Sa'ar Vos @saarvos - Tumblr Blog

Do you like any scented candles?

"I like making them - though, the last time I tried, I -- it did not go well. So now I simply buy Yankee Candle candles. Any other brand makes me sneeze. Once, an ex-girlfriend tried to say that I was being a brand snob and she bought me an off-brand candle, put a Yankee Candle sticker on it -- and I sneezed." She leaned forward. She had traveled around the world like a lady Casanova, breaking hearts in each stop as at that time in her life, she had no intention of settling down (she thought she would eventually settle in Vienna ... Pleasance looked nothing like Vienna.) "I like the cinnamon apple candles the most - but only in the fall and winter - as its a colder weather scent. I'm still trying to find something I like for spring and summer."

#sv. answered

Title: A Welcome Sight & Unpleasant Circumstances For: Henrietta Sohn Location: Henrietta's House When: 8:45PM ----- The news broke. The Institute had been doing their strange meddling within Horseshoe Acres which led to an explosion and a despite series of calls by a person who had been trying to get the news out to town residents. The story didn't go into further detail beyond: it remains unknown who was making the calls. The Institute had been asked for information but declined an interview at this time. No missing person report, injuries or deaths reported. The news had sent Sa'ar into a tailspin. She had heard reports like it before - no one would give information, no one was harmed, no one injured, no one died -- because they were people who could be ignored or erased completely. It seemed as though no matter how far she ran, she would never escape the cruelties of humanity. Desperate to do something, she started baking. Who needed sleep when there were delicious desserts to be made? Raspberry cheesecake, fruit crepe cake, a black forest trifle, cherry galettes, vegan chocolate peanut butter cupcakes, gluten free peanut butter cookies, caramel brownies, almond orange florentines, banana walnut bread, lemon cookies, and sfogliatella ... using an ex-girlfriend's family recipe. Then, after her kitchen was cleaned, she realized that she had ... too many desserts. So, she set to making a care package - or a 'thank you' box of the desserts for Henrietta. Despite the rain as of late, she could still use her motorbike and was able to carefully strap the box of desserts onto the back and drive to the Sohn family home where Henrietta was renovating. She stopped the bike in the driveway and removed her helmet. "It's just a thank you..." she muttered, "don't get all ... silly-headed. It's what people do for each other -- spend all day baking to not think of their problems and then bring the town's pretty private detective ... too much dessert. It's fine."

#sv. henrietta 002 #sv. mystery 2 - the black water

behrooz-najm:

Bez smiled and nodded. “I can’t imagine this place not having a horse trail,” they said. “They have a good many walkable paths through the woods, I go about daily,” they informed her. “I’ve seen some horses around, not sure if they’re for hire of if they’re people’s horses.” They didn’t think they were interested enough to be trying to ride a horse. They didn’t even know if horses would like them. They weren’t sure if they were ready for that type of rejection.

“A grandfather clock, those are one of those standing ones, right? They look cool, I probably wouldn’t want to deal with them chiming that often either. But I would probably just turn it off.” And end up filling the inside with coffee mugs like the rest of their house. “Uhm, here? And at home, I think. I like this place the most. Oh, and the forest. I enjoy a good walk, and the forest is very very nice. It’s colder than I’m used to, but I like it.” They paused. “What’s your favourite spot?”

-----

"I was told that I was quite the horse snob," she admitted as though she was sharing a great secret, "but the truth of it was, no horse was as good as my horse," she sighed and pillowed her head in her arms, looking at Bez and listening as they explained the lack of good trails for riding - though, they were good for walking. "I would like to see if there's any good trails to go riding on," she mused, thinking of taking her off-road dirt bike out for one last run before winter. "and someone to put the snow plow on my four-wheeler... or I'm going to be stuck in my house." Now, she was more or less talking to herself, thinking about what was left on her list before the weather got too cold. "You wouldn't happen to know how to winterize windows would you? I have the plastic for them but - I tried last year, and the draft was horrible... and probably wouldn't be good for a grandfather clock if I had one."

The more that she focused on the tasks that had to be completed and not the mystery call, the better she felt. She dealt with problems the best when she ignored her problems completely. "I ... like the outdoors in general," she admitted, "but I like them best when I'm either at the top of a mountain or when I'm on a horse or dirt bike," she shared. "I've made my neighbors grumpy at me because I spend my summers racing around Pleasance." She smiled a little. She had loved motorcycles, motorbikes and dirt bikes since she was young - a hobby she had gotten from her father. "I like hiking, but I want to be at the top of the mountain or at the end of the hike right when I start." Her coffee was poured and she took a grateful sip, warming her cold hands on the mug. "At least breakfast looks like it's coming. I'll be able to free you from my company shortly," she teased.

#sv. bez 001

officertariq:

— 🔍 —

Given the number of reports Tariq could only assume it had been the same person or whatever it was issuing the calls across the board. But with all the reports he heard, he was pretty sure Sa’ar was one of the first to think much about who was actually on the other end of the line compared to just themselves and why it was happening to them. To think about on a more broad scale - a phone call was inherently a two way street. There was someone on the other end. Though Tariq supposed it could be a recording of some sort, too. But even a recording had to have someone else behind it on the other end.

Right?

“Ah, yeah,” Tariq nodded, “That’d be great. If you could get a call list, I mean. We’d be able to use that to track down the number that the call was coming from then. I don’t think we’d really need the physical phone.”

“But in the meantime…” he starts, giving her a light smile, “I’d like to say ‘don’t worry about it’ or whatever, but I have a feeling that won’t help you much. But we can at least get some coffee in you. You placed an order and everything already, right?”

"I wish I could be more helpful," she admitted, "In fact, I'm being the opposite. I wish I could go back in time and tell my younger self, don't worry, darling - one day you'll be able to impede an investigation just by crying and being absolutely horrid during a strange happening." She sniffed. She could try and contact her phone company for the list, but then remembered that all she had to do was actually open her phone and go to the app where she paid her bill. "Oh... one moment, I'm foggy," she said, as she navigated to the app and scrolled through each page until she found the list. She frowned. Her call list was empty. She turned her phone to show Tariq with a note of apology. "This is normal," she assured him. "No one ever calls me, not even telemarketers." She tsked and set her phone down. "At least I tried. Remembered." Sa'ar blinked as Tariq asked her a question that she should know the answer to but in the immediate moment, she didn't. She hiccuped and then laughed, covered her face with her hands and shook her head. "I don't remember," she admitted. She was too tired. "I don't know if I ordered or not, but considering how long I've been sitting here - I am going to go with I haven't. Oh, I am falling apart..."

#sv. tariq 001

hsohn·:

The woman looked exhausted, on her last legs, and the expression upon her face was enough to yank brutally at Henrietta’s heartstrings. She’d always been a fairly empathetic person, especially towards people with tears in their eyes. A pretty woman, however, was an entirely different weightclass. It was easy, for her, to want to help. To want to help because someone was experiencing difficulty was one of the reasons she’d ended up getting into the work; while it had mainly been investigating employees and employers, a periodic look into potential arsons and looking for a presumably stolen sheep or two, the small town atmosphere had allowed her to be closer with everyone. To find a way into their homes and lives, and to offer her aid.

So, when Sa'ar took her hand, Henrietta held onto it.

“I have an old Jeep,” she assured the other woman. “How about you pick up your tea and anything else you might need for the coming few days, and I’ll go get my equipment and meet you there, yeah? Take some time out of the house, and while you’re out - I’ll get there first, and take a look around the outside. Wouldn’t be proper to go into a lady’s home without her there to keep an eye on things.”

Still, she wouldn’t let go of Sa'ar’s hand for the moment, adding an alternative idea: “Or,” it was a gentle thing, “I’ll accompany you around town, you look ready to collapse, you poor thing.” Just in case Sa'ar didn’t want to let go. Or couldn’t. “You look new around here. Well, new-er. Not from these parts, so I’m wondering if you’ve even gotten to feel the small-town love Pleasance has to offer.”

If she had to - she could push further for longer. It wouldn’t be the first time she found herself having to find a deeper reserve than she thought to keep going. She wished it could say that it would be the last time. Instead, she was given two options: do her errands and meet Henrietta at her home, or … She looked down at where their fingers were interlaced, and she found that she couldn’t let go. Even with all of her Emily Post instilled politeness and knowledge of etiquette and bearing, she could not let go of her hand. At this point, she was too tired to even pretend that she could do more on her own. “I would like that very much,” she said finally. “I have to go to the general store, and then --” she frowned because she could not recall if there was another place on her list that she had to go to. Food - she knew she needed food. ”I can go with you while you get your equipment. Or - I can follow you to your house and leave my motorbike.” But in the state she knew she was in - she wasn’t sure how far she could drive. The moment she went into a room that was warm and comforting, she knew she was going to fall asleep. There wasn’t much more she could do to stave it off, and coffee was no longer helping. “I just need tea and some food…” she repeated again, still not letting go of Henrietta’s hand but neither was she moving. What functioning she had left was going solely to keeping her on her feet. “I’ll pay you - I don’t know if you can work without a contract but - “ she meant whether Henrietta would work under the table. “But I’d appreciate even if you’d have a look around.”

#sv. henrietta 001

undertakerxsonny:

“Oh, sorry. I don’t actually work here. It’s the mustache. I know. I’ve got a case of the restin’ diner cook face.” Sonny managed to say this with genuine humor, bringing up a hand and gesticulating around his nose, evidently trying to make some kind of joke at his own expense. And whether or not the remark fell flatly, he committed to the bit, miming a frying pan in his left hand before allowing his arms to drop to his sides. He shrugged.

“But, uh, sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb ya or nothing. Ginny up at the front, she told me to sit right there, and she’d be right with me,” he continued, gesturing at the empty table beside Sa’ar’s. “But I take it she ain’t been right with you. So the two of can sit here and not have our coffee, I s’pose.”

This too came with Sonny’s usual lilting humor, the eternal pitter-pitter of long-winded witticisms and winking commentary. But for all the joking, a cloud clung to him still, the cold evenings of waking night terrors having, by now, drained some of the color from his face. He fell into the clanking chair with something of a low groan, rolling his shoulders and rubbing a hand along his brow.

“This is the one place I don’t really eat at too much. My uncle likes it. But he’s less cosmpolitan than I am. And Vinny said he’s gonna kick my ass if I keep tellin’ people he was in L'Avventura , so I can’t go there tonight,” he murmured, making conversation with no one particular as he began to thumb through the menu. It stuck to his hand, and he shook his fingers out, wrinkling up his nose. He grimaced. “Ugh. I forgot about the Edith Alby special. Two pancakes found dead, drowned in strawberry sauce. Bad taste.”

---

”Oh…” she flustered, covering her face with her hands. How rude had she been, assuming that the person who had neared her table had worked at the diner. It wasn’t as though she was fresh off the bus, she had been in Pleasance for three years. She floundered for a moment before she forced herself to pull herself together, draw her shoulders back and sit up. “I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t mean to assume. I feel as though I’ve been making all sorts of mistakes this morning.” She reached into her purse so she could remove five dollars and set it on the edge of the table to pay for his coffee.

”If she comes around before we’re skeletons, let me buy your coffee.” She said, voice firm and trying to make amends for her assumption. “I thought I would get two eggs and toast,” she explained. She wanted something simple, but she wanted to be around people where she could hear - hopefully laughter, though she accepted the clink of silverware and the bellowing of the cook as orders were called out. “It is in bad taste -- but I suppose it is something that could be marketed, so it is marketed.” She paused and then divulged, “when I was working at a museum in NYC, there was a child who had been frozen in perma-ice centuries ago. She was going to be put on display as she had been nearly perfectly preserved. Equally bad taste isn’t it?” she paused as Ginny came over and brought coffee with her. Sa’ar wrapped her hands around her hot mug. “People like making money - and it’s easy to ignore morality which means that money outweighs humanity.”

#sv. sonny 001

behrooz-najm:

Bez listened intently, never even having petted a horse, they had no idea how riding one would be. They guessed better than a bike, and definitely better than a car. For a moment they too felt sad that Horseshoe Acres didn’t have actual horses. They gave her a sympathetic smile. “I am sure there are some locals around here that still have horses… you could ask them if you can ride sometimes. I’ve found that small town like this: people are more likely to do favors for each other than in the big city.” They still felt like the odd one out because of their immigrant status, but that was just it. It was only that, the clear London accent that they brought forth. Because in every other aspect of their life, they felt surrounded by love. They had friends who understood both their sexuality and gender identity, they had people they could share Ramadan with, they weren’t the only person who had come from far away.

“Oh, I know the place’s owner, they have some good shiny things,” they said, biting their teeth in a subject they could talk about without feeling young and naive. The existential part of life - even though they had basked a little when being called a young ‘person’ - was not something they had experienced yet. There was still a lot Bez wanted to do, mostly they still wanted to prove themselves. “Their name is Kincade, they are excellent at finding things you may need.”

--- ”Perhaps someone does - but …” she shrugged. An impolite gesture that was alien to her poise and stature but how could she convey how she felt about speaking to a person specifically for selfish means. “I could look and see if there are trail-riding horses. I’m sure that it would be a good trip through the forest if there are trails. Another tourist attraction to add to Pleasance’s marketing committee, but this is me being incredibly too picky for my own good.” She wouldn’t bother them with everything on her mind, only settling for being “picky”. Her smile softened as Bez gave her insight into Kincaide and the store that she enjoyed going into. “It’s a comfort, isn’t it? There are some stores that you walk into and feel like you’re not welcome. I don’t need anything - though that isn’t quite true, I could always use another lamp or kitchen utensils, or anything that looks cute. I had been looking for a grandfather clock, but now I’m glad I couldn’t find one. I don’t think my nerves could take the chiming on every half hour and hour. But tell me - out of all the places in Pleasance, where are you most comfortable?”

#sv. bez 001

hanjamie·:·

He’s always loved hearing Sa’ar talk. She has a natural ability for storytelling that reels Jamie in effortlessly and has him hanging on to her every word. And typically, he’d encourage her to keep talking, but something about this particular story sounds painful for some reason. He’d heard it enough times, at the store while the shoppers think he can’t hear them from all the way across the 250-square foot space, on the bus on the way home sitting next to a chatty teenager telling her friend about this stupid creepy experience over the phone, dinner at his parents’ house while his mom gossips about how Sylvia’s daughter kept getting phone calls from what they initially thought was a stalker. But Sa’ar makes it all sound so much more tragic.

“Well… creepy empty town-wide phone calls sound much more realistic than old O’Flaherty inviting anyone over to his place for a wining and dining.” The chuckle, despite his best efforts, comes out dry. He sighs and shifts in his seat to take a stab at some words of comfort. “I mean… if everybody got the call… or most everybody,” he notes, because he has to remind himself that he’s one of the people whose phone lines remained open, “it must be nothing. A glitch with the phone company or something. They’re probably gonna release an apology statement any day now.” He tilts his head and leans against the table to try and get her to look at him. “Hey, you shouldn’t think so much about it.”

--- Years of quickly having to explain herself led to the ability to narrate. The youngest, and only girl, among four other brothers meant she either advocated or she got the blame. It didn’t help that for a time, Sa’ar had been dressed and considered among her brothers number. “Oh, I wish that he would. He wouldn’t even have to cook, I’d bring food to him.” Either the old cemetery groundsman was the loneliest man in Pleasance or the best looked after, but Sa’ar and Whisper had a joint goal of looking after the strange old man - whether he liked it or not. Jamie tried to reassure her, and in thanks - she reached across the table and set her hand on his arm. “While a part of me agrees with you and thinks that it might have been a recording, or some residual strangeness patched through -- there is also the part of me that knows that whether it was a recording or live - someone must have suffered at some point in time. We can’t help them now - but we can mourn them for a time, can’t we? Before we set it into the general Pleasance Occurence No. 29482A-2? But I am aware that I can’t keep avoiding my house - or sleeping in the bathtub.”

#sv. jamie 001

behrooz-najm·:

Bez chuckled, never having been compared to a lamborghini before, and clearly giving off the idea that they ate horrible day in day out… okay, maybe they were. Maybe they needed to up their game and eat a bit better, go grocery shopping more often, maybe make the dishes they usually made during Ramadan the rest of the year too, and actually enjoy food. “I’ll keep that in mind,” they said in response, because they didn’t know what else to say.

They nodded, not certain if they got maybe too much information from her, maybe she was lonely and just felt like sharing something with another person. They were good at listening though, and Bez always got that little voice in their head that suggested they should be helping others out, even if it was just to be good company. “Sounds yummy,” they said, then nodded along with the rest of the story, saving the possessed phone for later. “Yeah, I’ve been there a few times, because of trespassing.” Then they paused. “That sounds awesome. Did you have to quit?” They asked.

---

Nothing she said came without a corresponding story. In some ways, the narrative weave that she spins comes from years of practice and a need to quickly establish an alibi before someone else stated theirs first. Plus, how else was she going to hold a conversation without actually speaking? but she had learned that many people didn't want the full conversational experience and instead of weaving speech together, a give and take of words, they wanted a set and start. She could only sigh.

She couldn't muster the energy to say anything about the trespassing. "My brothers didn't want to ride horses anymore, and my mother couldn't justify the expense of continuing when only one of her children wanted to continue. They wanted to spend more time with their respective people. I thought about riding again - but when I saw that Horseshoe Acres was anything but involving horses, I decided there was no other place I could have one. So what else can I do? Sit in the diner and cry to a young person about my phone... which is exactly the highlight of my day..." she paused. "It's not the highlight, don't misunderstand. But -- the day can only get better. Especially if I go to the antique store and spend money. Everything can be solved with irresponsible spending on beautiful, shiny things."

#sv. bez 001 #[ ;...; at work no gifs ]

hsohn·:

As the woman drew near to her, Henrietta tucked her notes up under an armpit in order to lean in close and examine what she was trying to reveal. Internet connection, home phone, cell service - three factors to include in her notes, she knew. If the phone calls across the town had any such things in common, it could help her rule out which service was the primary carrier of what was either a telephonic haunting, or a really nasty prank. Henrietta wasn’t going to draw a conclusion, not just yet, as badly as she wanted to pin it on the Institute already.

The phone charm was, without a doubt, the cutest thing she’d seen. It made her want to find a case that would allow her to have one as well, as her own phone was a rather up-to-date model.

“Oh, please.” She held up a hand in the hopes of gently dismissing the concern that she was oft busy, before accepting the card. Sa'ar Vos, what an ethereal name. “I’m never so busy that I can’t spare time for someone who needs me. I don’t have my business card on me, but if you - actually, if you have some time now… could I come by and check out your phone lines? And your internet provider, for that matter.”

With a smile, she tucked the card away, throwing pale red hair back over one shoulder to clear up a hand - offered to Sa'ar. “I’m Henrietta, by the way.”

《✿✿✿》 Her face crumpled the moment Henrietta offered to come to her house and have a look around. Two days without sleep had left her bereft of her natural coping skills. Her nerves flayed, body exhausted, mind racing - the only respite she thought she was going to be able to receive was a cup of coffee, some kind conversation, and maybe permission to stay in a different place. She was a grown adult, but she didn’t want people in town thinking that she was over-dramatic and would run away from some silly prank calls. Had she thought that her brothers knew where she was, she would have blamed them. Though, if she wasn’t so tired, she would have found a way to blame them regardless. ”I’m sorry - it’s been a lot.” She took Henrietta’s hand, not to shake but to hold onto, lacing their fingers together without thinking because she was past the point where she could determine that Henrietta might have meant something else like a greeting. Instead, Sa’ar took it as a lifeline and held fast to her new anchor. “Do you have a vehicle? I rode my motorbike. I have an extra helmet. Or I can meet you there… I live at …” she gave her address. “It’s the soft lavender victorian.” She loved her house, and it was the reason why she wouldn’t leave Pleasance. The three story home had charm and heart -- and was probably haunted. “The door is unlocked, so if I meet you there - you can go in first. I’ll have to stop and get more tea, so I can meet you there.” Sa’ar didn’t want to be at her house alone, she didn’t even want to arrive at her house alone.

#sv. henrietta 001

officertariq·:

— 🔍 —

Maybe he’d been operating with tunnel vision, but all this time Tariq hadn’t given much thought to the idea that the voice on the other end of the phone line wanted nothing more than to cause trouble. Harassing townsfolk for hours on end with constant calls, mumbling nonsense or something or other…The only thread that seemed to otherwise connect it was the description of distressing or upset. Which, sure, could mean they needed help…or could just be a ploy to get pity from the other end of the phone line.

But then again. Hadn’t he been also entertaining the paranormal thread just as much as the natural? Bez had him thinking about ghosts - not that he was really considering that a valid option.

Right?

He listens to her descriptions thoughtfully, keeping an open mind as to her concerns. Hell, it was probably more valid than much of what he’d been fielding as of late. “You don’t have anything to apologize for,” he told her, though his voice was a bit far off, stuck in his head for a minute before he leaned forward and folded his hands on the table before him.

“Did he say anything specific to you? Or was it just a feeling that you got? It’s still possible that maybe we could trace where the calls came from…if you’re willing to turn over your phone and/or your recent call list we can do some analysis. We can probably still help him if he really needs it.”

《✿✿✿》 ”I can call the phone company to get the call list - or maybe they update it on the internet before they send me a paper bill … but Henrietta Sohn has my phone. If you asked her, I think she’d be willing to share it with you. I don’t want it until whatever did the calling -- as long as we’re sure he’s not going to call again.” She was not someone anyone should turn to in a time of crisis, as she sat back against her seat and sighed quietly, suddenly the exhaustion too much for her to take. “I don’t remember words. There might have been. Every time there was a call, I promised myself I wasn’t going to answer it - and later in the night, I did eventually stop, but his voice sounded like he needed help. I’m not very good at this, I only remember the tone. Maybe if I slept, I’d be able to tell you more. Right now, I’m at the stage where I’m sure that there is a dog outside with a tophat and a walking cane … and it might be a fire hydrant, but I’m so tired…” Her mouth twisted in rueful apology. “If anyone was able to record what they heard - I could listen and tell you if it was the same as what I heard. Maybe it was a multi-line prank. I hope it is because I’d rather not consider the alternative.” That someone needed help, had reached out to people for assistance and was still suffering wherever they were.

#sv. tariq 001

chasexhawthorne·:

If Chase was being honest, the excuse was more than fair. That was the argument every single time she attempted to get out and pretend as if life was absolutely normal. Granted, it barely ever worked for her, but the woman was in the diner, so that was already a start, wasn’t it? “You look absolutely fine. If anything, you stand out in the good kind of way, because-” Chase merely motioned around the diner, where people were not paying any attention to them. “-well, you know.”

She paused then, at the questions of the phone calls. She had heard plenty about those, her coworkers had told of their experiences over and over, and yet, she was absolutely thrilled that she hadn’t received a single one of those calls. While it could have easily been written off to faulty lines or some kind of glitches, the way others were reacting to it just didn’t sit right with Chase. “I haven’t received anything.” She admitted eventually, and in a way, there was absolute relief there. However, there was another moment of silence until Chase spoke again. “Pleasance isn’t strange.” She was biased, there was no doubt there, yet the town was home to the young woman.

“Did the voice sound familiar to you?” That, however, was something that Chase couldn’t help but be curious about.

《✿✿✿》

”I’m well put together with an eye for fall fashion?” she asked, at least focusing on her clothing choices for the day took her away from the cloud of doom that had dogged her footsteps since she left the womb. The well known truth was - she always found herself in trouble. Not because of her own making (though sometimes in retrospect she clearly should have seen the red flags) but because she had been in the right place. If trouble was lightning, she was a damned lightning rod.

She snorted. “Pleasance is strange, and darling - I’ve been in the middle of Salt Lake City surrounded by Mormons trying to sell me on their church and their religion. Pleasance is a good strange, a lovely strange - and I wouldn’t change it for anything… but it is strange.” To say it was normal would be lacking clear vision and understanding of the various oddities around town. She considered the voices she knew from town, and she shook her head. “I don’t think so. But after the third call, I couldn’t really tell you what my name was, much less if I heard his voice. It’s all blurred together.” She gave an apologetic smile. “I think what I need to do is distract myself and forget about it. Repression at its finest? Hopefully - you’ve been well.”

#sv. chase 001

behrooz-najm·:

Bez smiled and shrugged. “I am,” They noted. “I’m known for falling asleep on the job and I stay up way too late, so this is my own fault.” Or at least, it felt like their own fault. Late nights getting far too invested into things, reading till the very morning about subjects that had always interested them: coding, technology, etc. Things they weren’t smart enough for, but wished for.

“No idea,” they said in response. “I think… more coffee?” Usually, anything else Bez didn’t much drink. They often got the best food at night, dinner was whatever recipe they remembered from their aunt or grandmother, and sometimes they got some leftovers from when they spent the weekend in Cincinnati. “I guess,” they said in response, not sure what wheat toast was exactly, but they liked jam, and eggs could be good. And then again, eating pancakes every morning they were here could get kind of boring.

They blinked at the invitation, but a smile soon settled on their face, because inviting people over - mostly Gio and Kincade - was their thing. They had grown up with a grandmother who would have the whole street for tea if she could’ve, they lived in that little idea of the world where everything could be shared. “Never heard of Shakshuka,” they said. “What kind of dish is that?”

--- ”I respect that you are a grown individual who can make their down decisions for their own health and safety,” she said, tapping her nails on the table before she exhaled, “but really, imagine the damage that you’re doing to yourself by only fueling yourself on sugar. Think about filling a pristine Lamborghini with cheap gasoline. You’re the lamborghini, darling.” She couldn’t keep her thoughts to herself if she had tried. She was far too tired. ”Shakshuka is…” she paused, took a breath and then exhaled so she didn’t ramble. “When I was in Israel, a lifetime ago, it was a breakfast dish. The dish is eggs baked in a tomato-red pepper sauce spiced with cumin, paprika and cayenne. I don’t have much of a chance to make it lately because…” and with a huff, she dropped her head into her arms. “I have no friends and now I have a possessed phone … in an old house that overlooks Horseshoe Acres.” She lifted her head and glowered. “Did you know that Horseshoe Acres is nicknamed The Death Ranch? I’m sure the realtor is laughing every time he sees me. I’m living across the street from a place with death in its name when I wanted horses. I was a champion dressage ... “ she couldn’t remember the word. “Rider. Competitor. Person.”

#sv. bez 001

hanjamie·:

“Oh.” Yes, oh. Of all the guesses he could’ve made, he never would’ve surmised that those stupid phone calls would’ve been the cause of Sa’ar’s distress. Though he’d never received one himself, he can’t imagine they could’ve been that bad. Annoying at worst, perhaps, but nothing more than a nuisance. It seems to be taking more of a toll on her than he’d expected on anyone. Maybe because she already said it herself - she’s naturally a nervous wreck. Pleasance probably isn’t the best place for someone like her, but in some ways, she fits right in like the town was a bespoke glove made for her fingers, or those those pale, long appendages Jamie often sees curled around the pages of a book or tapping restlessly on the edge of a table. He wonders if they’ve ever known stillness in her life.

“A dog? Sure. They’re great fun to be around, if you choose the right kind. I had one growing up. Sunny. My father picked him up when he was a stray and he was with us for fourteen years, died of old age. Never got another one after that. That’s the worst thing, I guess, about owning a pet.”

He folds his arms along the table, his hands cupping his elbows. “Hey, no, don’t worry about it.“ He smiles warmly at her. “Do you… wanna talk about those calls?” he asks, mostly out of concern, but partly out of morbid curiosity.

《✿✿✿》 ”I know, it sounds silly,” she admits, “my grandmother would say, liefje, look at how much salt you’ve added to your soup with your crying. What will you do? Continue to salt the dish or know that all your crying won’t do anything but ruin what you have?” She looks down at her hands and notices that at some point while she had been sharing the story of her grandmother, she had started to pick the skin at the side of her nail, an old anxiety reliever that she had worked to overcome. She grasps the story of the dog that Jamie had as a child. “Oh, he sounds like a lovely little dear,” she says, as she tries to picture Jamie with his dog. “What kind of adventures does one get into with a dog in these parts?” she asks, willing to change the subject to anything else but it quickly returns back to the phone calls. ”Imagine being alone in your house. It’s a day much like any other. You’re not doing much besides looking through the newspaper for a position that you’re qualified for and also won’t get bored of when the phone rings. It echoes from the living room, up the stairs and down the hall. It’s loud because everything in the house is loud. So - you get up and walk down the hallway, the third step creaks and the seventh step - the board is loose and bends. You go to the phone you keep at the top of the stairs and you answer it…” an apologetic look because she doesn’t know if what she says makes sense, but she shares what her day had looked like. “You pick up the receiver, and you think it’s going to be someone you’re used to hearing from… and you’re kind of hoping it’s Mr. O'Flaherty inviting you over for dinner -- but it’s a voice you think you recognize but then hope you don’t. And you can hear the tone of his voice but you don’t understand the words - just distress, and no matter what you ask, you can’t get through to him.” She clears her throat. She looks out of the window as though looking away would give her distance. “The phonecall ends… and then it happens again. And again. And again. Sometimes you beg the call stop, sometimes you beg the caller to give you information, sometimes you think it’s a trick. You hope it’s a trick. The house always echoes, remember. It holds sound. So you go downstairs, skipping over the ninth stair because the board is cracked, and the phone rings again. After a time, you unplug the phone … and it still rings.” ”Then, finally… there’s silence. And the phone doesn’t ring again, but now the ringing is in your ears and living in your head, and his voice is taking up the space that you need for yourself … and all you can think is … what if it doesn’t go away?”

#sv. jamie 001

chasexhawthorne·:

Stopping by the All-Time Dinner to get herself and her son some pancakes after work was slowly becoming a tradition to Chase. It was somewhat a nice way to end the day, and, in a way, she hoped that she could build some happy memories of this place for Desmond. Granted, the boy seemed to fit in fairly quickly- especially with the help of his cousin- but she wanted to make sure that his life would be as good as possible.

After ordering the pacakes, the redhead still had a few moments to spare, and so she opted to browse her phone; it was a simple thing to do, just enough to keep her occupied untilt her name would be called out and her pancakes would be ready.

However, that was quickly put to end as movement from the corner of her eye caught Chase’s attention. It would’ve been smart and polite to just ignore that, pretend it wasn’t happening, but curiosity got the best of her. In a way, the woman didn’t seem like she belonged in this place- she stood out in all the best ways- and it was enough to make Chase put her phone back in her pocket and make her way over to the table.

“I don’t have coffee, but are you okaay?”

《✿✿✿》

A kind voice broke through the ruminations currently running through Sa’ar’s mind. She had already planned three different escape routes and at least one solid identity that she could assume when she left Pleasance, but the kindness in the other woman’s tone was enough of a balm to cause Sa’ar to remember why she had stayed in the town for as long as she had.

And it wasn’t for the pancakes…

“Oh… I had to get out of my house,” she admitted, “and I look like a mess, I know. I’m so sorry, what kind of person do I look like right now?” she asked, half-joking. But she had always worked hard to be composed. “Did you get those phonecalls? The endless ones,” she asked. She wavered. “I know Pleasance is strange, and I know this sounds impossibly outside of what is normally considered normal, so I won’t push too hard if you don’t want to talk about it or if you have other places to be or …” she could tell she was rambling. It was a defensive measure. Her brothers had always crowded her when they had the mind to torment her. Years of pleading with them had left her prone to over-explanation and quick apologies.

”I haven’t slept much since then,”she said in a small voice, giving words to her sudden fear and weakness. “I’m afraid the calls will start again, and I’ll have to hear his voice.”

#sv. chase 001

officertariq·:

— 🔍 —

Maybe he’d opened a can of worms by initiating the conversation. Well, if one wanted to be technical about it she had initiated the conversation, but seemingly without any expectations for the wail for coffee to actually be returned.

Not to mention, the way her eyes seemed to flicker at every slight noise around the café, the bell tinkling about the entryway, a piece of silverware dropped by mistake…He wouldn’t call her crazy, just perhaps…a bit on edge.

“Oh,” he finally stated as she went on to explain why she was behaving as she was. It all came back around to those damn phone calls, didn’t it? Even when he thought he was safe from them for a meal he found that to not be true. “So you’ve been getting the phone calls then, too?” He figures maybe he can offer a little comfort - if only lend by lending her an ear to hear her out, and steps over to settle across from her with a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Needs help?” He prompts, curious about that thought. No one else had thought too much about the voice on the other end beyond it being a bit spooky and harassing. “Why do you think they need help?” He pauses, hesitating a moment. “If you’d like to talk about it, anyway. Maybe talking through it is what you need to clear your head and get some rest. But I understand if you’d rather not.”

《✿✿✿》 ”You know, there was a time when I was in Atlantic City, and I was on a real roll in the Tropicana - I was playing Blackjack, you understand, I felt these … eyes on me. The stress I felt as I collected my winnings is … just about how I feel right now. Like any moment, people in black suits are going to step out, take my arms and lead me back for questioning.” As she learned (or was made to understand) card counting wasn’t illegal but highly frowned upon within casinos. Establishments tended not to like people with brains. She clasped her hands together, white-knuckled and tight. “Have you ever found yourself at your wits end, your world falling apart around you and every time you look around - either there’s no one around or no one is willing to help, and it feels like you’re reaching your hands out, pleading with someone, anyone, to please just listen… you never forget the way you feel in that moment. How you sound. The way the person on the phone sounded every time they called… I couldn’t… it sounded like they were reaching their hands out.” ”Damn it,” she whispered, as she felt her eyes fill with tears again. “I’m not the most composed person,” she admitted, her voice cracking. “I try to be - and as long as it’s not an animal in trouble or someone needing help -- I can take command and do what I need to,” she was worthless in a crisis, is what she meant. “It’s the way he sounded on the phone. Anxious, breathless…why would he have called so often if he didn’t need help? And I hid because I was scared, and now I keep thinking - what if I could have helped? Maybe tracked to the cell tower or location services or something… maybe I could have done something… and I didn’t.”

#sv. tariq 001

behrooz-najm:

Bez nodded, hearing their nickname from someone who was familiar but took a moment to be recognised. They had seen far too many faces in the past days. “Uhm, yeah, Sa’ar right?” They asked, biting their lip. Trying to remember what she did within the community, how exactly they knew her. “I don’t mind too much, I’ve had… a lot of coffee today,” they noted, but still sat down across from her, their donut balancing on the mug.

They blinked at the comment, not sure where to look. Friends. They figured they had a couple, but none of them they had walked into over the past days. Sonny, Sonny was a friend, and they had walked into him. There was Gio, who they rarely saw these days, and… Hunter. They figured they could call Hunter a friend. They missed Kincade, though they wondered if they would say anything about their state. “Don’t know, bruv,” they said in response, shaking off the slightly sad feeling that washed over them.

They laughed. “Yeah, alright, I got some time left on my break,” they suggested, even though they disliked most of what the place had to offer. They always went for pancakes, though the owner of the establishment was slowly getting used to checking whether the meat ordered was hallal. “Their pancakes are good, the ones with blueberries. Very different from the ones I ate in London, extremely different from what my grandma makes. Hmmm, that probably still falls under the ‘living on sugar’ doesn’t it?”

《✿✿✿》 She tried her best to give a reassuring smile. “I’m not always this …” she caught her reflection in the silver napkin dispenser, “tired and lacking presentation,” she decided on finally, though she wasn’t sure if lacking presentation was the best way to describe herself in the moment. She had made it a point of learning about people in town, if only to learn if there could be a threat to herself and the life she had built there. She didn’t want to have to run (again) but she was already prepared to.

“A donut and coffee? Darling, how do you exist past two hours?” she asked, reaching over the table to rest her hand on Bez’ arm. She stopped herself before she went as far as asking where’s your person who tells you to eat a hearty breakfast free of sugar so your energy stays steady over the day? but then, Sa’ar’s brand of caring often went too far. “Do you like eggs? What about wheat toast and butter and some jam?” she asked, prepared in that moment to stand up and put in an order of ‘proper food’. The idea that people could make different decisions than her wasn’t entering her mind at the moment. She only saw something she could fix … or at least help.

”I make a fantastic shakshuka if you’re ever in the mind to come over and have a proper breakfast,” she said, as though she had spoken to them at length before and they had the kind of relationship where they could show up in the morning and ask for a homemade breakfast, but for Sa’ar who lived such a lonely existence prior to Pleasance, the idea of keeping her home open to anyone who wanted to stop by and visit made sense for her. The house, an old pristine Victorian, was too large for just her.

#sv. bez 001

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