( Archie Renaux. cis-man. he/him. ) did you hear ? NOAH PARSONS is stuck in stonehaven for the foreseeable future … they've lived here for FOUR YEARS and are known around town as THE CHAMELEON, though back in high school they were better known for being voted BEST ACTOR. if i'm not mistaken, they’re a TWENTY-TWO year old senior studying JOUNALISM ( i really hope that translates well into their role as a COMMUNICATOR in the ‘new world' ). according to my records they were originally on the trip because they wanted to appease their girlfriend — which checks out, given they’re CLEVER, APATHETIC and INSINCERE. if you’re ever trying to find them, your best bet is to start at waterside mini golf and listen for someone humming leave the door open by bruno mars. oh, and don’t forget to try calling out Noah or picturing the flash of a coin curling over knuckle, lies sweeter than honey, a pair of redbull cans, and smiles worn like armor for extra help. let's hope the chaos doesn't get to them …
B A S I C S .
birth name : Noah James Parsons
nickname(s) : N/A
date of birth : May 31st
age : 22
gender : cis man
pronouns : he/him
sexuality : bisexual
relationship status : it's complicated
birthplace : blue ridge, indiana
education : currently studying journalism at stonehaven college
siblings : benjamin parsons (deceased), simon parsons (14)
B I O G R A P H Y .
he was a born liar. white lies when he was young. tucking his head down and pointing a finger at a brother when a vase was broken or a bathtub overflowed.
he was the son of nobody. though everyone in blue ridge, called that nobody elliot. the no-good charmer that worked a drill in the middle of lake michigan. the type of man that never offered anything but a smile.
his mother was from a respectable family once. but she tossed that out the window for elliot. she was twenty-two when she had elliot. twenty-six when she had benjamin. thirty when she had simon.
three boys that knew their father in spurts and stops. that knew him by the flash of headlights through their childhood bedroom.
noah was the carbon copy of the man. idolized him for years.
arguments simmered between his parents though and one night his father came into noah's bedroom, knocked him on the chin, and asked 'you look after the little ones, right?' noah nodded. (it was his worst lie.)
he never saw his dad after that. elliot went to chicago or new york city. he went to seattle or to phoenix. all that mattered is that he left.
his mother was a woeful single parent. there were microwaved dinners and forgotten birthdays. failed pick-ups and depressing holidays
there was little benjamin at nine left to swim unattended. and noah grabbing ice creams and hearing the lifeguard's whistle.
at the funeral he promised simon he'd always look after him. (and that was never meant to be a lie.)
he grew tall in high school, learned how to bend a room to his smile. learned how to charm and to manipulate the truth. over the dinner table his mom would glare at him. 'you've got your father's tongue,' she'd say.
blue ridge had his number and his story and after parsing together grades he settled on stone haven college. it was forty minutes from home. an acceptable distance to commute day in and day out.
college was tabula rasa for him. he built himself from the ground up. he worked his way into frat parties where he could chug beer with frat brothers, and into study groups with some of the smartest people enrolled. he could be something for anyone.
he studied journalism, slanting toward a future in a big city. and he worked part-time back in blue ridge. slept in his childhood bed and made sure that simon got up and went to school everyday
his relationships never lasted long. he'd never take a partner home or get to the point where he was fully honest with them.
he went on this outreach trip to appease the latest partner. to soothe her anger. their fight in the middle of the trip, had her calling a friend to pick her up. she wasn't trapped here.
he worked at a diner back in his hometown. a spot a little less friendly and with a touch more grime. the vinyl booths cracked, the waitstaff smelling of smoke breaks and grease, the fluorescent sign fading one vowel at a time. it was second nature to drop a basket of curly fries into the fryer, watch them sizzle and then sling them onto a plate. he lit the burners, found an eighties soundtrack on the jukebox and slid into one of the empty booths. he was a third of plate in, contemplating cheese sauce when her heard the door slid open. he leaned in his seat with a crooked smile before saying, "if you've come looking for curly fries you're out of luck. i got dibs."
who : mariana + anyone.
where : cypress general store
status : [ open ]
the shelves of cypress general store were a skeleton of what they once were … half empty rows of canned goods, and a few dusty flashlights no one had thought to grab yet. "beans, beans, beans," mari muttered under her breath, holding up a can of pork stew with a grimace. "this is it? seriously?" she groaned, louder than anticipated. "i'm supposed to survive on this?" the crate rattled as she dug deeper, her frustration bubbling over. she didn’t even know why she cared so much, eating pescatarian felt like a silly hill to die on in, well, wherever the hell she was. but then again the thought of canned meat turned her stomach. as she reached for another dented tin, a faint creak from the floorboards made her freeze. slowly, she looked up, her pulse skipping when she spotted a shadow looming over her. "god— are you crazy? ring a bell or something, don't just sneak up on people."
he'd watched a nature documentary when he was eight about the amazon rainforest. seen a pack of piranhas picking bones clean in a frenzy. that what had happened at the grocery store. discarded bits scattered here and there. the undesirable can of brussel sprouts or turnips or hot sauce. he picked a pair of sunglasses and a viser from the display up front, donning both before making his way through the aisles. finding mariana among the scraps wasn't too surprising and he picked his way carefully over toward her, realizing at the last moment he'd been a touch too light-footed. "Hey now, roomie! It's okay. I come in peace" he tugged off his sunglasses. "this place got wrecked huh?"
location ﹕ neon cactus saloon
status ﹕ open to anyone.
* he can easily recall fragments of his recent memories in the bar, the once bustling vessel reduced to less than a fraction of what it previously was ﹕there is no more chatter and live music to be heard, only the constant droning of an electrical buzz insisting to be heard in the foreground. he is alone. no longer graced with the warm presence of a smiling face behind the bar, a chatty regular who relentlessly babbles about a story from their youth, none of the familiarity he's become accustomed to in the past year to be found. only ounces of alcohol left abandoned without a second thought. as beautiful as it may be, the warm rustic design he's grown to love offers nothing to the atmosphere when he's faced with the existential dread of loneliness. bars are supposed to be SOCIAL places! and that's made evident by the half-finished glasses of cocktails left scattered across the bar top, the ghostly reminder of the previous guests, guests who have strangely disappeared ━ leaving tristyn to soak in their absence. but it's not so bad. there's something that makes up for the freakishness of it all. free booze. he realizes that as he tentatively snakes his hand around the neck of a nearly full jack daniel's bottle, left discarded and barren on the shelf behind the bar. he instinctively wets his bottom lip as if he holds the world's most prized possession beneath his fingertips. not like stealing from his favorite bar is the GREATEST idea, but who's really around to stop him? no one, is what he'd believe, if not for the faint rustle to be heard from the other side of the bar. he was so close. if he had any ounce of shame if things were normal, this all would be embarrassing … at the first sight of apocalypse, he's off to steal liquor. typical? his head whips around, attention turning from the shelf onto whoever seemed to have caught him in the act. ❛ whatever you THINK is happening … probably is. ❜
he kicked at a bit of trash, a leftover can of sprite, that went skittering into a drain. one night had turned into two and that first blush of uncertainty was settling into reality. things weren't going to right themselves. he wasn't going to get back to blue ridge, to his brother, and he wasn't going to get to contact them. he was going to have to live with deirdre and mariana and nicolas. he was going to need a hell of a lot more liquor. he'd always lived with a binary. have and have not. his mother tapping a mantra into his head. you get what you get. except ownership was out the window now. the cars, the bikes, the food on the shelves all belonged to those who remained. and before someone could place something as benign as rules down he was going to get his share. he shouldered into the bar, pausing at the sight of tristyn. "hey," he held up his hands, "i'm not the police. won't get judgement here. though dibs on the tequila."
