maggie’s filter was few and far between, especially when it came to harry. one would think he’d been gone long enough for him to be forgotten about, a fact that would’ve been true if she had not always been a little wary of him during his time in irving. perhaps why her next words tumble from her lips and across the diner booth without a second thought. ❝ be honest, ❞ a bold start, all things considered, ❝ are the aliens in the hotel, or under it ? surely that’s why you’re messing about over there. ❞ everything circled back around to aliens, in her opinion, and it was certainly a more favorable option to her asking what kind of death they’re trying to cover up, instead. / @hiqhtide
not for the first time, maggie’s words leave him utterly bewildered --- bemused, beguiled, insert word of choice here. had she always been like this ? even with something in it for him ( namely attention, his sole motivator back then ), it was hard to imagine himself ever engaging in this brand of back and forth. thankfully, ten years and a stanford - won mba later, he’s come to the table with a stacked deck. “ i’m always honest. ” and out comes that handshake grin, courtesy of invisalign and frequent whitening sessions at soho smile. “ and i’m happy to tell you anything you’d like to know --- this friday night, at my family’s place on aquila drive. ” he leans forward and lowers his voice, as if to ward off any prospective crashers. “ i’m throwing a dinner party. inner circle only, just a few familiar faces from back in the day --- yours included, i hope. ”
“any chance you have any experience with breaking into someone else’s phone? i may have left my ex a drunkenly embarrassing voicemail that needs to disappear pronto.”
@irvingstarters
“ have you tried putting it in rice ? the phone, i mean. ” pretty sure he read that somewhere. google, maybe ? technology was never his strong suit. “ i’m sure whatever you said wasn’t that bad. just own up to it. who knows ? maybe you guys will laugh about it someday. ”
“how did you turn out so selfish?” those words ringing through sky’s head as she walked out the door of the trailer she once shared with her brother and her mom. her brother still lives there and her mom only comes around when she needs something. this time? money and food. it’s not that sky didn’t have it – it’s the fact that she knew selina would be spending it on drugs and she’d rather not wake up in the morning to see selina on the news. but selina didn’t see it that way. selina would rather guilt and punish sky for not jumping when she said jump. sky couldn’t tell you why something so small would bother her so much. you’d think after growing up with a mom like hers, she’d be used to the disappointing storm that trailed behind selina everywhere she went. but, maybe it’s the fact that selina was still her mom… god, sky needed a drink. getting into her car, she heads out into the dark of night, making her way down to vela pier – which was still alive with people enjoying the lights and beach bonfire happening just down the beach a little. skylar walks into the crowd, checking to see where she could grab a shot … or 4. drinking on an empty stomach isn’t something she did frequently – but it’s something she does tonight. after a round of shots she took with total strangers, she goes to sit by the bon fire – hoping she could forget her life for just a few moments. @irvingstarters
daytime was easy. the poseidon kept him up to his elbows in distractions, hours killed arguing with contractors and trying to salvage his favorite italian loafers after an untimely pipe burst. if he wasn’t at the hotel, he’d snag a booth at that diner with the nauseatingly wholesome name and set up camp with his macbook, trudging his way through a mountain of emails with a slice of cobbler at his side. nights were another story. the idea of going back to that big, empty house full of cobwebs and lies --- he just couldn’t stomach it. tonight, harry got behind the wheel of his faithful jag and drove until he saw beach. it was as good a place as any. a group of townies were having a bonfire, a seemingly nightly occurrence among this set. he sits for a half hour or so, sipping from his flask while everyone else drank piss - warm beer from solo cups, and after witnessing a kid in board shorts do a shaky keg stand, he decides he’s seen enough. “ god, i’m too old for this. ” did he say that out loud ? guess so. catching the eye of someone around his age, he holds out his flask in a show of comradery. “ interested ? not much, but it’s better than whatever they’re drinking. ”
open to : all / @irvingstarters
location : the Beach
“ kinda messed up, isn’t it? ” she says aloud, more to herself than the person walking past, as she bends down to pick up yet another plastic bottle and place it into her oversized tote that she carries just for this reason. “ it’s so beautiful down here, and yet others don’t care enough to do their part to preserve that beauty. ” with that, she steps closer to the other, quickly pulling up a virtual flyer on her phone ( no paper, of course, that’s a waste ), holding it out towards the other. “ we’re actually doing a big beach clean-up this weekend. you should stop by, if you’re free. ”
-
“ so messed up. ” he echoes, nodding vigorously as the weight of her words set in. he absorbs them like a sponge, ready to believe anything spoken with that much conviction. “ i found a subway wrapper on the sandbar yesterday --- and the closest subway is, like, two towns over. ” and it wasn’t just subway ! beer cans, straw wrappers --- god, he was starting to sound like lane. despite the wayfarers perched atop his head, he uses his hand as a makeshift visor as he scans the digital flyer with genuine interest, eyes squinting as the letters takes shape before him. “ this weekend. alright --- cool. should i bring anything ? ”
will is still victim to a perpetual rain of thought. it’s perhaps because of this that he does not consider the consequences of throwing a book at the back of someone’s head in a library hallway, but it’s quite literally out of his hands now. it’s a paperback. he wasn’t aiming for anyone in particular but it’s struck home regardless, bouncing off the back of someone’s skull and flopping to the ground like a bird post-window collision. instead of booking it, will stands there and tries to look innocent. he pulls another book off the shelf and opens it to a random page. it’s only fucking wednesday, he thinks furiously. wednesday! @irvingstarters
“ did you just throw a book at my head ? ” his words are incredulous as he whirls on the kid, sizing him up in stunned disbelief. harry doesn’t know whether to laugh or take legal action. he’s only been in town a month. surely he’d know if he’d made enemies already --- at least the book - throwing kind. “ you know, in some states, that’s considered assault. ” maybe. probably ? he makes a mental note to google it later. “ lucky for you, i just consider it being a dick. what exactly did i do to warrant the wrath of . . . ” he snatches up the offending paperback and scans the cover. “ john fucking steinbeck ? ”
boxes upon boxes, most of the recently shipped variety — he’d very much subscribed to the “nothing in the apartment but a futon and television” lifestyle that was stereotypical of guys his age, though if it was more from lack of funds or lack of taste was anybody’s guess. speaking of taste — where was the pizza he ordered? he looked around the room as though that would make a pizza appear, only for a knock to sound on his door — had he managed to summon a pizza with just his mind? he stepped around the stacks towards where he was pretty sure the door was, swinging it open after accidentally knocking over an open box of something with a lot of packing peanuts. shit, he’d have to clean that up later. as he turned his attention back to the person at the door, his brows furrowed — no pizza in sight. “you’re — not delivering my pizza,” he said, as though he was hoping they would deliver a different answer. | @irvingstarters
“ damn, bitch, you live like this ? ” devoid of formalities for his oldest friend, harry steps over the threshold and grimaces as his italian leather sole comes down on something --- squishy. you can imagine his relief to discover, on further inspection, that it was a packing peanut and nothing more sinister. a cursory glance at drew’s surroundings and his first thought is where’s the rest of it ? the second : when was my last tetanus shot ? he’d seen airport bathrooms with more curb appeal. “ sorry to disappoint, but this doesn’t really go with little caesars. ” from behind his back, harry presents a thirty - year bottle of scotch, which he plunks atop a stack of cardboard boxes. “ courtesy of the late ewan cho’s secret stash. don’t suppose you’ve got a corkscrew in one of these ? ”
closed to : @hiqhtide
location : pearson’s fish fry
despite living in irving all her life, she’s only set foot in this establishment less times than she could count on one hand. pearson’s is an irving institution, of that she’s aware, but it’s down-home decor and beachy vibe didn’t exactly fit the aesthetic of her family. she could hardly see her parents pulling up here on a friday night, that’s for sure. and she didn’t do much socializing in high school, so when other kids were going to pearson’s after soccer practice, for their cast parties, on their first dates, she was likely sitting at home working on being the best. but all that nostalgia is the reason she’s here. her latest clients, both lifelong irving residents, have an attachment to this place, and for some reason think that pearson’s coconut shrimp and lobster rolls ( are they even actually lobster? has anyone checked? ) would be the perfect reception food. she’s set up a meeting, something that shocked the employee that she spoke to on the phone to arrange it with ( she assumes they don’t do many of those here ), but much like she expected, there was no one waiting to greet her. “ hello ? ” she calls out, a bit nosy as she pokes her head into the kitchen. it’s a few hours before opening, but they best not have forgotten. “ where the hell are they, ” she mutters to herself.
-
one of many unspoken rules devised to keep the place afloat, the rare catering job they received typically fell under nathan’s jurisdiction. the eldest brother was by far the most agreeable of the clan, and as a father to twins, he happened to possess the patience of a saint --- definitely required to go toe - to - toe with irving’s bridezilla population. unfortunately, the dynamic duo that was casey’s eight year old nephews decided today was the day to rage against the machine with a crayola mural outside their classroom ( way cooler than anything he did in third grade; once he was done lamenting about having to haul ass out of bed before eleven, he had to admit he was impressed. )
between the trill of the fire alarm and the radio static overhead, he somehow misses the bride - to - be's arrival. after button - mashing the alarm into silence, he turns on his heel and startles at the sight of a customer in the kitchen --- though he quickly recovers. “ sorry about the wait. i was making a breakfast burrito and accidentally started a grease fire. ” yet another thing barely clinging to life in their thousand - year old kitchen. god, they needed this gig. “ hey . . . the langley wedding, right ? ” wiping his ash - covered palms on a dishrag, he throws it over his shoulder and sticks out his hand. “ casey --- pearson. congrats on the engagement. ”
* charles melton, cis man + he & him | you know harrison “harry” cho, right? they’re twenty eight, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, one month? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to american money by børns like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that barely - used furniture gathering dust beneath linen sheets, eight - car garage full of vintage relics from all over the world, a helipad - sized chip on one’s shoulder thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is december 15th, so they’re a sagittarius, which is unsurprising, all things considered.
o hey, new sam muse just dropped ! from the makers of solo brain cell surfer boy comes : i hate my dad but make it Expensive ™. this got way too long but fear not <3 there’s a tldr at the end
tw : parental neglect, plane crash, death
let’s get one thing straight : harrison cho is no stranger to the lap of luxury. his formative years were spent within the walls of a manhattan fortress on what would come to be known as billionaire’s row. being a cho meant many things, but this above all else; perfection was not just expected --- it was essential for survival. like his two brothers before him, he earned top marks at the best private schools in the city, in no small part to the throng of ivy - certified tutors on the family payroll. columbia undergrad, a grueling two years at stanford for his mba --- he could never stand to be away from the city for too long --- and finally, a nepotism - won spot at cho international, a real estate developer responsible for hundreds of skyscrapers all over the world.
it’s all disgustingly cliché. poor little rich boy with the world at his fingertips, yet all he yearned for was his father’s love. in his mother’s eyes, harry could do no wrong. ava was an art curator, constantly traveling the globe, seeking the priceless. ewan was the opposite --- everything had a number, a ranking, from the highest - earning property in his arsenal, to the general competence of his three young sons. from the very start, it was clear there was never a paternal bone in his body, but for his wife, he tried.
harry grew up thinking his parents were hopelessly in love. despite his shortcomings as a father, ewan doted on his wife. he showered her with gifts --- one - of - a - kind pieces from his contacts at cartier, purple azaleas flown in from the hwangmaesan mountains. they graced the covers of forbes and fortune, a refreshing foil to the loveless marriages typical of high rolling power couples. and while they were frequently on opposite hemispheres for their respective careers, they never missed an anniversary.
and then there were the summers, when the cho’s would swap their pristine penthouse for an equally pristine estate in none other than irving, north carolina. the sprawling, aquila drive property with its famous underground garage stood stagnant for three of four seasons, but for two months out of the year, it was --- not exactly teeming with life, but occupied. every year, harry’s parents vowed to put work on the backburner, and while ava at least attempted to keep her promise, ewan spent most of his time behind closed doors, whispering in hushed tones. vacation was supposed to be relaxing, but he seemed even more high strung than usual in irving.
still, harry had no trouble finding ways to keep busy, even in a small town like irving. he assembled a gang of summer friends, usually out - of - towners with similar backgrounds. he’d party in their dorado road beach homes, cruise around the harbor in their boats, flirt shamelessly with the locals --- usually by offering them a spin in his 60s jag or a ride in the family jet.
but in august of harry’s seventeenth summer, tragedy struck, and things would never be the same again. ava got a lead on an original rembrandt and broke the no - work vacation rule for the first time in history to attend an auction for the piece. but she never made it to dubai. long story short, the jet malfunctioned somewhere over the atlantic and went down, with harry’s mother inside. and so, the remaining chos packed up their belongings and left the beach house, never to return. at least, not for ten years.
remember when i said ewan at least tried to be a father, if only for ava’s sake? well, that went right out the window after he buried his wife, subsequently burying himself into his work to cope with his grief. only this time, he was not just neglectful. he was cruel. harry’s brothers, both already immersed in the family business, soon learned not to engage. they had an unspoken agreement to think of their father as a boss alone --- it was the only way to make it through the day.
but harry couldn’t help but nip at his heels, begging for scraps of approval. all through undergrad, he’d stop by cho international with dinner. but ewan didn’t want steak, he wanted italian, and christ, harry, would you shave that small rodent off your upper lip already?
his time on the west coast actually did him a lot of good. though he hated california with a burning passion, the distance from his father helped harry realize he’d never be the man he wanted him to be --- just like ewan would never be the father he wanted him to be. when he took his place at cho international two years later, he was transformed : confident, silver - tongued, with the sort of easy charisma that made every prospective client feel like he was their best friend.
four years later, ewan cho died alone in his office. he’d been neglecting himself since ava, working himself to the bone and ignoring every doctor’s plea to slow down. he had a heart attack, and harry and his brothers didn’t even know he was sick.
six months have passed since his father’s death, and with his brothers at the helm of cho international, harry was charged with the task of combing through his father’s assets and finances. that’s how he wound up in irving for the first time in a decade. he’d forgotten about the old beach house, but when he stepped inside for the first time, it was like no time had passed. it was comforting in a way --- he’d gotten older, but the house had stayed the same.
one afternoon, while going through his father’s desk - away - from - desk, he came across a locked drawer. he had to call out a locksmith to pry it open, and when he finally got inside, he stumbled upon another life. pictures, report cards, bank statements from accounts he never knew existed. it didn’t take much to put two and two together : the bastard had a whole other family in irving.
he’s yet to tell anyone about his discovery --- not even his brothers. harry has half the mind to dump the evidence in a trash can, set it on fire, and pretend it never happened, but the little boy in him can’t help but ask what if.
in the meantime, he’s taken on a bit of a passion project here in irving. the old poseidon hotel. shuttered in ‘99 after suffering severe hurricane damage, harry has purchased the building and has plans to restore it to its former glory --- more or less. it’s been a decent distraction while he decides whether to reach out to his half sibling, but distractions only go so far when your whole world’s been turned upside down.
TLDR : harry cho, manhattan native and son of real estate tycoon ewan and art curator ava. the cho family summered in irving back in the day, they actually have a summer home on aquila drive that’s been abandoned for the last ten years. more recently, his bastard dad ( dad-stard ) kicked the bucket, and harry’s back in town to go through his things and get this : he stumbles across evidence that ewan had a whole other family in irving. he’s been here for about a month, living in the old beach house, restoring an old, hurricane - damaged hotel, generally being a high - functioning disaster in really sexy clothes <3 love him
headcanons !
despite having grown up in the city, harry’s big into cars. his father’s collection of vintage sports cars has been gathering dust at the beach house for ten years, and harry’s been fixing them up. he’s a pretty decent mechanic for someone who uses la mer hand cream !
not afraid to get his hands dirty ! he’ll be at the hotel, sifting through drywall in his three hundred dollar chinos, micromanaging everyone. the workers wish he’d just go home --- he’s an actual terror to have on a construction site.
dated a masterchef finalist a few years back and picked up a few things. the relationship didn’t last but his passion for cooking did ! could absolutely see him throwing dinner parties in his huge empty house simply because he can’t stand to be alone.
has hated flying ever since he lost his mom. he kind of has to suck it up for work, but it makes him anxious and crabby and he’s fucked up for the whole week beforehand.
lifelong rich boy has no idea how much things cost. see below :
Magda, wearing a pair of pilot goggles that made her look as if she was about to start melding, an oversized t-shirt with wolves on and seemingly no pants underneath, lazily held onto a leash attached to a snuffling hog in one hand and a dark green Nokia in the other. The hog, stoutest belly ever recorded, snorted it’s way through an unguarded flower bed, budging up every root with it’s snout. Magda did nothing to prevent it, clicking mindlessly through her game of Snake, until she caught eyes with someone passing. Expressionless, it was rare that Magda demonstrated a visible reaction to anything – even a plummeting plane or a spontaneous combustion. “You want to pet Chungus?” The hog’s name, apparently. Maybe not. She did like lying. He tore up another flower, sneezed, then gobbled at the stem. “Unless you’re homophobic. He’s LGBT.”
“ uh --- sure ? one sec. nemo, stay ! ” the pearson family pit mix continued to pull insistently at his leash, his ginormous brown eyes sizing up the hog with a cocktail of curiosity and terror. casey got a momentary kick out of imagining nemo thinking chungus was the weirdest - looking dog he’d ever seen. when the tugging finally ceased, he crouched down and gave the critter a heavy - handed pat, right on the head. “ whoa . . . that’s sick. i’ve never met a gay pig before. or any pig, really. ” to be honest, he’s still not entirely convinced this isn’t some wild, drug - induced hallucination. irving wasn’t exactly farmville, usa, and was that a nokia ? it looked just like the one his sister used to have --- fifteen years ago. “ i don’t know why, but i thought he’d feel like one of those dodgeballs. y’know, the soft, bumpy ones they made us use in p.e after that kid, like, busted his face open ? ”
hit with the unexpected news to how much work and money needed to be put into her (dad’s) houseboat, natalia’s been pacing back and forth on the dock trying to figure out how to pay it. she wasn’t one to give something like this up so easily. truthfully, for all she knew, the guy she hired for her yearly inspection could just be trying to haggle her like a car’s salesman. but she also knew how old this thing was. thinking about it while pacing wasn’t working for her. she needed to be out on the water. looking over at her dad’s sailboat, she decided to take it out for a couple hours. it wasn’t a special occasion, but it was important enough to her. and she couldn’t think as well on land. a habit formed with her dad. as nat was untieing the cleat hitch knot that held it to the dock, she misstepped and found herself in the water, cell phone and all. “damn it!” she cursed, trying to get back up on the dock.
open to all @irvingstarters
bleary - eyed and nursing a hangover from the night before, he wakes with a jolt and water seeping beneath his collar. as he furiously scrubs the sleep from his eyes, casey fights to piece together his surroundings. he’d fallen asleep on a lounge chair, clutching his surfboard to his chest like the world’s pointiest body pillow. turns out, he never made it home last night. which meant . . . “ nat ? ” he ventures, wincing through his attempt at hoisting himself upright. approaching the boat’s bow, he finds its captain spouting an impressive string of curses as she thrashes in the mid - morning current. “ so this is a thing. ” even half - dead and in dire need of electrolytes, he can’t contain his laughter as he offers a helping hand --- though his lack of tact is swiftly punished by an onslaught of pain between his temples. “ need a hand ? or like . . . some floaties ? pretty sure my nephew has a pair you could borrow. ”
gummygunk
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