[ julian morris, male, he/him ] â spotted in the streets of brooklyn, itâs GARLAND KOTSI. they have lived in the city for THEIR WHOLE LIFE, working as a SOCIAL WORKER. the 33 year old will probably be seen around PARK SLOPE a lot, seeing as thatâs where they live. people say they can be a bit EMOTIONALLY AVOIDANT and SELF-DESTRUCTIVE, but friends know them to be EMPATHETIC and LOYAL. you know for sure youâve found them when youâve come across MUTED EARTH TONES, A MESSENGER BAG FULL OF PAPERS, and A HAND HOVERING OVER THE CALL BUTTON. welcome to brooklyn, itâs been waiting for you! â [ snorehead, 29, GMT-5/EST, he/him, cancer/alcoholism ]
Full Name: garland amado kotsi. goes by "Gar".
Born in: queens, NY.
Lives in: park slope, NY, in a rented two-bedroom apartment.
He LIKES late-night walks in the city when everything is quiet, secondhand bookstores and the smell of old books, both playing and watching basketball, solving problems (others' never his own), hand-writing letters (he never sends them), comfortable silence, summertime, working on his car (his dad's old '89 M3 Coupe), and alternative indie music.
He HATES expectations, stagnation, forced small talk, phone calls (his ringtone makes him anxious), being complimented, remembering old mistakes, being vulnerable, and being in public or large gatherings.
He's AFRAID OF not becoming who he wants to be, and also not living up to other's expectations. He dreads letting people down or disappointing them. Also, bugs.
"One of your kids...?" The addendum caused an involuntary heavy exhale from Dario. He hadn't considered the individual before him incapable of having children, and he wasn't jumping to conclusions on how the man had maybe fallen into fatherhood/guardianship, but he did not look like the father to Sam.
Either way, his hyperactive imagination of what could've been was irrelevant. The distraction caused Garfield no favors, and it only kept him out of the kitchen longer. Dario spun and beelined down the hallway at a hasty pace. Before long, they'd reached Dario's "office" (a glorified room, one he rarely used but was where he hid all the clerical/administrative information about his staff, a place for someone else to do all of this.)
He reached for a binder, and frowned. "Sam, Sam, Sam..." He squinted at the folder as he flicked through the pages. "Have you called home? I actually don't think we've seen him recently... though he might have some friends in the kitchen...." @garlandkotsi
Unbothered by the confusion of his own making, Gar followed Dario down the hall and fell behind when he failed to match his pace. He was a bit preoccupied with taking in the behind-the-scenes of a locale the public didn't get to see.
By the time he passed through the threshold to Dario's office, the Chef was already flipping through the pages, and positing an inquiry that Gar didn't immediately respond to. Ethics training that had been drilled into his head for years brought him to a harsh and sudden halt.
"Well," he started, clearly choosing his words carefully. "A lot of the kids I work with are facing housing instability. Calling home isn't always an option."
It felt like toeing the ethics line, but Gar had convinced himself Dario had something in that binder that would clue him into Sam's situation.
"Do you think it'd be possible to talk to them? I'll be quick, and-- thank you. I know this is inconveniencing you, but I really appreciate it." @darioespinoza
Rowan knew what he was thinking, what he wasnât saying, even as she looked at him with a kind of detached gaze she could see it. Theyâd known each other long enough to get the subtle underlying intricacies even in this state. It made her want to close the gap between them to give him a hugâŠsubconsciously that is, but she didnât - and she wouldnât. She just remained hovering where she was in the aisle.Â
âYeahâŠyeah itâs a good time to beâŠdoing groceries.â She mumbled, swapping her basket to the other hand as she looked down at what it contained. Instant coffee, a lime, two mini packets of fruit loops, vinegar, and a can of tomato soup. She didnât even like tomato soup. âItâs been a while she agreed, looking up at him with a small nod of her head. So much more she wanted to say but didnât.
She didnât move towards him. She didnât say the things she wanted to say. She just stood there.Â
âI donât know if my dinner ideas areâŠI donât think Iâve really formulated a proper idea. It looks like I might be having soupâŠ.orâŠfruit loops and coffee. Breakfast for dinner - right?â She tried to joke with a small empty laugh. âWhat are you getting?â After a beat she added. "You look good."  @garlandkotsi
The tension between them made his chest feel tight. It wasn't just the obvious elephant in the room-- awkward, impromptu small talk with an ex was never fun-- but the underlying worry that Gar had trouble keeping down. It bubbled up and showed on his face faster than he could consciously stop it, and he only hoped she wouldn't mistake his concern for pity.
"You do too." He said without hesitation, maybe because it was what he'd been wanting to say. Pivoting, Gar refocused on her dinner plans and replied with a small, fleeting smile; "Dinner of champions."
Rowan's empty laugh was more than he could handle. Ever the fixer, Gar decided in that moment that he was going to make sure she left with a real dinner. Rather than push her when she was having a rough time, he took a more gentle approach. The subtle art of suggestion.
"Ever heard of Ravioli a la Betsy? Spinach and ricotta packed ravioli with a creamy basil sauce." Even thinking about it was enough to make his mouth water.
"I make it when I'm tired from work or feeling lazy. Hands off and only takes like⊠fifteen minutes." His expression and words had warmed considerably.
Dario couldn't help but chuckle. The notion that sticking your head through a circular window in a kitchen door searching for something not yet determined (though Dario would later discover) gawking would not, in any way, bother any stressed, overworked culinarians desperate to ensure food was ready on time was laughable. The laugh didn't intend to be patronizing, he simply found Garland's sentiment humorous. So innocently self-imposing that it was, unknowingly, obtrusive.
"Ah, yes. One of the busboys? I haven't seen him recently, actually... hm." Dario nearly unloaded all the information he could possibly recollect about the young man that hadn't shown up for work, before he realised he didn't know the individual he was currently talking to from adam.
"I can check the books in my office, if you want. Why do you need him, though?"
Gar searched Dario's face as he worked on recalling the name. He was blissfully ignorant to the fact he was imposing on the overworked kitchen staff; Gar himself was stretched thin following up on this and it showed in the dull way his eyes followed Dario. Then Dario mentioned recognizing the name and his eyes lit up, only for the twinge of relief on his face to disappear as fast as it came.
"If it's not too much trouble." Gar said, offering an apologetic smile.
"Sam's one of my kids-- not my actual child, I mean." He cleared his throat. "I'm a social worker, and he's one of my cases, so I'm keeping an eye on him. He has a tendency to go no contact and disappear." @darioespinoza
Gar chuckled, shaking his head as Theo mentioned money. "It's okay, really! I'm just glad he's back with his people." His gaze flicked down to Roy, who seemed content now. It really was reward enough for him, but the offer of coffee, though, made him pause.
"I wouldn't say no to coffee." He said, mouth quirked into a small smile as they exchanged introductions. "I'm Garland. Nice to meet you, Theo. And you too, Roy." His hands shifted in his pockets, his posture easy, the undercurrent in Theo's words not going unheard.
"Big changes like that take some time, for people and dogs. He'll settle in." He said, his smile warming. @theokent
It was about time she left the house - Rowan didnât want to be in the grocery store right now but there was only so long she could live off stale crackers and cigarettes before her stomach would start to eat itself out of desperation. Still her shopping style right now was hardly focused. More she was aimlessly wandering up and down the otherwise empty aisles paying very little attention to where she was going as she stared into the middle distance - okay sure she was facing the shelves but not truly seeing what was there.
Truth be told the model wasnât having a very good run of it right now, not in terms of work because that was arguably flourishing what with the fashion week bookings sheâd gotten, but emotionally? She was a husk. Her relationship with Garland had been far from perfect just like all her relationships but it had been one that felt like it had a trueâŠrealness to it. Possibly because he wasnât in the public eye like Austin had been, so their relationship had some privacy that she craved. Except when it hadnât had anything because they both gave too much of themselves to work and not enough to each other. And now here he was standing in front of her having caught her looking like a dear in the headlights, sunken cheeks and eyes as she blinked at him.
âShit. Fuck. Hey. I was doing groceriesâŠâ a lame explanation that hardly made sense nor was it needed. @garlandkotsi
Gar looked at Rowan for a beat, taking in the exhaustion under her eyes, the hollow look on her face, the way she wasnât really seeing anything. His chest tightened. For now, dinner didnât matterâhe was just worried about her.
âYou-â The words stopped abruptly. He exhaled, recalibrating. âYeah, me too.â He didnât need to elaborate. There were things unsaid-- things he didnât need to voice: the way she looked, how he was concerned, how something felt off-- but that wasnât the point now.
His eyes flicked to her basket. He could feel the concern knot in his gut, but he said nothing about it. Instead, he softened the space between them with a quiet observation. âItâs been a while, huh.â He let the silence stretch, weighty but unpressured, before he pivoted.
âWhatcha getting?â His tone remained casual, unhurried, and ultimately lightened with a faint chuckle. âMaybe I can steal some dinner ideas off you, âcause Iâm blanking.â @rowanvankessel
They quickly lost sight of him which didn't make it easy for them, their heart pounding so hard as they were showing people Roy's photo on their phone to see if anyone had seen him run by. Luckily a few people gave them directions when they finally bumped into someone with- "Roy!?" They didn't even let the person finish their question, that Theo was kneeling down in font of the dog in the middle of the sidewalk. The dog recognized them instantly, licking their face. "Oh my God, don't ever do that to me again." Honestly, they were tearing up a little as they kissed the dog a few times but quickly pulled back to put the harness on him. "Sorry, hi. I've been running around looking for him." Finally, Theo looked up at the person who found Roy. "Thank you so much. He... run off."
Gar stood off to the side, watching with a small, soft smile as Theo fawned over Roy. Their reunion reminded him of those airport videos of dogs running to their owners with sad music, the kind designed to make people cry.
When Theo looked up, Garâs smile widened into something polite, and he waved his free hand dismissively.
âYouâre welcome,â he said. âHe didnât get too far. I found him sitting outside my door, maybe a block and a half away.â
With Roy now securely in Theoâs care, Gar relinquished the borrowed leash, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets for warmth.
âI remember chasing mine around the city all the time as a kid. You gotta watch these escape artists like a hawk, huh, buddy?â He split his attention between Theo and the dog, the latter getting a knowing smile.
[ STARTER FOR @theokent ]
[ THE NEIGHBOURHOOD, park slope ]
Gar's day started with barking-- not his usual alarm. It wasnât uncommon; some of his neighbors had dogs, and they could start up at any hour. But this barking was close, in fact, it was right outside his front door.
Coffee in hand, he stepped out and found the source: a small, shivering dog with no tags, no collar, and big, expectant eyes.
And just like that, his day off turned into a tour around the neighborhood.
Now, one cold coffee and an hour later, Gar walked down the sidewalk with the dog trotting beside him, tethered by a borrowed leash. Theyâd stopped at every hydrant, lamppost, and street sign the dog took an interest in, but the usual spots turned up nothingâno flyers, no panicked owner, no one who recognized the little guy. He was starting to wonder just how far the dog had wandered before ending up at his doorstep.
Slowing as he neared someone outside a building, Gar offered a small wave and a polite smile.
"Hi! Sorry to bother you, I found this dog outside my door this morning with no tags." He gestured toward his unexpected companion. "You wouldn't happen to recognize him, would you?"
[ STARTER FOR @rowanvankessel ]
[ HARVEST MARKET, williamsburg ]
The north side of Williamsburg wasn't Garland's normal stomping ground. If it hadn't been for checking up on one of his kids (clients) and that meeting running late, he would have gone straight home. Instead, he found himself weighing the lesser evil between delivery or stopping at a grocer on the way home, and Harvest Market on North 5th was just about the only one open he could find. He pulled his '89 M3 into the parking garage, paid the ridiculous fee, and rounded the corner into the store.
Gar was happy to find it mostly empty. After a long day, he didn't fancy being in a crowd. Tugging the collar of his canvas jacket tighter, he tried to ward off the lingering chill of the New York winter that seeped through the walls. Without so much as a semblance of a meal in mind, he began to wander the aisles with the expectation that at some point, he would find his appetite.
His absentminded browsing led him around a corner--and right into another shopper.
"Sorry, my bad--" The apology left him on instinct, but he stopped short as recognition struck.
A busy start to the evening, Dario hadn't been given much opportunity for respite. Lately, more and more staff were ending up no-shows, and Dario was far too busy and far too senior to handle the finer managerial matters of re-distributing the workload. And, if there was one thing to be said about a line kitchen, there was no such thing as fair distribution of workload no matter how much staff you had available.
Finally, a moment to breathe, and as he took a second to take in his surroundings and ground himself within the boundaries of reality, an unknown, novel face caught his attention, peeking in through the kitchen door like a peeping tom or a cat-burglar. Dario couldn't help a quiet scoff at the very sight, and then he begun to approach.
Popping the door open and situating himself in the doorway, he grinned over at the man.
"Hey! Can I help you? This is where the magic happens, the bathrooms are that way." He remarked playfully, jerking a finger across the restaurant floor. @garlandkotsi
All that Gar could see through the porthole window was a sea of unfamiliar faces, not the one he was looking for. He was far from oblivious to the side-eyed glances from passing servers or the cooks beyond the door, wondering what the strange guy was waiting for. His search was of greater importance than the prickling discomfort that came with being unwantedly perceived.
The door opened again and, for the first time since his prying eyes began their search, he was greeted directly by an older man. Gar had become so accustomed to being avoided that Dario's words snatched his attention wholesale.
"Oh-- sorry!" Gar said. "I didn't wanna bother you guys. You seem busy."
As he spoke, his gaze briefly flicked past Dario before settling back.
"I'm actually looking for somebody. Is Sam working today? Sam Marciano?" He said, his face an open book of curiousity and concern.
It wasn't unusual for one of Garland's kids to be distant or lose contact for a few days. Sometimes, they just needed a little space. But it was different for Sam, and Gar knew better than to let this one slide. Their last distant check-in and noncommittal text, paired with an already shaky record, set off alarms.
In hindsight, stopping by La Vita Vino during the dinner rush wasnât the best timing. As he stepped inside, the murmur of conversation, the rush of servers, and expected busyness served as a clear reminder of that. Rather than hover at the overwhelmed hostess stand, he slipped onto the dining floor.
A passing server, balancing a full tray, barely slowed as Gar raised a hand. "Hey, sorry. Is Sam working tonight?" The server glanced toward the kitchen, shrugged, and motioned to the hostess, clearly passing the buck. Gar's brows knit together. Instead of waiting, he went and snooped through the kitchen door windows.
