Haunted Houses - True Detective
S1.E6
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@knowsfirst
Haunted Houses - True Detective
S1.E6
♪ hello from the other siiii iii iii i de !! ♫ hey friends. so listen, i know you know how this works, but, ya know, if we’re MUTUALS and you’d like to have a lengthy ominous STARTER written by yours truly, JUST HIT THAT LIKE BUTTON and i’ll write it out for you. also you can always jump into my ASK / IM and talk about gruesome plot ideas or some horrible angsty wishlist you wanna share, i’m game friends, seriously. come talk to me. i love plotting man, put me to the test. hope we all get to RP together. love you all. - - - COFFEE
Your Heart Is As Black As Night - Melody Gardot
you know why the story’s always the same? because it only went down the one way.
from the dusty mesa , her looming shadow grows , hidden in the branches of the poison creosote . she twines her spines up slowly towards the boiling sun and when I touched her skin , MY FINGERS RAN WITH BLOOD.
The stars are alive, but not as fine as the cherries I’m eating alone.
Cesare Pavese, tr. by Roberta L. Payne, from “Mania for Solitude,” c. 1933 (via violentwavesofemotion)
“Choose your victim.”
* DARK THRILLING & / OR CRIMINAL STARTERS : OPEN
maggie glanced around the bar with a small grin dancing across her lips, threatening to break into a full smile. stella gibson always seemed to be in control of the world around her. like she was UNTOUCHABLE. even as they sat there by the counter having an afternoon beer, she seemed to know exactly how to tug the strings of the world around her in order for it to succumb to her will. maggie ADMIRED that sort of serenity in a woman. liked to think she too could be that POWERFUL. green eyes glanced across the dozens of tables around them, glancing at men, noticing them … stella wanted to prove a point. that maggie was still attractive to others. that she could get a man if she really wanted to. that she didn’t need marty to make her feel good. and she did spot a man with greying hair and gentle brown eyes that looked back at her. maggie appreciated that ; BEING SEEN. but she thought of marty, doing his damn best, trying to get his life back on track for her sake, trying to quit drinking and be there for the girls. she thought of how HARD it was for him to prove to maggie he was still a good man ... how it wasn’t working out the way he wanted. the palms of her hands felt DIRTY all of a sudden. maggie hart rubbed them over her pants. ❛ i don’t know stella, i don’t think i wanna play this game anymore. ❜ marty wasn’t the BEST husband in the world. but, god, he did try. and that ought to be worth SOME credit.
cohleric:
( KNOWSFIRST cont . )
seeing her put a certain kind of spark around her image. an unexplained shimmering of light firing only in his mind’s eye. surely other people saw it when they saw maggie hart. she could have been a constant beauty in many people’s lives. neighbors, teachers, grocery store clerks. all of which were mostly men who saw her on a casual basis and fell distantly in love with the simple things she did. rust could see her looking at a can of peas down some lonely aisle. and the same shimmering, dazzling light he saw her in now. only the way he saw her was an explained phenomenon of misfiring brain synapses. there wasn’t any love there. despite knowing somewhere, deep down, it was the same reaction he had whenever he saw claire all those years ago.
rust was wearing that dusty brown jacket. he looked more spruced up than he had before — but his eyes were bloodshot, like he had been sleeping, or crying. it had been neither, in fact. he hadn’t slept in two days and an empty bottle of codeine was shoved underneath the passenger seat of his truck. it would be one of those revealing nights, he could feel it when he slipped into the seat next to her. rust was already feeling exposed here, despite the crowded space. she saw him, often. saw through him — she saw through everybody. maybe that’s what made her so awfully sad.
he nodded when he finally heard her. their shoulders nearly touched. that feeling of being overly aware of their closeness returned. constantly aware of her presence here, their appearance in the dark dive. he leaned back away, fetching a cigarette and signaled for the bartender. would he be drinking now too, then ? SAD SONGS, he put a cigarette between his lips and leaned on his elbows. ❛ i don’t think people come here to talk. ❜ and he revealed the smallest of smiles. they come to drink and warm up. he cast his gaze toward the dizzying swarm of dancers and the smile had gone. ❛ but we can dance, if y’want. ❜
@knowsfirst
the signal to the bartender doesn’t go unnoticed. maggie glanced towards the rows of bottles sitting somewhere behind the counter and slowly set down her beer. she’d look away from that too because rust didn’t drink and because she trusted rust, above everyone else, to have some SELF-CONTROL. but not too much ... otherwise he might not have accepted to meet up with her when marty wasn’t around. not after last time. —— her husband wouldn’t allow himself to spend time with her and would rather think of maggie feeling lonely than INFATUATED with anyone besides him. she watched rust’s heavily-hooded eyes examine their surroundings in a detached manner. like that world bored him. like the only world that mattered was the one where missing girls and gunpowder were real. THERE WAS NO ROOM FOR THAT THERE. only good things were allowed. or at least VERSIONS of them. slim fingers drew lines over the bottle’s condensation. maggie was aiming at a stickman figure but it remained HEADLESS.
❛ really? ❜ she chuckled lightly at detective cohle’s suggestion. she had seen him dance before, back when she had fixed him a date with jennifer. he hadn’t looked very comfortable then but the memory always brought a smile to maggie’s lips. she found herself thinking of that night OFTEN. ❛ i wouldn’t want to make you suffer. ❜ maggie shrugged. ❛ at least not too much. ❜ there’s a small genuine laugh there. she knew that wasn’t the evening rust had planned. too crowded, too loud ... a closed space filled with temptations too great and too dangerous for men as wounded as rustin. maggie glanced towards the bartender again. she tried to stay on focus. rust was an adult; she didn’t NEED to police him. but maybe she should. hell, maybe she should police herself. WHAT WERE THEY DOING THERE? ❛ the girls have been asking about you. ❜ she mentioned while turning to face rust again. that wasn’t a question. but there was something in her tone encouraging him to speak.
Girls always know before boys. Because they have to.
“Hey, how drunk are you?”
* DARK THRILLING & / OR CRIMINAL STARTERS : OPEN
maggie held the phone against her ear and felt a shiver run down her spine when hearing camille preaker’s voice on the other side of the line. she glanced over her shoulder, making sure her girls weren’t planning on sneaking out of their beds and coming downstairs because, whenever camille called, things that one oughtn’t think about too much had a tendency to become too REAL. the girls were growing out of their princess phase, she didn’t want them to think the world to be THIS UGLY ; not yet. ❛ i’m not. ❜ she admitted with a smile. ❛ got a shift in a few hours. guess that port wine’s gonna be sleeping alone again. ❜ maggie chuckled softly and for a moment she thought that maybe camille had called for a chat. nothing more. that maybe this could be a thing in her life ; casual talking in which no one was OUT FOR BLOOD. but women very rarely lived out their lives without ever becoming SCARRED ... one way or the other. the nurse’s green eyes shifted across her coffee table, trying to imagine where the redhead might be. and no matter the scenario she pictures ( a bar, an empty office, her bed ), maggie ALWAYS sees her alone. the thought is almost too sad to bare, so she doesn’t. her finger draws small circles over her leg as the silence settles between the two. none wanted to take the next step in that conversation ; reality was A-KNOCKING at their doors and none of them were prepared to answer. this wasn’t a courtesy call. when maggie speaks again, there are no smiles to be found.
❛ where are you, camille? ❜
I lived with all my senses, well aware / That this was perfect, and it would not last;
Edna St. Vincent Millay, from The Collected Poems; “Two Sonnets,” (via violentwavesofemotion)
“Why are we here?”
* DARK THRILLING & / OR CRIMINAL STARTERS : OPEN
Self-consciousness hits her like a pile of bricks. All of a sudden everything in the bar feels like a trap. The dim lights, the live band, the drinks … Rust’s question had broken whatever spell Maggie had willingly gotten herself under. The one that had convinced her that this, all of this, was acceptable: The green dress she wore back when Marty took her out on dates, the red lipstick, the cigarette dangling from her fingers that made her feel as if she was fifteen again, trying to impress the older kids ...
Maggie didn’t see anything wrong with it. But she still tugged her skirt over her thighs. For some reason, she imagined Marty walking into that bar and spotting the two of them sitting by the counter. She imagined what shade his face would turn to and how BADLY he would react and he’d tell her to get in the car and ask her why she was sneaking out to have a beer with his partner without him. She imagined all of this … But felt heartbroken when coming to the conclusion that it would never come true. Marty wasn’t thinking of her right now. The band played a song Maggie knew by heart but twisted into something sad and broken.
She looked at Rust.
❛ Talk. ❜ Her answer came out as a demand, muffled under the singer’s voice. She had seen them both reflected on her kitchen’s window more than once, washing dishes and drying them out while the girls’ laughter echoed through the house. Their gazes had met more than once, out there, on the other side of the looking glass. Two half-faded things, spectating a life that was not their own. The singer wept Maggie’s song louder. The brunette leaned over so that Rust could hear her better. She could smell his aftershave. ❛ To talk ! ❜ She said, louder. ❛ I don’t know ! The kids are at a sleepover, Marty’s working, you’re here … WHY NOT ? ❜ Maggie ignored the way her throat dried out after that nonchalant remark. She grabbed her bottle and took a big sip. People slow danced all around them to the tangled mess that was that Cash cover.
Maggie had to look away.
DARK, THRILLING, AND/OR CRIMINAL SENTENCE STARTERS: PT1.
“I’m scared.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Are you scared?”
“Is this even legal?”
“Just trust me.”
“We’re locked in!”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“It’s too dark in here.”
“Why are we here?”
“They have a gun…”
“They have a knife…”
“Grab what you need, and let’s go.”
“Be quiet. Don’t let them see you.”
“Choose your victim.”
“We don’t have to do this.”
“They’re coming for us.”
“How do you know how to do that?”
“What the fuck are you doing in here?”
“We’re getting out of here unseen.”
“Something moved over there.”
“Do you have the stuff?”
“So, what’s the plan?”
“It’s not safe here.”
“This is your fault.”
“We’ve gotta go. Now.”
“Hey, how drunk are you?”
“Hey, how high are you?”
“Is that… a dead body?”
“We’re not alone in here…”
“What do you need me to do?”
“It’s not safe here, you should go.”
“I can’t believe you stole that!”
“Hey, stay close to me. Got it?”
from the dusty mesa , her looming shadow grows , hidden in the branches of the poison creosote . she twines her spines up slowly towards the boiling sun and when I touched her skin , MY FINGERS RAN WITH BLOOD.
it was january 3, 1995, my daughter’s birthday. i remember.