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@ofblackwidcws
“Uh --- what were you saying?”
rxpperofhearts:
The familiar tingle of someone ghosting around him, Sawyer allowed a lazy grin to spread across his face. If he was telling the truth, he had known from the start that Harley would show up. She always did. It was almost sad, but over the years he had grown comfortable with the thought that whenever he snapped his fingers–she’d come running. Eyes drifting to the knife that she had twisting around between her fingers, something feral came into his smile.
Ghosting quickly behind her, he produced the knife that he been hiding in his back pocket. Cutting Harley’s arm deftly, the sociopath made sure he was a few feet away before she turned. “You’re it…” Laughing, he ghosted to the living room.
Harley’s gaze widened for a brief moment when she felt the blade glide across her skin, and from there she was nothing but smiles. Fun game. It’d been a while since anything exciting happened around the Murder House, and she could see this taking a bloody fun turn. As Sawyer ghosted away the sociopath turned herself invisible, and began her search to exact her playful revenge. Upon finding him, she appeared behind him crouched down ---- and quickly she sliced his calf before giggling, “You’re it,” and ghosting off into one of the bathrooms upstairs.
rxpperofhearts:
(@ofblackwidcws)
Sawyer cracked his neck as he appeared in one of the many hallways the Murder House had to offer. He had grown slightly restless during the past few hours in his attic, and something seemed to be calling him out. “Harley.” His voice did a funny little lift on the last part of her name. “Oh, Harley.”
No man could ever tame Harley. No one could ever own her, for she was her own and demanded to be so with a fiery passion. No man could ever pull her away from her path or lead her down a road she didn’t want to go down. No man ---- a sudden voice reached the blonde and tore her from her thoughts, she’d been laying on her bed twirling a knife against her finger just to the point where it wouldn’t mutilate her. One man, maybe. But Sawyer didn’t count like that. Harley saw them as equals, and he could never make her do something she didn’t want to do. But how she did come running like a puppy. Ghosting to the hallway Sawyer was lingering in, knife still in hand and spinning in the same manner as before, the sociopath grinned and cocked her head. “You rang?” she sang back.
basementthriller:
“Not even clear cocktails?” Fiona asked with a raised eyebrow. “Wow, you must be so much fun at parties.”
“At least I’m not the bitch judging what everyone else is drinking.” Harley nearly laughed, but couldn’t put the effort into it. Instead she plucked a flask from her back pocket and began to unscrew it ---- the strong scent of bourbon pouring from it.
“Clear liquor? I’ll take a pass.”
With a six pack of beer and a blanket under his arm, Ricky ghosted from his spot in the backyard onto the roof. While he had been enjoying his time roaming the party, fireworks were starting soon and he wanted to have a decent view. Once on the top of the building, he set down the beer before slowly unfolding the blanket. With an easy flourish, he put the blanket onto the roof, placing the pack in one of the corners to anchor it. The man smiled to himself, moving to lay down. After a moment he was finally comfortable, bespectacled eyes staring straight up to the sky, waiting for the first of the fireworks. He didn’t bother to look when he heard someone else on the roof, knowing they’d either leave or talk to him - both options he wouldn’t mind.
Truth be told, Harley didn’t hate the 4th of July as much as a handful of the ghosts she knew. She liked the chaos, most of all, but something about the holiday always had her feeling nostalgic. The days where she’d be working late at the bar, over-serving, and joining in on the parties. And even before those days, when she’d be sitting by the pool, in the arms of some poor idiot who didn’t know any better. Sipping on something strong. All just nostalgia.
It was just a bit before the sun set that the sociopath found her place up on the roof, nothing with her but a bottle of fine bourbon. Well, her last bottle of bourbon until she’d be able to weasel one away from the college kids or collect one herself on Halloween. Suppose that made it a little special. Picking up on some gentle commotion not too far away from where she was perched, the blonde glanced over to the other. A somewhat familiar face, but she couldn’t put a name to it, and she contemplated for a moment if she should even bother with being social or not. That’s when she spotted the beers.
“You ever put a shot of whiskey in one of those?” She inquired, breaking the pre-firework show silence. With her comment, she rose her bottle a little and shook it, sort of like an invitation... sort of hoping to bum a beer off of the stranger.
Red, white, blue is in the sky Summer’s in the air and Baby, heaven’s in your eyes I’m your National Anthem
“Let me make it up to you.” ~ Harley
Sleeper couldn’t help the scoff that left his lips at Harley’s words, rolling his eyes. “That sounds like a load of shit,” He said with a snort, taking a few steps away from the femme fatale. “What, you’re gonna un-kill me somehow?” He lifted flour-caked hands in the air. “Or, are you gonna leave a dead rat by the door for me like a cat?” Matt itched his face, a white streak left behind on the bridge of his nose. “The only way you can make it up to me is to fuck off and leave me alone.”
Elijah quickly drew out the ’U’ on the page, the bright, red streak imperfect from his shaky fingers. Shit. But, oh well. The wound still open, the spirit used his other hand to help more blood bubble up from his finger. Finally enough to it again, Eli spelled out the ’C’ before looking up to the blonde. “Are you gonna just stare at me this whole time, or are you gonna start talking soon?” He asked, arching his brow slightly at her.
Something about the tone of his comment had her smiling just a bit, mostly to herself. “I didn’t want to distract you,” she replied. Not that she would truly care if he fucked up whatever artwork he was doing. “You know, booze makes you bleed easier. Acts as an anticoagulant. Might just help you with your little... problem.” She added, fingers gently tapping on her bottle of bourbon like a silent invitation.
A hint of a smile twitched on his lips, wanting to roll his eyes at the comment. It was the type he was familiar with since he could pass for younger than eighteen. He soon let himself smile though, waiting a moment before taking one of the wine glasses and slowly pouring the beverage. Something about the blonde was coaxing. Perhaps the way she was inviting him instead of shoving a cup of something stronger at his face. This didn’t inflict the pressure that normally came with underage drinking. Deacon didn’t give himself much, not wanting to overdo it. He helped himself to a seat as well, holding up his glass to her. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” Harley chimed, ever-so-gently clinking her glass against his. Bringing her glass to her lips, she took a small sip, though her eyes never left her new company. Perhaps she observing the little details, or maybe she just wanted to see his reaction to the bittersweet taste of wine. Most told her it was an acquired taste, but that must have been for the poor fools who could only afford your average bargain bottle.
“Ahh, thanks for the offer,” Bobby set the bottle down as he looked up at the blonde. “But I’ve ever been much of a fan of wine. Wasn’t able to ever find one I liked.”
“Maybe you’ll like this one,” Harley perked her brows, a charming little smile planted on her face. There wasn’t a liquor on Earth she wouldn’t try just once, including those bizarre bright green or blue ones. Though she did prefer the brown stuff.
Who are your enemies in the house?
“Enemies? Uh... Sawyer. That guy’s a jackass.”
( @rxpperofhearts )
Elijah simply watched the as the blonde sat, staring back at her in a bored expression for a few moments before looking back down to his fingers. The tiny holes closed up, dried up red the only remnants left of the wounds. He opened the textbook back to where he was cutting out pages, looking down at the droplets of blood. He hesitated for a moment, glancing over to the young woman, as he pulled out the knife once again. The ghostly teen pricked his finger, letting the blood ooze a little out before setting his finger tip down on the page. Eli spelled out an ’F’ before the wound closed back up, about to start the process again. He didn’t particularly care if the blonde saw what he was doing - she could leave if she wanted to.
Bringing the bottle away from her lips, the blonde let it sit safely beside her as she continued to watch her opposite. A strange one, she could tell nearly immediately just by his bored stare at her presence. Even more so when he plucked out a knife and began slitting at his fingertips. She couldn’t help the little crooked smile that pulled at her features as she witnessed him mutilating himself ---- a strange one indeed. She’d never really seen a ghost heal up quite as quick as this one did.
He should have noticed he wasn’t alone when entering the kitchen. Whenever a bottle of anything alcohol was around, close by was the drinker. Deacon had noticed the wine and, after a moments hesitation, strayed over to it for a closer look. It wasn’t as if he’d never been offered a drink before. By now he should have tried it, but there was always a wave of paranoia that came with trying to fit in and party. And as soon as the semester started, he’d be living in the middle of it. Looking over to the speaker, he barely understood what she was saying. Titling the fancy wine was just highclass gibberish to him. “Ethereal.” He repeated, enjoying that word more than the name of the drink. “Actually, I’m uh…underage, so…”
“With that baby face? I never would have guessed,” Harley teased, a magnetic smile pulling at her features. It was the time of year again ---- new boys and girls would be finding their way to the Murder House, perhaps even to meet an untimely death in due time. And new faces were already piling in. She couldn’t help but wonder what the place would make of this one. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” she added, bringing her glass up for another sweet sip.
“Chateau Grand Puy Lacoste, Pauillac,” Harley swiveled in her seat as she watched the other look over the bottle of wine on the counter. “1996. Not the finest wine I’ve ever put my lips on but it really does have an ethereal taste to it. I’ll let you have a glass, if you sit with me.”