“oh, i’m sorry, are you talking with me?”, rio rose her eyes
from her laptop, taking a long breath and pushing a smile
through her features. smile until they leave, she repeated
in her mind. “our event list is bubbling for the holidays
as you can imagine. tell me, what can i do for you?”,
facing the person that reached her desk, she now offered
a warm smile, trying to at least come across as welcoming.
❝ i hate to be a bother . ❞ and he really does , bashful & retiring as he approaches the front desk ; just wants the peace and quiet that he needs to write . bustling halls & throngs of festive pandemonium do nothing for what’s left of his creativity . ❝ i was wondering if i could look at the 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝘀𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗱𝘂𝗹𝗲 . for , erm , reference . not really a people person , per se . ❞
a thick pile of neatly organized paperwork lay before him as he scribbled down some notes on his pad . frantic eyes traveled all around the tiny work space he had formed near the reception area ; people rarely checked in and out at this time of the day , so he expected a serene atmosphere in which he could work easily . yet , alike everything in his life these past few months , his plan had begun crashing down once he acknowledged the presence of someone who had decided to disrupt this moment of peace . “ can you not see that i am busy ? am i giving off some welcoming vibe ? that was certainly not my intention . ” a sharp voice called out , before he even managed to examine who exactly it was .
❝ s’just me , don’t get yer knickers in a twist . ❞ hasn’t even shucked her work jacket off yet as she slides into adjacent space / and it’s a strange bond they’ve forged , lawyer and amateur filmmaker , alike in dignity , in fair du lac where they lay their scene . she’s come to adjust to the sharpness of a caustic tone & the way it carves , but slim shoulders simply shrug and roll , stretching tired muscles whilst she gazes at the 𝗽𝗮𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 he’s stacked upon the table . ❝ looked like y’were suffocatin’ there . i’unno how any o’ that shite makes sense to ye’ . what in the lamb o’ divine fuck is an actus rea ? sounds like somethin’ y’need checked out if y’ask me . ❞
it was six am , the icelandic sun was barely up and she was just leaving the gym after an exhausting two hour session . her trainer drilled this schedule into her head a couple of years back , but in all honesty , she fantasized about sleeping in until eight . maybe even nine . heading out the door , she sluggishly walked upstairs towards the hotel’s foyer when suddenly , despite her athletic dexterity , she tripped over the thick carpet , nearly taking down the person beside her . “ jesus , i’m so sorry, ” she said , pushing herself up from the ground . the brunette picked up her black hydroflask quickly before getting all the way up to her feet . facing the person , she grinned , trying to act like she didn’t just fall on her fucking face . “ you’re up early , huh ? ”
he writes best in the early morning , when buttery sunlight has yet to reach the full force of its impact / the light is still pale , almost eerie & yet it doesn’t inspire him . nothing’s inspired him for months now . swallows a slight groan at the sight of the blank document that sits before him ( he’s not ready for the utter reaming his agent’s going to give him ) , but attention is caught by a muffled thump and sudden rush of air that’s unpleasantly cool . jasper adjusts his glasses , eyes 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐝𝐞 behind them ; doesn’t even have time for chivalry to leap forth and take hold , because she’s pulling herself up in two seconds flat . ❝ i , um , i --- - ❞ if he stutters , forgive him / it’s hardly six in the morning and three strong coffees already richochet around his bloodstream . ❝ i like writing in the morning ? helps me think better . normally , that is . ❞
“ so , i’m here because i killed the illuminati’s president . that’s why my hair is so full , ” he gazed at the person beside him , drunk , so nonchalantly one could buy his act , if it weren’t for the fact that he had picked a fairly useless location for his alias . “ don’t call me nola , it’s … fucking ridiculous , just call me orleans . ” he winks playfully then , almost flirtatiously . “ yeah , i killed the illuminati’s president . you’ll never guess who it was , ” eyes widen , and he nudges them gently .
❝ bullshit ! complete an’ utter bullshit . ❞ brows peak in sardonic disbelief , & reticence is heavy in the way she rolls narrowed eyes ( shouldn’t be rolling her eyes at a customer & cussing at him , but that’s hardly the point ) --- --- - ❝ the president of the illuminati , righ’ , gotta be some big fuckin’ name . like , god , kanye or some other born - again gobshite . if y’killed kanye , we’d bloody well know abou’ it . . . . unless the president is some bloody neckbeard in his mam’s basement . ❞ and her own suggestion , impossibly stupid , causes a quiet kind of reverie to fall unto her own 𝖽𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗍𝖾 / hardly the best situation for an employee to find themselves in , drunk with a patron . ❝ . . . was ‘e a neckbeard ??? ❞
❛ ｡ ❄️ ﾟ 𝗱𝗶𝗱 𝗶 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘀𝗮𝘆 a discordant laugh that cuts through tension like an ill - timed knife, brash scent of cigarettes and coffee and saccharine deodorant tangled on well - worn denim, fruity chewing gum and tinny eighties pop, & piles upon piles of dvds left strewn across a messy floor ? then you must be talking about belfast, i’d recognise them anywhere. i’ve heard that the twenty - one year old valet is a gemini and honestly, i see it. they’re known for being uncouth and tawdry, but their fervid and farcical tendencies make up for it. they’ve been working at du lac for a month and i think that their real name is 𝗿𝗼𝗶𝘀𝗶𝗻 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗴𝗶𝗹𝗹, but don’t spill.
roisin siobhan cargill is less another hungry mouth to feed when she’s born, but more another miracle that dermot and aoife cargill never thought they’d be blessed with.
they met in school, didn’t even wait ‘til graduation to get married, started trying for a baby the day they finished their final maths exam. disaster strikes when aoife is mistakenly told that she can’t bear children, but that proves false when she falls pregnant exactly nine weeks later. the two of them cry their eyes out over the positive pregnancy test, all teenage hormones and joy like nothing else.
anyways, roisin is one of nine kids. once her parents realised that they could, in fact, have children they didn’t think to stop. her family is ridiculously large, so much so that they had to have their dinner table specially made because no one in toye, northern ireland stocked a table big enough for eleven people. their house is cramped, entirely too small but full of so much love that it bursts with it, aches with heart and soul and laughter. roisin grows up in what’s possibly the best environment possible for a kid, and she’s loyal to her family like nothing else. the cargills receive daily phone calls from their daughter.
of course, there’s a catch. aoife and dermot are both successful general practitioners, having gone to med school and come out the other side with degrees and knowledge and a burning desire to help people. her older brother is a neurosurgeon, her older sister a gynecologist, twins currently in the throes of med school. everywhere roisin looks, medicine has become an integral part of her family’s life and she’s expected to follow that same path. of course, no one actually verbalises it but it’s in the subtext of family interactions, the constant speak of the family practice they one day hope to open. admittedly, aoife and dermot never set out to have nine doctors in the family but oh well, shit happens. pls extend ur disbelief there.
she tries, she really does. pays too much attention to science, finds she has a natural aptitude for it and just about cries, because as much as she doesn’t want to let her family down she doesn’t want to do medicine. she hates the idea. can’t stand it at all. that determined nature, the burning desire to do something else, falls apart the minute her mother and father lavish praise on the way her hands are steady and the way her report cards state the inevitable: roisin cargill would do well to consider a career in medicine. under their gaze, she crumbles and accepts her fate --- family are the few people she can’t tell to fuck off. they’re her kryptonite of the most deadly variety.
against literally everything that tells her otherwise, roisin applies for med school at eighteen, and lo and behold, she gets in. her parents cry with joy, her siblings crow with praise. she screams in her car.
love for cinema has grown in the place that med should occupy. she’s always been an avid moviegoer, loses herself in the cinema for hours upon hours / learns to sneak in when no one’s looking. the pile of rental dvds beside her bed ebbs and flows, with definite favourites that become permanent additions to her collection. she’s two months into med school when she realises that she wants to do film instead, to make a career out of her hobby.
and so, with all the quiet gusto of a girl whose first words were ‘mama’ and ‘gobshite’, she drops out of med school. she’s nineteen when she does it, shaking hands and biting back a strange combination of laughter and revulsion and sheer joy. her parents don’t understand, the concern is evident behind wide eyes but once she’s calmed down, she cracks a joke about being the cargill clinic’s receptionist and the laughter that booms from the residence is like nothing else.
she doesn’t go into film straight away, though. no, she takes a few years off to work, and that’s pretty much how she finds herself in du lac --- saw a job offer for a valet, jumped, and scored the gig. now, she drives expensive cars and does her best not to steal souvenirs from every sports car, smokes in the carpark and hosts cult movie nights every friday night.
she’s been at du lac for a month, hardly an extensive period but it’s enough to cement herself as a familiar face. doesn’t help that she thinks she’s a real laugh and does bad drunken standup some nights and cackles louder than the audience when they heckle her off.
anyway she loves movies n has lots of fucking opinions n loves music and i love her if that wasn’t all PAINFULLY FCKIN OBVIOUS
❛ ｡ ❄️ ﾟ 𝗱𝗶𝗱 𝗶 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘀𝗮𝘆 the steam that rolls off of a half - drunk cup of earl grey, knitted sweaters and a perpetual air of neatness & order, an abandoned manuscript that haunts the backburner of a tired mind, honeyed curls and glances alike, & the gentle crackling of a fire behind you ? then you must be talking about canterbury, i’d recognise them anywhere. i’ve heard that the twenty - nine year old bestselling author is an aquarius and honestly, i see it. they’re known for being defeatist and monastic, but their demiurgic and clement tendencies make up for it. they’ve been staying at du lac for one week and i think that their real name is 𝗷𝗮𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗿 𝗵𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗲, but don’t spill.
jasper simon hesse is born to a small but loving family in canterbury, england on a particularly cold, blustery evening ; ominous thunder cracks overhead the minute he takes his first discordant, screamed breath and given the way his life unfolds, it all feels very poetic and fitting. born to an english teacher who writes terrible articles for cheap magazines and a french teacher, language flows in his blood the minute he’s born. by the age of six, his mother’s taught him to speak french and english side - by - side and he’s reading whatever he can get his grubby little hands on. his parents don’t tend to believe in censorship in the home, so jasper grows up watching and reading whatever takes his interest --- children’s movies don’t do it quite the same as creature features do. it’s in his early childhood that a lifelong affair with horror and the supernatural is born, and his parents are all too willing to facilitate it.
he’s a quiet kid, polite and charming and too bright for his own good. he’s the kid that sits in the corner of the classroom with a book that he’s entirely too young for whilst the rest of his classmates are fooling around on the playground. school reports often wax poetic about his creativity, his endless kindness, his chivalry ; they also warn that he errs on antisocial and should be skinning his knees and chasing peers around rather than poring over a paperback he stole from his mother’s collection. once again, his parents don’t really mind --- their nonchalance becomes a recurring thread when he unravels his childhood like needlework he’s not pleased with.
( his parents’ complete lack of regard stems from their own issues --- his mother has been suffering with postnatal depression since jasper’s birth, has slumped into a shell of the vivacious human she once was and now that he’s growing up she cannot continue to try for him anymore. his parents get a divorce shortly after jasper’s tenth birthday, and his father packs him off to go live in london with him. he writes to his mother occasionally within the times he doesn’t see her, but his letters go mostly unanswered. )
london is, quite possibly, the best thing that could happen to jasper. his father works long hours but slips endless pocket money under jasper’s pillow, a note attached that tells him to go blow it on museum tickets. he spends countless hours wandering around the british museum, the v&a, wide-eyed and rosy-cheeked and in love with the world around him. it’s in the cafe at the v&a that he scratches out his first short story at twelve. it’s rough, and it’s hardly his best work, but he’s pleased enough with it to show his father. his father ( and really, i can’t talk enough about how good of a dad daniel hesse is but more on that later ) crows praise for two days, reads it out to his classroom, acts like jasper’s written a new york times bestseller instead of a monster story with too many adjectives on cheap paper he stole from his dad’s office.
he catches the writing bug hard. all throughout what remains of high school he puts everything he has into developing his writing, and by the time he graduates he’s gotten himself published in a handful of moderately - respected magazines. shortly after graduation he applies for a bachelor of english language and literature at oxford university and gets in. it’s here that magic truly happens ; between attending classes and acing them like it’s absolutely nothing, jasper starts working on his first manuscript. halfway through his second year, he finishes it and submits it for publishing, and --- he’s not expecting the response that it gets.
practically overnight, jasper hesse becomes one of the hottest new horror authors on the market. reviews of his first novel are glowing, praising just about everything and fuck, if the whole thing isn’t infectious. he’s twenty years old, with a bestselling novel and more money than he knows what do with, and it’s glorious. work starts immediately on his follow-up, and the rest, they say, is history.
fast forward about nine years, and he’s one of the most well - respected authors within the horror genre. with a bibliography that spans magazines, scholarly journals, novels and a film adaptation that he’s still moonstruck about, he’s a success story that most dream of. he buys his mother a house in barcelona, and his father one in the alps -- he visits them both regularly, and tries not to wince when they ask when he’s going to bring a nice girl home and start a family. he’s working on something new, but nine years’ worth of churning out bestsellers has taken a toll
his agent, a middle - aged woman who constantly looks concerned about the state of unruly curls and bags under eyes, suggests a holiday and books him in for a few months at the du lac, and he’s too tired to argue with her.
so, that’s how he’s ended up at du lac ! he’s trying to work on a new novel, trying to relax, etc etc etc
this is too long anyways i’m gna shut up now but i LOVE him
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