carter since before the meeting has somehow curled around her mind like a sort of temporary kinship. Dulled her senses to the fact he’s the last person she should be flippant with.  She hmms quietly, eyes contracting and brow creasing, “I didn’t realise so many had such a low opinion of Mr Rousseau,” only the formality is a falsehood the rest genuine enough, “so no I don’t.. uh, didn’t have any strong feelings toward the man.” 

“Aren’t politicians generally disliked though? That might kind of skew your suspect pool to ask such a question.” She shook her head, “By all means discount me because I didn’t hate him, but it seems a little leading.”