forgive my soul

@opal-zamora

she's just a girl

26 posts

basics.

full name — Opal Zamora faceclaim — Priscilla Quintana gender & pronouns — cisfemale, she/her age — 29 birthday — 4/1/1995 occupation — clerk at crystal clear/ "tarot reader for hire" (she's faking it) neighborhood — Cardinal Hill length of time in blue harbor — a few weeks marital status: single on this earthly plane. engaged to satan in the nine hells. moral alignment: chaotic neutral

#intro.bh #about.#muse.

clementinebriar

Clementine’s never pretended to be anything other than who she is — in this particular moment, that would be a full-blooded lesbian in front of an extremely attractive woman, enduring the sight of Opal’s tongue running along her bottom lip in a manner befitting that of a liar, indeed. “Lucky for you, I work with liars all the time,” she smirks, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms over her chest. She makes it no secret that she’s admiring the other woman’s physique, sure her gaze has darkened some, but also makes no move to do anything about it. They’re talking business, after all. Clementine learned some things about running a business from David, at least. Though hers is a little less — well, legal.

Details.

Am I that obvious? Clem raises an incredulous eyebrow at her question. “If you were here to fuck, we’d be fucking already,” she points out. “And if you were here to make friendly conversation, well — you wouldn’t be,” she smirks. “I don’t make friendly conversation, and I think we both know that.” She hums thoughtfully, eyeing Opal incredulously at her question. The truth is, she can get a lot more than IDs done — for the right price, and for the right person. Then again, she’s not sure how much she wants to incriminate herself right this second. “What else are you lookin’ for?” she answers with her own question. “If I can’t do it, I can always refer you to someone who can.”

So they were both playing this with cards close to their chest. Honestly, if Clem had been forthright, it likely would have scared Opal off, so she preferred this. Even if it meant she had to put a little bit of extra work in. And give a little bit more than she was comfortable with. Apparently, she'd gotten a little spoiled with her past working relationship.

Thinking of him just made her seethe now. She took a lofty sip of her drink to drown out the thought of him.

"While I do prefer a little wining and dining," she held up her glass as if she'd supplied the first of those two prerequisites, "I can appreciate a woman who cuts to the chase."

Opal sighed, looking down at her glass as she twirled its contents round and round. "Let's just say that I've recently parted ways with my... business partner. He used to handle all the paperwork." Something a little vulnerable entered Opal's eyes. She met Clem's gaze for only long enough for the other woman to catch a glimpse of it if she was looking. When she spoke again, she'd dropped the sultry lilt in favor something a little more serious. A little pleading. "I'm just trying not to be so easy to find."

themadisynhuang

There was something strange about this woman, Madi concluded. But then again, the influencer never had a great read on people — Dominik being the prime example — so it was more likely the atmosphere of being ambushed on the fucking pumpkin patch. “I mean, I doubt my gardener would agree, but I’m totes on board with that. He is merely an extension of myself.” Which was logic she had no doubt that Jack would hate.

She almost scoffed, but more in solidarity than anything else. “Me too, girl. But this was like, I guess, the year of expanding my horizons.” Of course, not by voluntary means, but this woman didn’t need to know she was exiled from the one place on the planet that really mattered. She did hesitate perhaps a moment too long at the llama suggestion, debating whether to just agree for agreement’s sake, or to come across as a weird animal lady. Those damn llamas had really weaseled their way into her heart. “Maybe! Though I don’t doubt Blue Harbor might bring like, actual reindeer in or something.” For a small town, they were going all out for the seasons.

Opal was beginning to feel like she'd lost the plot a little bit here. She couldn't decide what she wanted out of Madisyn, and thus couldn't seem to figure out how to approach her. She was all over the place, sloppy in ways she hadn't been since she'd first started out. Perhaps she'd sensed something of a kindred spirit in the other woman, but without being able to be honest— or as close to honest as Opal was able to get— she fell short of the mark and landed somewhere around obnoxiously curious newcomer.

"You know, I kind of got that vibe from you," Opal said, switching tactics again. She placed a hand against her throat, blinking apologetically. "Forgive me for saying this, I know metaphysical stuff can be kind of off-putting for some people, but there's this energy just, like, radiating off you. Like you're in some sort of... transitional phase? And maybe unsure if you're making the right moves? God, I know that sounds incredibly presumptuous and solicitous, but I feel like I'm being compelled to tell you that you're right where you need to be." Opal paused, looking unsure of herself. Madisyn could be a big money client if she played this right. Or she could write Opal off as some crazy woo hack. Honestly, she could handle either one. At least it would throw a blanket over the mess she'd made of being so wishy washy. "I actually do readings and stuff over at Crystal Clear. If you're into that kind of thing."

Theo’s eyes dropped to the card, studying the image of the family beneath the rainbow with quiet contemplation. It was almost too fitting, too ideal. Harmony, fulfillment—two words he didn’t feel applied to him much, though he supposed fatherhood had changed things. “Beautifully complete…” he murmured, more to himself than to Opal. The words felt both comforting and weighty, as if he was being handed the blueprint to something he’d always been missing but couldn’t quite grasp. "Well, those are cups, right? And cups are meant to hold... wine. Are you sure it doesn't means I'll be a drunken fool and ruin my entire family?"

Looking back up, he smiled, though the grin was a touch more reserved, thoughtful. “Unity. It’s a nice thought, I’ll give you that.” He glanced at the remaining cards, his hand resting on the edge of the table, fingers tapping softly. “Let’s go on, then. I’m curious what else fate has to say for me tonight.” He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that this next card might be a bit closer to home. Something that wasn’t all picture-perfect rainbows, maybe—a little rougher around the edges.

Opal watched carefully, studying the more subtle of his reactions. She could still sense skepticism and she wondered if she should pull back a little, toss a crumb of hard reality in there to roughen up the edges. Perhaps she'd grown too content with the usual clientele who paid handsomely to be told what they wanted to hear rather than what they needed.

Still, she chuckled at his question, glancing down at the cards for a moment. "Well, they are open to interpretation, so I suppose you could be right. But I find tarot leans more into the abstract than the tangible."

She let him sit with that for a moment as her fingers danced over the second card. She flipped it, revealing the King of Pentacles. She racked her brain to remember specifics, but she let instinct guide her.

"Now here," she tapped the card, "this is about security, stability— the mark of someone who is responsible, grounded, and prepared. I’d say you’re more ready for this role than you give yourself credit for. And, as for your father," her voice softened just slightly, "this might also suggest that some of his strengths and his influence run through you, whether you see it or not. There’s a legacy you’re carrying, Theo. It's up to you whether you think those things are worthy of carrying on to the next generation. But you've got all the tools that you need."

Brows rising slightly, Leo was immediately pleased. It was always a guessing game, seeing how people would react to how he spoke. He wasn’t outwardly disrespectful, but he was incredibly brash at all times, and it rarely went over well. Especially with strangers - especially pretty strangers who had a brain between their ears. Most of the time, he knew that people labelled him as more trouble than he was worth and brushed past him. Opal, however, seemed to be just fun with the quips, teasing lilt in her own tone tossed back at him.

“Handsome?” He chirped back, posture straightening almost comically. Always seeking out the closest touch in a room, Leo hadn’t even noticed he’d automatically shifted himself closer to Opal when she merely grazed against his wrist, but he didn’t mind the close proximity. He never had, and hardly found any reason to begin now. “Well, clearly you’re smart. Pretty, too. Think I got the better end of the deal here, after all.” He rationalised, before reaching to take her yoga mat out of her hand. For his own good, but also to prove that he was kind and gentlemanly, before leading them in the direction of the coffee store he’d left only moments before. “No sweat off my back. Kind of an interesting way to meet someone - is this, like, a move of yours? Attacking people with yoga mats until you inevitably get hit with a lawsuit?” Juggling the mat into his opposite arm, Leo used the one closer to Opal to hold his hand out towards hers in the offer of a shake. “Opal. Huh - never heard that one before. It’s nice. Leo - charmed.” He faux cooed, gaudy accent attached to the last word. “You gotta be new to town. I’d remember you if you weren’t.”

Another once-over told Opal that there likely wouldn't be much, if anything, to shake out of his pockets. Lucky for him— and herself— the only thing she was currently after was a nice distraction. And a reason to not cling so tightly to the character she'd created in Opal. She was beginning to have a lot of regrets about this new skin she'd chosen.

Opal's smile turned playful. "Smart, pretty... Feel free to keep going." Her smile widened for a beat before turning demure, pleased at his show of gentlemanly behavior. It was one of those quiet things that, in the very pit of herself, she appreciated. She'd been so many different people for so many years that too much of herself had become manufactured. Sometimes, she wasn't even sure where the lies ended and the truth began. But other times, in little things, she would feel them down to a part of her she knew a lie could never reach. A part of her that had once believed in things like love and romance and family.

She didn't want to keep following that particular thought path, though, so she snickered at his call out, enjoying just how close he was to the truth. "Oh, yeah. I love a good con," truth, "where I get covered in sticky, hot coffee. Sounds like an airtight civil suit to me. The woman who sued McDonald's for millions over hot coffee being hot is actually my hero." She glanced down at the proffered hand, eyes sliding back to his as she took it and giggled, giving it a firm shake. "How formal," she teased. "It's nice to meet you, Leo. I'd question you on your powers of perception since we just had a sidewalk collision in the middle of the afternoon, but you caught me. I just moved here a few weeks ago. Is this town really so small that everyone knows everyone?"

starter with @opal-zamora

Theo chuckled, tilting his head as he watched her set up, that familiar mix of skepticism and intrigue dancing behind his eyes. He didn't necessarily believe in tarot-- he didn't necessarily doubt it either. “Alright. Let’s go with… family,” he said, his tone feigning casualness though there was an unmistakable weight beneath it. “Fatherhood, to be precise. And maybe—” he hesitated, his smile twisting a bit, “—some insight on my own father, if there’s any of that in the cards.” He shrugged, trying to mask the genuine curiosity with nonchalance.

“And, well,” he added after a beat, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “I’ve also got this wild idea about proposing to the mother of my children soon. You don’t reckon there’s a card in there telling me to hold off, do you?”

Opal's brow arched as she shuffled her cards, a playful glint in her eye. She'd studied him and his mannerisms from the moment he'd come in, clocking him as something of a skeptic. He might be harder won than some of her other clients, but that was fine. She had always been very good at reading people's desires. And this guy just seemed to want affirmations that he was doing things right, not a card to tell him what to do. She could do that.

“Ah, family, fatherhood, and a proposal. Going straight for the big ones, aren’t we?” She smirked, but her hands moved with a practiced grace, dealing out three cards and turning them face down, one by one, with a hint of ceremony.

She held his gaze, her expression unreadable as she flipped the first card. The Ten of Cups revealed itself, the image of a family basking in a rainbow of cups above them. Perfect. Even without actually knowing much about tarot, this card felt like a gift. Ten of Cups, Ten of Cups, what did she remember about Ten of Cups? "Well, now," Opal said, letting a hint of intrigue slip into her tone. "This is a powerful card for family. It speaks of harmony and emotional fulfillment. If you’re looking for signs of fatherhood— your role as a father, your relationship with your own— it’s saying you’re on a path to bring that unity and happiness full circle. There’s something… beautifully complete about it."

She eyed him carefully, trying to gauge his reactions and filter out if she was giving him what he wanted. She smiled pleasantly, invitingly. "Are you ready for the next card? Or do you wanna sit in this one for a minute?"

"Opal," Valley repeated, loving the hard-candy feel of the name in her mouth. "Opals are one of my favourite gemstones. I love that they can change completely depending on how you look at them." She wondered if the name matched the woman. She was projecting a lot of herself onto this woman so immediately, and she couldn't quite place why, but something was... familiar. Too familiar. She'd have to keep an eye on this one.

She beamed, though, when Opal knew where Valletta was, or even that it was a city. "They were, yes! They went to Malta on their honeymoon, and named me after the capital. Not a lot of people recognize the name. Have you been there?"

Opal smiled like the two were sharing a secret. And perhaps they were. Perhaps this woman chose her words as carefully as Opal did. Maybe she was looking into the future and honestly? Not a bad view.

It was impossible not to match Valletta's smile, her energy so infectious that not even Opal was immune. It put her on alert, actually. "I spent a blip of time in Europe years ago. I never went myself, but there was someone on one of our guided tours who had her little Maltese— claimed the little thing was a service dog even though it was glaringly obvious it wasn't— and it opened the conversation to Malta. I specifically remember he smelled like fresh bread, so maybe that's why that memory is so vivid to me still." She sighed, sounding almost wistful. The memory was a mostly real one, flowered up and padded to be used as an anecdote instead of a cautionary tale it could have been. "What about you? Have you ever been?"

#c: valley #event: charity luncheon

clementinebriar

“Hm,” Clem smirks, leaning over the counter to take the wine out of Opal’s grasp without much preamble. As she busies herself with showily inspecting it, she says, as if contemplating, “But you did just say you don’t drink cheap wine.” She digs in the drawer for a corkscrew, positioning the bottle firmly on the counter as she twists the metal spiral into the cork with practiced ease. With a little tug, the cork pops free with a soft sound, and she holds up the bottle triumphantly. Pouring two generous glasses, she meets Opal’s gaze with a mischievous glint, lifting her own glass in a toast.

“Guess we’ll just have to see if a ghost drinks that one or some shit,” she nods over the glass she’s poured for Opal, a challenge in her tone. Bringing her own glass to her lips, she takes a quick sip, her face tightening just slightly as the cheap wine hits her tongue. It’s a bit sharp, with a hint of something vaguely fruity — maybe cherry, maybe grape — but mostly it just tastes like alcohol with a slight burn on the way down. She smirks, lowering the glass. “Tastes just like my childhood,” she sighs dramatically. Bringing a finger to scratch at Dionysus’s little head, she finally says, “So. I assume you must want something from me if you’ve trekked all this way,” she raises an eyebrow, smirk widening marginally. “Something fun, I hope?”

Opal enjoyed this kind of game most, something about the exchange of words and the slow way Opal ran her finger over the lip of the glass Clem had so very graciously poured for her made her think of two lions circling each other. From where she stood, Opal watched Clem, studied her movements behind emerald eyes. "Well, it is spooky season," Opal murmured before delicately plucking the plastic cup from the counter top and taking a sip. She ran her tongue along her lip to catch the liquid there, holding eye contact over the rim as she did so. "And I am a liar."

It really did feel good to say out loud. Even if it was dangerous and even if it made her feel uneasy, it was still freeing. She hadn't realized that her vengeance might look like a cage all these years later, but it felt too late to try and go back now. Pouting, Opal set the cup back down again. "Well, now you're hurting my feelings. Am I that obvious?" A beat passed and she let the mask slip a little bit more. She couldn't help the default to toying with people. Maybe that was a defense mechanism, but Opal didn't often look inward. "Okay, maybe I was curious... is your specialty just IDs or can you do more than that?"

themadisynhuang

Was this woman angling for a place to live? Madisyn was very flattered, of course, but she also was a bit wary, finding herself torn. On one hand, didn’t she constantly complain about her loneliness; her accidental self-imposed isolation? But then on the other hand, the farm was, oddly, a sanctuary for her… “Oh, no, I totes get it babe. There’s this, like, bartender in Aurora? So sus. I’d be wary of her.” Of course, it would be helpful if Madi could remember that bitch’s name as well.

Finding herself standing taller — in case she had to go through her whole spiel about the monetary value of a farm — Madi relaxed at how impressed the woman seemed. That was midwestern hippies for you, the influencer assumed, finding the littlest things admirable. “It is yeah, I mean, like I have employees and stuff, you’d never catch me on my knees planting carrots or whatever, but it’s just little ol’ me.” If….fuck what the fuck was her name — was a creepy old man, then Madi would never admit that information so willingly. “I can’t wait to get Halloween out of the way, excited to celebrate my first Christmas here. Maybe I’ll even do something like a chic, Hallmark-style holiday party. You think you’ll still be in town by then?” She assessed the woman; could potentially be a friend, but Madi always enjoyed it when people fawned over her.

Opal's brows raised, happy to be getting some tea on this quaint little town— even if it was vague and Opal was likely to forget it by the time it could ever come in hand. But honestly, she'd been rather bored lately, so even just a taste of gossip was waking up her senses. She was so distracted by feeling something real that she nearly wrinkled her nose at the idea of being elbow deep in dirt before she remembered she was probably supposed to like that kind of thing. "I mean, understandable. I tried so hard to be one of those plant girlies, but I even managed to kill a succulent once." True story. "So I'd mental gymnastics my way into saying that if you're paying someone to do it right, then you're still technically doing it, right?" Opal smiled like they were sharing a secret.

That smile slipped a little at the question and she blinked, eyes moving past Madisyn to a a group of people that were loudly on the hunt for the perfect pumpkin. Her future was never certain: what mask she might wear, what name she might go by, what place she might call home for a spell. But it was never as uncertain as it felt right now on the run from the only person in this world who even knew her real name anymore. She managed to wrangle that slow burble of panic back in as she smiled. "I don't see why not. I've never really been a small town girl, figured I should at least give it a chance, you know? And I'd hate to miss this place in the winter. You ever think about putting cute little antlers on the llamas for like photo ops and stuff?"

Generally, Leo could be found in a world of his own. If something didn’t exclusively involve him, it was clear that his attention would drift away with ease, in a constant state of daydream. It’d gotten him into trouble once or twice, more and more often as he grew up and became extra careless. Usually a pretty girl would be the exact thing that’d pique his interest without a second thought, but Leo was too busy double checking he’d picked up the right coffee. It wasn’t for him, some monstrosity he knew his aunt liked, and it’d been such a complicated order it hadn’t occurred to him to actually check it’d been made right until he was almost fully down the street.

“Shit. Why’s it smell like - pine.” Face hauntingly close to the lip of the cup, Leo leaned in for another inspective smell. Colour him shocked when he went to inhale only to find the empty air suddenly in his grasp, a tiny droplet or two of scalding coffee dotting his nose and hand. The rest seemed to splatter all across the victim of bad timing. Blinking once, Leo suddenly shot a startled look from his hand, to the ground, then back again - much akin to the sharp shock Patrick Star felt as he lost the elusive bag of winds. “What the fuck. What the hell was that?”

Finally taking in just how much damage had been done, Leo flinched - his hand hurt just from where a tiny bit had dripped. It was coating the better part of her socks and sneakers, yet she seemed busier with apologising to him than anything else. “Are you fuckin’ okay? Are your shoes steel toed or do you just walk across coals in your spare time?” She seriously either had the world’s highest pain tolerance or Leo had turned into a total wimp overnight. “What, you wanna risk getting me another? Are you sure you’re not honed into some secret power that makes you knock around dangerous liquids in a barbaric manner?” By this point, Leo was grinning, somewhat amused. He’d never been mad about the accident, and she seemed genuinely remorseful. It didn’t hurt that she was offensively stunning. “Chill, I’m not pissed off or anything. I’ll take another - but you gotta join me for a while. Deal?”

Opal never liked to admit to not fully thinking a thing through before she jumped headfirst into it, but the coffee was hotter than she'd anticipated, the ankle cuff of her socks soaked with the stuff. If it hadn't been for the fact that they were layered over top of her yoga pants, she was sure her reaction would be less than flattering now. "I'm fine," she insisted. "Thick socks, I guess." She offered a small, sheepish smile, even as her eyes glinted with a mischief that beckoned him to come and play.

She straightened, narrowing her eyes on him playfully as she looked towards the yoga studio and back. "You mean you want me to ditch my yoga class to go and have coffee with a handsome stranger?" Her eyes widened, innocent and doe-like, for a beat before she blinked and her smile gave her away. "Don't have to ask me twice." She reached out and wiped away a stray droplet of coffee on his wrist. "Sorry again. I'm not usually that clumsy." Green eyes slid to theirs. "I'm Opal, by the way."

themadisynhuang

Ugh, it was so annoying to Madisyn when she had to make the effort to try and remember someone’s name. It wasn’t her fault half the names in this damn town were forgettable, or like….the names people would have in World War Two. Still, the woman in front of her didn’t seem to mind not being name-checked, even if she wasn’t filling in the blanks to ease Madisyn’s quest. “Oh, so you’re like, visiting town? How long?” Long enough to feel the need to make a hotel room more homely, clearly. Another thing Madi never understood; hotels were supposed to be a break from the everyday. How were you supposed to feel like you were living the life of luxury if your hotel reminded you of home?

“Oh, no, I’m not celebrating.” Halloween was more Dominik’s thing anyway, back when they were together. Madi was just along for the showstopper costumes that made her the belle of the ball at every influencer party they made appearances at. “I actually was cutting through, back to home.” She nodded towards the silhouette of the farmhouse in the distance, looking like it would fit perfectly on the set of Psycho, hidden by the mid-October mist, the wooden planks making up the building looking washed out in the grayness of the day.

Opal smiled, wondering if they were both playing some kind of game here. She kind of hoped they were. It would surely shake up the monotony of the boring ass corner she'd painted herself into. "Not really. I just haven't found the right place yet. Or a roommate that's not a complete stranger. I'm not trying to be a story on some true crime podcast, you know?"

Opal pretended to look surprised, following Madisyn's gaze back towards the farmhouse. For a moment, she wondered what it was like. Owning a place like this, setting down roots. Even for as drab as it might have looked beneath the thick cover of gray clouds, it was still hers. It was still a piece of identity, something solid. Maybe she was just getting bitter in the stagnant waters she currently found herself in. "Oh, you live here?" she asked, despite having already done her research. For all intents and purposes, she was just a starry eyed granola woman. "Like, the whole farm is yours? That's so cool. Is it just you here, or?"

clementinebriar

The thing is, Clementine usually leaves well enough alone.

Who is she to give another hardworking, scamming woman a hard time over working hard to scam people? A couple of fake tarot readings never hurt anyone — she doesn’t think. It’s not like she has the statistics to back that up or anything, but for the most part, she thinks what Opal’s doing is harmless enough. A woman’s gotta make a living. More power to her, honestly. Godspeed, and all that good stuff.

Except they’ve managed to intersect, somehow. Clementine works hard on her fakes, word gets around, bound to reach Opal, at some point. And now there’s something like — she doesn’t want to be so bold and assume the other woman is scared, but there’s some definite tension coming off her in waves when she’s around Clem. She figures it has to do with the fact Clementine knows whatever schtick she’s got going on around Blue Harbor isn’t real, but she cannot overstate how little she cares about what other people get up to. If she didn’t so badly want her mother to be able to find her still, Clem would’ve probably been forging her own brand new identity as well, to do crazy, questionable shit.

All that being said, it’s a little surprising to find Opal at her front door. Dionysus stands readily at her shoulder, knowing full well outside is not for him, tiny little bird claws firmly dug into her skin. Raising an eyebrow, Clem glances at the bottle of wine in Opal’s hand — one of the cheap ones Clem used to get drunk on at thirteen, looks like — then meets Opal’s gaze again. “Only if you’re aware you’re not getting any of that,” she gestures at the bottle in Opal’s grasp. Turning on her heel, she leaves the door open in a silent invitation, making her way to the small kitchen to look for two of those cheap, plastic wine glass imitations she stuffs with the Tupperware — despite her earlier declaration of selfishness. “Close the door behind you, would ya? The fuckin’ creep across the hall can smell it when the door opens.”

The presence of the bird didn't startle her as much as it made her a little uneasy as it stared at her with its beady little eyes. As Clem turned away, offering her back as invitation, Opal followed her inside, turning to glance over her shoulder in the direction of the creep across the hall just in case she might catch a glimpse.

She didn't.

"That's fine, I don't drink cheap wine," Opal said around a smirk as she nudged the door closed behind her with her hip. She took her time looking around as Clem unearthed some wine glasses among a graveyard of Tupperware. In so many ways, her place was the exact opposite of anything Opal had ever lived in. There were pieces of her here, like a quilt of patchwork.

All of Opal's walls were bare. She didn't own more than what could fit in an overnight bag. Everything about her was manufactured, curated to be desired. What would she do with a place like this? How might she paint the walls with her very soul? Would she even recognize it?

That was far too much introspection— and the very thing she feared when it came to letting another person know her— so she leaned against Clem's counter as she made a show of counting the two glasses. "So she does know how to share."

themadisynhuang

Madisyn was like….totally depressed. It was a whole thing! They talked about it on The View a few years ago, she was sure. When the weather began to get dreary, it affected your brain. SAD Disorder it was called. And Madi was sad. The sky was gray and dreary and thus everything else was tinted in that light. Even the llamas.

Staring at their thoughtless beady eyes didn’t help like she thought it would during her daily visit to their pen, and decided to head back to the main house via the pumpkin patch, the one hue of brightness in an otherwise colorless world. That was until a woman dressed like the personification of fall accosted her. “Yeah….” She straightened up upon being recognized: always a mood booster. “And you’re…” Fuck. It was like a gemstone name. Crystal, maybe? “Here! At the pumpkin patch!” There. That would do.

Shifting slightly, Madi resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest, not really used to seeing anyone but Jack seeing her on the farmland. “Super good to see you again, babe.” Even though it would have been better in a bar, or somewhere she wasn’t wearing Wellington boots. Even if they were Hunter Wellington boots.

Opal's smile flattened infinitesimally, an ego designed around being remembered and having to be checked when it didn't quite work out that way. She blinked and her perfectly sculptured mask was back in place as her smile widened. "Yeah! I figured what better way to start making my little place feel like home. It's just a hotel room for now but there are no rules against a little sprucing, right?" Her voice was cheery, and honestly a little grating to her own ears. She was starting to wonder how long she'd be able to hold onto this character without making a few necessary adjustments. And how long it might take her to slowly ease them into this world so they seemed natural.

Happy for a reason not to keep thinking about the corner she'd painted herself into, Opal took a moment to really take Madisyn in, trying to get a read on her vibe. Did she look maybe a little uncomfortable? Opal couldn't really tell. "What about you? On the hunt for some Halloween décor?"

One of these days, the basement won’t hold against the absolute stampede above it. Pauline’s eyes are often trained at the ceiling below the Box, watching dust particles dance along the overhead lights, already sparse and intentionally placed to set the mood. Those are the things she finds mildly unsettling now – not the circles of moneyed players of baffling age ranges perched around a set of tables; has-beens, the retired with too much money to throw around, the occasional entourage around Very Important Persons she may or may not recognize but pretends to who'd rolled into town for a live show with an itch to scratch, local legends, businessmen, the unemployed and ambiguously employed, all of whom she bares the sweetest grin to lest it threw off the vibe, itched into that job description, pretty much. Nosferatu looms tonight, so Pauline is hyper-aware, somewhat-sultry as she guides players onto their tables, playfully mean to those who like it (She doesn't, and finds the assumption strange if not ridiculous. She only ever cries three times a week. Why would they want her to neg them as lube for both conversation and participation?) He'd been antsy all week which naturally transferred, mumbling about about a big-time player joining the games, how it's necessary for their well-oiled machine to be in tip top shape. She'd found herself mumbling, too; in her phonecalls with players to ensure seats, with the bouncer to better apply their code of entry, to Rust and he'd tell her to 'Speak up, girl. What's the matter with you today?'. Most sufficiently and maybe her best decision that week, she knew just who to call to really ham it all up to appease their esteemed guest, throwing up her brows with a smile as she made approach. “ With those grabby freaks? Nope. ” Pop’s that p with a headshake, the thought amusing enough for her to nearly snort at, already at ease with everything winding out and stage above had swapped acts. It did help when Opal was around, too much of a stun gun for said grabby men to occupy their mind and eugh, hands with and Pauline felt less of a need to actively perform unless needed. “ No offense, but I also work this space. Would be crazy. I guess, different games, different crowd. It's too samey when you're not around. ” – and because she can't help but add. “ That ugly bastard literally squealed when you sat on his knee. I couldn't believe it. I almost threw up.”

Opal took a moment to look Pauline over again, a perusal worthy of a first meeting. In this life that she had chosen for herself, Opal had had to learn how to trust herself unreservedly so that meant her intuition was a well-honed weapon. And it was telling her that she didn't like this dynamic.

There was no reason why Opal should care. In fact, it was probably better for everyone if she didn't get herself involved. She was always watching, always absorbing her surroundings and anticipating the next move, so she knew that Pauline was a woman fully capable of taking care of herself. She shouldn't care.

But for some reason, she did.

"Yeah, but you could work this space," Opal said, voice low and eyebrows raising with intent. Maybe she could nudge her in the right direction, offer up a few tricks of the trade. It could call them even for Pauline giving her the heads up in the first place. Perhaps that was all the feeling was: discomfort in imbalance. Still, she scrunched up her nose at the reminder of the ugly bastard in question. He'd been little more than a kitten, really, and she the saucer of milk, but her attention had been a small price to pay for the money he'd lavished on her. Her, a bimbo with her tits out who'd never played a game of poker in her life. "Did you get close enough to smell him? Swear to god he bathed in eau de pig shit before he came. But I'm walking out of here with a grand in my pocket, so I'm just saying, if you're interested in learning how to be..." Opal paused, searching for the right word, "entrepreneurial," a shrug, "let me know."

hairpintvrns-arxiv

Valentine’s glass was empty again. Their gaze drifted back and forth, searching for a waiter balancing a tray or two in their hand, only to find their immediate vicinity bereft of them. Pity. They held their gaze on the glass, mocking in its emptiness, furrowing their brow as if the force of their indignation might induce it to fill itself.

No such luck. Still fucking empty.

Valentine felt, more than saw, someone sliding up beside them. It took all the effort in the world to stifle their sight—for when would people realize that their silence was not an invitation for conversation? Their ears pricked slightly at the voice, undoubtedly feminine, prompting them to divert their attention from their glass and to the woman beside them.

Valentine didn’t know how to respond to the other’s remark without their words sounding a bit cutting. They supposed, in some way, that the value of a charity luncheon was commensurate with the sensuous appeal of the alcohol being served. But they’d been in several parties hosted by the brightest and richest where the quality of alcohol had been sorely lacking—only for Valentine to find that it was sourced from some rich cousin, a few times removed, who’d taken up winery as a hobby. “I suppose you’ve never been to a Weissberg function,” they commented, instead, “Saul’s so old money that his trust fund probably comes with a deed to some Connecticut ZIP code.” Now, that might not be true. Probably just a few multimillion-dollar estates in Bridgeport.

The sudden sight of a waiter replenishing glasses nearby stirred them up in no small way. “Oh, God. I hope the alcohol isn’t too good that it’s already run out.” Though surely there would’ve been a contingency plan for that. Turning their attention back to the woman, they asked, “So, are you a resident?”

"Is it that obvious?" Opal volleyed back, looking down at herself as though her hippie-adjacent dress was the dead giveaway rather than her commentary on the alcohol— which was only decent, if she was being honest. In a different lifetime, she might have been gossiping in a corner about the mediocre options.

She did, however, pretend to perk up at the name. "Oh. Saul. I met him earlier. He's that loaded?" Her eyebrows rose impressively as she lifted her glass in a silent cheers to the man she'd spent a fair few hours researching before she'd even slipped into her ugly little dress. "Good for him." She took a sip of her drink and grinned. "And good for us. There was still plenty when I snatched mine. I could go grab you one if you'd like." But before she was sent off on an errand she'd assigned herself, she was hit with another question.

These were the fun questions, the ones that allowed her to embellish on the life of her newest character, to add meat to the bones with things she might not have considered had she never been asked. So her smile was a real one as she nodded. "As of a few weeks ago, I am. It's a cute little place. I can definitely appreciate its small town charm as a born and raised city girl. What about you?"

Usually, these events were so easy. She'd spent over a decade flitting and flirting her ass off at charity luncheons and fundraising galas, in ballrooms and rooftop bars and beaches across the planet. She could charm anyone into at least a drink and at worst a wedding. A smile and a laugh and a touch on the arm, it was like clockwork. She could do it blindfolded. Usually.

But now, even coming up on nine months after her last divorce, she'd barely looked at another man. This was maybe the second or third event she'd gone to all year, and even during the middle of the day, it was making her tired. Everyone seemed boring and everything tasted bland, and she wanted to go home. Wherever that was.

But then she was spoken to by her younger self, whom she recognized immediately, and suddenly she was very awake.

"Right? They'll serve sparkling wine in champagne flutes and think no one can tell the difference," she smirked. "This one's definitely not a Dom Perignon or anything, but possibly a Louis Roederer. I've had worse, for sure. I'm Valletta, what's your name?"

Opal knew the woman would have taste, it was why she'd approached in the first place. The dress she wore was a testament to that, Opal taking a moment to openly appreciate the figure she cut in it. And add to that her extensive knowledge of the finer things in life and Opal found herself instantly intrigued.

"You can always tell the difference." Opal returned the smirk, feeling as though they were sharing a secret. It was the first time Opal herself felt like she landed just a little outside the joke. "I'm Opal," she said, her smirk unwinding itself to reveal a friendly, open sort of smile. One more befitting of who Opal was supposed to be. "Valletta is a lovely name." The name of someone born from money. "Were your parents big travelers?"

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