Justmayhemfolks

Olivia Moore / rp account

[fclsehearted]

Zara clinked her tray lightly against Olivia’s raised glass, grin flashing in the low light. “To dodging boring company—may we always be so lucky.” She tilted her head toward the bar, where the talkative blonde was already in full swing with his new audience, hands flapping as though the story needed choreography. “See? Like a shark. Always circling, never quiet. Give it ten minutes and he’ll be on about the turtle again, only this time with sound effects.”

She leaned a hip against the edge of Olivia’s table, lowering her voice. “Smart move, though. Free drink without the sermon? That’s the dream. You’ve cracked the system.” A quick wink followed before she straightened, adjusting her tray with a practiced ease. “Next round’s on me, habibti. Consider it hazard pay for surviving Club Eden on a Friday.”

Before Olivia could answer, a bartender waved Zara over with a shout about an order gone missing. She sighed, rolling her eyes in mock despair. “See?" she teased, slipping away into the crowd.

A few minutes later, Zara reappeared at Olivia’s table, tray now balanced on one hand with a neat precision. She set it down on the empty chair, sliding into the seat opposite with a grin that looked far too pleased for someone clocked in. “Good news—my break just started. So unless you were waiting on another turtle story, you’re stuck with me instead.”

[justmayhemfolks]

Smart move, Zara had called it. Olivia’s lips quirked. It hadn’t been strategy, just instinct. A survival reflex, learned in boardrooms and gallery openings: spot the talkers, the energy vampires, and slip sideways before they locked on. The free drink was incidental. The real prize was the quiet. The space to think. Club Eden was paradoxically peaceful when you knew how to fold yourself into its margins.

Her gaze drifted to the dance floor. Bodies moved in a liquid, hypnotic sway, shadows cut by strobing lights. Then drifted back to the bar. The blonde guy was indeed miming something now… arms wide, mouth forming an exaggerated O. The turtle story. She suppressed a sigh. Zara was right. Predictable. Liv couldn’t help but laugh.

Zara reappeared like magic, sliding into the chair opposite her. Liv’s shoulders loosened almost imperceptibly. There was a warmth to Zara, a contained wildfire. Safe, somehow. Familiar. The kind that just made you feel comfortable. "Break? Since when does Eden grant mercy? But I’m not complaining. Definitely a much better company than Mr. Turtle over there. But hey, at least your job never gets boring, does it?”

[memoirsofmuses]

Closed starter for @justmahemfolks

Carlos had been sent to the hotel at about three in the morning. As he reached the main entrance, he adjusted the collar of his uniform. His eyes scanning the area out of habit. Olivia, the maid who had called in the tip, was easy to spot. She was a slight, nervous-looking young woman in a starched uniform, standing by the the reception desk. He approached her with a confident stride, his gaze focused.

"Miss, I'm Agent Carlos Gutierrez, are you the one who called?" he asked, flashing his badge. "Thank you for reaching out to us. Can you tell me what happened?" He listened to her observations, clinging to her every word. “Take us there, please,“ he instructed, his hand resting on the holster of his gun, ready for whatever they might encounter.

They followed Olivia through the lobby, past the brass elevators, and down the carpeted hallways. The hotel was eerily quiet, the only sounds being their own footsteps. As they approached room 315, Carlos noticed the faint smell of something unpleasant—a mix of cleaning chemicals and something less identifiable. His instincts sharpened. They stopped. “In here?“

[justmayhemfolks]

Olivia nodded, her fingers twisting nervously in the folds of her apron. "Yes, sir. Room 315." She hesitated, lowering her voice to a whisper. "I clean this floor every night. Always empty, this room. But tonight..." She swallowed hard, avoiding Carlos's intense gaze. "The door was cracked open. Just an inch. And that smell... like old meat left in the sun. Worse than the dumpsters out back."

She fumbled with the master keycard, her hand trembling. The lock clicked. Olivia pushed the door open slowly, flinching as the stench rolled out in a thick, sickening wave. She didn't step inside. Instead, she pointed a shaking finger toward the open bathroom door across the dim room.

The bathroom light was off, but light from the bedroom lamp spilled in, just enough to reveal the outlines of a body on the floor. She pressed herself flat against the hallway wall, as far from the open doorway as possible, her eyes wide and fixed on the darkness beyond the bathroom door.

[fclsehearted]

Her voice caught him square in the chest. Just his name, hushed and low, but it landed like a sucker punch. Zion had faced down men twice his size, laughed with a blade against his ribs, but the sound of Olivia saying his name nearly put him to his knees.

For one fractured beat he wasn’t standing in the Walkers’ box at the Derby, with the crowd roaring and money moving faster than horses on the track. He was a boy again, running around in his father’s establishments, kissing her in the dark when the world still felt like it belonged to them. Then came the splintering—the words he’d spoken, the choices he’d made, the silence that followed. He thought time and whiskey had dulled the edges. He was wrong.

“Olivia.” It left him rough, dragged up from a place he didn’t let people see. He wanted to pull a cigarette, anything to put in his hands, something to build a wall between them. But he stopped himself, fists curling once, loosening, curling again.

He told himself to look away. Pretend. Walk past her like she was nobody in the crowd. But his gaze stuck like a blade in the ribs—fixed, unyielding. The years hadn’t put distance between them; they’d only sharpened what was left.

Shoulders rolled back, spine stiffening the way Malik had drilled into him, Zion let steel coat his voice, his stance, every part of him that felt too raw. “Didn’t reckon I’d hear you say my name again,” he drawled, slow and measured, his accent thicker now that his guard was up. “Yet here we are.”

And still—he didn’t move. Didn’t give her space to slip away. The crowd swelled around them, a thousand eyes watching the track, but all he saw was her. The girl he’d lost, standing in front of the man she no longer knew.

[justmayhemfolks]

The Derby crowd roared like distant thunder, but Olivia heard only the ragged edge of Zion's voice wrapping around her name. His drawl carved through years of carefully constructed silence. When he turned, his dark eyes found hers, and the world narrowed to that single point of collision. Gone was the boyish charm, replaced by a weary intensity that stole her breath.

Olivia. Just that. Her name. A sound that could still unravel her.

Her eyes drifted to his clenched fists. The same hands that used to cup her cheeks before he’d pull her into a passionate kiss. And it wasn’t just her mind remembering. It was her skin too, tingling as if his touch still lingered right there.

Beyond them, a trumpet blared. Winners cheered, losers cursed. The world kept spinning. A tremor ran through her hand clutching her program. All the invisible walls, the practiced indifference, crumbled to dust. Just like that. One look. One word.

Her breath hitched. Look away, she ordered herself. You walked through fire to stand here. Don’t let him see the burns. But her traitorous eyes traced his figure regardless. He stood taller now, shoulders squared in a tailored suit that cost more than her father's entire house. But gosh, his eyes didn’t change, pinning her all the same: dark coffee grounds at the bottom of a cup, bitter and familiar. The same eyes that kept haunting her dreams more often than she liked to admit. Still holding depths she’d once drowned in. For a heartbeat, the polished veneer cracked.

Liv rehearsed this moment in mirrors, in bathtubs, in the lavender-scented sheets of the bed she once shared with him. Keep walking. Head high. He's yesterday's ghost. She hadn’t meant to speak. Yet her feet had rooted themselves to the ground in front of him, her lips parting against her will. "You look..." Like a knife twist.. "...well." Olivia forced out, her pulse pulsing quick and relentless. The instant the words left her, she regretted it. Regretted the vulnerability, the naked ache in that single word.

The silk of her dress felt suddenly suffocating. "Zion," she repeated, softer this time, testing the weight of it. The crowd surged around them, oblivious. Olivia didn’t blink. "I didn’t expect…" Her voice trailed off. To see you? To feel like the ground just vanished? For it to hurt the same it did years ago? “to run into you today either.” She mumbled barely audible. He didn’t step aside. Didn’t grant her escape. He was a blockade, forcing her to face the wreckage.

The roughness in his voice scraped against her nerves the same way it used to when it was still soft and sweet against her ears. His whispers, their dreams, still alive in the darkest corner of her heart, echoing mercilessly in her mind. Gonna marry you in that white church on Magnolia Street, Liv. Gonna give you porch swings and peach trees …

Now she was looking at a stranger. Gone the boy she once knew. And yet her foolish heart still held onto the past. That boy who no longer existed.

[xofifixo]

Fiona blinked, the collision jolting her from her thoughts. The roar of the crowd, the smell of bourbon and damp earth—it all felt too loud, too sharp. She hadn't seen the girl with the tray until it was too late.

"Lost?" Fiona's laugh came out brittle, her Irish lilt curling around the word like smoke. "Aye, you could say that." She smoothed her designer dress.

The accent thickened when she was nervous, vowels deepening. "This place is a maze, so it is. All these stairs an'... hats everywhere." She gestured vaguely at a man’s ridiculous ostrich plume.

She looked at the other properly then.

"Feels like everyone knows where they're meant to be 'cept me."

[justmayhemfolks]

The collision hadn’t spilled a drop… years of weaving through LA’s champagne tents had honed her balance… but the woman’s laugh scraped raw against the track’s roar. Irish, Olivia noted. Expensive dress, eyes darting like a spooked filly.

Olivia shifted her weight, tray steady. "The paddock’s through the yellow arch, ma’am." Her voice stayed flat, Californian vowels sanded smooth by habit. No sense ruffling feathers when tips depended on invisible service.

Her smile didn’t touch her eyes but her voice was a little friendlier now. "Wouldn’t know, ma’am. I’m meant to be right here. Unfortunately." She nodded toward the betting windows where men in Panama hats waved fistfuls of cash. “But if you tell me where you’re headed, I’m sure we’ll figure it out. By the way, if you’d like a refill, now’s the best time. Or maybe try some of the food before the crowd barges in.”

[ovrdrivess]

closed starter for @justmahemfolks

the gentle buzz of one drink was running through her system, and ros made a mental note to just leave it at one. she needed to keep a nice clear head for the rest of the day. fun could be had at a later date. she'd spent a little time eavesdropping near a couple of directors who weren't taking things easy, but nothing interesting was shared. she was starting to think this whole thing was going to be a bust.

making her way over to where the food was (whether she was supposed to be there or not, she had no idea), ros picked up a little canapé and popped it into her mouth. it made her realise just how hungry she was, so she took another two. they were good.

she suddenly felt the presence of someone else nearby and assumed she'd been caught red-handed. "i'm not supposed to be here, am i?" she asked, covering her mouth as she chewed her other two canapés at the same time.

[justmayhemfolks]

Just get the damn canapés delivered and vanish, Liv thought to herself upon setting down the tray with the next batch. Outside, muffled laughter and the tinny swing of a jazz band seeped under the door.

The Derby. Always the Derby. And always, him. She knew Zion wouldn’t miss the derby and was two seconds from telling her boss to find someone else for the delivery but most of the staff had already been here and considering the extends of the show… it should’ve been fairly easy to avoid the walkers, right?!

She stumbled across a woman – Ros, Olivia would later learn, who was seemingly enjoying the food. Liv all but adjusted her grip on the heavy tray, the porcelain dishes rattling faintly. Her gaze flickered past the unknown woman’s shoulder, scanning the brighter light of the ballroom beyond the open door. “Don’t worry, I can keep a secret or two.” Liv grinned with a nod towards the canapés the other held in her hands. “Here’s a fresh delivery. Take as many as you’d like. You can say what you want about him but our chef really knows his stuff.”

[fclsehearted]

Eoin let her pluck the wallet from his hand without argument, his fingers curling back around his coffee as if they’d never left it. The corner of his mouth ticked at her joke—something dry, the ghost of a smirk, nothing more.

“Afraid not. If there was a winner in there, you’d not be gettin’ it back.” His tone was flat, but there was a trace of humor under it, the kind that didn’t need a grin to land.

Her question about his jaw had him lifting his gaze, steady and unreadable. For a moment, he let the silence stretch, long enough to make most people shift in their seat. Then he shrugged, as if that answered it. “Had worse.” The scars that crept up from the collar of his shirt and along his jaw made that much obvious. He tipped his mug toward her tea. “Yours looks hotter than mine—I think the waitress likes you better than me."

He leaned back in the booth, shoulders rolling against the vinyl, the hat brim shadowing his eyes. “Careful carryin’ on askin’ strangers how they earned their bruises. Some of ‘em might give you the full tale.” His voice stayed low, even, not unkind—more caution than threat.

[justmayhemfolks]

Olivia watched his fingers retreat around his coffee mug, the movement fluid as water finding its level. His flat tone didn’t fool her, she recognized the shape of pain hiding inside dry jokes. When he lifted his gaze at her question about his jaw, the words landed like stones in that silence.

Scars mapped across his skin spoke louder than the shrug. She traced them with her eyes, not staring, just…noting.

His joke about her coffee being hotter than his own made her laugh. “That’s just because he’s a regular at the hotel I work at. And he’s not visitin’ the suite with his wife and kids. I’m sure you can fill in the blanks.”

But it was his warning that made her frown. Low. Even. Not a threat, but a key turning in a lock she hadn’t realized was there. “Full tales of strangers don’t scare me. The half truths, the unspoken things of the ones close to you, the ones you trust on the other hand….” She didn’t finish the sentence, bit the inside of her lips instead.

“But I appreciate the help with the wallet and the advice.” Of course she knew who he was, pretty much everyone in this city did and growing up within a syndicate’s confines herself, she knew, at the end of the day they were just humans after all.

Liv wasn’t scared easily. Not of strangers or the unknown or someone’s reputation.

[fclsehearted]

featuring: olivia moore ( @justmahemfolks )

The Derby was loud in all the ways Zion expected it to be — brass horns swelling, bookies shouting odds, laughter from the boxes where champagne poured as steady as the summer heat. He should’ve been focused on the horses, the Walker men keeping their presence polished and firm in the east wing. But the rhythm of it all fell short for a beat when his eyes caught on something he hadn’t been braced for.

Magenta. Sage. A swish of ruffle that cut through the sea of silks and satins like a flare.

Olivia.

He almost didn’t recognize her at first — not because time had changed her, but because it hadn’t. She wore the years like a whisper, not a weight, and that made his chest tighten worse than the August sun ever could. For a second, Zion was in his twenties again, full of promises he had no business making, certain he could keep her safe in a world that never let anyone stay untouched.

He told himself he’d just keep walking, tip his hat in passing, let the moment slide like all the others. After all, her strict avoidance of the Walker territory made it clear she didn't want to see him, and he didn't blame her. But his feet didn’t listen. They slowed, then stopped altogether, grounding him as though the track itself had turned to mire.

He had seen her since he broke up with her, but it had been from across streets or crowded hotel lobbies, from a distance where he could pretend it was just memory. But now, here, with her stepping into his line of sight, it was something else entirely. He froze there, caught in her eyeline, like a man who’d been yanked backward through time and wasn’t sure if he’d ever find his footing again.

[justmayhemfolks]

The silver trays felt slick in Olivia’s hands, the weight of champagne flutes and canapés threatening to slip as she navigated the Derby crowd. Sweat beaded at her temples beneath the hotel’s starched uniform cap, before she took it off. Just deliver and leave, she chanted silently. The Walker family’s private boxes loomed ahead, draped in their signature bunting. Her stomach clenched. Zion’s territory.

She’d mapped her route like a thief, through the service corridors, skirting their wing entirely. But a spilled bourbon forced a detour onto the main concourse. The roar of the crowd swelled as horses thundered down the track, a wave of sound that drowned her careful plans. And then…

There he stood, ten paces away, frozen mid-stride. Zion Walker. Not a photograph in a society column, not a blurred shape across a gilded lobby. Here. Real as the trays digging into her palms. Time hadn’t carved lines into him, it had only honed him sharper.

Her breath hitched. Look away. Keep walking. But her body betrayed her. She’d rehearsed this moment for years—a cool nod, maybe a clipped "Mr. Walker" if forced to speak. Instead, her feet rooted to the spot as if the manicured lawn had turned to tar. The trays trembled.

His gaze locked onto hers. Not recognition… collision. As if he’d been sucker-punched by the sight of her. For one fractured second, the Derby vanished. There was only the boy who’d kissed her in his father’s establishments, and the man who’d shattered her with three quiet words and loud actions.

RUN!, screamed every nerve. But the past had its hooks in deep. She stood her ground, spine stiff as the hotel’s pressed linen, and met his stare. The unspoken words hung thick between them. “Zion.“ A hushed whisper, nothing more than his name escaped, but it carried the weight of their whole, crashed world.

[rcbinpalmer]

@justmahemfolks (olivia moore), at the hollywood race track

Robin couldn't pretend she fully understood all that had unfolded with Olivia's abrupt departure. All she knew was that the young woman had been glued to Zion's hip, until suddenly she was nowhere to be found. It was the seeming lack of loyalty that left a sour taste in Robin's mouth, as someone who valued it more than most any other trait. There was no room for error, in their mind. You were either for or against.

Maybe it was just the warm weather, or maybe the bustle of the track, but Robin was at least feeling more diplomatic than they had lately. Sliding into place beside Liv against the track railing, their dark eyes were not quite as sharp as they could have been. "I like that color on you," she said simply. "You look like you're doing well. What is it you're doing now, exactly? Must be something that agrees with you."

[justmayhemfolks]

The sun beat down on the track, turning the air into liquid heat that made Liv squint. Robin's voice cut through the thud of hooves and distant cheers like a cold blade. Olivia didn't turn immediately, letting the words hang in the dusty air between them. The word echoed in her skull, sharp as Robin’s eyes usually were.

She’d rehearsed this moment in her head a hundred times... what she’d say to the whispers, the sidelong glances. But now? Now she just felt tired. Tired of people judging too quick, the prejudice following her since she’d walked away from her previous life. But mostly of everyone minding her business rather than their own. Whether Robin was one of those people, Liv couldn’t tell, she didn’t know them well enough.

Her old domain, now foreign territory, felt further away than ever. Liv‘s loyalties never changed. Despite what was, in spite of the threats and hostility she’d been receiving ever since. Her smile, polite and wary didn’t quite reach her eyes. Olivia leaned against the railing, knuckles whitening around the metal. “Thank you. You clean up nice yourself.“ She replied, short but honest, before she considered the answer to Robin’s question. “Something different. I can’t complain.“ A half-truth, sticky as the humidity clinging to her neck but she didn’t want to give too much away, not if it could be used against her.

[justmayhemfolks]

@chief-walker / olivia ft. malik

The silver tray in Olivia's hands trembled, not from the weight of champagne flutes but from the sudden stillness in her veins when Malik Walker’s gaze locked onto hers. Of all the private boxes, in all the derbies...

She’d memorized the delivery instructions… Box 7, VIP level, refreshments replenishment… but not the occupant. The syndicate’s colors draped the space like a throne room. And there he sat: the man whose voice once rumbled through Zion’s phone late at night, asking if they’d eaten dinner. The man whose wife... .

It had been years since Zion’s texts went cold. Since the funeral where he’d looked through her as if she were stained glass. She’d replayed every second countless of times. And it wasn’t just him she lost. With him, she’d lost her second family, her job, her friends. Everything that ever mattered to her.

Now Malik’s eyes—Zion’s eyes, but weathered, fractured—scanned her hotel uniform. A server nudged her elbow. "The ice is melting, Liv."

She stepped forward, the scent of Malik’s cigar...Cuban, expensive...clawing down her throat. His security detail, mountains in tailored suits, didn’t blink. As she set a flute before him, his hand covered hers. Just for a heartbeat. Dry palm, gold signet ring cold against her skin.

"Your refreshments, Mr. Walker."

[justmayhemfolks]

@xofifixo / olivia ft. fiona

The late afternoon sun cut through the haze of cigar smoke and dust motes swirling above the track. Olivia balanced the heavy tray against her hip, weaving through the crush of men in fedoras and women in stiff dresses.

Just another delivery for the Hotel. Just get in, drop the damn food and drinks, get out. Back before the shadows grew teeth.

Focus on the steps, she told herself. Left turn past the betting windows. Up the stairs. Don’t think about the white sheets, the silence, the way mother’s hand felt like cold wax…

The collision was soft. A stumble, really. "Gosh, I'm sorry!" Her voice was light, frayed at the edges. A young woman, unfamiliar face that looked a little out of place.

Liv steadied herself. She didn't have time for strays but she couldn’t just walk away either. “Are you okay? You look lost.“

[justmayhemfolks]

[fclsehearted]

featuring: open where: club eden

Zara wove through the haze of cigarette smoke and clinking glasses, tray balanced effortlessly on her hand. She stopped at the table with a warm smile, setting down a fresh drink in front of the patron.

“Compliments of the blonde at the bar,” she said lightly, tilting her head in the sender’s direction. Then, lowering her voice conspiratorially, her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Now—if you’ve got nothing better to do tonight, feel free to thank them. But I should warn you…” She leaned in just a fraction closer. “Smile too long, and you’ll know more about his childhood than his own mother. Last week he told me the story of his first pet turtle—three times. Same turtle, same ending.”

She straightened again with a little shrug, the grin tugging at her mouth betraying her amusement. “Your call. Drink’s paid for either way.”

[justmayhemfolks]

Liv looked up from her half-finished drink, eyes widening in surprise as Zara set down the fresh cocktail before her. She returned her smile, curiosity piqued by the message. A moment later, her gaze returned to Zara, who had become a friendly face in this place of fleeting connections. Olivia chuckled at the turtle story, appreciating the light-hearted banter in the midst of the pulsating music and dim lights.

“Thanks for the heads up. I appreciate it,“ she took another sip, contemplating the situation. The blonde at the bar had a certain allure, but she wasn’t in the mood to be anyone’s confessional booth tonight. “I might just enjoy the drink and keep my smile to a minimum. Unless, of course, the turtle saga is particularly riveting.”

She glanced back at the blonde, who was already engaged in conversation with someone new, his eyes occasionally darting back to her table. “Looks like he already found a new victim. No turtle stories for tonight for us, but I think, I’ll survive.“ With a smile, she lifted her glass in a silent toast. “To dodging boring companies.“

[fclsehearted]

featuring: open where: a diner, late at night/early morning

The diner was half-empty, washed in the low hum of neon and the crackle of a jukebox that had seen better years. Eoin sat in the corner booth, shoulders squared like he was bracing against an invisible punch. He’d cleaned himself up well enough—blood gone, shirt tucked—but the dark bloom of a bruise along his jaw and the stiffness in his ribs made it clear where his evening had been spent.

He nursed a mug of black coffee like it might anchor him, eyes fixed on the thin curl of steam. Cigarette smoke drifted over from the counter, and the quiet clatter of cutlery filled the gaps between the jukebox’s static croon. It should’ve been peaceful. Instead, every muscle in him still thrummed with the leftover charge of the fight, the kind that didn’t settle easy.

He wasn’t looking to talk. Not to anyone. The fight still sang in his bones, a restless energy that had nowhere to go but into silence.

Then, movement caught his eye. Someone slid out of a nearby booth, and something small hit the linoleum with a dull slap. Eoin’s gaze followed it: a wallet, leather worn at the corners.

For a moment he considered keeping quiet. Let someone else notice. But old habits, the ones drilled in too deep to shake, the good little catholic boy still hidden deep inside, had him leaning down and scooping it up before he could think twice. He cleared his throat, voice rough from disuse and smoke, carrying just enough to catch their attention.

“Think you dropped this.”

[justmayhemfolks]

Olivia looked up from her mug of peppermint tea, surprise flitting across her features. She'd been lost in thought, the kind of thoughts that come in the quiet hours after you've run your hand through a deck of cards one too many times. Her eyes found the wallet in the stranger's hand, and she felt a jolt of panic. It was hers! She was sure of it. She hadn’t even realized she’d left it behind until now.

Her hand darted to her pocket, coming up empty, confirming her suspicion. She took in the man with the bruised jaw, noticing the tension in his shoulders. “It’s mine. I didn’t even know I’d lost it.” Liv offered a weak smile, cracking a joke:. “You sure you didn’t find a winning ticket in there?” Her hands were shaking slightly, a tremble that she hoped was invisible to the bruised man with the stormy eyes. She took it gingerly, clutching it to her chest.

"You okay?" she asked finally, her gaze lingering on the bruise on his jaw. It wasn't her business, but she'd never been good at leaving well enough alone. "That looks like it hurt." The words slipping out before she could think better of it. She didn’t know this man, didn’t know his story, but something about the way he sat there, so solitary and vigilant, spoke of a weariness that was more than familiar.

[ovrdrivess]

grand central market was buzzing with activity. stevie had no direction in mind this morning - she knew she had to be over at club eden later on - but she had time to kill. the smell of freshly baked bread wafted over to her from a couple of stalls over. if she could bottle that smell, she would.

distracted for a moment, she dug into her pocket, looking to see how much cash she had on her. enough for a loaf or two, she hoped. she started to walk over to the bakery stall, admittedly not looking where she was going before she set off. the body that crashed into her managed to hit her directly in the stomach, which got a pained groan out of her. "jeez." she couldn't exactly cuss them out about not looking where they were going because she hadn't been looking where she was going. so, instead, she made a joke out of it. "you pack a real punch, anyone ever told you that?"

[justmayhemfolks]

Olivia looked up in surprise, her eyes widening as she realized she had bumped into someone. She‘d been too engrossed in her thoughts to pay attention to her surroundings, and now she found herself colliding with a stranger. "I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, smiling apologetically. "I wasn't watching where I was going. Are you okay?"

Her gaze fell to the ground for a brief moment, her eyes lingering on the items that had been knocked out of her hands during the collision. A few apples rolled away, and her shopping list crumpled at their feet. She quickly bent down to retrieve them, heart racing as she cracked a joke: “I‘m usually not this distracted, I swear. Anyhow, glad you’re still in one piece.“

[justmayhemfolks]

see OLIVIA MOORE over there? they have quite a reputation for being RASH some would beg to differ & say that they’re more NONCHALANT. the THIRTY-TWO year old has been around los angeles for TWENTY-FIVE years and has landed themselves a job as a MAID AT THE ROOSEVELT HOTEL. just keep an eye on them — in this city, everyone’s hiding something & it’s only a matter of time before their true colors shine through. 

Basics:

Name: Olivia Jean Moore

Nicknames: Liv, Livi

Parents: Sheila & Samuel Moore

Siblings: 1 older brother and 1 younger sister

Pets: a labrador mix called Bello and 2 cats called Cookie and Honey

All you need to know:

Liv's mother passed away the day after she gave birth to her younger sister. She grew up without ever knowing the love of a mother. Her grandmother Jeanny took her in and raised her and her siblings. Despite all efforts, she always felt like a piece of her is missing.

Her father always tried to walk the fine line of a family man and the loyal right hand man of the Walker Syndicate's leader Malik. She wouldn't say he's a bad father but due to his occupation he was absent quite a lot, but something she was thankful for was the fact he'd always make time for important events of his children.

The three siblings are exceptionally close but her brother struggles the most and tries to follow their father's footsteps. Liv on the other side, attempts to be a second mother figure to her younger sister, especially with their grandmother getting older, she tries to fill that role.

She'd grown into the life within the syndicate and never knew any other life, never thought she'd have to learn it either. She never imagined she'd ever feel the need to leave her second family.

Livi always had a crush on the Leader's son, Zion, and instantly became infatuated with him. She'd call it love at first sight. To her surprise, he took an interest in her and the couple fell deeply, madly in love, against all odds and reason. They had big plans, lots of dreams and a bright future in the making. The years she'd spent with him were the happiest of her life.

It all shifted after his mother was shot at a party the both attended. Zion slowly started to change, pushed her away more and more and ultimately the pair called it quits. Not because she wanted to but because he didn't leave her any choice. Liv wanted to be there for him, fight every battle alongside him but she lost this fight.

The hardest part was seeing him once they'd parted ways. Everything kept reminding her of him, the love they lost, the memories they shared and watching him turn into someone she barely recognized. A man that had nothing to do with the one she once fell in love with. The only way for her to give herself the chance to move on, was to leave it all behind. Not just him, but the syndicate as well.

Not everyone in the syndicate, including her own father, takes kindly to her decision.

She accepted a job as a maid at roosevelt hotel and occasionally jobs as a make up artist

[karmagifs]

— paulina singer in dead of summer (1.05-06) · to access #163 gifs please click the source link. made all of these from scratch, so do not redistribute, repost or claim as your own. if they helped you out, a like or reblog is always appreciated.

[alreadyghostts]

so walk away