↳ the dive bar : elspeth & @pcrasitic ( tobias ) .
there weren't many places open in the witching hour, the time where elspeth mostly found her solace. her around-the-clock profession meant that there were few moments when the embalmer could relax. and, when they could, the bookstores were shut up, the restaurants were calling last orders, and it seemed the entire world had taken themselves off to slumber. it left elspeth to waste their evenings at the bar nursing a whiskey sour, saving the maraschino cherry until last. they were swirling the pearled fruit against the inside of their cheek when she noticed tobias. "can't sleep?" they questioned, "or are you looking for a scoop to put in the paper about all the cold ones coming in? i mean, we can barely keep track back at the freezers. if only we were back in tennessee—every cowboy has one in their garage for their trophies." a morbid thought. she drank. "i'm exhausted."
most evenings were spent sleepless , at least for the past twenty or so years . restless the very least . undiagnosed insomnia that by now , tobias has just assumed as part of them . " i don't write the stories , i just edit them , " they profess over the lip of a bottle of pale ale , absentmindedly coming to ignore the first question tossed their way . it had to be evident that anyone here at this hour had something plaguing their brain . " does it keep you up all night ?? seeing all those dead bodies ?? " mind can't even begin to imagine up all the horrific states they'd show up to the morgue around here .
( 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒐 ) Amidst the glimmering lights and the rhythmic hum of anticipation, Rhodes, the seasoned casino host, moved with a practiced grace through the lively expanse of the gambling floor. Dressed in an impeccably tailored outfit, she exuded an air of quiet confidence, a juxtaposition to the vibrant energy surrounding her. As she strolled past roulette tables and slot machines, her perceptive gaze caught the subtle nuances of excitement, trepidation, and elation on the faces of the patrons. The air was thick with the promise of fortune, and she thrived in this electrifying atmosphere.
Approaching the high-stakes poker area, she caught sight of familiar faces and welcomed them with a warm yet professional smile. The soft murmur of conversations and the crisp shuffle of cards became the backdrop to her world. Rhodes' role as a casino host extended beyond mere formality; it was an art of creating an experience, an ambiance where risk and reward danced hand in hand. "Feeling lucky tonight?" she inquired, her voice carrying the subtle allure of the casino's mystique.
new york , a city of sin . where every corner turned , there's another vice . tobias is certainly no stranger , the new yorker born and bred , ever so indulgent . with the flashy lights , the flashy women — it's like a moth to a flame . while gambling isn't an every day necessity , it certainly brings it's own appeal . satisfying a taste . everyone likes to feel like they're on top every now and again , right ?? the fifty seems to be burning a hole in their pocket . while it isn't much , it's a starting point . a wager that can't decide where to be played . the bright , neon luminescence and the sounds calling from the slot machines , the excitable crowd slotted around the black jack tables . oh , the options .
lips curl into a smirk , hearing the question rise from the voice sounding ever so tempt . " you know , now i just might . where do you suggest i test my luck ?? "
IN SPITE OF IT BEING HER own business, name on the deed to the building; she never felt quite as comfortable playing her own music aloud. felt far too intimate to share her own cd collections and still opted for the selection her father left for her and music her employees would bring in. it's why indigo can be found wearing headphones at her workspace, cd player nearby along with strewn about crumpled up papers of drawings she hated. there's a creative block that she hasn't been able to shake for the past two hours, stuck drawing and redrawing a cardinal for a client that was particularly annoying during their consultation. the from wind chimes ring to signal someone entering the building and indigo exhales a frustrated huff, pushing herself up from her hunched over position. today, she has the exciting opportunity to return to her roots as a receptionist, as the girl who usually works the front desk is sick. there's no attempt made in pretending to be thrilled, but she'll still try to remain cordial as a good business owner should. " just a second, " headphones are taken off, cd player paused and indigo walks from her work station towards the front desk to find the culprit of the interruption. " can i help you? "
not a lot of people will make the argument that castel velazquez approaches situations with a gentle softness . it's very much so the opposite . a permanent knit worn into the crease of brows , a body battered and tired , and a mood to go right along with it . at least he's consistent , and after all , he makes no promises of change . a combat boot hits the floor hard , as body steps through the shop's threshold . a hearty huff precedes his words . " I don't know , can you ?? " they ring with an attitude as he looks about , brows coming together even further ( if that's even possible ) as gaze catches across the papers , the mess . " looks more to me like you're doing homework . you work here ?? "
𝗟𝗢𝘊𝘈𝘛𝘐𝘖𝘕: outside the dive bar's parking lot, late night post fight.
𝗪𝗜𝘛𝘏: anyone it's an open starter baby !!
⠀#⠀ A HELLHOUND OFF THE leash, just for tonight. nothing but copper scraps and freshly earned bruises to call a reward. should be a real fuckin’ celebration to live and see another day, can’t help the anarchic nihilism that bleaches his outlook, ( childhood sun - stained bedroom walls and the notable cross shaped 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐋𝐓𝐇 / this far in life, intwined anger and blood inside . . . call it a concrete revelation: you’re fucked, man. ) doors swing wide with a callous push, the tips of his nerves fading into dreaded obscurity. terrible, cheap liquor brings the best, impulsive ideas. and fuck, he needs to feel alive again ! “ c’mon, hit me. ” spoken as a sober thought, cacophony of limbs jolt with drunken brilliance, “ what, never punched a guy before ? shit, tonight's your lucky night, isn’t it ? so t'fuck you waitin’ for. hit me. ”
there's nothing quite like the rush of adrenaline that flares in veins while shades of blue and purple bloom around orbital bones , skin split around knuckles from hit after hit . nothing beats it , not at twenty six , or the ripe old age of forty six . and while castel lives to be in the rush , to feel something , he realizes when a job is done . a lit cigarette dangles between a split lip , eyes glued to the scrappy , younger familiar as they search for another shred of glory . " you're a fuckin ' idiot , vinnie , " words mutters around the lit stick , only moving from his stoic stance against the brick to lift a palm and balance fingers as a well deserved puff is pulled . " learn when to call it quits , will you ?? you're just making a fool out of yourself now . "
OPEN STARTER - ZAKIR SETHUPATHI
underground hip-hop bar
Zakir pulled at the hem of his shirt, sweat falling off of his hair down his neck, the heat and the adrenaline working together to make him want to run outside to catch his breath. Though he knew he would end up in the cold if he did, so instead he used his shirt to wipe at his head, waving his hand in front of his face as he settled at the bar. Instead of sitting down on one of the stools, he kept standing, rolling on his feet, giddy with the recognition of earlier, a show which he'd joined in on rather than led. But that was the beauty of being a rapper, to anyone in the audience it might seem like rivals had joined on stage, while in fact they were all friends. Whenever he called any of them bhai, he meant in more than he usually did.
"A water," he told the bartender when it finally was his turn. The fellow looked at him weirdly, but it would do neither of them any favours to explain he was a Muslim. He watched the fellow grumble something and turned to another patron while he waited. "Wallah, it's so hot in here," he said, wiping sweat off of his forehead again with a part of his shirt that had escaped the set dry. "Are you here for the ambience or the show?" he asked.
it's a wonder what brings the crowd . is it the ambience , is it the performances , or is it the escape ?? solace in a scene that just feels different to most of new york's dingy bars . while tobias isn't so familiar with the underground music scene , they've yet to witness to any vocal ambush , or a single punch thrown .
" i'm not sure , " they admit , words forming around a sip taken from a glass that's now half empty . they try not to be too investigative as gaze hones in on a bead of sweat forming around the other's brow , but there's no helping themselves . " do you do this sort of thing often ?? "
̲̲ raul castillo, cis man + he/him ] ⠀★ , no way, haven’t you ever heard of CASTEL VELÁZQUEZ? perhaps you know them best as EL GUASON. spotted under new york's city lights, i’ve heard they’re a/an HANDYMAN & CAPO that’s protected by THE GUTIERREZ, spilled blood for loyalty is thicker than water. the rumour goes that the FORTY SIX is known to be possessive and testy, yet fearless and protective . it’s WRATH that’s their biggest vice, but hey, what do i fuckin’ know? their favourite song on the job is DEVILS PLAYGROUND by THE RIGS and are never seen without HIS MOTHER’S ROSARY, hard to believe in superstition in such a godless city. ask the right people and they’ll tell you that they remind them of: A TATTOO OF YOUR MISTRESS’ LIPS , FINGERS CALLOUSED FROM WORKING THEM TO THE BONE , A GREASY HAND-WRENCH , THE ART OF MAKING ENEMIES WHEREVER YOU GO . so whatever you do, and may vengeance have mercy on you, do not fuck with them.
tattoos ━ too many to mention. notably a woman's name on his neck
siblings ━ two younger sisters
TIDBITS ( death mention , illegal immigration mention tw )
born and raised in reynosa , mexico . a particularly bad part of mexico known for gang violence . his father shot and killed when castel was only 11 . he quickly became the man of the house , taking care of his mom and two little sisters .
shortly following the death of his father, the family illegally relocated to the US - his mother getting a job at a hotel chain in texas thanks to a friend who had moved to corpus christi just a few years earlier .
the move to the US didn’t bring with it what his mother had hoped . castel was used to a life in the streets , and found himself in the same sort of trouble as he did back home .
basically lived in corpus christi from the age of 13 until a handful of years ago , when he up and moved to nyc following behind his best friend
did a prison stint for about 4 years in his late twenties , but was released early due to an overcrowding issue .
he’s not rly a bad guy ?? just hella protective and will do whatever it takes for the people he loves . he often goes about it in all the wrong ways
bad luck magnet , fiercely loyal , extra large dumbass , grumpy old man
doesn't have a habit of starting fights per se , but definitely has a the need to finish them ( them as in any and all )
BIOGRAPHY
tbd .
WANTED CONNECTIONS
the friend they followed to NYC . ideally someone in the gutierrez clan but could be juicy to have his bff be affiliated elsewhere ??!!
a secret / unknown child !!! open to adjusting castle's timeline so any muse late 20's , early 30's who is at least half mexican could work for this
his wife ( juicy wc coming @ u in the near future )
andulkaphoto
gummygunk
dededos
janainaart
turnnoffyourmind
