you're on your own, kid

you always have been. marianne byrne. 22 years old. author.

[mariannebyrne]

marianne bridget byrne. twenty-two. author.

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Name: Marianne Bridget Byrne

Nickname: Mari

Age: 22 years old

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Occupation: Author

FULL BIO (parental death tw)

marianne byrne did not grow up in gravewood, or even west virginia. in fact, she grew up right in the heart of the most populous city in maine, the daughter of a pediatrician and a stay-at-home mom who, as it turned out, had no intention of sticking around. marianne was nine when her mother took off and she probably should have been psychologically traumatized by it, but marianne bounced back quickly. she’d had a father who loved her, two older brothers who were ridiculously overprotective, and a younger brother who she vowed to always look out for. and after just a few months she was perfectly content.

the summer between eighth grade and mari’s first year of high school, the byrne family packed up and moved to gravewood, the cost of living in the town and a retiring medical professional being enough to convince mr. byrne that his kids were better suited for a suburban upbringing. mari’s brothers were easily able to integrate themselves into the culture of middle-of-nowhere-america, handsome, sporty, and varying levels of smart (the third time was the charm for that, it would seem). marianne, on the other hand, took her time settling in.

the men in her family may have been convinced that the move was the right call, but mari not so much. she had loved her life in portland and she was heartbroken to have to leave her friends. she’d been at the top of the ladder when it came to the middle school popularity hierarchy, and she had been right about to coast into a coveted spot on the cheer squad at her high school. had she stayed, it was almost guaranteed that she would have secured the american dream of high school experiences - the kind the movies are full of. prom queen? super hot football captain boyfriend? admission to yale? all was lost upon their escape from town.

and, y’know, maybe she thought that someday her mom would return. how would she know where to find them if they weren’t still right where she’d left them?

marianne took her time settling in, not intending to stay past when it was absolutely necessary. she floated from group to group, purposefully remaining elusive but working to stay well liked enough that occasional visits to the town-where-no-one-leaves wouldn’t be awkward in the future. she was a cheerleader who didn’t hang out with cheerleaders, a smart kid who avoided academic decathlon or any voluntary honor societies. she didn’t go to dances, refused to attend town events, and only did the bare minimum when it came to school spirit. she may not have hung out with people much, but she understood them. she knew when to step back before she got too involved. gravewood, west virginia would not break her.

except, in the end, it sort of did.

mari went off to college in maine to study as an undeclared major, quickly discovering a long-buried love of fiction writing. she took the risk of concentrating in creative writing, double minoring in education and psychology for a safety net. by the end of her sophomore year she’d finished her first novel, a dark academia piece set in maine (it’s not like she has a dark mind or anything, it just happened). a chance-encounter with a literary agent at a book festival had her work submitted months later, and within a year the book was on shelves throughout the us. she was supposed to have submitted a long-promised and pre-funded book number two by now, but one cannot control external events.

marianne had been out of school for only a month before she’d been called back to gravewood to say goodbye to her father, the victim of a drunk driving accident. the nearest ambulance had not been able to reach him in time in that cursed small town. the words had not come since.

to add insult to injury, mari’s two eldest brothers have now abandoned her for their own chaotic lives, insisting that since she has the least location-dependent profession, she needs to remain in gravewood to look after their youngest sibling until his high school graduation. when tragedy struck, there had never been any doubt about where her true priorities were. could her brothers say the same?

she doesn’t love that she’s back in gravewood, and she feels suffocated every time she runs into someone she knew when she was in school, but she’s managing. it’s been months since her arrival and she refuses to socialize any more than necessary. the lingering pitying looks are still more than she can bear, and she hadn’t exactly kept in touch with anyone when she’d left town for college.

but returning has been good for something…

after all, suburban gothic is a popular horror genre. and in a place as apple-pie-friday-night-lights as gravewood, inspiration abounds. she may be trying to force words out while maintaining upkeep of her (inherited) home as she attempts to be a parent to a teen who wants anything but that, but maybe this is a good thing. because she has to write this book. she truly has no choice, much of her income from her first having gone to funeral expenses and paying off debts. this book either gets published or she is in some deep shit.

with several months left until her brother is off to college and she’s free to try and pick up the pieces of her own life, marianne is doing her best to keep the plates spinning in a life that’s been absolutely turned upside down in the last year. to the outside eye, nothing seems wrong – mari has made sure of that. but no matter how hard she tries, it feels like she’s one parenting or career mistake away from the delicately built house of cards that is her mental health and sanity coming crashing down, and she doesn’t know what she’s going to do when it does.

maybe it’s time to start getting more involved in the town. for inspiration’s sake.

HEADCANONS

though mari was somewhat involved back when she lived in gravewood originally, she was essentially a ghost. each of her brothers were elected to their homecoming/prom courts, but though she maybe was on the decorations committee, she was never found at a dance. she remained a cheerleader, but didn’t spend time with the group outside of practice. she’s an enigma.

her father was a pediatrician, but marianne has zero interest in anything medical. her oldest brother is currently in med school, and her second-oldest is doing something medical-adjacent, but on this one thing the apple fell far from the tree.

her favorite color is green. her favorite drink is coffee that’s a solid 60% milk and sugar. she can be found publicly ordering such a drink multiple times throughout the week, but she isn’t spending a ton of her free time in town.

instead she’s at home, trying to sort through everything her father left undone, figuring out how to be a halfway decent substitute parent to an almost 18 year old, and trying to figure out a backup plan in case this second book doesn’t get written. because apparently property taxes are a thing.

she doesn’t talk about her parents. speaking about her dad is still too painful, and her mother honestly doesn’t cross her mind. it’s been years since she’s seen the woman who ditched out. mari isn’t even 100% sure what her mother looks like anymore and she doesn’t care to find out.

mari is a member of the PTA. it feels weird, all things considered, but it’s one way to keep informed about what’s happening, and there are certainly some interesting characters at those meetings.

mari did not date in high school. partially due to her purposefully non-existent social life, partially because she had some stuff to work out. she did date in college so she’s not a complete novice (and tbh anything could’ve happened during summer break when she was shoved back home), but if she’s going to end up dating anyone in town... she has to get over herself (to be clear, she’s judgmental and does not think very highly of gravewood).

when she’s had friends in the past, she’s sort of been seen as the ‘dad friend’ - a little emotionally distant, but she’s got the spirit.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

awkward semi-friends from high school. they haven’t spoken since graduation or their friendship faded quickly after that. there could be resentment. there could be tension. it could just be awkward when they see each other.

brothers’ friends. mari has 2 older brothers who had any number of friends (or any other sort of connection), so these people could be on the acquaintance level. it could be that one of them was asked by a brother to look out for her as she navigates this new world of parenting. alternatively, there could be an active dislike of her family. mari’s older brothers are 25 and 24.

secret keeper. mari is at some point bound to stumble across a secret. she probably will not put it in her book... because that would be bad, right?

eventual confidant. this isn’t a connection that i think should be set right off the bat, but if they talk and mari finds herself opening up a little, this could be one direction for a connection.

casual fan. have they read her book? do they want her to put them in her latest one? they don’t have to be super into it (dark academia is an acquired taste for some), but she’d appreciate hearing someone’s read it.

[mariannebyrne]

mckennaapplepie​:

–

Mckenna sometimes wondered if his proximity to reporters and prepubescent contract to a children’s cartoon had unlocked a weird section in his brain that drew him towards misery like a sad-seeking missile. He slid a little closer as if the sheer vibrancy of his hair could offer another source of sunshine. Sunshine always made people happier.

“I literally just got in yesterday,” was his weak response to her surprise, looking a little guilty that he hadn’t caught up immediately on all the happenings in town. Gravewood was but a speck on the map, which made it near impossible to keep tabs on from the big city. The Banshee was only as big as the borders of the town and even then he found the coverage a little lacking. Still, the news of death and murder was new and startling to him. To think that his home sweet home also housed people like that…

“Isn’t that like, something meant for the cops?” he asked. “I’m sure they’ll find who it is. I mean, Gravewood’s only so big and the Sheriff seems to be working real hard every time I see him.”

They were fluffy platitudes but Mckenna didn’t know how to do much else, conditioned to look towards the brighter side of things and supply endless comfort with song and puppy dog eyes. Grimdark murder mysteries and disappearances were not his genre. 

He blew out a breath and sat up a little, tossing a cursory glance out the window for his mother before turning back to Mari.

“Look, my mom always tells me one thing at a time. There’s no use in trying to help others if you haven’t helped yourself first and like, you seem to have a lot of stuff to do.” Mckenna gestured at her blank screen.

“How ‘bout we just focus on writing for now and um, I’ll see what I can do to help with the rest after?”

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛  

Though Gravewood was a small town and tragedy seemed to be constant, each major event got its time in the spotlight. And a possible murder? In the middle of a party attended by the entire town population between the ages of 21 and 35? Well... it was no surprise that everywhere Mari turned that day, she’d heard people talking about it.

Except Mckenna.

Being the person to tell him kind of felt like raining on a parade or stealing a toy from an excitable dog. It didn’t feel good... but it was also important to clue him in to what he was walking into.

“Impeccable timing,” she remarked, offering a sad smile. “We actually don’t know if it was murder yet and probably shouldn’t jump to conclusions, but maybe for a murder they’ll put in a little more effort than they have for a missing girl or the hit and run manslaughter of a beloved town pediatrician. I will personally keep my expectations low.”

Her end of sentence shrug was accompanied by a sip of her nearing-cold coffee, Mari further extending the pause in conversation as she mulled over the male’s words.

Help yourself first.

“What if helping others is how I help myself?” she countered. “I get what you’re saying, and I can see the value in it, but the writing is actually the hardest thing right now. Ever since my dad... it’s just difficult to string together the right words. You would think that it might be easier, since I’m supposed to be writing about a small town murder, but alas.”

Walking the thin line between sharing and oversharing, Mari could feel herself stumbling into dangerous territory the more than she rambled. No one needed to know that much about her depressing little life, even determined sunshine Mckenna. But he’d thankfully also provided a possible pivot to the conversation, and she was going to run with it.

“Okay, but one thing that could be helpful though... you were a teenage boy once. Even recently. Do you have any tips for someone functioning as a legal guardian for a seventeen year old boy? He’s sporty and seemingly popular. Two things I can’t relate to.”

[mariannebyrne]

alec-flynn​:

.

The silence only seemed to serve as confirmation that Alec was right. He thought maybe he should assure that he didn’t think being a groupie was a bad thing at all. He was super flattered, actually. He even dragged an appreciative glance down the length of her, as if pulling memories from the haze and dusting them off. The fact that he remembered at all was a compliment, was it not? 

When the denial came, her voice slicing through the quiet and drawing his attention back to her face, Alec’s small smile grew a little wider. There was an edge to her words, one that Alec probably should have known better than to poke and prod at, but he’d always been willfully ignorant at best and downright stupid at worst. So the grin remained, his shoulders shrugging up, loose and casual. “Okay. Whatever you say.” 

His eyes narrowed on her as he took another puff of his cigarette, drawing out the answer to her question for no reason except that he thought it was funny. She looked so serious, bathed in the orange hued street light. And something about that made him want to be contrary. “I live here. You’re looking at a born and bred …Gravewoodian? Gravewoodite?” He raised a brow like somehow he had the upper hand. He’d been here all his life, so what was her excuse? “What are you doing here?”

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛  

“This cannot be happening.”

She murmured it more to herself than as a part of their conversation, but Mari was sure he’d heard it. After all, in a town as silent as Gravewood, a whisper was as good as a full-throated statement. 

Maybe she should have added some context, made it seem like she wasn’t teetering somewhere between extreme annoyance and surprisingly in despair. After all, neither of those emotions were necessarily targeted towards him and her reaction felt disproportionate to the situation that he was aware of - a simple one night stand run-in. But the more he looked her over, the more she tossed the groupie label around in her mind... the less she wanted to clarify.

She’d never had any intention of telling him about the result of their shared moment, and she wasn’t about to change course now that their paths had collided.

She did, however, cross her arms and take another step back before speaking up again.

“I live here,” Mari insisted. “Both now and before. In high school.”

She wasn’t born and bred. She certainly didn’t claim the town. But knowing that they’d been in each other’s orbit prior to Maine had her truly feeling like the universe enjoyed seeing her suffer.

Sure, the nameless man (she still didn’t know it) had been vaguely familiar, but back then she’d chalked it up to the fact that she was drunk and he was a brunette white man with a guitar on a college campus. She’d probably seen him around school, right? But no. That night and in the weeks that followed, she’d never considered that he could have been from the only place from which she’d ever been desperate to escape.

With some effort and a calming deep breath, Mari found that at the very least she was able to bury all of the feelings that had arisen in the past three minutes. One more beat and she was able to seem on the verge of neutral.

“To reiterate - not a groupie. I’m also not great at surprises. So,” she offered with a meaningless gesture. “I’m Mari.”

[mariannebyrne]

tobegriffb​:

On Halloween, the Astoria had been lavishly decorated in glittering golds, deep black velvets, and all the colors that denoted luxury and godliness. As they entered early December, the lavish hotel still bore a color scheme of yellow and black. Caution tape. 

CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS

Tommy had died up in the penthouse, but the police had shut down the entire hotel, much to the Morgans’ chagrin. The official line was, ‘closed until further notice, pending the open investigation.’ Word on the street, however, was that the mayor was feeling the pressure to reopen his precious resort sooner rather than later. The Sheriff’s office was holding him at bay but even that power only went so far. 

Griffin was running out of time if he wanted to dig his nose where it really didn’t belong. 

Murder didn’t strictly interest him. Nor did he harbor any grief over the loss of Tommy Richter. But he’d been right there when it happened. He had photos of that night. Photos he’d taken just before the blackout. Photos he’d scoured over and over, of blurry images jumping into the water, partygoers milling about, unaware of what was about to happen mere moments later. 

He felt so close to something that he couldn’t name. The feeling only grew in intensity when fed by Isadora and Jamie, their battling suspicions. Jamie, more than anything, as his words from the night of the party still kept Griffin awake, tossing and turning and regretting what he’d made of himself.

Snooping where he wasn’t wanted had gotten him fired in New York, but maybe he hadn’t been good enough yet. That was the thought as he crossed the yellow tape, sneaking around to the hotel’s back entrance with a key he’d bribed off an angry employee.

He fumbled with the key, hands shaking with adrenaline. He was hyper focused on getting inside, slipping into the darkness quickly where no prying eyes could s–

“Ah!”

By the time Griffin realized someone had snuck up behind him, she was close enough to kill. Good, then, that it was only Marianne.

Marianne?

“What are you doing here?” 

@mariannebyrne​

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛  

Truthfully, Marianne hadn’t decided to look into Tommy’s murder until Mckenna hinted that she shouldn’t.

Focus on yourself? Take things one step at a time? It had been solid advice. But from the very moment the words had left his lips, she knew she wouldn’t be following it.

Her friend’s sister was still missing. The police had still not identified the driver involved in her father’s fatal hit and run accident. And even back when there had been a known serial killer in town, it turns out the police had been useless.

Marianne had been doing some digging. It hadn’t taken long to realize that federal agents had done all of the heavy lifting in the Dollmaker case. And if Tommy Richter truly had been murdered? Odds were that a killer would be running free for years to come unless someone stepped up.

Did it necessarily need to be her that cracked the case? No. And maybe it would have been better for her to sit things out - especially if there was any actual threat of danger present. But how could a horror writer pass up such a unique opportunity?

She had been set to write about small town tragedy. Now she was swimming in it.

Quite literally.

The night of Isaween was still a bit of a blur to Mari, the blackout and screams that followed more etched in her memory than the aftermath. What had happened between her chat with Griffin and the moment she dragged Tommy out of the pool? Had there been something she’d missed? Something that could help to provide some answers?

The Astoria had been wrapped in crime scene tape since the moment the clock struck midnight on November 1st, a yellow and black bow declaring the start to a new, more depressing holiday season. But somehow over the past month, Mari had managed to convince herself that all she needed to do was retrace her steps and the answers would pour out of her, like some sort of Sherlock Holmes.

It was stupid, but it was something else to focus on. And so she’d concocted a plan.

The police presence had faded over time, and by that point had dwindled down to zero. Therefore, reaching the back door wasn’t a challenge. A childhood with brothers who hogged the bathroom and played cruel pranks had taught her how to pick locks, so she’d had a light breaking and entering scheme in mind. But upon spotting a figure slinking around the back, she was quick thinking enough to change her plan of attack.

Catch the door to keep it from locking, slip in a few minutes later, listen closely for footsteps.

Easy.

Except curiosity always killed the cat. And she really was an amateur. Mari’s need to know who was snooping propelled her forward, too close for comfort, and before she could stop herself she’d already snuck up on none other than... Griffin Baxley.

What?

“I could ask you the same question,” she shot back, eyes darting around to make sure that they remained alone after his verbal jolt of surprise.

“Have you acquired a part-time job in the hotel industry? Or are you an undercover cop or something?”

She so desperately wanted to seek safety within the walls of the murder hotel, but she wasn’t about to take any chances regarding who she was inside with. Mari didn’t think that Griffin was the murderer (if there even was one - Tommy could have Bodies, Bodies, Bodies’d himself), but her appetite for getting arrested was nonexistent. She couldn’t take any chances if he was connected to law enforcement or building management. And there was still time to pretend it had all been a misunderstanding.

[mariannebyrne]

mckennaapplepie​:

–

Mckenna wasn’t a genius in any regard, but he liked to think that he had a good gauge on people. Encountering so many, and having a job that required him to understand the nuances of human emotion had turned him into a kind of antennae for feelings and he was getting a lot of feelings from Marianne. 

That was the thing with her and why he liked her. She was honest and sometimes brutal, but fairly easy to read. The sincerity in her tone bled through the sarcasm and biting commentary on his spelling, always giving way to how she really felt about something and well, he was getting a lot of that right then. 

Stress, fluster. A little something else he couldn’t put a name to but could only describe it as sad. His expression wilted at the mention of her father, the deadend text message leading him to asking questions about Dr. Byrne. Which lead to him finding out about a terrible tragedy that happened while he was away.

He had wanted to ask her why she had never told him or sought him for support the way he had her many times before, but something told him that she wouldn’t have answered kindly.

“Sorry about your dad,” was the only offer he had to make, uncertain of how sensitive she was about approaching the subject in person. The more she spoke, the more he came to realize that the ‘not much’ she was referring to was probably sarcasm. It sure sounded like ‘much’ to him.

“That sucks, Mari. That dress looked really nice on you,” he said. “Wait, murder? Tommy Richter? Why would anyone want to kill him? His dad cleaned our pool every summer which is like, totally a helpful and not murder-worthy thing to do.”

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛  

At one point, likely when Mari was... oh, maybe nine years old and Going Through It, her life had been made easier by closing herself off. Avoiding questions with a small smile and a question of her own. Never revealing too much or thinking too much about the state of her life to keep from crumbling. The walls she’d built grew stronger every year, and by the time she’d moved to Gravewood the first time around, the house she’d created for herself was built of stone. No matter how hard the wolves (both friendly and not) blew, they weren’t getting in.

So, perhaps it wasn’t great that all Mari could offer in response to Mckenna’s condolences was a small nod and a weak smile, but he’d known her for years. He had to be used to it by that point.

With her brief acknowledgment of her family tragedy out of the way, Mari was free to move on to discussing a less personal recent horror. And, admittedly, she was relieved to do so.

“You didn’t know about Tommy?” she asked, more emotion (surprise, of course) in her voice at that revelation than anything else thus far. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I mean, I’m not trying to solve his murder. But as someone who is now a witness to a crime, if not a suspect - misguided, I assure you - I guess I’m also not... not trying to solve his murder?”

It had been an obvious choice for Mari to omit the fact that she was mostly invested for the sake of her yet-to-be-written sophomore release. Yes, she had already admitted that it felt wrong to be writing about murder when there had been a murder, but it wasn’t like it felt so wrong that she wasn’t going to do it. Eventually. And if she got invested and took some inspiration from her present setting? Well... sometimes good things did come from bad.

Even the slightest bit of honesty about what she was presently up to had felt like a weight lifted off of her, though. How much more could she unburden herself before the shame of sharing set in?

“I’m also looking into Mack’s sister’s disappearance, since the police have more or less given up on that. I’m really not trying to add something else to my plate, and I’m definitely no detective, but it just... feels so wrong to be doing nothing, you know?”

[mariannebyrne]

mckennaapplepie​:

–

Mckenna blinked at Mari’s response, taking a minute to consider what she was referring to before self-consciously touching his hair. Then, he looked at hers. Then at the red seats they were on. The red neon lights of the diner. He sunk a little deeper into his seat, deflating at the suggestion of having poorly thought out a plan.

“Well, I’ve been told that it’s helpful to have someone to bounce ideas off of,” he offered, feeling bad all of a sudden. She was radiating more negativity than usual, which is usually a sign that he’d done something super wrong. But he hadn’t done anything but crawl up into her space and beg for refuge… Maybe he should’ve asked first. 

Slumping forward onto the table, Mckenna folded his arms under his chin and peered up at her, both curious and cowed. He was seeking to apologize, but didn’t feel right to make things about himself when it sounded like Mari had a huge deadline coming up.

“What’s the matter, Mari? You seem pricklier than usual,” he said instead, all but pouting. He met her icy gaze with an open and welcoming one of his own. “I can be a super good listener too if you let me stay.”

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛

Mari and Mckenna’s friendship had always been... fascinating.

She wasn’t quite sure how it had managed to stand the test of time, but one day back in high school he’d plopped down next to her and started talking. And he hadn’t stopped since... even when she had desperately wanted him to. They’d kept in touch while she was in college, unexpected and odd questions coming her way via text with enough regularity that somehow he became one of the only people she kept in touch with. But old habits died hard. And though they occasionally made progress (absence makes the heart grow fonder), they also sometimes lost it too.

The present moment was clearly an indication of the latter.

Had he always looked like a kicked puppy when he was feeling a little dejected?

“There’s not much to listen to,” she acknowledged. It was the offering of an olive branch, but she could only stretch it out so far when she was so otherwise engaged. With Mack’s sister. With Tommy. With Connor. With her book. With the long list of things she still had to do in order to settle her father’s affairs and prepare to sell his home within the next year.

Mckenna had known Mari for years, but he’d never gotten an up close and personal look at her when she was stressed. And she’d never been more stressed.

“I got an extension for my book after my dad... well. An extension only helps so much when there was nothing to start. And I’m going to be honest, it feels really wrong to be writing a murder mystery when I’m also living one. If you’re wondering what happened to that white dress that I wore in multiple photodumps on Instagram from my press tour... between a jungle juice spill from Jamie Dyer and the blood of Tommy Richter when I dragged him out of the pool to feel for a nonexistent pulse, I’m afraid I have bad news.”

[mariannebyrne]

alec-flynn​:

.

It wasn’t a clear memory, but it still bounced around up inside his noggin with just enough to latch onto. Maybe it was because it had been such a manic time in his life, running from problems so much bigger than himself. Ones he knew he had no real chance of outrunning.

He had, though, in the end. Kind of, anyway. 

The man who sat on this curb now was a far cry from the boy who had found himself in some college town in Maine, lending an ear to a drunk college girl who had been bogged down and burdened by problems of her own. His problems felt just as big time time around, though. Maybe even bigger. 

But no, this was definitely her. The recognition pricked in his chest and he nodded as he took another long drag from his cigarette. “I swear to god,” he said through a grin that split his face. “You’re the Maine girl. What are you doing all the way out here?”

It seemed strange that she’d wind up here, sharing space with him again. It was too coincidental…

Wait. 

Was it possible that she was a—

“Groupie?” he asked, feeling suddenly smug, like he’d hit the nail on the head. “If you’d asked back then, I would have just told you this was the last stop on the tour. Probably would have saved a ton of time.”

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛    

In her memories, the nameless figure Marianne had shared a single night with in college had shifted. He’d grown taller, his eyes bounced around the color spectrum, the little that she remembered of his voice had faded into nonexistence. But now that she was standing in front of him, it was unmistakable.

He was the one-night-only musician from her campus bar. The one she’d let charm her after she was a couple of drinks in. And he remembered her too.

Were all of her past mistakes going to haunt her in Gravewood?

The evening itself had been blurry, but the aftermath was still a crystal clear memory. One test, followed by four more because the first few were somehow clearly wrong. One appointment. And all of it done alone, in secret, just days after she’d finalized her book and handed in her remaining assignments for the semester. 

She had never searched for him after that night. She’d never felt the need to, given how easy it was for her to make her decision and how little it impacted him. It really wasn’t a big deal. And yet... seeing him again wasn’t just like missing a step on the stairs. It was being pushed down an entire flight.

They were never supposed to see each other again, so what was he doing in Gravewood?

There was no use in pretending that she wasn’t the girl from Maine, especially when she was sure there had already been some spark of recognition for him to see in her eyes, even with dim lighting. However, the groupie accusations? Unforgivable. His music had not been the most memorable part of that encounter.

“Excuse me?” Mari asked a full ten seconds of tense silence later, her tone appropriately sharp. “If I wanted to know back then, I would have asked. What are you doing here?”

[mariannebyrne]

indyerstraits​:

–

Jamie rolled his eyes so hard, it was a miracle that they didn’t fly out of the back. “She’s not a queen, she’s barely 5′ tall,” he retorted, giving up on his wine glass and tossing a longing look at the fountain too-far away. Talk of Isadora almost compelled him to get up again, but his heavy limbs protested, already weighed by liquor.

Cutting Mari another look at she confessed to her sins, Jamie’s suspicions only grew. Marianne Byrne, NYC bestseller, back in Gravewood to play ‘guardian’ while working on her second book. A book she had yet written. 

“Are you here to snatch the gritty lives of small town degenerates?” he asked, distinctly sober enough to remember Griffin and his grifting. It was a sore spot among all the other pustules of his youth and while Mari had nothing to do with it, she hadn’t stopped him from doing it either. Jamie figured someone polishing Griffin’s knob would’ve had the decency to tell him not to rip off his not-bestie. 

He made an aborted noise in his throat and gave her another weird look. “I don’t carry books with me to parties,” said Jamie. “Do I look like a nerd to you?”

Maybe that was the wrong question to ask, but his need for another drink was getting too big to ignore. He sat up right. 

“Just take him with you. Any decent parent wouldn’t want their kid to grow up here,” Jamie pointed out as he stood and circled the couch to go grab another drink, departing with a low mumble. “God knows I wouldn’t.”

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛

There was no point in arguing with Jamie over something so trivial as a misguided belief that royalty couldn’t be miniature. It felt like too much of a defense of Isadora for her to bother, so instead she let that particular comment go and focused on what was by far the most interesting thing Jamie had said.

Why would he be asking if she was going to steal the lives of locals for her book?

Had he made an assumption about the characters from her first novel? Beckett, one of the only males in the novel whose physical description may have been similar to a mutual friend of theirs, perhaps? Faustina, whose drowning was really the key moment in the whole piece?

Because all similarities had been entirely coincidental.

“I don’t take inspiration from real life like that,” she was quick to insist, the statement more or less the truth.

She took bits and pieces, phrases she’d heard, personal aesthetics she’d spotted. But using the whole of a person? That was a big no. That was why the one chapter she’d been able to write over the past few weeks, hidden in a folder within a folder within a folder in the most crowded part of her Google Drive, would never see the light of day. It had actually been about recent events. And the story of a missing sister wasn’t hers to tell.

At the very least, in the midst of Jamie’s many judgmental looks he’d tossed her a lifeline. The perfect setup for a self-burn, really. But she wouldn’t question it. She had no desire to prolong a conversation about the inspiration for her work when her work lately hadn’t been inspired almost at all.

“No comment,” she shrugged, suddenly well aware of the fact that her approach to things had been all wrong. If she really wanted to know if Jamie had read her book, she needed to be more direct.

So she was.

“You like to read,” she reminded him, pausing for just a second afterwards to mentally add ‘Or, liked to. In high school.’ She had never known Jamie very well, his existence in her life being at first through Griffin and then through Johnnie, but he’d been somewhat of a prodigy. He probably still read.

“Did you have any thoughts on the Midnight Club? Constructive criticism when compared to other dark academia novels, or...?”

She could tell that their time together was coming to an end, but the more light there was at the end of that particular tunnel, the more she wanted to stop the train. She’d saved his life. The bare minimum that he could do was read her book and tell her it was good.

Except... that didn’t seem to be in the cards. Because she’d barely gotten the question out and he was already off, once again with zero indication of whether or not he would be back.

But this time around, with the stains in her dress really starting to seep in, Mari knew that she couldn’t wait around to find out. She watched Jamie retreat into the general direction of the kitchen before she disappeared in the opposite direction.

[mariannebyrne]

mckennaapplepie​:

“Shh!” Mckenna hissed as he slid into Marianne’s booth, squeezing himself past her to fit into the corner. He was a little out of breath and looking haunted but cheerful like he couldn’t decide which one to be.

Marie’s diner was pretty empty at that time of day. It was after the dinner rush and before the late night crew which made it the perfect place to hide out. He was still clad in his character clothes: a letterman and cuffed jeans. The manila parcel of papers tucked under his arm and fistful of pens suggested that he’d just escaped from behind a signing table. Ben Cherry paraphernalia poured from his pockets and decorated the tiles beneath the table with sunny caricatures of his face. 

After a beat, he poked his head up over the windowsill and scanned the parking lot for any red-headed ladies or packs of preteens before sinking back down into the seat. His eyes flicked up at Marianne, wide and shiny like a silent plea for her not to make any sudden moves and draw attention to the fact that he was there.

A slim shadow of a woman clip-clopped by the window, her marching cadence like thunder as she scoped out the diner through the window. Then, it passed and he let out a breath of relief.

“Hey,” he said belatedly, offering her a dimpled smile as if he hadn’t just bull rushed in all rudely like that.

Mckenna raised his head to peek at what was above the table. Papers, coffee (and the rings on the table accompanying it), a half-eaten bagel. He found relief in the simplicity of it. The absolute normalcy of a girl eating a stale bagel in a diner. No Instagram required. God what had his life turned into?

“What are you working on?” he said, looking hopeful again when he glanced at her. This time, a more genuine smile accompanied it. “Need some help with that? I can be really useful, you know. Like, super.”

@mariannebyrne​

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛

Marie’s wasn’t Mari’s usual go-to spot for peoplewatching. Truthfully, had she not needed both a cheap refill of caffeine and a large plate of cheese fries to get through the day, she might’ve preferred to be almost anywhere else.

It wasn’t anything against the diner, really. Marie herself was actually pretty great, and the food was both affordable and decent. But people were less likely to bother you at a coffee shop. At a library. At your recent inherited haunted (by memories, not ghosts) house.

In the before times, peoplewatching had always been the one thing Mari could rely on to kickstart her writing. She’d just had to plop down in a public setting and the words would appear, characters pulled out of thin air based on an overheard phrase or someone’s general appearance. Nothing had been drawn too heavily from any one thing, but the simple act of sitting alone and listening had allowed her to pick and choose a little of everything. Words had poured out. A book had practically written itself.

Not so for round two, however.

With the dawning of November the expiration of her book extension grew ever closer. She’d insisted to her publisher that she’d been close, that she had made great progress prior to the passing of her father. Of course, it had been a lie. And now she had to NaNoWriMo like she’d never done before.

If only she wasn’t, at present, haunted by a dead body that she’d helped pull from the water. In addition to Mack’s missing sister and her own family tragedy, it was the cherry on top of the shit sundae. She hadn’t written a single word all day. And her frustration was only growing by the second.

Perhaps that was why she was a little more frosty towards Mckenna when he shoved himself into her booth, ignorant of the look on her face as he did so.

“If you’re trying to hide... I’ve been told red attracts attention. Like bulls and a cape, or cops and red cars. Maybe not the best hiding spot,” she pointed out only once he’d declared it to be safe to speak.

“No offense, but I really don’t think you could be helpful on this. Writing is more of a solo activity. Especially when you haven’t done any yet and need to be averaging 3,000 words a day, minimum.”

[mariannebyrne]

alec-flynn​:

WHERE: just outside the gallows. WHO: @mariannebyrne​ & alec.

Sucking greedily on his cigarette, Alec perched on a curb outside The Gallows. The night had been a shit show, Alec with his big, clunky arm hadn’t quite found his rhythm, knocking into drinks when he wasn’t outright spilling them. The pity tips had been nice for the first half of the night, but there had been an obvious staunch of that cash flow now. Operating with his left hand was proving far more difficult than he’d anticipated.

He’d retreated to the bathroom to pop another one of his pills about half an hour ago. The pain had subsided and so had the money woes and worries. His nose itched and he wrinkled it as he puffed on his cigarette and then held it in front of his face, watching as he tapped the ash loose and it fluttered to the ground. 

He exhaled a cloud of smoke, eyes flicking to the orange fluorescent street lights currently being mobbed by moths. It was movement of the human variety that drew his attention again and he brought the cigarette to his lips once more as his eyes landed on a face that was vaguely familiar to him in the way that a quickly fading dream is more of a feeling than a memory. He squinted, pointing his cigarette at her. “I know you.”

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛    

When her night had first begun, Marianne Byrne had had no intention of ending up anywhere near The Gallows.

She didn’t drink. She had a grand total of 1.5 friends, combined - none of which she was meeting up with that evening and all of which knew better than to suggest the local alcoholic’s paradise. And she hadn’t yet crossed the bridge of wanting to hover in an awful setting just to overhear a long-delayed confession (that would, in turn, lead to some vigilante justice).

But she’d started walking a half hour prior and somehow her feet had taken her to the local dive bar anyway.

To, but not inside. She’d only been there for a matter of minutes, descriptions of the dilapidated building already swirling in her mind in the event that she decided to exploit her own misery for financial gain. She hadn’t yet taken out her phone to jot them down. She hadn’t done anything.

She was just hovering. Awkwardly. Staring off against a justified, yet impractical enemy.

Until a smoker outside called out to her.

“Oh... no, I don’t think so,” she was quick to insist. And from afar, she was pretty certain that the man was truly a stranger.

However, Marianne was not one to let a sliver of doubt remain. And somewhere, deep, deep down... something about him had been familiar.

It’s a small town, she rationalized to herself as she took a couple of steps closer. Everyone knows everyone, on some level.

But bathed in the neon lights from the various signs on the outside of the building and aided by the streetlight nearby, the mysterious figure was growing a little less mysterious.

Because Mari did know him. Sort of. His voice, certainly, and his general vibe...

Oh no.

Maine. What felt like a lifetime ago. A traveling troubadour. A campus bar. She never could remember his name, but she’d met him back when everything had both been okay and yet too much. Over a year ago, when the pressures of balancing college and the race to the finish with her book were the biggest concerns in her life.

He was a drunken mistake.

Just... no. Not that kind.

The kind that was just in town for a night, who you got drunk with and poured your heart out to. Whose name you didn’t know. Who took all of your troubles with them when they left. No sex. Not even a kiss. Just... a one-night-only therapist.

But just because she was gaining clarity on some of the specifics (barely), that didn’t mean he was.

Having perhaps been staring for a beat too long by that point, Mari could only stay frozen right where she was as she tossed out a question that could either mean (emotional, embarrassment-based) life or death.

“Or, wait... how, exactly?”

[mariannebyrne]

indyerstraits​:

–

“I don’t think anyone in Gravewood is capable of original thought, so fair, but Hades is composed of several parts, Gravewood is more Tartarus than the palace of Hades,” Jamie explained, sounding matter-of-fact about it like he couldn’t stop himself from verbally vomiting all he knew about Greek mythos. It was all he had to contribute to most conversations: endless factoids about things no one cared about or remembered. He wasn’t much of a sharer otherwise.

He drank from his cup, sliding down the back of the couch until he was comfortably spread over most of it, his knees splayed and legs awkwardly finding space on the unusually low couch. “After the grilling I got at the door, I was expecting Broadway worthy performances,” he said, rolling his eyes at the reminder of how his verbal dissertation about what people deemed immortality and Godhood flew way above Isadora’s pretty little head. 

Busying himself with cleaning out the rest of his cup, Jamie watched the last globules of jungle juice roll along the inside of the wine glass as he turned it from side-to-side. Mari’s flat response to not writing werewolf novels sounding like an apt end to their stilted conversation when she quickly piped up with a hasty response to what was supposed to be a throw away question. A formality meant to be answered and dismissed with no follow up. 

So when she did follow up, Jamie cut her a sideways look. He knew procrastination when he saw it. Both Jack and Stella had given him a lesson on how to spot a kid avoiding their homework and Jamie wasn’t drunk enough to miss the cue. He also wasn’t drunk enough to pry any further into it when he only had one question left.

“So when are you leaving?” he asked. “I mean, you have to do press tours for promotion, don’t you?”

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛  

Mari nodded along as Jamie ranted about Hades, not sure what she could really add to the conversation when he’d likely call out any small inaccuracy she voiced. Had he always been like that, or had some set of circumstances pushed him to it?

If she had a brother like Johnnie, maybe she would have been kind of know-it-all-y too... someone had to inherit the brains. It was only fair for apparently stealing the “charm”.

“Oh, the queen herself deigned to step in and costume check you?” she asked instead, grateful that a mutual dislike (of sorts) of that evening’s hostess was a safer topic than proving that she was well read in the Greeks.

Continuing to work at the stain in her dress here and there, at that point Mari was mostly observing Jamie. Manspreading. Not wasting a single drop of the alcohol in his cup. The look he gave her when she mentioned that things we’re going fine.

She’d thought she was a better liar.

“I can’t promote a book I haven’t written yet,” was her immediate answer to his question, but the fact that it had been asked at all gave her pause. Her second book had only been announced over the summer, no title or release date accompanying the line in the press release about exciting new thrills and chills to look forward to. Plus, she had literally just mentioned that she was working on it and had been given a look that conveyed the knowledge of that being complete bs.

So, what book would she possibly have to leave to do press for?

Her... first one? The one that had been released over a year ago and had a small press tour accompanying it? The one she’d donated at least ten copies of between the local secondhand bookstore and the library?

The one she’d assumed he’d read? By Gravewood’s only (unfortunately) local author?

“The other one’s been out long enough that I don’t have to, but if you have a copy of that I’d be happy to sign it for you.”

It was a little bit of a clunky trap to set, but for some reason the answer to the question mattered to her. If Jamie Dyer hadn’t read her book, then had anyone in Gravewood?

“I’m also a legal guardian, so my escape options right now are a little more limited.”

[mariannebyrne]

leoyoons​:

* ∗ ⁎ ⟶ 

Leonora has to laugh then, the reaction stemming from both parts shock and awe. With all she’d known of Marianne ( which wasn’t much, really ), she hadn’t expected the words; hadn’t expected much of the conversation at all, but here she stood, more intrigued than she’d been some minutes before, “I take it there was a pesky little Apollo in your life?”

If she’d been better at paying attention to the smaller details then perhaps she would’ve known just who the redhead was referring to, but she’d been too self-centered then. Odd for someone so desperate to be seen by others. Perhaps it had been fitting instead? She’d wanted to burn so bright that she’d disregarded all the kerosene in her peripheral.

These bouts of introspection truly came at the worst of times, and they’d always left her deeper in the melancholy than they’d found her. It was one more thing she’d learn to navigate with these new interpersonal exchanges. 

For a moment, she’s even wondering how she was perceived by Marianne— waiting for the other shoe to fall; for her to realize her mistake and find some other party-goer to entertain. High School had left her unprepared for genuine connection; Leo had penned her own folly, misunderstanding the end of her own story. 

She’d truly caught herself in a vicious little cycle. 

Waving away those thoughts as best she could, Leonora focused on the red-head’s information dump, something that made sense with what little she knew of her. As did her choice of the Patron goddess. It was weird to think that a choice like that aligned with the underdeveloped image she’d made of Marianne in her head. Leonora decides that the costume just fits Mari’s vibe…whatever that is.

“It’s a very good costume,” she compliments, words honest and true, “I can see the little details that really say wisdom, warfare, girl boss.” The latter is more teasing, but no less true. “Any particular reason you chose Athena? Short bursts of messiness, or admirable qualities, and everything in between?”

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛  

“I think making any further comparison to Apollo would be giving him too much credit and hypothetically I wouldn’t want him to be any god, but pesky is a good word.”

Truthfully, Mari didn’t think about Johnnie Dyer much. She’d left all thoughts of him in the past - like, freshman year of college past. It had been years since she’d even had to see his face. But she’d already been confronted by the face of his twin that evening, and wherever a party was, assuming that Johnnie was still haunting Gravewood? He wouldn’t be far behind...

What was that Taylor Swift lyric? When my depression works the graveyard shift, all of the people I've ghosted stand there in the room?

That evening’s festivities had the potential to turn into said graveyard shift very quickly, so it was probably best not to linger for too much longer.

With a barely perceptible shake of her head, Mari banished that line of thinking to the back of her mind. At least, for the moment. Instead, she was actively working to focus on being present for the conversation at hand.

“More admirable qualities. General reputation. And she’s well known,” she listed off. “The only other one I’d thought of was a muse, and that would’ve probably doubled the amount of explanation I’d have to do. So, practicality.”

She didn’t really know Leo. Beyond knowing of her reputation back in high school and being aware of their mutual friendship with Mack (and now the Daphne thing), a lot about the girl was still a mystery to her. And Mari had always been the type of person who needed to know every piece of information. Even if she insisted on remaining unknown at the same time.

There were so many people in town that Mari really had no sense of, and that was going to be deeply unsatisfactory the longer she was forced to linger in Gravewood. Who was friends with who? What lines did she have to make sure not to cross? She couldn’t exist in a space with so many unanswered questions. Maybe it was time to start asking some.

The first one on the list felt like the most obvious baseline to set.

“So, are you... friends with Isa?”

[mariannebyrne]

austinxxjames​:

- - -

Was that some hint of jealousy that Austin could detect? He wasn’t entirely sure- Marianne seemed to speak directly at the same time that she spoke indirectly, kind of like a puzzle. Austin liked figuring out puzzles.

He chuckled, then smiled, “She’s not secretly a vampire or something, is she? Because I swore she wasn’t sparkling, but I might’ve missed it with all the giltz here.” Things that sparkled? They were all over.

“Unless you’re interested in what I think is some form of gentrification, um, no. She’s lovely, though, and I’m glad to be invited.” He added the last part as an afterthought- he had no idea who was friends with who, even less so because he was so invested in finding his own friends, instead of observing others friendships. “Its nice to have friends here. Feels kind of like everyone knows each other like the back of their hands. It can be hard to find openings to fit in.”

“Ah, but she has to know their last name to emboss the invitation, so there must be some form of filtration behind the scenes.” He teased, “But good to know. Does that mean you know most of the people here? Is this like, a normal thing? Town wide parties?”

Austin blinked, pausing for a moment, and veering his brain right off that track of considering jealousy. It came easily when Marianne kept speaking, explaining her own motives. He’d put his own foot in his mouth enough times to forgive the faux pas.

“I did come alone. And don’t worry, you’re not coming off like the Dollmaker to me.” He couldn’t resist the opportunity to name drop his obsession, casually, and hoping slightly that Marianne might take the bait of it, “I’m enjoying talking to you. I don’t want a quick hi/bye conversation. If thats okay with you? I’m assuming it is, considering you called me out of the crowd.”

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛    

“She does give off a more classic vampire vibe. Very Dracula,” Mari acknowledged, filing away the Twilight reference as a part of the Austin [Redacted] puzzle. Somehow, she was able to keep from tossing out the next thought that her mind jumped to.

She could also be Nosferatu. If you were feeling a little more mean.

That was way more of a Mack comment. Most definitely not something that she’d actually want to share with someone who had stressed their friendship (albeit a looser one) with that evening’s hostess.

“I’m actually not very interested in gentrification, but glad to know that is indeed what she seems to be up to,” she added then with a shrug, a sip of water hot on the heels of her words.

It was... weird to have someone comment on being new to her. For her to no longer be the new one. Sure, people had moved to Gravewood after Mari, but not during her high school career. So, not when she’d really lived there. Austin’s arrival was the final nail in the coffin of her being new in town and she wasn’t yet sure how she felt about it.

“You’re not wrong. I mean, I was new once. For a long time, actually. People don’t really move here. But it can be hard to make friends when everyone’s been thick as thieves or mortal enemies since birth.” She imagined. To be fair, she hadn’t actually tried back in high school. The few friends she’d made over the years had just sort of... wormed their way in, even when she was trying to avoid making lasting connections.

“I know of many people here, but I only spent my high school career here and then I promptly got the hell out of dodge. There’s an argument to be made about if knowing someone in high school means that you ever really knew them anyway. But also, my frame of reference for parties was also high school, so I can’t be of much use there either.”

Taking another sip of water to keep herself from rambling (this was why she didn’t talk to strangers), Mari counted to three in her mind before she allowed herself to respond to the light callout she’d received.

“I’ll have you know that I’m a very friendly person, actually. I thought it would be nice to have another member of the welcome committee,” she lied. But that hadn’t been the most interesting thing he’d just said, had it?

“So, you know about the Dollmaker. And yet you chose to move here?”

[mariannebyrne]

mackenziegthomas​:

- - -

Mack could understand the fact that Mari came out already knowing she wouldn’t have fun. Mack herself, had naively that she could’ve come out and had fun. She liked to pretend that grief wasn’t an all consuming monster, that had sucked her up already, holding her in its deep, dark belly. She’d always held hope when faced with horrible realities of life, it was a necessity when you liked to fight for what was better, but that very ability bit her in the ass when it came to Bella.

Enough people had made it clear tonight just how much they thought that this disappearance was permanent, not temporary, and Mack had argued with each and everyone, reminding people that this wasn’t the end.

“Drinking is helping me have fun.” Having an action to do had made her feel almost as if she was passing as someone partying, but here it was reminding her just how much of an imposter she was, “Do you think you want to try that? I’m almost at the point where the room spins. Its totally fun.”

“The goddess of war. I like it.” She was lucky to know that name- far too many people had mentioned obscure gods that Mack had no knowledge of. “Tisiphone. The goddess of revenge.” She lifted an arm and flourished her one wing.

“That would make it more fun.” Every inch of Mack hated Isadora Morgan, and the very small part of her that didn’t feel guilt at being here, felt embarrassment for turning up to Isa’s party. “Did you see her outfit? I can’t tell if she realizes she looks like Satan right now or not. Its uncanny.”

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛  

“Do I want to try what? The drinking or the justified bullying? Because it’s a no on the former and a yes on the latter,” Mari clarified, knowing that even if Mack was on her way to being wasted, she’d probably be able to connect the dots between her father’s death and her complete avoidance of alcohol since.

Deep down she knew that it was a shitty person that had stolen the life of her father without even bothering to stop (their identity was also still unknown), but that didn’t change what her brain had decided she needed to do to in order to begin to heal.

It was probably something she was going to have to work out in therapy at some point, but with a seventeen-year-old to look after and debts to settle, plus a book to write and a best friend’s sister to find, who had the time?

Taking a moment to look over Mack’s costume, Mari offered a nod of approval along with what she hoped were appropriately enthusiastic and encouraging words.

“Nice! I can definitely see it,” she insisted. But could she really? No.

There were a fair amount of gods that Mari still didn’t really know. She’d read the Percy Jackson books and learned what she’d needed to write a dark academia novel from a lot of Googling, but when it came to those outside of the traditional pantheon, she was a little lost. She’d only read Metamorphoses once. It was a miracle she’d remembered half of the deities that she’d almost run into thus far in the evening.

At least it was way easier to come up with insults for Isadora.

“All of those doodles on top of her yearbook photo have manifested into reality, clearly. This whole thing feels really ignorant, honestly. And what does she have up her sleeve that she’s trying to bribe us all in advance for? Is she about to skin 101 dalmatians in the name of fashion or something?”

[mariannebyrne]

leoyoons​:

* ∗ ⁎ ⟶ 

With pleasantries and the like, the next step is one ‘you’re welcome,’ but the words felt like another stale part of those exchanges had between two people that didn’t really know each other. Leonora offers a smile instead and it’s more genuine than the words would have had any right to be— she didn’t know what else she could inject into the conversation, thus it would surely run it’s course soon.

She wasn’t a very subtle entertainer ( nor was she a very subtle person ), nurture having added these louder idiosyncrasies to her psyche. Strip those things away and she didn’t really know how to make herself interesting. 

“I’m relieved you know her at all,” she says, words light though they may be perceived as something else, something as pernicious as she had been. “I don’t remember who her parents are but these myths are so convoluted; there’s too many variations you know?” Actually, Leonora did recall that her father was Peneus, some minor river god that demanded far too much of his daughter; she really didn’t remember anything about the nymphs mother though that was another parallel between them. 

The similarities are all too self-pitying, though she thinks she wears them well. 

“As far as everything else, it’s not even her story, truly…at the least it doesn’t feel like it. She was part of some grand spectacle, was turned into a laurel, and forgotten. Now those things symbolize achievements, but I can’t see the connection between one thing and the other.” The words are punctuated with a shrug of her shoulders, before she returns the question Marianne had asked before, “what of your costume?”

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛    

“You don’t forget the really tragic ones as much, I guess. Or the ones that have some sort of commentary on the persistence of men when women clearly aren’t interested, even if it’s due to godly interference. Not the same, but a girl can only take so many “u up?” texts after a breakup before she starts to relate a little too much.”

If she hadn’t blocked Johnnie Dyer, maybe she would’ve wished she could turn into a tree.

So maybe she remembered the tale more than she’d let on. But what had been most interesting to her was Leo’s take on it. Mari didn’t know a lot about the other girl, but the information she’d just been presented had been a valuable part of the puzzle.

Was Leo afraid of being forgotten? Did she feel like a pawn in someone else’s story? Somehow, the Leo in front of her did not feel like the same one she’d known of in high school.

Apparently people in Gravewood did have the capacity for change. Maybe most just decided not to.

Having expected the question to be tossed right back at her, Mari wished she had a better summary of all that Athena was and why she was interesting. But truthfully? Mari had picked her because it felt obvious. People knew who she was, knew that Athena was smart. She could say the name and hide behind the costume without anyone reading too much into it. Because there wasn’t a whole lot to read into, really.

“Athena? Goddess of wisdom and warcraft. Patron goddess of heroic endeavor. Born from the forehead of Zeus - at least, in some tellings. A virgin goddess. She could be a little messy - Arachne, for example - but she was smart. Strategic. Heroes asked her for help and advice and she gave it, but she was very much in control of her own story. Many admirable qualities.”

[mariannebyrne]

indyerstraits​:

–

“Frankly, I think my soul’s a bit too low-class for Isadora Morgan. I’m just hoping to eat her down a tax bracket, though I’m sure she’s writing this off as a non-profit event,” Jamie said with no humor in his voice, eyes glazing over at taljk of the wealthy in Gravewood. It was a tired tale he could never get away from, the disparity between the social classes of a small town an inescapable gap that only widened with every gala or banquet the elite threw with the taxes of the poor. 

Jamie took a long swig from his glass. “Persephone was not a voluntary queen. Contrary to popular belief, there is no empowerment from Persephone who was unwittingly captured by Hades and tricked into staying before developing Stockholm Syndrome,” he said. “Morgan screams Lytta to me. Vindictive, cruel, crazy. Not to mention, she reigns over rabies and madness.”

Looking over at Mari’s costume again, he quirked a brow. He was in a flannel and t-shirt with dollar store chains, but he was poor. “You know that Athena wears a helmet, right? That’s like, her thing.”

He hadn’t expected the conversation to continue past his judgement, but Mari seemed to have different ideas as if he hadn’t remembered her association to his buddy Griffin in high school. Jamie had always avoided relationships, but it was simply because they made him ill. Much like Griffin and Marianne did. And Johnnie and Marianne did. And whoever else Marianne had stuck her fingers into. Apparently, there was some validity in naming a shot the Red-Headed Slut.

“Werewolves are time-old myths. Every society has a version of a werewolf or a human-turned-animal, take Greece with King Lycaon who was punished for feeding Zeus his own son. Or the Nordic with Sigmund and Sinfjotli who put on enchanted wolf pelts and became wolves themselves,” Jamie explained, sounding a little exasperated at his own intelligence. his brain had always been a steel trap no matter how much liquor he pickled it in. 

“As a writer, one would think you would be better read,” he said. “How’s that book of yours going anyway?”

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Mari made a mental note about Jamie’s feelings regarding Isa without offering much of a response, not sure what she could possibly add beyond good for you. Her dislike of Isadora Morgan was on behalf of Mack, respectful of the fact that Isa was essentially everything that Mack was against, but it was weaker reasoning than the personal vendettas of so many.

At the very least she could comment on the costume thing.

“Do you really think she put that much thought into it, though? To see past the superficial and actually delve into the tale?” she questioned. “I don’t know her, but I don’t see her thinking too hard about it beyond the fact that she’d get to dress in florals. Maybe she considers Gravewood to be the Underworld. Maybe it’s a statement.”

She had thought that she’d put together a pretty good costume, given the fact that until very recently she hadn’t even been planning on attending, but... apparently Jamie thought differently. Another strike against him for their very short conversation.

“I think you greatly overestimate the amount of effort I was able to put into tonight prior to maybe 24 hours ago. Costume parties are at the bottom of my list right now.”

The more she listened to Jamie, the more aware she became of the fact that he was seemingly just a prickly person. She had saved his life once upon a time, and yet he was still finding small ways to insult her. They weren’t conversation enders, but they weren’t exactly encouraging. The fact that he shared a face with one of the only people she’d ever had to block already hadn’t set them up for success. Did Jamie know that they already had much to overcome?

Mari ignored almost all of his information dump on werewolves in favor of keeping the conversation tolerable, a deadpan “good thing I don’t write werewolf books, I guess” her only response, especially given how dismissive he seemed to be about her job.

Maybe it was just because it was a touchy subject, but she was quick to follow up her joke with a dismissive shrug.

“It’s fine,” she lied. All she’d written thus far were quick lines here and there. A girl goes missing. And then what? "But they gave me an extension, so the release date has been pushed back a little.”

[mariannebyrne]

tobegriffb​:

෴

Oh. Right. Of course she knew it was him behind the mask. There weren’t many people in Gravewood that ever wanted to know Griffin well enough to recognize him in the dark, but if there was at least one, it was Mari.

He slid the mask up into the unruly mop of curls on his head.

“You know, I almost considered dressing as Odysseus, but my uncle insisted that a mythical man didn’t fit the theme. We could’ve been a matching set,” he said. He immediately felt embarrassed about it, taking a sip from the cup he’d left neglected all evening. But he wasn’t the type to linger in his own awkward social ineptitude. When in doubt, Griffin doubled down. “Next time I’ll call you so we can coordinate,” he joked.

He tracked the path of Mari’s gaze. He was sure she was only looking at his costume, but he felt unsteady all the same. What if she looked hard enough and saw right through him, to his anonymous criticisms of her work - and beyond? To the ways he’d changed over the years, inarguably for the worse.

“Blame Uncle Boris. He ranted for a while about authenticity and the only way I could stop it was by letting him pick a mask for me. He has this whole case of them. The one I’m wearing is Egyptian, so… Thoth felt like a natural conclusion.” He lifted the side of his cloak to show her the scroll hooked onto the camera bag he always carried with him. “Scribe of the gods.”

He looked away from Marianne for the first time, at the scenes of the party around them. There were more than a few shirtless Poseidons up here, who had clearly come for one thing only. At least they were thematic. “I’m not technically here in a professional capacity, but if you have any comments about the masquerade, this scribe could always use some quotable material.”

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In Marianne’s quest to leave everything that had to do with Gravewood behind all those years ago, she tended to forget how all-encompassing she’d been. Mack had made the cut by sheer force of will, but everyone else?

Obviously the Griffin situation was a little more nuanced, but the day she’d left Gravewood, she’d left him behind too. More or less. She knew he’d gone off to New York, but he had gone into her “someone that I used to know” box just like everyone else.

Mari had never been a big fan of social media, keeping her Facebook largely inactive and her Twitter and Instagram reserved for work. She caught up on everyone’s lives once or twice a year, eyes glazing over as she clocked pictures of babies, marriages, pregnancies, clear drinking problems. She was relying on that occasional check-in, memories, and the fact that so few people really changed after high school to keep her going upon her reintroduction to small town West Virginia life. It had therefore been a long time since she’d actually seen Griffin’s face.

And... completing her quick observation of him, she had to admit that he was essentially the same. The small differences she could pick up on only served as a reminder of just how much they no longer knew each other, though. Once upon a time his joke about matching wouldn’t have been so awkward.

“Yeah, next time,” she agreed, just as determined as he seemed to be to not linger on that remark for too long. “Though you probably could’ve gotten away with it. Half of the guys here just decided a bedsheet toga was enough... and I’m pretty sure I overheard Jamie Dyer ranting about Sisyphus. But Thoth is good too. Fitting, given...” she gestured between both the camera and the male. She may have been out of the loop, but she was aware that he wrote for the town paper. “And unique, since so many of us went for the cliché. Also, I wouldn’t wish Odysseus on you. On anyone.”

Ever observant, Mari followed Griffin’s line of sight towards the chaos surrounding them, pretending to mull over the offer of a quote in the Banshee as she watched a man toss his spray-painted pitchfork to the side before backflipping into the pool.

Classy.

“Y’know, I don’t know that my publisher would love that notification popping into their inbox - oh look, a quote from our dear author with a horribly depressing life who we’ve extended some grace towards lately. Maybe it’s about her healing? Oh, no. It’s about a party.”

She was trying to make light of her circumstances, but it was obviously another awkward beat to their conversation. She couldn’t expect to talk to Griffin like she used to. It wasn’t realistic... but she also didn’t want to shut up quite yet.

“Thank you for the offer, though. Off the record, it’s all a little much and it doesn’t feel very Gravewood.”