growing pains

Lincoln Wakefield. Actor, filmmaker.

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ATHENA PERALTA

          As the cinematic award-season finally reached its full speed, Lincoln found himself spending more time –– than he would actually have liked to –– in Los Angeles, and away from his home in San Francisco. With ceremonies and parties taking place every Sunday, it was just much more practical to stay in Hollywood during this season than to keep flying down there every other day so he wouldn't miss any event of importance. Still, the occasion of Athena Peralta's birthday required him to catch a flight back to San Francisco as early as the sun rose on the morning that followed the Critics' Choice Awards on the 13th of January. Lincoln hadn't been able to be there for her party –– which, he hoped she would understand as he had an award for best lead actor in his carry on –– but he certainly hoped that the gift he was carried as he exited SFO would make up for his absence. Lincoln made a quick stop at home to shower and change into something more presentable than his usual flight attire ––  jeans, a hoodie, a baseball cap, and sunglasses, so people will have a hard time recognizing someone who looks like every other white guy on the planet –– before showing up at her office with her gift between his arm and his torso. "Sorry I'm a little late," He said, letting himself in, "But it was for a good cause..." He placed the box –– which contained a pair of shoes, a bracelet and a bottle of champagne –– on her table, taking care not to mess anything up, "Happy birthday–– Again... I hope you like it." 

@athenaperclta

[samaraweaving]

Paul Wesley on Directing Shadowhunters 2x16

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MARTIN PORTER

Martin shuffled in awkwardly, sure at any moment someone would announce that this had been an elaborate prank, or else realize they had made a terrible mistake in asking him to be there. He’d tried to express that skepticism on several occasions, but each time Lincoln Wakefield had assured him there was no confusion. They wanted to hear authentic stories, and Martin had thought for one crazy moment that maybe telling his to the world would assure Juliet that he was serious about making up for his mistakes. It seemed crazy now, but it was also too late to back out. Especially as soon as Lincoln said action. “Uh, I’m Martin. Porter. 30 years old. I’m, um, a carpenter. And I’ve been back in San Francisco for about two months now. I’m here for as long as people will have me…” 

          As the Untitled-Lincoln-Wakefield-Documentary-Series –– as the network had insisted on calling it many times before –– gradually came to life, Lincoln became more and more invested in the stories of its participants... What had brought them there, not only there as in San Francisco, which was precisely the whole idea behind the documentary, but also what had brought them to that studio? What had led those people to get out of their beds, get a day off from work or ditch school just to talk about how they related to a 233-year-old piece of land? And as he chose, once again to take a detour from the pre-scripted questionnaire he and his team had prepared for this project, Lincoln finally realized that it shouldn't be him who molded the documentary, but the people that he interviewed because only they would be able to reflect how the city had touched them and changed their lives just as it had done him. "Two months––" He repeated, which would be cut later in editing, so he needn't worry, "So, you're enjoying it, I assume?" That last question wouldn't be cut, so he said it extra clearly so that the microphone hanging above Martin's head could catch it, "And what made you come here, in the first place?"

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ROBERT THOMAS QUEEN:

To be honest, Robert couldn’t remember telling Lincoln that he would help him with his next project, but the oldest Queen sibling was one to never back down from a challenge, and boy was this a challenge for Robert.  Being in front of a camera was something that made the former soldier a little nervous after all these years. One would think that having the father as the Mayor, the nervousness would quickly die, but for Robert, it hadn’t. “You owe me one,” Robert joked in good nature as his blue eyes scanned the small loft. His head nodding slightly as Lincoln pointed out where everything was located and where he would be sitting. The view of the bay was stunning and would provide a wonderful background. Unbuttoning the middle button of his black suit jacket so he could sit comfortably, Robert then sat down. His blue eyes trained on the camera, waiting for Lincoln.

“Robert Thomas Queen. Age thirty-two.” Robert paused for a split second before speaking again with his charming smile. “Currently I work within the private security business.” Which wasn’t a complete lie. Robert just left out that he worked for the military still and for his father, but he had to due to his contract with both jobs.

          So far, Lincoln had been quite proud of the people he had chosen as the interviewees for his documentary –– they were ethnically diverse, cooperating and, most importantly, hailing from the most distinct backgrounds, which, in turn, allowed him to capture a bit of the city’s well-known diversity and some of its numerous faces. Hence, Robert Thomas Queen, son of mayor Thomas Queen, San Francisco-native (and one of Lincoln’s personal best friends) couldn’t be left out of the whole ordeal. He would be a good representative for the city’s crème de la crème; he was nice, charismatic, and most importantly, had nothing to do with his very controversial progenitor. "Next time we go out, drinks are on me," Lincoln assured his friend, sliding onto the chair that read "Lincoln Wakefield, Director" in big white letters printed against the black cloth. It was all somewhat new to him, directing a documentary commissioned by a huge TV network... Before the camera started rolling, he took a deep breath to consider the road so far and all that was still ahead of him. "Great––" he said, continuing with the pre-scripted questions, "San Francisco born and raised, right? Why, after thirty-two years, have you chosen to stay here?"

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ABEL THOMAS:

Abel had found himself to be busier away from the studio than he’d been in quite sometime. He had a lot of personal issues to sort through, but it was still more welcomed than the stress of producing a new hit or collaborating with someone who couldn’t even write their own stuff. The one on one with Lincoln was appreciated; it was a chance to talk without being coached or directed in a certain direction. If people wanted to see the real Abel Thomas, all they had to do was watch whatever it was Lincoln put together, and they’d see the man for all that he was. San Fransisco was his home; the place that made him the artist he was. The place, the people, the memories, it was all something he’d never want to let go of, no matter what came his way. “This is my home, y’know? I spent twenty years here. I had my first kiss here, had my first heartbreak. I had prom and graduation and all that simple stuff that means so much more when you’re looking back. It’s a safe haven, y’know? Away from all the flashing lights and the pressure. It’s like pressing the rewind button and prepping for a redo.” Except he didn’t want a redo, he wanted a fresh start entirely. “The city has it’s memories, yeah, but it’s a lot more to do with the people that are still here. You associate a place with the people you meet and some of the best people I know live here. So in a way, yeah, the city has definitely influenced me and is continuing to do just that.”

         People in the show business –– and especially in the show business –– were so often devoid of all genuineness that it seemed like they had been stripped off of any real personality they had left and had become pre-programmed versions of themselves who couldn't even as much as think for themselves, which was probably why Abel felt so... invigorating. Because he sounded natural and truthful and, most importantly, genuine about his feelings. Because his words sounded raw and honest like they were really coming from the heart and not being read from a prompter placed right before him, whispering every single word into his brain. And soon, Lincoln found himself, just as genuinely, fascinated with his story, because he knew that just with himself, Abel's past had very much influenced his art. "Speaking of memories––" And once again he found himself taking a little detour from the original pre-scripted questions, figuring that, perhaps, that was a part of the process. All interviews couldn't be the exact same as the previous, because people felt differently towards the city. And perhaps, that was what should mold the feature... "What's your fondest memory from your time here in San Francisco?" He made a scissors-like gesture with his index and middle finger to the crew standing behind him so they would know to cut what he was going to say next in the editing phase, "Doesn't necessarily have to be something personal, maybe something relating to the city, or that took place in a famous spot. It's up to you, really."

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MILA ALVAREZ:

           The way the words dripped from the males lips, slow, intentionally so — it was as though he was taunting their present company. The kind of company that both desired to leave, and run off to his buddies to bask in his failed attempt to pick her up. As the topic of the apparent kidnapping came back into play, it was obvious that her chosen participant believed it about as much as she had. That being said, if they were in fact wrong, and the fray guy did happen to steal this animal in a bid for a fraternity pledge scheme, well, then this was entirely different conversation to be had. Pathetically so, even. “Oh, wow — I think it’s about time we alert the authorities if that’s the case, right, babe? Not sure we can just stand by and listen to this cruelty of animals without taking further action.” The male before them quickly shook his head, a desperate plea to keep the authorities out of it as he continued to back-track his words, stumbling a few times until he rectified the situation, pointing out he was just trying to come up with a lame story to impress her. And did he do so? Of course, he fucking didn’t. The space was lost between them, eyes fixated on her own as she took note of the further questions thrown in her direction by her so called ‘boyfriend’.”Oh, he was just heading off… weren’t you?” Her head darted to catch his gaze, as he continued to nod frantically, taking a few steps back as the pair continued on their conversation; holding up the ploy to keep him away for a moment or two longer as he dispersed into the crowd surrounding them.

          “Well, babe, my day was spectacular. I got to embarrass that poor boy — but I have a feeling you don’t need to play along anymore. You’re good.” She assured him, knowing that she was safe from further bother for the rest of the evening thanks to their little show. “But, how about I thank you with a drink on me?”

          He didn’t bother trying to hide the wicked smirk that crept upon his features as his newfound companion intimidated her white knight in a rusted armor with the mention of having the authorities know of his supposed wrongdoings. Nor did he bother trying to hold back the chuckles that erupted as the kid stumbled backward awkwardly in an attempt to escape the conversation as fast as possible. She was good. And before he finally lowered his gaze back to her and away from the frightened kid, Lincoln uttered, “I sure hope that asshole was just making that shit up,” and the matter was as good as dead. “I might be, but I can’t take all the credit, what you did there was pretty impressive improv.” He admitted lightheartedly; it was true, she winged it quite convincingly, especially considering she probably had no idea of his identity. It would have been easy for a fan or someone who actually knew and/or admired him, but few people lacked the inhibition to pretend a complete stranger was their boyfriend just to get out of a tight spot. “Who am I to turn down a free drink?” He inquired rhetorically, “Just–– Do I ever get to know the name of my girlfriend?”

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ABEL THOMAS:

“Whatever I can do to contribute to this whole project, I’m in.” He already trust the male more than he trusted over half of the people he’d ever sat down and talked to. Most weren’t interested in the small details of his life, but instead wanted the juicy stuff that would potentially end up on a headline when morning came. Abel listened intently, his curiosity spiked at how something so simple could seem so… intriguing. It wasn’t information-hungry or detail heavy, but instead something so real and so across the border relatable. “Man, that uh, that sounds like a pretty nice getup you’ve got going on there. Whatever I can do, really, I’m here for it.” Abel’s demeanor changed only slightly once the camera started rolling, his natural charm shining through per usual. “That’s one way of putting it,” he nodded, quiet chuckle escaping his lips. The musician followed along with Lincoln’s words, the first question posed being somewhat of an easy one. “Well, if you’ve ever experienced L.A. traffic, that’s one reason,” he joked, wanting to keep the air as light as he possibly could before diving into the truth. “I guess you could say that after twelve years of bouncing between major cities for shows, interviews, album signings and sometimes even new recordings, I wanted a break. Just wanted to get back to where I started and get a fresh mind.”

          Lincoln and Abel had known each other for quite a while now, they had talked before at award shows and even hung out at a party or two. Still, Lincoln couldn't recall the two ever having had the time to sit down and chat, to actually get to know each other and, at that moment, as Abel so sympathetically offered his assistance with Lincoln's project, the San Diego-native actor/filmmaker found himself wondering why the two had never hung out by themselves. He had never actually paid much mind to it, but now, as they sat down to shoot that scene, Lincoln realized that perhaps he should have hit Abel up to grab a few drinks a while ago because the guy sure seemed nice. It was gratifying to working with someone who was actually eager to help, especially when one chose to walk down the creative path; even Lincoln Wakefield, who seemed to have carved the term lone-wolf himself, at times, had to admit that when two minds worked together with the same creative objective, the work flowed with incredible ease. “I appreciate it, man. Really.” And, as Abel started to speak, Lincoln could immediately sense it, the emotional bond that he had with the city, which happened to be exactly what he was looking for, a real connection with the city, and that Abel seemed to have. And given that he was a native, he probably had a myriad of good stories about the city to share, and a plethora of favorite places to show. “Great, great. And what about San Francisco helps you get on that mindset?” A little detour from the list of questions he was supposed to ask, but then again Abel Thomas was not your average interviewee. “And, has the city influenced your music, in any way?”

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MILA ALVAREZ:

          Mila had never been particularly involved when it came to pop culture, or anything that seemed to have been considered ‘entertaining’ in the last five to ten years. In fact, she wasn’t even a massive fan of the likes of Facebook or Instagram, she posted once in a blue moon, and she had never even so much as created a Twitter account. So, whilst she had thought to grab the nearest stranger, it seemed to have worked in her favour — apparently, Mr Ego across from them, immediately recognising her so called ‘boyfriend’, and his eyes blinking away, though Mila had mistaken this for embarrassment. Which it probably was too. And, as one hand tucked away at his arm, the other rose to play at the material of his shirt, in the most affectionate tactile move she could pull without being pulled up on harassment charges. “Oh, this — this is…” The caramel-haired young woman did her best to recall the name, before the male jumped in to remind her, apparently it was Derek. “Ah, yes. Derek. He was telling me all about how his frat brothers kidnapped a donkey. Riveting stuff.” Sarcasm dripping from her tongue as she raised her eyebrows, a smirk pressed firmly against plump, pink, lips. She hadn’t so much as picked up on the keeping it a secret that he had conveyed, and merely chopped this up to the fact that it was all a lie, and that was why nobody was aware of the situation around the general vicinity. “I think he was just about to run along though, babe. He was just keeping me company until you turned up.” Mila’s deep green eyes turning onto the so called boyfriend now, smiling and locking onto his gaze, widening her eyes as she was silently thanking him for playing along.

          His eyes widened momentarily denoting some bewilderment to what he was hearing. And, although he didn't believe a word of it, Lincoln couldn't deny the fun of playing along, "A donkey!?" If that was this so-called Derek's way of trying to hit on women at bars, Lincoln was damn sorry for him. Still, he offered him no mercy, "Really?" And his tone switched to something more accusatory than the previous pseudo-fascination, "And the donkey didn't get hurt during any part of the process, I'm assuming? Because, otherwise that would have been plain, unjustified cruelty. I mean, it's unjustified by definition, anyway. Why would you want to kidnap a donkey, in the first place?" His gaze met hers once again, his chin lowering just a tad to make up for the height difference, "Right, babe? Who, in their right mind would kidnap–– a–– donkey?" Those last three words came out in tenaciously long pauses, and Lincoln immediately noticed that he was the one bordering plain cruelty then, but if this Derek thought maltreatment of animals was an acceptable way to try and impress people, he might as well deserve to be taught something, right? "So babe, is your friend joining us for drinks or was he just about to leave?" It was more of an indicator for the guy to up and leave than a question at all, still, he kept looking at her as if offering him no space whatsoever to join their conversation. "Anyway, how was your day?" He tried to change the subject of conversation, hoping frat-guy Derek would finally take the hint. 

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ABEL THOMAS:

“Hey man, it’s no problem.” While he was tired of interviews on the big screen, he didn’t mind a smaller setup, especially in his home city. Besides, he hadn’t been forced into hair and makeup and no one had coordinated his outfit according to their tastes; it was all pretty much on his own time. “I had some food before I came in, so uh, I’m ready to get started whenever you are.” He wasn’t sure what the whole thing would consist of, but he was sure his career as a musician rising on the charts would surely come into play.  Abel made his way onto the chair, getting comfortable in it’s confinements before turning to look over at director with a lazy grin. “I’ve been through this a time or two on national television, so I think I’ll be okay. If I start to drown though, just pull me back up, yeah?” He could handle a conversation, right? Upon hearing action be called out into the room, Abel straightened up and put on his best show face of a smile. “I’m Abel Thomas, I’m thirty-two years old, I’m a musician, and I spent the first twenty years of my life here. I moved to LA when I was twenty and I’ve been gone for the past twelve years, but hey, now I’m back.” And hoped to stay too.

          "Don't worry, you can go on and on as much as you want, I'll have you over to chose your favorite parts when we get to editing––" Lincoln explained, "This isn't exactly out there yet, but it's supposed to be the first of many..." The other interviwees hadn't been disclosed that much information, most of them were just asked questions and taken places and then asked to keep it as low-key as possible before the network actually announced the documentary. He knew he could trust Abel, though, so he figured there was no problem in telling him what they were doing to some detail, "This is a series of hour-long documentaries on America's biggest cities... We're having people over to tell us what they love about the places they live in and why they live there––" Abel wasn't just called in because he was the Abel Thomas, who, by then, certainly didn't need much of an introduction –– and still, Lincoln asked him to, nevertheless, for the sole creative purpose of keeping interviews uniform ––, but because, like Lincoln, he had ditched L.A. for San Francisco. Of course, having a few celebrities in his first documentary was a nice addition but there was no point in having them just because. There had to be a reason why they were chosen to talk about that place, and San-Francisco native Abel Thomas certainly had a lot to say. "Well, I guess everyone can recognize that voice, right?" Lincoln started again –– a bit of humor to his tone this time –– there was a microphone attached to the collar of his shirt so that his voice could be heard clearly. Lincoln had to admit that sitting on the opposite side of the camera from where he usually was, was a bit strange, still, it was something new and different and he couldn't help but enjoy every second of it. "Still, most big names in the music industry choose to stay in L.A..." Just like the big names in the cinematic industry, "Why did you come back home to the Bay?"

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          "Thanks again for coming in," Lincoln said, leading the other into the makeshift studio he and the crew of his newest project had made out of that small loft. "You can put your belongings here," He pointed to a hanger next to the door, "There's catering over there––" And he turned his head in the direction of a table set with a very generous assortment of croissants, cakes, pies and fruits, "And when you're ready you can take a seat over there," Finally, Lincoln indicated a chair, small but comfortable, placed before a gigantic glass panel that took up almost an entire wall and provided an incredible view of the bay. It was quite the challenge shooting against a light source, but Lincoln was way too stubborn to ditch the amazing panorama at their disposal for a dull exposed-brick wall. "When you hear the word 'action', you'll look into the camera and say your name, your age, your job–– In case you don't have one, just skip it, and the length of your stay in San Francisco." It was the first time Lincoln was doing something slightly resembling of a documental feature, and even though he had previously stated his preference for fictional projects, both as a producer and an actor, the idea behind this one seemed to make for quite the interesting journey. "I'll talk you through the rest of it, okay? It'll be like we're having a conversation." He explained, taking a seat on the chair that read Lincoln Wakefield, director, behind the camera, the crew adjusting itself behind him. "And–– Action!" 

[ian-paul-blog1]

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JULIET QUEEN:

          Lincoln, in her opinion, wasn’t someone who wore his emotions on his sleeve. Maybe that’s why Juliet always felt most at ease around him. There was no sense of judgement directed towards, just curiosity and sympathy. Meeting someone like him never happened, ever. People always had their opinion to share —  which there was nothing wrong about, in her mind, everyone is entitled to their own opinion — but they had something so brutal to it. Like it was their business they were butting in and not hers or her fathers. Yes, Juliet Queen had always lived a rather public life as the daughter and granddaughter of politicians, especially since they always seemed to cause controversies. But that didn’t give anyone the right to judge or suggest otherwise. With Lincoln, she felt at ease,  “It is tough. But I know this is what I want and I’ve been wanting this for such a long time.” It’s been years in the making and now as it was finally happening, Juliet couldn’t wait for it to be all over,  “You can always ask me anything. I’m not exactly sure how much I can answer without giving too much away, but I’ll try my best.”  It felt good to talk about it in a different environment and without all the legal terms. For the first time she didn’t just feel like a lawyer working on this case. “Thank you for this. I didn’t know I needed to go out this badly.”

          However empathetic Lincoln could be, it was still quite difficult for him to put himself in those shoes–– her shoes. Lincoln had barely had any time with his father at all and, during the entirety of those years, most of what he had nurtured for the man was sheer admiration. So no, Lincoln Wakefield wasn't able to bring himself to fathom a scenario in which he would have spent years of his life making sure his father was held accountable for his wrongdoings,  but that was only because, in his eyes, there were no wrongdoings to be uncovered whatsoever. Lincoln admired her, nevertheless.  He admired her determination and her sharp sense of character; he admired her will to do what was right and her knack for social justice. Maybe, should he have been able to draw a clear line between right and wrong, just like the one she did, having managed to avoid that grey area in which he had always seemed lived, Lincoln might have done the same. Maybe, if his parents had lived long enough for him to unravel some illegal, wicked scheme they had going on,  he might have tried to do the right thing... Maybe, there was something that ran thicker than blood, something that wasn't exactly a liquid, or corporeal even, for that matter, and perhaps, that thing was justice.  "Things will work out as they should." He decided that that was the best way to tie that conversation. No matter how close you were with someone, and no matter how honest you're known to be, telling someone you want to see their parent rot in jail sounded like a terrible thing to say even if the said parent really deserved such fate. So he went for the next best thing. There was confidence in his voice. Not in fate, not in the justice system, but in her. "Good luck with that." There was a reassuring nod before he officially put the matter to rest. "Do you want me to drop you home?"

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BELLAMY JAMES:

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about wine, would you?” It’s that time of year again. Invitations fill up his phone or are given to him in person about this Christmas party or that one. He figures a bottle of wine is the safest bet as a ‘thanks for inviting me to your party’ gift. Not that he plans to attend all of the ones he’s been invited to because with work, he doesn’t have much time at all. But for the ones he can make it to, he’s planning on bringing a bottle of wine in addition to bringing himself. “I’m not the biggest wine drinker so I wouldn’t know where to begin. It’s supposed to be a gift and I don’t wanna give someone a crappy bottle.”

          Unsurprisingly, Lincoln Wakefield knew his liquor. Apparently, having given in to vices for a significant part of his life didn't come without any benefits... Yes, it may have gotten him into rehab for three months and almost landed him in a juvenile detention center back in the day, but at least he could tell bad booze from a good one without even bothering to taste it. "I would." He turned back to the shelf standing before them, "That one's shit––" He stated matter-of-factly, not bothering to explain how that specific region of Australia wasn't very strong on red wine, so he'd be better off with a white one if he wanted to stick to the place, or that the material of the barrel in which the wine had aged –– according to the bottle, of course –– didn't make for a good aging process, "Here, take this one." Lincoln handed the stranger a bottle of a Chilean 2013 Malbec that he knew to be a good, inexpensive choice that could please most paladars. 

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VALERIA YSABEL ACOSTA:

“Since I came back from studying in Scotland, I had no need for a winter jacket. That was, until I went to New York this weekend and realized that our idea of ‘cold’ is their idea of ‘normal’,” Valeria mused, shivering as she remembered the feeling of the wind on her face as soon as she stepped out of the toasty hotel lobby. “Of course I missed lots of things about California, but the weather is definitely one of the top ones.”

              If that conversation had been held a few too many years in the past when they were still children playing in the Acostas' backyard, Lincoln would probably have just laughed it off and changed the subject, maybe even envying her a bit for having been so lucky to have visited those places. But now, with enough money to his name to allow himself to experience the coldest season of the year in places different than California, Lincoln could actually make his mind on the matter, "Well, we don't get snow... And when winter is at it's worse, it's pretty damn cold too." Not that the cold really bothered him, but he couldn't help but let his mind wander out onto the streets and think of the poor men and women living on sidewalks. 

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MILA ALVAREZ:

          What a surprise, she was greeted by yet another asshole who thought that ‘no’ meant ‘yes’, and she was just playing hard to get for the sake of holding his attention. Really, what was with ex-frat boy ego’s? She was sure she was just going to have to pretend to be shacked up, or into girls at this stage, and just like that, another soul approached her general vicinity giving her the best opportunity for an out. “Sorry — this hot piece of ass to my left here is actually my other half.” Quickly, her eyes widened to the other involved, wrapping her arm into theirs, linking them and dragging them into the now three-way conversation. “Oh, hunnybun, you’re never good at keeping track of the time, are you?” A sickeningly sweet tone and smile crossed her features, playing into the game she set up for herself.

          He thought it was a fan, at first, wrapping their arms around his body. Somehow they always seemed to think it was a good idea, coming up to a stranger and hugging them with all your might just because said stranger happened to be famous. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate their affection or that he wasn't grateful for it, but Lincoln definitely could do without the hugs. Still, not wanting to seem ungrateful, he reciprocated every single one of them, just like he did that one, even after, or rather, especially after he noticed that woman wasn't hugging him for the same reason other strangers usually did. "Hey, you." His tone was sweet and caring, and he knew damn well that the other guy couldn't tell he was lying for shit. "And who's your friend?" His gaze dropped to the woman, to whom he flashed a kind smile, a boyfriend smile, and then it switched focus to what looked exactly like your stereotypical frat-guy sitting beside her. He knew who Lincoln was even if she didn't. He sat on the stool right next to her, finding the whole ordeal quite amusing, "Don't go around telling everyone, though--" A wink, he knew TMZ would be all over it on the following morning, 'Lincoln Wakefield spotted with a mysterious brunette in SF bar', he could already foretell, not that he really gave a shit anyway, "We're keeping it low-key."  

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JULIET QUEEN:

          She had to laugh at Lincoln’s eagerness to hear about the case and honestly, she was tempted to talk about it. It was a high risk though, especially considering they were at a bar.  “That’s against.. like everything I stand for.”  She grinned, shaking her head a little,  “It’s an ongoing case and investigation. You could be selling my secrets to the enemy, after all.”  Juliet stared at the bottle in front of her, sighing before lifting up to her lips and taking a long sip. Things around her were moving so quickly lately that she felt like she needed this moment right now — although this moment was already over an hour and three beers long. For someone who occasionally drank wine at home or had a couple of cocktails out at bars, this was all happening at a very quick pace. After another sip, the brunette turned on her stool, facing Lincoln,  “I’m not here as a lawyer tonight. I’m here as.. the mayors daughter and my father — to my knowledge— is basically fucked. There’s a load of evidence against him and he may or may not be arrested tomorrow.”  To be honest, it felt good to talk about it. Especially because this wasn’t one of her co-workers. Lincoln wasn’t a lawyer. Juliet didn’t need to get into detail and use all these different terms. “It’s a tragedy really,” a sigh,  “that it has to drag on for this long.”

          Juliet's relationship with Thomas Queen was something Lincoln hadn't yet fully comprehended. Mostly, because he had always avoided tackling the subject objectively, acknowledging that tabloids and local newspapers had probably asked her way too many questions about her father; but also, he reckoned that perhaps, just like himself, Juliet might not feel comfortable enough pouring her heart out to someone else. Still, he couldn't help but be intrigued by the idea of white-collar crime, by how powerful people who found themselves under public scrutiny all too frequently, managed to avert the public eye from their wrongdoings in the most subtle of ways. The proportion the accusations had taken lured him even further into the conversation and, soon enough, his feelings toward the case grew torn between curiosity and indignation. But the train of his thoughts was suddenly derailed as Juliet pointed out that the whole ordeal was taking too long. Again, Lincoln didn't understand Thomas and Juliet Queen's relationship, still, that was a pretty strong statement and, if he had learned anything from Juliet in the months they had met, it was that she –– as opposed to himself –– could easily tell right from wrong, and her career choice was a clear indicator of which side she had chosen. "That must be though." Being on trial with your dad, he meant, "But if you ever want to talk about it––" He spun on his stool, now fully facing her, "You know I'm all ears." His tone was always more solemn than kind and sympathetic still, he really did mean it.

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text ➝ sofia

Sofia: Pfft.

Sofia: You and my own girlfriend don't know what Timehop is. How is this possible? It's a frightening trip down memory lane of social media.

Lincoln: I know it's an app, I just don't see the point... But I guess it's the same thing with all kinds of social media. They're all pointless.

Lincoln: Great, now I'm spiraling into a philosophical rant about social media. Thank you.