still a ghost

Noel Acero, 32, Journalist for The Incandescent.Headquarters here.

[noelsacero]

empiricst​:

—

     camille could feel noel’s gaze over her, and wondered if this is how animals felt at the zoo. having to justify themselves for their illogical behaviors, for the way they needed to howl and toss and bite. losing herself was second nature to her — she’d slip in and out of monstrous minds, in and out of existence, in and out of her own conscience. she suddenly felt naked, exposed: did she have to justify her own mind? would dissecting it serve any purpose here, if not to make noel run away in utter fear? deep down, somehow, camille enjoyed their company. found a strange kind of comfort in knowing there was a kindred spirit of sorts she could discuss these matters with: someone who wouldn’t run. yet — sure it would’ve been much harder to keep them around, if she didn’t learn how to stop for a second.

“i’m okay”. her lie was blatant, performed with a poster kind of smile, albeit fleeting and quickly eclipsed by the sorrowful, apologetic look she cast on the counter. her fingernail tracing the mark of an old scratch, she kept her gaze returning to noel in discreet, quick glances. “working a lot. clearly. but you’re probably in the same boat”. a quick smirk, then camille turned to took yet another long, thirsty sip of her beer. “how are things at the paper? calmer than the precinct, i hope ——”

--

Noel could see clearly through Camille’s falsity. Maybe it was their eye in journalism, the one you needed to have when 90% of your job was people blatantly lying to you and then trying to write an article, piecing the pieces of the story -- the puzzle -- together, through everyone’s bullshit. Raising the glass of Yuengling to their lips, they sipped, placing the glass back down after several gulps -- long, very necessary gulps, almost cautiously, not wanting to make any sudden noises in order to startle Camille’s fragility. 

“Yeah, definitely in the same boat. But I’d have it no other way, gotta be honest,” they smirked, a glance in her direction, eyes then settling against the counter. “I have no idea how I’d spend my days if it weren’t for work.” A pause. “Anyway, yeah, things are okay at the paper. People are going mental with this serial killer though, so no, definitely not calmer.” They took another few gulps of beer, hoping it would loosen them up. Noel could feel it, their energy, too...tight, constricting. They were quiet for a moment before curiosity (as usual) got the better of them. “How did this killer get their name? Do you know? I thought it was The Incandescent -- reporters thinking it was some 1950s film noir gig. Did the name come from you guys over at the precinct?”

[noelsacero]

hopesiick​:

♡

The thing about being mean was that it wasn’t always outright — not for Jordan, at least. It’d sneak up on her and nestle itself in the roots of her being, waiting for the most opportune moment to blossom and, finally, reveal itself. It was a tickle at the back of her throat, a tingle in the palms of her hands. Jordan pressed her lips together carefully, eyes flickering elsewhere in brief thought before settling back where they belonged. 

If it were anyone else, she’d have said something nice, flowery: maybe I missed you, you ever think of that? If she were feeling particularly careless, she’d have been honest for the sake of it — no strings or bargains attached. She’d tell them: I need you to forgive me. No, she’d beg them: I need you to look at me as you did, not as you do. It wasn’t anyone else, however, and she would forever be chained by a sense of cowardice she could not — liar; would not — shake. 

“St. Peter’s is a public place, ain’t it?” Jordan shrugged and wrapped her fingers around her shot glass, lifting it in a silent, unceremonious toast before swallowing its contents whole. “Pretty sure I’m part of that ‘public’.” Whether you like it or not, Jordan thought. It was funny, almost, how one of the traits she’d admired so much in them had come back to bite — hard. For a moment, she couldn’t help but feel a tinge of regret: maybe she should’ve gotten them a shot, too. 

--

“Sure,” Noel half-shrugged, their hands nursing the pint of beer, thumbs caressing the rim of the glass as if beckoning the alcohol to make this easier, to make this all more bearable. “But here, is what I mean.” Their eyes, before their latter statement, had been dancing along the gleams of light of that afternoon's setting sun, but when the words left their lips -- here, is what I mean -- they’d turn to her again, their gaze hard, sharp like daggers. 

“Why sit here? I mean, it’s not like I called you over for information or anything. Pretty sure you’ve got loads of friends all around me you can sit with --” lovers, they really wanted to say...they almost said. Regardless of their words though, Noel knew that even if Jordan had chosen another table, another chair, their eyes would’ve been on her the entire evening...collecting answers from patrons to empty questions (empty now, as their mind had only been on one thing), wondering the whole time what she’d been talking about; if Noel had been on their mind at all.

[noelsacero]

empiricst​:

yeah, she’d heard of it. her involvement with the case, it seemed, was either too much or not enough. the thought of the victims (or suspected ones) had the power to destroy her, to rip apart the delicate texture of her mind, tear her at the seams: so she’d learned to block them out, focus herself on the chase for the wolf rather than red riding hood. but at times it became one more layer screening her from the reality of things — detaching her. and she could sense her deficiency, her unforgivable lack. noel wasn’t one to judge, or at least she didn’t suspect them as such — yet camille felt as if she had to justify herself somehow, if only for the sake of apologizing. i’m sorry, she almost wanted to say, there is a fault in my code.

but she didn’t. instead she sipped her beer silently, cautious glances peering over her present company, and once noel spole, camille let her glass down, placing both palms against the bar top as if that could somehow ground her thoughts and help her gain a trail of thought she’d lost long before. “yeah. we — uh, they’ve been looking for her”. such a pathetic excuse of a line. camille let out a sigh, then turned once again towards noel, on her face a look of cautious hesitation, perhaps even fear. “what’s the mood around town? i haven’t… really been around. i mean, i can imagine —”. a pause. camille laughed nervously, drank again. “i don’t know, noel. i know it’s a nightmare. it just feels like we’re grasping at straws here, constantly. and i know people are pissed, i just —” a single, exhausted sigh. camille rubbed a hand over her face, letting her head then rest against the palm of her hand. tiredly, she gazed over to noel, as if somehow they could provide an answer to the million questions raging through her mind. “please, tell me you have some magical insight that will spark an epiphany and suddenly make me solve this case. please”.

--

Camille’s behavior was odd. It had always been odd, since they’d met but particularly around cases, murders, the most. Noel had never been curious enough -- curious, of course -- they’d always been generally curious, hence their chosen career, but not enough to pry into Camille’s life, the way her mind existed. Noel couldn’t quite grasp her. It’s like they’d read into her, almost figure her out, all her quirks and thoughts rising to the forefront in her expressions and then -- nothing, gone, as if what Noel had just witnessed Camille going through internally (an unraveling, maybe) had never happened.

Noel’s furrowed brow and stern gaze watched as Camille struggled with her words, like fighting to pull on a sweater that was ten times smaller. They were quiet a few seconds after Cam’s latter question before speaking, “don’t you live here? Aren’t you a fed?” Noel breathed a quiet laugh before taking a few gulps of their beer. “I mean the mood is, I don’t know, unsettled? Everyone thinks this little girl went missing cause of Rorschach but there’s nothing to indicate that it was -- yet. I don’t really know anything, just started on my report. I just figured you’d know something, considering if it’s Rorschach, it’s what you’re working on, right?” Noel paused, slight concern painting their features, “Anyway, how’ve you...been?”

[noelsacero]

hopesiick​:

♡

It’s a rotten compulsion: this need for attention — whether it’s good, bad, or stolen; none of it is of any real concern to her. She knows it as soon as she sees them, feeling the seed of this want crawl in her head through her ear. It’s a scab she should leave alone — they’re a person she should leave alone, but that isn’t Jordan’s strong suit. She’d lived from the safety of her wounds and would die by them. Whatever affection had survived the mutilation that was their relationship would forever be bound by that same fate, too. 

Her feet lead her before she can think about it — read: before she can consider whether Noel even wants her there ( which is surely a negative ). Still, she isn’t exactly thinking about Noel as she takes a seat beside them. She’s clutching the memory of them — of who they used to be, together. A self-proclaimed time-traveler: Jordan can never quite live in the present, forever preoccupied by the past and an imagined, frightful future. 

She slips into the stool just beside them, quietly and without any bravado. Her eyes immediately scan the scene before them: an open book, a pretty face, and un expectant bartender. All familiar, but never quite like this. Jordan clears her throat and sneaks a glance their way — lingering, wordless — before answering what she can only assume is what’s asked of her. Even now, after everything, Jordan still gets lost in them. “I’ll have whatever they got, plus a shot of whiskey.” Fingers tap against the bar-top idly in feigned nonchalance. It doesn’t work: the flush of her cheeks betrays her. Jordan looks at them again, flesh alight. This part’s supposed to be easy, she thinks. 

It isn’t. 

“Is there any pleasure goin’ on here?” Jordan motions their way, eyes darting pointedly towards their notepad. “Or are you all business tonight?” 

--

If Noel could describe the feeling they experienced every time they saw her -- her: it was a stomach in knots, not the nice kind where it felt like you were in love (though it still carried remnants of that, like oil slick on pavement, scrubbed but not completely -- never completely), it was more like coiled metal wire -- sharp and uncomfortable -- it was a tightened throat, like a tunnel with walls growing closer the further you crawled into it. And just like, a simple peripheral glimpse in her direction and resentment came reigning in, taking over like wildfire.

Why Jordan chose to sit next to Noel, they didn’t know. Noel only kept them around enough to gain the information they needed for reports -- leisure rendezvous’ was the last thing they sought after their split. Still, though, maybe she had information they needed for their current article. And funny that she’d mention it -- pleasure; Noel scoffed, not a glance in her direction, nothing but a swig of their beer as Jordan took her seat. “Hardly,” Noel muttered, taking another swig before trailing brown hues to Jordan’s features, memories tumbling in and fleeting -- “working on a report. Why are you here?”

[noelsacero]

mr-cxrlson​:

@noelsacero​ starter

Reporters were not new to him, war correspondents and press conferences were a usual in both lines of work. But, with these murders it seemed the reporters were bolder or so he thought. With another stack of files in his hand he was going to put them in the room they kept all the killers files in. The victims personal files - with names etc-  were kept somewhere a little more secure. Assuming it would be another day of reading he had his music in while he open the room door casually, he almost didn’t see the smaller figure by the boxes. They were not who he was expecting to see, seeing them with a file in hand a jolt of panic went through him. 

Setting down his box he flicked his music off on his phone before looking down, his face set like stone. “Can I help you?” When they turned his face melted and he chuckled, “Jesus Noel-” the reporter was not his first assumption, the department secretaries had tried being nosy earlier in the investigation. 

“Someone let you in?” He knew them as a good reporter so he didn’t want to assume hey broke in but he had to check. 

--

Noel’s instinct was too good to be fooled by the receptionist in the station that evening. They’d known there was a lot more the police just weren’t saying in the case of the missing girl last seen outside of St. Peter’s. There were protests that whole week for a reason and all the interviewees they’d questioned that Tuesday were either too paranoid to tell the truth or just...hated journalists, basically.

They could hear the door to the archives room opening off in the distance to their left. Noel’s pass to police reports had already expired a month ago (still had to get it renewed but this Rorschach asshole delayed just about everything having to do with law enforcement), but they were relieved to see it had only been Eli. 

“I...kind of let myself in?” Noel smirked, clearing their throat enough to break the awkwardness of being found technically looking through police reports illegally. “I spoke with the receptionist out front so she knows about me but other than that...the door was open. I have my pass though,” leaning back in the chair, they pulled the black lanyard with an ID pass from underneath their navy colored blouse. “Glad to see it’s just you though cause it’s expired,” a pause, “how’ve you been E?”

[noelsacero]

[noelsacero]

empiricst​:

—

ah. there came that feeling — maybe not quite guilt, but close to it. the awareness that there is a thread she isn’t holding on to. the awareness that she is slipping. she has no idea what they’re talking about. she has no idea what happened. she keeps her mind soaked in the case, and barely ever remembers about the world outside of it. at times she needs to remind herself a murder implies a killer and a victim: seems it’s far too easier for her to wrap her mind around the former, rather than tend to the latter.

“no, i —” a sudden shift in her mood, a sigh leaves her lips and she looks apologetic, perhaps even ashamed. an inquisitive look thrown in noel’s direction, wanting badly to peek at their notes but sensing there was a lesson, at least, she had missed. camille grabbed her beer and took a gulp of it, letting the rim linger over her lower lip as she tried to find an excuse (she had none). “i haven’t. i’ve been too focused on work, i have — no idea what’s going on. what happened?”

--

They could sense it. They could sense Camille’s struggle -- though they couldn’t pin point exactly what it was she was struggling with. To be honest, Noel didn’t necessarily try hard in relationships, if they did, it was because they cared but those they cared for could be counted on one hand. Not only that, but their inability to actually carry on a proper conversation without it ending up awkward made it so relationships were hard to come by, let alone be developed.

“It was nothing serious but The Incandescent wants a report on it if they want me to keep working on this Rorschach case. I only just rode passed it on my bike.” They reached for the Yuengling, taking several quick gulps before continuing. “Something about this kid that had gone missing. A 14-yr old girl. Hear of it?”

[pocpopculture]

HIGH FIDELITY, S01E01 (2020—)

[beverlyhanscoms]

[noelsacero]

empiricst​:

—

a certain kind of tension, it seemed, would always accompany their meetings. perhaps there was an unspoken law of nature that required journalists and law enforcement to be natural born enemies — like coyotes and roadrunners. camille was aware of noel’s occupation and the risks it entailed, especially when she had to measure her words each time conversation veered too close to the edge of her case. and yet: it was exactly the case that mostly represented the core of the excitement that came from conversation with noel. as if perhaps she’d found a likeminded spirit to bounce ideas off; it was just her luck that it should also be the one person she couldn’t disclose everything to.

“wow. uncalled for”, camille joked, a vague trace of a playful smile crossing her lips as she sighed, letting her arms crossed against the bar top. “though not untruthful, i guess”. a shrug. “long day at work, you know how it goes”. she could see the notepad before the other, sudden interest painting camille’s features, though she wouldn’t try to peek into it unless invited to. “you haven’t gotten off work yet, it seems”, she merely commented, an index pointing at the pages as she accepted the drink from the bartender’s hands and thanked him silently. “what’ve you got there?”

“Oh,” Noel laughed -- small, quiet, barely a sound -- for a moment, they were confused at what it was Camille found rude, then realized (thanks to their horrible social ineptness) that it had been about her appearance. “Oops,” smirking, a bit of discomfort in their lowered gaze, they reached for the beer the bartender had placed in front of them. Thanking him, they took a couple of sips before finding Cam’s attention again.

“Yeah, I never stop. I mean, I should, probably, but...life’s work is called life’s work for a reason, right?” They took another few gulps, hoping the alcohol would wash down the...awkwardness that was Noel Acero. “It’s just a few questions I plan on asking a couple of people. Did you hear about the protest that went on last week? It took place right outside of here, actually.”

[noelsacero]

empiricst​:

the day — oddly enough — had wound down pretty uneventfully. of course, calm was only ever an illusion; at best, it meant no cataclysm had befallen the town of red ridge yet. and camille would usually take the chance of a quiet day to stretch her hours in the office far too long, keep herself buried in papers until she could barely see the difference between her case and the life she was (or at least, tried to) leading. still — the precinct had been close to deserted by 6 pm, and though she would’ve gladly basked in the solitude-induced efficiency of the early evening, a sudden yawn had caught her off guard: she was fucking exhausted.

still, camille hardly ever felt like going home. hard to handle her mother, these days, and though her guilt burned in the back of her head, 6.30 found her pulling up to the side of st. peter’s looking for an excuse — any excuse — to postpone the moment she’d have to come home and face the shambles her life was in. an excuse was found in the person of noel acero — perhaps the one person she could maybe attempt to call a friend, or a friendly acquaintance at best. “one for me, too”, camille signaled at the bartender, as she perched herself up on a stool right next to the other, a twirl of her fingers before she turned, and smirked. “you buyin’?”

Hearing a familiar voice, Noel, who had already been jotting down a few questions to ask patrons that night, turned to find a familiar blonde heading towards them. Noel couldn’t quite place Camille. She wasn’t a friend per se (those were hard to come by -- Noel had the unfortunate habit of giving people single, very thin chances and their sensitivity made it so that if it was butchered in any way, they wanted nothing more to do with said person) -- but she wasn’t just another fed either.

“I guess,” Noel smirked at her question, brown hues trailing over to watch the bartender pour another Yuengling. “So,” they glanced at Camille again before continuing to write down their questions. “did you just get out of work or?” -- 3. what was going through your mind when you witnessed the protest last week? -- Noel looked up at her, the scribbling of their pen coming to a pause, “judging by your appearance, I’d say you had a hell of a day.”

[noelsacero]

status: open for anyone @redridgestart​ location: st. peter’s / 6:30 p.m.

Research was literally the only reason why Noel found themself at St. Peter’s that night. It was a weird balance to uphold -- introversion, wanting to withdraw from society and yet having to throw yourself into it, willingly. They didn’t choose investigative journalism as a career path for the people though, maybe not directly anyway, but for the truth. They wanted the people to know the truth, no matter how ugly it got. Did that cost them? Sure. You could say that. It cost them in relationships, in jail time, in general dislike for the human population but nothing mattered more to Noel than honesty.

“I’ll just have a beer,” Noel gestured to the bartender, sitting themself on a stool at the bar. They removed a black-ink pen and a small Moleskin notepad from the inside of their messenger bag, which now sat lazily against the bar top, its brown, faux leather flap hanging over the edge of the battered counter. “From tap, bottle, or?” Noel’s eyes trailed to the bartender in front of them, “from tap?” They glanced over, seeing the line of beer brands, “the Yuengling is good, thanks.”

[noelsacero]

intro: noel acero

[v here again with noel -- and once again, i’m open for any and all plots basically and i live hard for angst so hmu 👀]

Name: Noel Alexis Acero Nickname: Noie (No-ee) Hometown: Isabela, Puerto Rico Current Location: Red Ridge, NV, USA Birthday + Age: October 29th, 1988 / 32 yrs. of age Zodiac Sign: Scorpio Gender: Non-binary Pronouns: They/them Sexual Orientation: Pansexual/romantic Occupation: Investigative Journalist for The Incandescent Length of stay in Red Ridge: 14 years Alignment: Chaotic Good MBTI: INTP Personality: [+] Straightforward, honest, intuitive, perceptive, sympathetic, intelligent, bold, hard-working, persistent [-] Detached, abrasive, cold, fussy, secretive, impulsive, tense, vengeful, bossy, reserved

BIO + POTENTIAL CONNECTIONS:

Read Noel’s bio here.

Just throwing down some general connection ideas but we can take this as far as we’d like to (or not!) when we plot. I’m also totally open for anything else!

co-workers they work with at the incandescent

police/citizens, etc. they got to know whilst doing research for an article 

they’re often seen at bars so, they can be a regular to the establishment your character works at and they’re curious about noel? who often sits at the bar with a beer, pen and notepad??

ex-lover who felt the relationship was better off platonic + noel was in agreement

ex-lover who noel loved and is now very bitter towards said person

noel’s a military baby so maybe your character knows noel’s father somehow?

someone who actually knows how to get noel to open up, shockingly enough

[charlotteslabouff-deactivated20]

Adria Arjona as Yovanna Triple Frontier (2019) dir. J.C. Chandor

[viinnttaaggee]