* / AIM FOR THE HEART !

i'll keep the money and you can have the rope.

[ofdesertroses]

she didn't want to fucking be here. she found it hard to be excited for some damn rodeo when she was still mourning her parents. but her job promised to pay her if she at least showed her face. apparently she has some fans that love her weather reporting. lenore could honestly care less. one of these people that surrounded her killed her parents. and dammit, she didn't really know who to trust anymore. she tries to keep it together for most of the night. but her usually bright eyes are darken, tired, and angry. she knows people notice by the way they move away from her or ignore her. which definitely makes the evening better for her. lenore tries to stay inside the burlesque, but she finds herself skipping outside after the last person told her 'i'm sorry for your lost'. she was sick of those words and needed a damn break.

"oh honey, you don't need to help me with anything. i saw you up there. girl you look as exhausted as i feel. i needed to get out of there, honestly. i didn't want to come, but work made me." she comes to a stop by the other woman, back against the wall too. lenore's too tired though. too tired for standing all night that she lets herself fall until her butt is on the ground and her legs are stretched out in front of her. clearly she doesn't care about the dress she wears getting dirty. "enjoy your break, ok? let me just sit here and collect myself. i can't go back until i'm ready to not rip someone's hair out who says their sorry for my lost. like really? are they?" she sighs, hand running through her hair. "sorry...just been a long night."

[outlcws]

The stranger's admission of exhaustion matched the tone of her voice, and a lovely voice, at that. Some people had the gift of voices you would long to listen to read passages directly from a book, or so she discovered as a singer once she had lost her sight. Her conceptualization of her own voice never matched the way that fans clamored after her at the burlesque club. "What work do you do?" she asked, genuine intrigue trickling into her voice. It was a community-wide event, after all — such things were meant to bring people together, though it didn't balm over the travesties that tore entire lives apart. Families. "Ah... thank you. I think."

I can't go back until I'm ready to not rip someone's hair out who says they're sorry for my loss. Her heart stuttered in her chest, opening her mouth and stopping herself short. Vyvyan only knew of grief when it was mourning oneself. A piece of her past that would not be returned to her, and forced to accept the consequence that she would not be the same again — letting go of the anger and embracing the petrified young woman she had always been... that seemed like the path of least resistance. This woman, on the other hand, sounded ireful. Like misery itself had whispered in her ear and stoked the flames of retribution. She recognized it in some of her friends, like Stella.

"Social niceties can sound... cold," she agreed, "I think that... people who don't put much thought behind them assume that others will do the same. We expect that the world is on our terms and not the other way around, after all." Her fingers itched, a vapid urge to hold something in her hand, to have something else to fixate on — she didn't know what. The singer didn't smoke, nor did she indulge in alcohol too aggressively. Let alone illicit substance, although one could garner a taste for why they would be driven to it. Perhaps that was her recent heartbreak speaking. "No need... Are you sure you don't want anything? Water?"

[deatthtouched]

dean  looks  down  at  her,  smiling,  as  she  takes  hold  of  his  forearm.  he  then  leads  her  through  the  crowd,  chuckling  at  her  dismissal.  “you're  really  gonna  make  me  get  on  that  thing,  huh?”  he  laughs  again,  the  most  he  has  in  quite  some  time.  but  it's  hard  not  to  in  the  presence  of  a  friend.

“you  certainly  do,”  he  nods.  as  they  approach,  he's  quick  to  tell  the  person  operating  the  damn  thing  that  it  will  be  her  turn  next,  and  surprisingly  the  guy  agrees.  he  grins  at  his  accomplishment  and  once  the  latest  person  has  been  flung  off,  he's  leading  her  up  to  the  bull.  “you  sure  you  wanna  do  this?”  he  responds  to  her  question  with  a  question.

when  she  confirms  she  does,  he  sighs  in  a  joking  sort  of  way.  “fine  fine,”  he  says,  helping  her  up  onto  the  bull.  with  that,  he  dashes  out  of  the  ring  and  watches  from  the  sidelines.  dean  isn't  usually  this  kind  of  guy,  but  for  vyvyan  he  will  cheer  loudly.

[outlcws]

Honestly, she didn't think she would last two seconds on the damned thing — the odds weren't ever in her favor. Yet, she underestimated her unique adaptation she forcibly acquired as everything altered around her and one sense became more prominent to compensate for the loss of another — the beast wasn't alive underneath her fingertips, but when she took hold of the fake saddle, she had a sense for how it moved, and how she should twist herself to move with it. Fluid, as graceful as dandelions in the breeze.

Exactly ten seconds was all she could manage before getting booted right off, and the shock of landing on her back might have propelled her through a horror cut of flashbacks, were it not for the adrenaline that was pulsing through her veins. Instead, she found herself laughing, a hand lifting to cover her mouth out of slight embarrassment.

"Dean, could you help me up?" She requested him, and only him — the only distinct voice nearby that she could make out through the interwoven conglomerate of people. It was only when she made an effort to sit up that she finally met the limit of the corset around her waist, and she reached behind her to loosen the laces, and the oxygen flooded her lungs. How people could go for eons with it, she'd never grasp. "It's actually really fun," she conceded, "Do you think you can beat my score?"

[ofdesertroses]

why was she asking who he was or acting scared to see him? he didn't understand her reaction. the shock that lacey felt didn't let him see the whole picture or see his sister completely. she seemed different, frightened and well that didn't really make sense to her. lacey knew there was a chance they wouldn't be close because of their long separation from each other. he didn't really think of his reaction or of hers before he actually found her. lacey honestly didn't think it'd happen this quick. he felt tension between them. she just disappeared and he didn't know why. maybe if she was around, he wouldn't have done what he did. but that was mean to say. he can't blame his own stupidity on vyvan. that wasn't fair to her. "it's me, lacey. can...can you not see me?" it was then that he finally sees her, sees the eyes that he hadn't forgotten from when they were closer. they're not normal. there's something different about them, but he can't really put his finger on it. "what do you mean? i worked hard to find you. i traveled a lot...alone just to come here." he doesn't think his explanation will make her feel better. he just wants to reassure her so that she doesn't have to be scared. "what do you mean? why shouldn't i be here, vyv?" he takes a deep breath, voice shaking as he speaks. "what happened to you? why did you disappear?"

[outlcws]

There was a cold wind that froze over her heart. Perhaps she never knew it existed until now. Though she had no reason to turn away from her adopted siblings, the only flesh and blood she knew as her memories of the biological ones faded to specks, Vyvyan couldn't find it within herself to forgive their parent. Let alone give the conniving asshole the opportunity to weasel their way back into her life. "No." At first, that was all she said, hoping the cab would roll up so she could climb into it and let herself roll away into the distance. Put time and space and states between them again. If things with Walker really were over, maybe it was time to start fresh, for the nth time. She turned her face down — the unusually colored glass eyes would give her away, and part of her wanted to shield him from a truth that was difficult to stomach. That she had been torn apart and broken into pieces to favor their parent's fortuitous survival. "I don't want to see you. You should go," she said stiffly, her voice quavering and hitching halfway through, and she took another step back. The fallen starlet wanted to run, to take off, to forego questions. It would be easier for them both. Instead, she had nowhere to go. She was essentially boxed in, all thanks to a past decision. A ransom some might say went awry. "You should ask our parent why, if you really want to know. If they don't want to own up to it... I don't know what to tell you."

[wtfru--imabrat]

She rolled her eyes when he mocked her, even though she knew she deserved it. She knew she was fucking up and doing the wrong thing. Hell, she was high right now--and she knew he knew it. Of course, she was pretending not to be, with her heart racing, her pupils dilated, the tiny beads of sweat on her forehead, yet she was pretending to feel none of it. She didn't want to admit that Drake was right, especially not now. Do you know what your father would do to me if something happened to you? I mean it. She didn't respond, but she knew he was right. And it wasn't fair of her to make him wait around, to make him panic that he might have to report to the Edward Weiss and explain how he let the youngest Weiss daughter out of his sight. But she felt like she couldn't say sorry for it--her pride was too cumbersome, too in-the-way.

When he announced that he was taking her back home, she huffed like a petulant child. Was it not her prerogative to fuck up her own life? But she also knew the answer to that question: as long as she lived under the roof of the Weisses, no, it was not her prerogative to do whatever she pleased. Because her life was not hers, not really. And yes, that sounded quite melodramatic but that didn't make it untrue, either. And revelations like that--the idea that she couldn't actually live the life that she wanted to--made her itch for an escape and not just a temporary, quick one, like coke. She began to wonder if there was a way out. But as she stomped her way to the car, being guided by her bodyguard, she couldn't think of a world in which that would ever be possible.

Your sister didn't look too dead when I saw her on the news, but that doesn't mean she wasn't. At that, she shot him an angry glare--not at the mention of her sister alone but at the mention of that night. That might've been her lowest moment of all and she'd been loaded that night as well--go figure. Maybe that's why he'd brought it up. To remind her of what she was capable of when she was out of her fucking mind on drugs. But she didn't want to hear it. "Don't talk to me about that shit," she snapped.

It reminds me too much of home. She glanced at him once more, but this time, with curious eyes, though she didn't dare ask him to elaborate. He'd gotten his point across, though it did make her think about how different they were, the two of them. Honestly, these days, they mostly just got on each other's nerves. Yet, she also knew that she could rely on him to be there for her when she needed him and not just because it was his job but because he was reliable and loyal. And that went a long way in a business like this. Though she didn't like when he ordered her around, she did as he said because she knew deep down that she was wrong. She was fucking it up and she was certain he hated it. And maybe it was just because it was his responsibility to track her down and babysit her. Could it be because he actually cared about her? She wasn't positive one way or another. When he closed her door and made his way around to the driver side, she pondered whether she should apologize or not. When he got in the car, she let out a sigh and said "Well, are you takin' me home or what?"

[outlcws]

Romi's attitude was a facet of her that he tended to lose stamina for rapidly, and although it was unbecoming of her bodyguard to give the same pushback that she did, Drake had never backed down from it — especially once he had served time at the behest of protecting her. Did he regret it? No. Were there times that he was resentful of how she behaved, as a result? A bit. But a job was a job, and ultimately, he wasn't owed thanks. Nor appreciation. It was a raw cut paycheck and nothing more. Maybe that was his pitfall: that he held steadfast to the scrap of humanity within him, as if he dug deep enough, he could identify with the broken bird of a heiress that stood in front of him, and had patterned out a soft spot that was underlying. So many years watching her grow from a sullen teenager to who she was now, albeit those two people were hardly any different — it must be hard not to fashion something akin to caring for her, as more than a human shield.

Romi huffed, and stomped off like that same teenager who thought she could steamroll the universe underneath her, yet hadn't had a taste of the leash around her neck. The blonde never had to worry about the weight of the world crushing her shoulders, but reputation was everything to the face of the most affluent and powerful families in the city, and she had the poor deck of cards to align with them. She paused at the door, and glowered at him, as if he had issued a deadly blow to her, and not the other way around. He was unflinching in the face of her unbridled ire. Few could stand her short fuse, but luckily, he was molded to do exactly that. "What, am I killing your high? Like that would be too tragic."

Slipping into the driver's seat, he demanded gruffly, "Seatbelt. I'm not letting you get into an accident on my watch and go flying out of the windshield, too." Waiting impatiently for her to heed his directive, the engine was purring as if it had been accompanied by an old friend. Escaping her scalding gaze by looking to the windshield and reversing out of the lot, he cracked the windows down. The car reeked, and it was in need of a new air freshener — it wasn't inescapable nor suffering, it was simply overdue for a cleanup. He and Kaia didn't find much time for menial tasks when they had jobs that demanded hours round the clock and wearing themselves thin. "Stop egging me on," he said flatly, hitting the gas with his foot and easing them out of the parking lot. By the time he pulled back onto the road and directed to the freeway to pass through the city limits, Drake was driving reasonably above the speed limit. "I don't understand your problem with me, but like it or not, we're stuck with each other. That's something you've been used to before."

[prettysads]

say say was in an endless pursuit of discovering her true self. the panic induced by the near-constant bloodletting plaguing las vegas oftentimes did alter her state of being—as one could expect. her paranoia had worsened, the feeling of being watched like thousand-legged insects crawling on the back of her arms and neck. she heard murmurs in the night that beckoned her response from the shadowy corners of her apartment; then she began hearing them in broad daylight. while accompanying her daughter to a play date, or when things had gotten too quiet at twice sold and her overactive neurons would simulate customers arriving and inquiring about items they either didn't have in stock or never existed in the first place. thankfully, these incidents were few and far between, though the reason say say had come was because their frequency threatened to increase if she left herself unchecked for too long. she'd also scheduled an appointment with her psychiatrist for the end of the month, this had simply been an easier and frankly cheaper route to receiving answers sooner. whenever she was offered a seat, she obediently sat down across from salem, a smile present on her lips as she adjusted herself and tossed one leg over the other for comfort. "well, where to begin... firstly, i suppose i should mention i have these... dreams. of things that haven't happened yet. they aren't that life-altering, but they've always given me good glimpses at once to come. subtextually speaking," she said, her hands folding together in her lap as she carefully contemplated on her words. "in one of them, i dreamt i was looking in a mirror, and you know how you don't really look like yourself in mirrors in a dream? well, i looked quite like myself—the only difference was this black cloud coming to swallow me..." she trailed off as she recounted the dream, which felt more tangible as she spoke of it, like it was instead a memory. "all that to say, i do want to know my fortune. is what's coming next a bad evil, or a necessary one?"

[outlcws]

The fortune teller made herself useful whilst Dalisay indulged her with additional information about herself. Pleasantries that might be considered profoundly useless by many, but mattered to her — people came to the Trance with questions ranging from the norm ( love, fame, money, as avarice for that which couldn't be forced ran deep ) to the most frivolous and subtle. All could be answered by the deck of cards that she was working with nimble fingers to shuffle in her hands. "Tell me more about the premonitions that you see in your dreams. I think that everyone has that spark, you know, the little... inklings to things, we aren't always aware of them or able to grasp onto them. Some people don't have that shine, or they ignore it." Falling silent to listen to the other's elaboration, they nodded as they continued to shuffle the cards, humming, before elaborating in return, "Dark clouds... That's ominous, but to me, it tells me you are dealing with an inner conflict. Has there been anything to disturb your peace of mind, of late?" Naturally, most of what dreams manifested as were a manner of the brain processing events and feelings, trying to work through them in its subconscious state; looking at the client directly, Salem couldn't descry from the superficial what could be amiss, as she hardly showed up to their corner of the mall with red, puffy eyes, or an erratic disposition.

"Let's see what the cards say, shall we?" Laying out the first card in front of Say Say, she pointed to it. "The Five of Swords... This is like your dream. Conflict, and tension inside of you, and you want to avoid being overwhelmed by stress. The card claims that you're being too hard on yourself and should give yourself positive affirmation." Removing the next card after she reshuffled, she laid it down. "Strength... You must balance this primal force with compassion and trust your intuition." Then, a third. "The Eight of Cups... This goes hand in hand with your strength. Wisdom will be gained from the challenges you're facing, if you accept the fear that you are feeling, and come to terms with it. Don't allow it to stand in your way." Salem paused, referring back to her client. "Don't be afraid for us to continue reading if you feel it's too vague. So far, I don't see anything for you except that with your strength, you may persevere. Whatever conflict you face, it must be necessary for your growth."

[blood--in-the--water]

location: glitter gulch

date: late may 30, 1997

@outlcws

It was late in the evening when the house phone rang--it was a call that she'd gotten many times before, a dance that she was quite familiar with, but she didn't mean retracing her steps once more. Things had been a bit...icy ever since she'd moved back in with her dad. He'd spent a lot of the time being pissed at her and she couldn't blame him for this. After all, she'd even given him the runaround on the wedding night, lying about having to step out and then quite literally taking aim at Francisco Vitelli (which, apparently, hadn't worked out in the end, given that he was somehow still alive, which now stoked fear in her that the Weisses would be unhappy with her performance as well). She didn't blame her father for being angry with her--that's why for once, when he'd forced his frustrations, she didn't argue back but instead, just took it. Perhaps she was being stupid. Or maybe he couldn't quite understand her bigger plans. Either way, now that a few weeks had passed, it seemed as if things were thawing between the two of them. After all, they loved each other. Boris had been the only steady person in Briar's life ever since her mother had passed away. He'd always taken care of her and looked after her as if she was his own. So when the phone rang and the bartender told her that she needed to come pick him up because they'd taken his keys, she grabbed her purse and headed down to the familiar establishment.

Briar didn't know a lot of the details about his time in the war or what his life was like back in Russia. He never really talked about it. But she assumed that that's what he drank about. And quite frankly, it wasn't her business. She worried about him nonstop but he was an adult and she wasn't about to question his decisions. She would, however, make sure that he got home safe and then they'd come and pick his car up tomorrow. When she walked into the club, her eyes scanned the room--not just for her father but also any potential adversaries. She was still tentative about spending much time outside of her home and her work, trying her best to lay low--or, as much as one could lay low when they were a burlesque performer. But then she spotted him, a drink in his hand. Vodka, no doubt. She walked up to him and announced herself, not wanting to spook him. "Hey dad," she said, her voice soft and free of judgement. "Why don't you go ahead and finish that, pay your tab, and then we'll get out of here, yeah?"

[outlcws]

Once he had managed to give his new boss the slip, Boris had crawled right back into the bottom of a bottle. There was an irony of the universe laughing at him, and not with him, that Briar carrying out a task self-imposed to wriggle her from the grips of the pickle she'd walked right into had morphed into his biggest headache. Luckily, that headache went away with the hair of the dog, and then the whole hide of it. The lounge had emptied out and virtually everyone had gone home, save for the employees of the exotic night club that were working to clean it up and probably more than a little annoyed that he wouldn't budge from his favored stool at the far side of the bar, an empty glass next to him and his head in his hands, eyes closed. He had almost managed to wipe from his memory that a pair of confiscated keys and a troubled effort to dial a number in on the landline later, his daughter had been dispatched to fetch him, until her voice erupted his sodden thoughts. What little there were, really. "Mmph. When did you get here?" How long ago had it been since he had called? He didn't bother to roll his russet eyes around in search of the clock.

"No need, I can take care of myself," he let out a huff as he insolently peeled himself from the barstool, stumbling and grabbing onto the one next to him, breaths harshening with the effort to make sense of his reflexes and the intoxicated blur of his own thoughts. "...Okay, you help barely," he agreed at last, grabbing onto Briar's upper arm and hauling himself closer. Though the capo was taller, it was definitive that the ex-assassin surely had enough muscle to her to manage without tippling over. "You should not be here, you know. You should be out with friends or... something." Whatever someone in her twenties was supposed to find normal, and Boris had never fully been granted the opportunity to relish — that part of youth was sort of bypassed having a set of twins far too young for it, twins that would be close to her age now. These days, the knowledge that sat on his chest was heavier.

[prettysads]

drake's obvious exhaustion had softened lainey's form, and she'd given him a few once overs as he entered her rv. she was suddenly quicker on her feet, cleaning up some last minute items that she'd left in corners and moving so she could tuck them away, plus begin rifling through the fridge for some food. hopefully, if he couldn't sleep, he could at least indulge in a small meal that was sure to replenish some of his energy. she couldn't imagine the turmoil half the people in this town endured, and although she contributed to some of it, it astounded her how easily it sucked the life force out of people like drake. she was glad to stick with possessing others and meddling in politics from the passenger seat. quite literally. "that's too bad. what's been keeping you up? surely it's not the lightning storms," she commented wryly, locating the items she'd need for a quick charcuterie board. she pulled out a cutting board and got to work, grabbing a knife from the drawer so she could begin slicing the sausage and cheese up. as any other mother, it'd become a top priority for lainey to serve others before herself—at least, when it came to her day-to-day life. whatever happened past the hour of midnight didn't affect the rest of her life.

she made extra room for drake as he stepped inside the kitchen so he could start deciphering which tea he wanted, chuckling to herself at his words. "oh, they absolutely did. i swear, i love them to death, but they age me about ten years when they force me to pull all-nighters. then again, i allow it, so..." one of the many things of being the less frequented parent, allowing things their primary caregivers often wouldn't, and for good reason. "stella's a tough girl. i think no matter what, she'll figure it out. and it's not cy's first rodeo, so that definitely helps," she added, assembling the board in what she thought was adorable circles made of sausage and cheese. her eyes drifted sideways and she watched drake's vision fixate on the tea. she almost snorted, then swallowed the urge. "work? is that really it?" she asked as he expanded on his evident tiredness. "it's alright. i guess i should be pumped, because that'll be a fat pay check for me—but those people also creep me the fuck out sometimes. honestly, everyone does before i get to know them. i'm finally the paranoid neighbor i was always told about when i was a kid."

[outlcws]

Lainey was the quiet, caring sort — not one to ever make a point that they were doing it, until the deed had already been executed and the person was none the wiser. Those acts of service didn't go unnoticed by Drake, but equally appreciated in silence. They could understand each other on a wavelength that he hadn't found in most of the Vegas types; a lot of big personalities in the city with scarce room for anything else. "My charge has decided to e a runaway more frequent than someone going through teenage angst," he lamented dryly, and one could argue that had been him, escaping the Midwest and off toward the coast where he had landed now, but at least he didn't have a guard dog that was practically avowed to come after him. His father had probably written his obituary under his dead name the moment he stepped foot across the state line. Or tire, given the Greyhound that traversed the country. "I think I get a call about every asscrack of dawn about how she hasn't come home yet and I have to go looking for her." He never used explicit names to people outside the Weiss family circles. Trade secrets, clientele to keep safe, but his complaints stood still. "I think about quitting sometimes, but," a hand swiped over his scalp, wringing through thick, dark curls, "There's too much riding on my paychecks when the truck doesn't pull in good money." Kaia's business was passionate, and tourism drew in the most bucks, but it was fickle as any other food business.

Drake nodded, wistful. Children were an aspiration of his own, and one that was desperately wanted by the coupling. Perhaps it was unfair at their current financial status, but it didn't matter, anyway — there had been trysts to no avail, and IVF was a considered option, if it didn't cost a truckload of money that they didn't have to their name. "Before you know it, they'll all be in junior high. Right? How old is Joelle now? Ten?" A soft whistle of a breath escaped him. The friendship with Isabelle had blossomed when he set foot in the city, young and inexperienced with life so bustling, and he could remember the blonde's warm smile, and how radiant she was from the start. A part of him held onto the unsettling thought that it may well have been his involvement that led to her untimely end, skepticism weighed about the Night Stalker. The unbelievable rumors about the victims of the killer were like tales that were meant to remind children to be good and clean their plates. Fear was a tactic that kept him and everyone else complacent when he was a child. Looking back to the mug of tea, he nodded, mum, taking her words in. "Yeah, that and the usual woes, I guess." Thumbing the stretch of fabric that warded his hair away from his visage, and he chuckled, arching his brows. Curiosity ensued, idly, as he kicked a foot underneath the table. "I hear distaste. Is the bride-to-be of the Weisses a bridezilla?"

[outlcws]

with: @soulsuckcr ; damiar where: cupid's arrow when: anytime during the event

"I'm telling you, I practically saw funnel cake sugar itself over here just now. If there's a poltergeist in here, that seems pretty dangerous on a night like tonight. Don't you think? There's got to be bad energy following someone. Have you seen who runs the stand?" Salem's primary job within the crew wasn't research — she could go off of her presumptions and premonitions, but that was all she had under her belt. Why would a ghost want to haunt a perfectly new drag club? Unless...

"There was that incident a while back, right? Where someone who worked here phoned in a murder and they found that dismembered body part. Maybe we can communicate with that spirit and ask them who they are." Was it highly improbable that they could track down the identity of the person who had stolen their life, let alone the Night Stalker? Hell no. "At the least, we can ask it to stop making different types of knots with the funnel cakes. I'm beginning to get nervous this is going to turn into a really bad slasher, and fast."

[scarlctheart]

( dollhouse burlesque club, night ) @boneyardstarters

Fingers clutching an empty shot glass as wide brown eyes surveyed the rowdy crowd, the taste of her liquid courage still burning at the back of her throat, Astrid reached up to fiddle absently with the flower adorning her hair—part of her uniform for the evening. With her shift drawing to a close, a night of serving customers in her usual place of work behind her, she debated getting out on the dancefloor and joining in on the festivities for once. You'd think for someone that danced for a living (and much more scantily clad than she currently was), Astrid would be a little more comfortable with the idea of dancing to country music with strangers. But that was exactly her issue... they were strangers. And even though the brunette felt a vague sense of comfort, being in the club that she largely considered her home away from home, she was still horribly out of her comfort zone. Though she projected an easy confidence on stage, the picture of grace and charisma during her act, this was different. She didn't have a flashy stage persona to hide behind. There was no space between performer and audience to protect her. No, this was something she had to do as herself, not as Scarlet, a thought almost as horrifying as the recent string of misfortune that had befallen her. Because she didn't want to think about all the things that had gone horribly wrong lately—her unfortunate run-in with the law, a missing family member, and a penchant for stumbling across body parts. She wanted a reprieve, even if it was something as trivial as dancing with the locals. So, with a steeling breath, the former ballerina slammed down her shot glass for good measure, marching right towards the dance floor, determined to approach the first available dance partner she found. That is, until she bumped into someone crossing her path, she shoulder colliding with them. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I was just hoping to join in. Are you okay?" came her automatic apology, nearly lost among the sound of lively fiddles, a flush of embarrassment creeping over her cheeks.

[outlcws]

Looking for an escape route from the shitshow that had inadvertently unfolded ( if aided by the falling of dominoes on the behalf of his own taunting tongue ) outside the Glitter Gulch, he had taken refuge inside the Dollhouse. Practically everywhere that had a bar could be considered a type of refuge for the pyrotechnics expert, but the burlesque club certainly had a different, less refined atmosphere than it wholly touted during the typical business days, and the sole silver lining was the alcohol being served. Unfortunately, one sip of an appletini, and Boris was spitting it all over the floor. Cocktails weren't his thing, and the affirmation of that came swiftly and without remorse. Practically going cross-eyed from giving the glass in his hand a pointed glare, the jostling of one of the dancers ( servers, for the evening? ) jolted him out of it, and he went as rigid as a plank of wood, waiting for her to pass by. But she didn't, and it was then that he came to terms with who it really was: Scarlet. "It's fine." If it were any other dancer, then it may have been less fine, and he would have barely curbed retribution kindling under fingernails for the mere purport that workers enduring any business of the nature in Las Vegas were deserving of his patience, unlike the ungrateful wretches that crawled out at night demanding for more. Slowly, he put the glass down, the corners of his lips twitched. "Fine, yes," he repeated, "You are looking, um, the part of country for tonight." Boris didn't really want to dance to country music, but he couldn't deny his chest twinging a bit as she seemed... off. "You are... looking for a partner?"

[b4rredteeth]

Nasser tensed slightly, but once again, without showing it on his face. He simply tapped a hand on the steering wheel and took another sip from his coffee as he mulled over his words. He didn't like recognition. He didn't like talking about the family, how he'd cut ties - though to say he had completely would be a lie. He had fallen so far that nobody could get him back up. As the coffee sunk down into his stomach, he let out a deep breath. His mother had taught him breathing exercises. Back when he was young, poor, and bullied. Even if he'd been able to stand his ground, he'd still chased riches. And now he was back to living out of a dirty appartment and running shift after shift after shift to make ends meet - and to run away from life.

"It hasn't," Nass said, but he didn't comment on anything else. Thinking about how long it had been meant thinking about Petra, and he couldn't think about Petra without wanting to break down. The years hadn't made it easier.

"It pays," he said. "Not much, but it pays. It keeps me off the streets." And off of the crippling guilt.

[outlcws]

The posture of the former bodyguard changed in the rearview mirror when he looked back. It was subtle, but subtlety was practically part of their job description. Interpreting body language for a hidden code. Signs of danger. "I could never figure out why you left," and that much was true — it wasn't like Drake was making enough money to be free and clear of floundering in the dirt, but there was a steadiness to the work. A reliability, as once you were in, one seldom found an exit sign that wasn't the exit of a bullet round through someone's skull and making its path right out of it. Nasser should count himself lucky that he wasn't part of the unmarked graves in the desert. Edward Weiss wasn't as terribly clement man, in the many years that the elder Hawkins child had worked underneath his wing.

"And I could never figure out how you left without reaping the consequences. You didn't even change your name." Perhaps it was a puzzle he wasn't willing to solve silently. Really, he didn't care, they were all idle musings that he was divulging aloud, killing the time on the way back to Shady Dell. Anyone who worked for the Weisses long enough figured out how to pry in a way that resembled taunting. Dark eyes studied the other cars and buildings passing them by, leaning his head against the back window.

"Did you hear that she's back now? Maeve." The middle Weiss daughter's infamous disappearance from fixtures within the Manor, and any trace of her existence, notwithstanding, another mystery that Drake hadn't resolved. After all, he was the bodyguard who was there that night. Cleaning up the mess that Romi Weiss made. That was evidently his job more than the guarding part was. "How come you haven't tried to take up work with her? I'm sure she'd have you back with open arms."

[deatthtouched]

dean  is  slightly  surprised  by  the  sudden  presence  of  a  friend  at  his  side.  thus  far,  he  had  been  quietly  watching  others  as  they  moved  around  the  event.  maybe  some  part  of  him  was  still  in  detective  mode,  wondering  who  could  be  at  the  root  of  all  the  strange  happenings  that  had  been  occurring  lately.  it  would  be  wise  to  shut  that  part  of  his  brain  off,  to  live  in  the  moment,  yet  he  cannot  bring  himself  too.

still,  he  looks  down  at  vyvyan  with  a  little  smirk,  nodding  his  head.  “a  couple  people,  yeah,”  he  says  with  a  slight  chuckle.  no  use  in  bringing  her  down  with  his  own  morbid  thoughts.  and  maybe,  just  maybe,  hanging  with  her  will  help  him  chase  them  away.

but  then  she  brings  up  what's  been  happening  –  and  it  all  comes  rushing  back.  shit.

“you  know,  i  wouldn't  be  surprised  but…  i  could  use  the  distraction,  if  i'm  bein'  honest.”

it's  true,  too.  he  really  could.

and  when  she  says  she  wants  to  give  the  bull  a  try,  he  cannot  help  but  let  out  a  hearty  laugh.  “really?  you  sure?” he  says,  not  in  a  condescending  way  or  anything,  he's  just  shocked.  “i  mean,  yeah,  why  not.  c'mon,”  with  a  wave  of  his  hand,  he's  then  moving  through  the  crowd.

[outlcws]

The melancholy that leached into her had to be purged somehow. Nor could she escape the foreign sensation of eyes following her every corner she turned, not since the motel — no pair of her own was necessary to understand the searing lick of white-hot flames that conflated the whites of someone's eyes when they honed in on a target. Was that woman who had come to find her at Magic Beach always a step behind?

It wasn't like her to throw caution to the wind and wrangle with an obstacle she couldn't see, but she figured she didn't need to see to attain eight seconds on something that jolted and moved around, and more to the point, couldn't gouge her with a real set of horns.

A hand wrapped around his forearm. "Well, nevermind that," and the pessimism that came with her query, "If I get on that thing, will you go next? I can't see how it goes, but I'll cheer you on. We could get a round together for liquid courage at the Dollhouse if you feel like you need it." A coy smile took hold of her lips, squeezing. "Do I look the part for it?"

Dean made a path, and Vyvyan was loyally behind the detective, listening around her to the loud murmur of rodeo-goers. Their itinerant destination hollowed out when they set foot inside the Glitter Gulch, which reeked of sweat no matter how thoroughly the building was polished down, she figured. "Ladies first. Will you help me up on it?"

[thesw0rd]

This week had been a shit show. Well, this year really. It didn't really bother Dom. He didn't care much for things that didn't pertain to him personally, and besides the strained work load, none of it did. He wouldn't even call it a heavy workload, honestly. It was more scattered. Everyone above him was busy scrambling. His own usefulness in this particular situation was mediocre at best. Wandering about, looking for stragglers who owed money, was the most he could do.

He found himself lurking around the regular commute path of a particular indebted individual, hands in his pocket as he pretended to care about the paper. He had about another twenty minutes before his target would approach. Until then, he tried to look inconspicuous.

The interruption from his thoughts sparked a mild irritation, causing his mouth to slack, a small frown forming there. Her words tumbled through his thoughts lazily. Great, a con artist.

"Listen lady, I'm not interested in a palm reading."

[outlcws]

"Not a palm reading," Salem was quick to say, "I see that you're struggling with your current path. Perhaps I could offer you enlightenment with this impasse." If the other should send her away again, then she could respect that. The medium wasn't going to impose her views on anyone, nor the information that she might have. "It would seem that you've seen many deaths recently, and you'll see another soon. Is that right?"

He was familiar — maybe someone who had once circled in similar loops to her, in her past life that had been shed for favoring a new one forged in Vegas. "I don't need to know what you do, or who you are. Are you wondering whether you should keep up with your work for them?" She smiled, tilting her head, and holding up a palm. "I don't need money, rest assured. I'm not interested in worldly gains and my pockets are full enough without your pocket change."

[takemyheart--pullitapart]

It was safe to say that after more than a few months of laying low, Dahlia was once again feeling like her overly-confident self, full of gusto and audacity. She hadn't seen the young woman since their encounter in that motel during the storm where her fear had been so palpable, she vampire could've practically tasted it. And she'd wanted to taste her--and not in a romantic way but in a carnal, primal way, given that she full moon had been shining bright that night, sending her and all others like her into a frenzy. Yet, the night hadn't ended in blood and in a satisfying meal but instead, it'd left her feeling even more confused.

Because she looked just like Sabel. Exactly like her. Only Sabel hadn't been blind--but who's to say she couldn't have lost her eyesight over the last hundred years? Still, though, the woman certainly didn't act like Sabel--either that or that bitch was a damn good actress. But as time passed, as Dahlia followed in her pursuit, discovered where she worked even, she was more and more curious about her origins. Sure, they say 'everyone has a twin' and all that bullshit. But a woman who looked exactly like Sabel running around Las Vegas? It couldn't be a coincidence. And she was intrigued, not to mention motivated by her lust for revenge. If this girl wasn't Sabel, she had to have some sort of connection...right?

So the dark-haired woman had found herself at the girl's latest show--apparently, her name was Vyvyan. Right. And she'd been lying in wait, knowing she had the element of surprise on her hands. So when the performer came off the stage, she gave a wolfish grin and said "Beautiful set tonight. I didn't realize you were so talented." Her grin only grew wider as she saw the recognition on the woman's face and could practically feel the tingles that were most likely running down her spine. It was delicious.

Why did you come to see my show? Feigning innocent surprise, she said "Because I heard you were good. And it turns out, the reviews weren't wrong." I'm not going to sit with you. Go away. She was trying to be brave. It was precious, really. "You're not going to take the time to chat with an adoring fan? That's not very gracious of you. I figured you'd have better etiquette than that--don't prove me wrong. Why don't you sit with me, just for a bit? I promise I won't bite."

[outlcws]

Vyvyan failed to understand what the fanfare was about herself. Perhaps her sense of self-value was skewed. What was so special about a transient, orphaned girl, now a grown woman, that these things seemed to follow her? These dastardly creatures. First, her adoptive parent had revealed themselves to be the serpent, and she the willing sucker who walked right into the front lines into the hands of people who wanted to smite those creatures from the earth altogether. And now one was following her, breathing down her neck, because... of a case of a mistaken identity? The singer wanted to curl her fists and scream, melt down until security came. But that was not like her, and despite the fear that pulsed through every nerve ending, she was still, save for the breaths laboring in her chest.

A hand finding the table that Dahlia sat at, she slid into the velvety seat, thighs forced together in her dress and tucked underneath the table, not crossing them. Looking for an escape. A moment to run. Could they hear the palpating beat of her heart from here, too? The blood that rushed through her so quickly that it was the sole confirmation she was alive, and hardly one of them. The starlet's hand stole away underneath the table, a mirthless sound leaving her lips, akin to strangulation before it was laughter. "Tell me why you're really here, or I won't answer anything. Fair is fair. If you want a chat, this must be a two way street. Or I go away."

The confidence that roiled in her voice hardly matched the waver in it, no longer exuding the stable belts that she had sustained moments before. If anything, she could hardly feel her fingertips, her cheeks, where she suspected that the color had drained, and she folded her hands in her lap, pecking at a hangnail that had come from the broken glass in the motel room that she swept up herself, after she alerted the presence of a worker turning tricks in the next room. Night terrors had come with the encounter. A foe that she could not see was haunting her dreams, and now, she couldn't escape her in the real world, either. What was the point to it all? "You have a minute to tell me why you're really following me. I am not the Mina to your Dracula."

[outlcws]

[edward-weiss]

Hearing that his wife has decided to retire, when it had been her bloody idea to come in the first place - image control, patching over the remaining fallout from their wedding, a fruitless attempt at appearing community-minded and personable - sums her whims up perfectly. Edward despises the way her departure makes him look, as though they've argued or, worse, that he’d been enjoying himself so much he'd insisted on staying. As if the mechanical bull ride was simply too alluring to abandon. It pisses him off - not that it takes much - and while none of that is Drake’s fault, he still casts him a withering look, the same one he’s been directing at him since the wedding.

“Fanatical enough to insist on attending, but not fanatical enough to stay? Sounds about right.” He briefly considers going home too, then decides he can’t face rattling around in a house that feels more like a mausoleum with each passing day. Too many empty rooms.

The suggestion of the Dollhouse makes him pause, softening a little at the thought of getting to see Vyvyan, but he plays it off with the usual disdain. “It's all insufferable, to be honest. But the Dollhouse is perhaps marginally less insufferable. I think we should go there." He won't tell Drake it's a good idea, won't thaw even slightly. The same glacial look returns at the mention of dancing. "Drake, I must stress that if I ever ask you to dance with me, it means I'm very unwell and you have permission to shoot me."

[outlcws]

"...Trouble in paradise?" The query was latent and sarcastic — the bodyguard wasn't expecting a response that was sincere, by any means. Besides, what Edward got up to in his private relationships wasn't really of the bodyguard's concern. Neither was Romi's, which was decidedly why he hadn't aired out any of the dirty laundry that didn't pertain to her relapse that was only part of the reason she had flushed her inheritance down the toilet in one fell swoop. Drake's loyalty to the family was unrivalled, but he wouldn't be caught dead as a rat. Given his own journey from a sense of unbelonging to where he stood now, he wasn't keen on sending anyone else barreling out from the shadows prematurely. Dark eyes drifted away from Edward's visage, studying the festivities in search of something that the godfather wouldn't find too distasteful to hang about in the meantime. "I can always call another cab."

Looking back to him, his straight face didn't break. A normal person would have been inept to restrain their laughter at how preposterous that Edward found it, that he would consider an assisted suicide. "...I'm not going to shoot you. Sir." Then, without missing a beat, he went on in that same monotone, "Fine, to the Dollhouse we'll go." Enduring through horrors he didn't particularly care for was part of the job description, and that included country music. With hope, it wouldn't be any of the crooning, droning on old-timey kind like every guest ever featured on the television spot Hee Haw. "Kettle corn?" he offered as an afterthought, dangling out the bag that Edward's wife had seldom touched after procuring.

[resilicncies]

THEY COULD FEEL IT the minute he had pulled away, that that horrid hour was upon them when the two of them would be pulled apart to start their days, and they tried to swallow down the sigh that was on the cusp of their lips just at the thought of Drake crawling out of bed. "Mm, are you sure you didn't read the clock wrong and you maybe have five or ten more minutes?" She asked in vain, a valiant effort to what she knew would possibly be a failing cause. How he stuck to his word was a trait they would always find appreciative, especially how many prison penpals were dropped when the recipient found freedom, but he had never made them feel that way. Every single promise he ever made to them was kept, no matter how goofy; it was one of the aspects she adored about him most. The heel of their hand rubbed against their eyes, finally turning their gaze on him. "I know you're going to say no, but maybe just this time you can fool me and say yes when I ask you to stay in bed longer?" It was a possible hopeless question and yet their arms wrapped around him a bit tighter to encourage his thought on it. "I hate hearing that, that you'll never be back soon. If you're going to be gone that long, at least let me make you some food to take with you first." It was how they knew to show love best, to send it off with a meal. Pushing up on an elbow, their fingers wrapped around his arm before he could fully escape their bed. "I wanna get up and make you something. It'll make going to sleep easier for me if I know you have something." they promised, knowing the truth in it but also trying to play to his emotions to fall in their favor, as they stretched their legs from where they were comfortable in bed. "What sounds good to you? If you're going to be forced out of bed in the middle of the night, I can at least send you off with something. You know I'm not gonna rest if you leave here with no food."

[outlcws]

"You know I wish I could stay," there was an amenability in his voice that was reserved for them alone, and it had been ages since they had time to revel in an evening alone when his duties had become more demanding out of the blue, prompting him to squeeze Kaia's thigh and run his thumb across it, "We'll have to think about the weekend out of town we were talking about having once the wedding is over, see what things look like on the books." They were barely getting by, but somewhere within the state for a night separated from the rickety old camper was doable sometimes. Especially when his partner was able to find something on sale at the grocery stores that they could cook up into a nice meal, usually meats that were going out of their expiration date in the next few days. Letting out a breathless laugh when Kaia's arms snaked around his middle, he let himself be dragged back instead of digging his heels in, leaning over them and pressing a kiss to their lips. "I'm gonna have to say no... but I'll stay long enough for you to make me something to take with me." God knew how many hours he would be driving around, searching every spot for a trace of Romi. Sometimes, nighttime had already been whittled away before he found her. Giving her a light tap on the arm before he readied himself to stand and search for clothes to change into, he gave it thought, although his head was fogged up with a billion what ifs and the lingering grogginess. A ghost of a smile had lingered as he stripped out of his pyjamas to change into dark pants and a shirt to match. "I don't know, um... how about a grilled cheese with that sourdough you baked the other day? With tomato and jalapeno. Just something simple." Much of the week, they ate leftover dumplings from the food truck. Lunar New Year had been a pleasant feast, for that reason. "Throw in some of those potato chips with it." Leaning over in the cramped space, a caress of his lips danced across their shoulder, before landing a light smack to the butt. "Hats off to the chef."

[wtfru--imabrat]

location: shady dell rv park

date: late april

@outlcws

It had taken a few weeks before Romi had even realized that she was now living in the same RV park as Drake, her old bodyguard. Once she'd figured that out, she was nervous every time she stepped out of the house that she'd run into him and she'd die of embarrassment. He'd been working for her since she'd been a teenager and even though she was pretty sure he hadn't considered her a friend, they'd gotten to know one another and got along semi-decently before she'd fallen off the wagon. She knew that she'd been a lot to deal with on any given day, let alone when she'd been using and trying to leave him in the dust so she could run off and get high. She knew that the wedding had been the last straw and she hadn't been happy when he'd quit on her--though looking back now, she couldn't really blame him. She was ashamed of how she'd acted, though making amends had never been something that she was great at. Plus, technically, she wasn't at the step yet. But still, she eventually decided that seeing him was going to be awkward either way so she might as well bite the bullet and get it over with. At least this way, it wouldn't come as a surprise when he saw her from now on.

After knocking on a few doors and getting the wrong people, she finally landed on what had to be his and Kaia's door (part of her hoped that Kaia wasn't at home right now--she knew that she didn't care for Romi, though the ex-heiress supposed that she really couldn't blame her). She gingerly knocked on the door and was in the middle of running through her pre-rehearsed speech in her head when the door opened abruptly. It wasn't until they were face-to-face that she even remembered she'd recently dyed her hair and looked a little different. "Uh... Hey, Drake," she said, her voice a little hoarse. "Um..." God, this was fucking torture. "Could we talk? I won't keep you long, I promise." She wanted to ask if she could come in but even that felt like crossing the line. She was almost certain he wanted nothing to do with her. And that was fair. But she at least owed him an apology.

[outlcws]

Finally, the dust was somewhat settling on the storm that had been kicked up on Romi's behalf — initially, Edward was fucking pissed and looking for a scapegoat, and he'd received the brunt end of his fury, even after the now ex-heiress had been booted from the premises. It took groveling to get back to good graces, and he still hadn't managed to find another charge to be reassigned to, so for now, he was living off the scraps of minute tasks of bodyguarding as the godfather's new bride needed. It was supplemental enough. At the least, sleep wasn't being chewed up to the barest of copper wiring flickering in his brain without her harebrained antics when she got it into her head that the temptation was too much to bear — Drake could comprehend it from an abstract perspective, and he'd watched it eat away at her many moons ago, but his knowledge was limited to the handfeeding of cultlike brainwashing that existed within his adolescence.

The morning was flavored with querulous yips from the French bulldog that the Zhao-Hawkins household had jointly decided to adopt, looking for a scrap of levity amidst the grim atmosphere that they had shared in recently. Were it not enough that he had been rendered jobless by Romi's spectacular stunt, the threat disguised as a formal thank you note hand-delivered to Kaia's palm around the dinner table was the nail in the coffin that had tainted an event that he had hoped would be a night of reprieve from the exhaustive duties of tailing Romi Weiss around, and that they could revel in dancing and drinking and eating food finer than they could afford. Though it was a souring evening, they were part of the Weiss machine, and that meant they were resilient, and he entrusted his faith in Kaia's optimism that they would forge a way through.

A hand lowered to pat the bulldog's head, situated on the makeshift concrete blocks that stepped up to the RV, the cherry of a cigarette dwindling in his other hand. His head leaned against the side of the weathered vehicle, enjoying the rays of sunlight warming his skin before it became unbearably hot later in the afternoon, and signified that he should collect himself and head over to the Weiss Manor. Eyes closed, he hadn't suspected the voice of the aforementioned harbinger of misfortune to wreath through his eardrums, and dark eyes opened, honing in on her without pause. There was no startle, and his expression didn't shift from the resting stoniness that it always exuded, save for tender moments where Kaia was able to prod through his detachment. "...I don't have anything to say to you," he said flatly, "If you're here to tell me again how fucking vindicated you are, I don't want to hear it."