would you believe us if we said that wasn't really DEV PATEL? well, it isn't .ᐟ.ᐟ that's SACHIN ARYA, a proud resident of pinehaven for the last 10 YEARS. you can find them working over at THE BOOK NOOK as a/an OWNER & AUTHOR. they're 36, but they hardly look that old! it must be the washington weather that keeps them looking so young .ᐟ.ᐟ word around the town is that they're PROCRASTINATOR, CRITICAL, PRETENTIOUS, but we think that's silly. we feel like they're much more IMAGINATIVE, CHARISMATIC, HONEST. if we had to pick one song to describe HIM, it would be MESS BY NOAH KAHAN. see ya 'round, SACHIN .ᐟ.ᐟᐟ.ᐟ
occupation: Owns and manages The Book Nook, best-selling fantasy author of a series called The Quests of Amrik
personality type: ENFJ-A, The Protagonist
face claim: Dev Patel
backstory:
London born and Swiss boarding school raised, Sachin grew up in a life of luxury. He was the typical pretentious rich boy and had no issues with those labels. The one thing that set him apart from his peers was his ability to write compelling stories. He had notebooks full of stories and a mind that never stopped creating. At seventeen, one of his notebooks was stolen and passed around the halls of his boarding school like contraband. It ended up in the hands of his English professor, who told him that he was “wasting a dangerous amount of talent pretending to be so shallow.” The comment stayed with him, and he decided that maybe he ought to try finishing one of his many half-written stories.
The first book in his debut fantasy series, The Quests of Amrik, hit shelves months after Sachin turned twenty-two. It was an instant success, and Sachin signed on to write two more in the series. The story kept unfolding and expanding and, most importantly, selling off the shelves. So he kept writing, and now, at thirty-six, he’s just finished the final book in the series and is anticipating its release.
Sachin first visited Pinehaven on a writer's retreat in his mid-20’s. Sachin spent 5 days at Breezy Pine’s B&B and got more work done on his novel than he had in ages. The inspiration flowed out of him, and his editor claimed it was some of the best work he’d ever produced. The retreat ended, Sachin went on with his life, but Pinehaven stayed in the back of his mind. When the lease of his New York apartment ended, he decided it was time for a change. Ten years later, and nowhere else has ever felt like home.
A few years into living in Pinehaven, Sachin took over The Book Nook from its previous owner and moved into the apartment above it. The bookstore became his safe haven, and the place where he could connect with like-minded book lovers. And, of course, another bookstore where he can sell his books and offer personalized copies when asked. You’ll find him in the bookstore most days, hard at work or with his nose in a book at the cash register.
ada’s jaw tightened subtly as she caught the slight shift in his posture. she had spent a decade in new york interviewing politicians, hedge fund managers, and high profile criminals; she knew the exact look of a man who wasn't intimidated by a sharp tongue. furthermore, sachin wasn't vibrating on the typical, soft spoken pinehaven register. there was a layer of buried polish underneath his cozy exterior, the kind that meant he’d likely dealt with people far meaner than her. it was instantly aggravating. she couldn't out maneuver someone who refused to take the bait. she let out a small, defeated breath through her nose, observing and analyzing as he spun in a slow circle, absorbing the structural skeleton of the room. he wasn't looking at the dust; he was looking for the blueprints. "fine," she muttered, turning on her heel and leading the way through the exposed framing into what would eventually be the dining hall. her leather slides made a soft, contrasting slap slap against the rough, unlevel subfloor, a bizarre counterpoint to the heavy crunch of his shoes behind her.
she stepped over a pile of discarded cedar shingles, gesturing with the tip of her yellow pencil toward a massive, gaping expanse where the back wall met the ceiling. "the dining room is going to be dark neutrals. onyx, slate, heavy charcoal wools," she began, mapping out the empty space with precise movements of her hand. "no ruffles, no pastel bed and breakfast kitsch. i’m tearing out that modern latex paint over there to expose the original 1900s brick chimney. over by the windows, i’m sourcing antique brass fixtures and building custom, floor to ceiling cedar shelving to hold a real research collection. not romance novels. historical reference, regional maps, proper literature."
she stopped near the threshold of the kitchen, her pencil aggressively tapping against her thigh, thump thump, as his next questions cut straight through her carefully constructed aesthetic breakdown. the interrogation felt entirely too familiar. it was the exact sequence she would have used on a subject in an interview room. ada turned around slowly, leaning her lower back against a exposed partition beam, her arms crossing tightly over the chalky white smudge on her boxy blazer. the defensive armor was back up in an instant, her eyes narrowing into two sharp, calculating slits. "you're a very nosy man, sachin," she didn't sound entirely angry, but the warning track was clear. "did the bookstore business slow down today, or do you just moonlight as the town's chief investigative reporter?"
she cleared her throat, her thumb rubbing the smooth wood of her pencil as her gaze flicked toward the cracked windowpane looking out at the rainy woods. the mention of the previous owner hit a nerve she didn't like exposing to a virtual stranger. "yes," she admitted shortly, her tone flattening out as she gave him a rare, unembellished truth. "he was my grandfather. and as for the why..." her chin tilted upward. "because people have a habit of taking things from you if you don't build the walls yourself. doing it on my own means nobody else owns the narrative. no contractors cutting corners, no corporate suits trying to buy out the square footage, and no one telling me how the story ends before I’ve finished writing it. it's my property. my project."
The way Sachin saw it, if Ada wanted him to leave, she would have said so. He wouldn't put up a fight if she told him to get lost, but she was still engaging, so he was going to continue asking his questions. She did seem less than thrilled about giving him a tour, but alas, maybe that was simply her personality. Sachin nodded along as she spoke, visualizing the scene she was describing in his head. "Beautiful..." He murmured, nodding his head in approval even though Ada clearly didn't need it. There was something very appealing about a kitschy bed and breakfast, especially in a small town, but the complete opposite of that was more up his usual alley. His gaze scanned from the floor to ceiling where the bookshelves would be and his smile grew in appreciation. Now wasn't the time to debate the merits of proper literature, and what it meant to him, so he held his tongue. He could see what kind of vibe Ada was going for.
"I prefer curious," Sachin mused when she called him nosy. "But, yes, I suppose I am." It wasn't the first time he'd been called that and it wouldn't be the last. He was very comfortable in his curiosity. No one ever needed to tell him anything, if they didn't want, but how would he know how willing they were if he didn't ask his questions? So, he typically asked whatever he wanted to whoever he wanted. Within reason, of course, he would never ask anything untoward. "I have an employee holding down the bookstore," He added, glancing around the work in progress that was the kitchen. "I suppose I could claim the title of investigative reporter... I do heavily research my books before I write them... today, though, pure and simple curiosity."
"No comment is always an acceptable answer," Sachin said, looking at Ada again. He kept looking at her as she explained her why, his smile small but impressed. Sachin's brows raised in appreciation, and he nodded. "I like the way you think." Getting used to editors had been a learning curve for him early on in his career, and he'd gone through a few of them before he found someone he worked well with. He could understand the desire for your work to remain completely your own without any input. And he applauded Ada for having the gall to hold her ground.
"It's all very impressive, truly..." Sachin took another careful step into the kitchen, his gaze on the floor to ensure a nail didn't go through his expensive shoes. "What's the vision here? Keeping the dark theme? Or brightening it up?"
juniper’s dark eyes widened by a fraction of a millimeter, her entire physical form stiffening into a state of absolute, predatory focus as the narrative unfolded. the nib of her pen remained poised over the crisp parchment, trembling slightly with the aesthetic thrill of the revelation. a low, breathless sound, somewhere between a gasp of artistic rapture and a chilling chuckle, escaped her throat. "cackling," she repeated, the word slipping from her tongue with the relish of an executioner tasting a flawless poison. "he wasn't merely vacant. he was entirely consumed by the ecstatic bliss of his own malice. oh, sachin, that is delightfully, exquisitely unhinged." she leaned even further across the low table, her voluminous sleeves sweeping across the scattered manuscripts as she hung on every single syllable. the mental image of a pack of obscenely wealthy, unchecked youths racing expensive machinery through a desolate forest toward a precipice was practically begging to be translated into the archaic grandeur of her fictional world.
"the calculated theatre of rolling from the driver's seat a mere breath before the plunge," she murmured, her gaze turning inward as her imagination violently reconstructed the scene into a gothic masterpiece. "it is the supreme manifestation of aristocratic rot. he didn't just want to break the object; he required an audience to witness the exact moment her heart shattered in tandem with the glass. to destroy a legacy, an impossible dream, and then casually request a libation...it speaks to an internal wasteland, a boy who views the universe as nothing more than a sandbox for his personal vendettas." her pen finally descended, scratching against the paper with an urgency as she translated the modern automotive carnage into something far more visceral, far more bleedingly romantic.
"in the text, lord julian will not merely force the stallion into the ravine from the saddle," she dictated aloud, her voice dropping into that rich, evocative purr that completely commanded the room. "no, he shall dismount at the very precipice, whispering a final, mocking endearment into the creature's ear before striking its flank with his jeweled riding crop. he will watch it fall with that precise, sinister glee, the echo of his laughter drowning out the sound of breaking bones in the dark current below. and then, when he faces her, he will merely adjust his signet ring and comment on the poor traction of the mud."
she paused, snapping her gaze back up to lock onto his with a triumphant, glittering intensity. the lingering remnants of her own real world terror; the fear of the threshold, the suffocating anxiety of the publisher's demands, were entirely vanquished, temporarily consumed by the intoxicating fire of creation. "you see, sachin, your youth was not an education; it was an archaeological excavation of human depravity," she preened loftily, her lips curving into a thoroughly wicked grin. "and i am immensely grateful for your survival, if only because your memory serves as the perfect fuel for my literary bonfires." and, not so secretly even if she would likely never voice it, because his friendship meant so much to her.
"Oh, and I nearly forgot," Sachin perked up when he remembered another detail. "The previous owner of the car got word of what happened and was, obviously, beside himself with anger... he tried to sue the kid and his family but there was nothing to be done since he'd sold him the car." So, not only had the ex-girlfriend of his former classmate been heartbroken, but so had the previous owner of the car. Likely any car enthusiast within a 100 mile radius was heartbroken, too, had they learned of the incident.
"His father didn't care, either..." Sachin went on. "We asked him about it the next week, just casually over dinner, and he shrugged... said his father didn't even bat an eye at his recklessness." He shook his head. Had the roles been reversed, and had Sachin done something so expensive and stupid, his father would have been livid. He'd have been snatched out of that school in a heartbeat and never to be heard from again. Likely shipped off to the small town in India his father's people came from.
Sachin fell silent, letting Juniper's story unfold before him once again. He steepled his fingers beneath his chin, listening intently and nodding along as she spoke. An ache former in his stomach at the mere visuals of what she was describing. Anyone reading the words would feel sick with hatred for this Lord Julian character. When she looked up at him again, Sachin quietly tapped his fingers against the opposite palm in a silent applause. "Absolutely terrible, in the best way possible."
Sachin laughed, tipping an imaginary hat in her direction. "My youth certainly was one for the books." And, at times, he was surprised he'd made it through unscathed. The early 2000's had been an entirely different world, one without cell phones plastered to hands or hours spent on social media. That gave the youths of his time amble opportunity to get up to things they shouldn't. Although, Sachin was quite pleased that some of his antics hadn't been permanently documented.
"Is this the part I admit that I was the one who drove the car off the cliff?" Sachin mused after a long moment of silence. He let that statement hang heavy in the air for one, two, three heartbeats before he cracked and let his grin overtake his expression again. "Kidding, kidding, it was a white boy, naturally."
"You don't sound engaged," Night noted. "When in Rome... I'm not going to shackle you to the game if you'd rather discuss something else." Though, she didn't blame him. This was the big event in Pinehaven: the Strawberry festival. She figured it was hard for most people to get invested unless they grew up in Pinehaven. The residents never seemed to grow tired of the humble little strawberry getting it's big celebration. But it had to be a bit bizarre from an outsider (or so Night assumed). "But the teens always surprise you. They are over-confident, but they are more willing to employ interesting strategies."
"I am very engaged," Sachin replied easily. He simply wasn't a gambling man, even if the wager was small. But now that the offer was made, he was ready to see it through. He'd already done a loop around the festival. He'd come to this event every year for the past ten years, and it hadn't changed much. Sachin was a very supportive patron of Pinehaven, but there wasn't much about strawberries that intrigued him. He could buy a perfectly sweet batch at the farmer's market each weekend. "Mm, yes, the confidence of a teenage boy, specifically, should be studied." He knew because he'd been one once and had been too confident for his own good. "But cockiness is a downfall, perhaps it will be his today." He scanned the contestants again. "How about you? Who is your weakest link?"
He can speak multiple languages (in order of proficiency) - English, German/Swiss German, French, Gujarati and some Hindi
A full English breakfast is easily his favorite thing to eat
He has a collection of watches, the first one being the watch his grandfather wore for decades. Not all of them are expensive watches, but most of them are. His parents typically buy him one each Christmas
He sometimes writes five minute poems at the farmers market for tourist
He was Vice President of his senior class
He is physically incapable of taking naps in the middle of the day, he can’t get his brain to turn off when the sun is still out and he’s also an early riser because once the sun is coming through the windows his brain says I’m awake!
His favorite color is a dark purple like a plum color
There is a popular R&B song that mentions The Quests of Amrik as one of the lyrics and it's one of the coolest things that has happened to him
His parents marriage was arranged, and he considered it for himself for awhile but ultimately decided against it (at least for the time being)
In most local festivities, Night was not here on her own accord. Sometimes she was employed to cater the event or was dragged along by one of her very few friends. The Strawberry festival was a notable exception to this rule for one small thing: the shortcake eating contest. It fascinated her. How many denizens of Pinehaven assumed themselves capable of eating so much sugar so quickly. Her morbid curiosity always got the better of her and Night stomached such social events just to see what fiasco might happen as a result.
As another spectator appeared next to her, Night tilted her head to the side and inquired, "Wanna place bets on who's gonna barf first?"
One thing Sachin was sure he'd never understand was eating competitions. Why would anyone want to shove food in their mouth the quickest. It seemed like a choking hazard to him. And, yet, here he was... parking himself in front of the strawberry shortcake eating contest. Sachin glanced over when the woman next to him spoke up, and chuckled when he heard her question. "Usually, I'd say no, but when in Rome, I suppose..." He surveyed the contestants, looking for the weakest link among them. Among the batch were two younger guys, probably teenagers, a woman who looked to be about his age, and a man surely pushing 70. "Putting my money on that young one on the end... he looks a little too confident... makes me think he'll puke before he even gets halfway through."
closed starter for @brcvehecrts
Pinehaven Carnival 🎡
Sachin + Zeynep
A carnival wasn't Sachin's usual scene, but as always, he was too curious not to take a stroll through. He had no interest in the rides or the games, and only indulged in a hotdog before deciding the food wasn't his thing either. He enjoyed watching everyone, though. The smiles on the children's faces were contagious and made the trip out worth it. One young girl in particular was always refreshing to see. When Sachin saw Zeynep and Defne, he approached them as he usually did if he saw them out. He'd walked around with them for awhile and stood off to the side with Zey while the little girl joined other kids in a play area. They were right near the ferris wheel, so Sachin nodded towards it. "Fancy a ride?" He asked, raising a brow. "I think the ferris wheel is the only thing my stomach can handle."
Closed starter for @awcnderlands
Shakespeare in the Park 🎭
Sachin + Alice
This type of event was right up Sachin's alley. He'd always loved Shakespeare and A Midsummer Night's Dream was one of his favorites. Plus, he enjoyed coming out to support the talent on stage, and seeing his neighbors enjoying the fresh air and each other's company. There was still fifteen minutes or so before the play started, and Sachin was making his rounds, saying hello to the people he knew. When he saw a familiar face standing off to the side of the spread out blankets and chairs, he approached her with a smile. "Alice, hello," Sachin greeted. "A fan of Shakespeare? Or just out seeing what the hell everyone is doing out here?" Their last conversation hadn't ended pleasantly, to say the least, but that didn't mean they couldn't be civil. Sachin harbored no ill will towards anyone in town, and that included Alice.
juniper’s eyes narrowed slightly, tracking the sweeping trajectory of his finger as it pointed from his own chest back to hers. a faint, microscopic breath of a laugh escaped her nose; a rare, completely unprompted sound that she immediately tried to cover by adjusting the heavy drape of her oversized sleeve. "a terrifyingly accurate description of your methods, sachin. i shall have to ensure you are thoroughly supervised during the execution of this particular campaign, lest you accidentally charm beatris into offering you my royalties as well." the rhythm of his assurance settled into the quiet corners of the room, pushing back the lingering shadows of the anxiety that had threatened to swallow her whole just an hour prior. he was here and he would let her simply exist within the boundaries she had fought so bitterly to establish.
she watched him fold his hands behind his head with a casual ease and couldn't help but offer a highly critical look at his posture. "you are entirely too comfortable for a man sitting in a room populated by deceased fowls," she observed loftily, though she finally set her cold teacup down with a definitive click and leaned her chin back onto her hand. her dark eyes flared with that sharp, feral literary interest once more as she tapped the gold nib of her fountain pen against the open page of her notebook.
"what else is plaguing my brain? a calculated question," she murmured, her painted lips curling into a thoroughly wicked, cynical smile. "if we are to fully construct this villain of ours. this magnificent, hollow investment banker who incinerates hopes for sport. i require the logistics of his arrogance. you skipped a crucial chapter in your narrative, sachin." she leaned forward, her entire posture sharpening as she leveled a demanding, intense look across the coffee table at him, completely back in her element now.
"when he crashed that poor girl's dream...when the metal twisted and the glass shattered, and he was left standing in the wreckage of what he procured purely out of spite...what did his face look like? i need to know if his expression was entirely vacant. perhaps a profound emptiness of a man who feels absolutely nothing, or if there was a sickening hint of satisfaction in his eyes before he brushed the dust from his jacket. tell me everything. do not dare to spare a single, vulgar detail."
Sachin tried to ignore the taxidermy animals decorating Juniper's walls. He'd once spent an hour staring at one, trying to decide how he actually felt about it, and ultimately landed in the do not enjoy category. So, he pretended their beady little eyes weren't staring straight into his soul. When she mentioned them though, Sachin's eyes darted quickly around the room, and a shutter ran through him. "I have to show them they do not terrify me to my very core," He said simply, a short huff of laughter following.
"Juniper," Sachin leveled her with a completely straight and serious expression. "He was cackling." He'd never seen a teenage boy possess as much glee as his former suite mate after crashing the oh so gorgeous vintage car. Sachin sat up, winding his hands in a circle to indicate he was going back to the beginning of the story. "Okay, there was a wooded area behind our school and beyond that this field we used to hang out in. There was an old road that ran between them that no one besides maintenance used, but we used to drive our cars back there... a bunch of idiot teenagers with stupidly expensive cars, the whole thing..." Sachin had sped down that road in his own car more times than he could count.
"At one point in the road, the side just kind of dropped off down this massive hill...a cliff, even." He sloped his hand for effect. "So, we're all hanging out one night... my other suite mates, some girls from our class... and we hear a car coming down the road, and we look over and it's this truly beautiful 1960 Enzmann 506 coming down the road... stupidly expensive, too, like a hundred grand..." An important detail to set the scene of just how rich the kids at this school were. "And he pulls up and gets out and is, you know, boasting and being obnoxious... this poor girls face is absolutely devastated, because she knows exactly which car this is... anyway, he gets back into the car and says 'check this out', and speeds off down the road... we see him curve towards the drop off, and genuinely, Juniper, we thought he lost control of the car because it just went over the edge..."
"So, we all sprint in that direction, and find him dusting himself off with this sinister smile on his face." Sachin shook his head, the same disbelief he'd felt at 17 coming over him again. "He'd rolled out of the car right before it went over... and at the bottom of this rock covered drop off is the crumbled up car... broken beyond repair, even if repairing it was possible. We all looked back at him in utter disbelief and the kid is cackling..." Sachin leaned back in his seat again, his eyes wide. "Absolute madness... and then he just acted like nothing happened... he looked at this girl who broke up with him and said oops and then asked for a beer..."
in the immediate, micro second silence that followed his sudden intrusion, her internal database did a rapid, unbidden sort through her local files until it clicked into place: sachin, the bookstore owner. the man who sat behind the counter surrounded by best sellers, quietly observing the town while she aggressively flipped through home renovation manuals, using her pencil to mark up pages on load bearing beams and plumbing traps. she had purposefully avoided eye contact during those bookstore runs, hoping her aura of new york hostility would ward off any small town pleasantries. clearly, it hadn't worked. she braced herself, tightening the muscles in her jaw as she prepared for the patronizing smirk of a local man witnessing a city woman in over her head, but the expected condescension never materialized. instead, he stood there radiating a quiet, intensely visual inquisitiveness that caught her entirely on the back foot. ada hated being thrown off balance. it forced her to think on her feet, a survival mechanism she had honed in a hundred high pressure newsrooms.
a physical embodiment of a story in your head. the phrase struck a chord, a direct hit to her literary, academic core. it was a frustratingly accurate description. the misty gable inn wasn’t merely an inheritance or a foolish real estate gamble; it was a sprawling, multi layered narrative arc she was desperately trying to author from scratch, an aggressive attempt to rewrite her own trajectory after the entire first volume of her adult life had been brutally redacted by a team of expensive divorce attorneys in a windowless office on madison avenue. when the request for a tour actually left his mouth, a sharp, genuinely incredulous puff of air escaped her nose, a sound that was half laugh and half defense mechanism. slowly, deliberately, she lowered the heavy iron head of the sledgehammer until it met the dust choked floorboards with a dull thud, her hands remaining stacked on the top of the handle as she leaned her weight against it; a cynical, battle weary sentinel standing guard over a ruin of her own making.
"a tour?" ada echoed, her cadence stretching the syllables out just enough to coat them in a layer of dry, biting amusement. "look around. if i give you a tour right now, the highlights include 'exposed lath and plaster from 1902,' 'the imminent danger of a stepladder with a stripped screw,' and 'whatever rodent family i disturbed when i put my foot through the baseboard this morning.'" she reached up, her thumb and forefinger lightly grazing the tortoiseshell claw clip to ensure the large flake of drywall hadn't migrated further down her face, before sliding her yellow pencil out from behind her ear. she aggressively tapped the pink eraser twice against the fiberglass handle of the hammer. "the story right now is a tragedy, or at the very least, a very loud, very dusty dark comedy," she continued, her chin tilting up as her pride reasserted itself, though the hostile edge in her voice had softened into something resembling a reluctant, gritty truce.
"if you’re looking for a romanticized, local color charm, you’ve crossed into the wrong jurisdiction. but..." she swept the pencil in a brief, encompassing gesture toward the gaping hole in the partition wall, her sharp gaze tracking his expression to see if he could actually visualize the layout. "...if you can look past the dust and the very real possibility of stepping on a rusty framing nail, the parlor drops into a sunken library over there. or it will. once i figure out how to use a circular saw without amputating a finger. so, if you're truly fascinated by structural chaos...i suppose you can follow me into the dining room. just watch your step. i haven't quite mastered the concept of leveling the subfloor yet."
Sachin was immune to any hostile personas. He'd grown up up smack dab in the middle of rich assholes, and had even been one himself in his younger years. He much preferred the politeness of small town folk, but he'd never forgotten how to handle a big city person if he crossed their paths. Up until now, he hadn't bothered Ada, though. He'd been curious (Sachin was always curious), but she'd never looked like she wanted to talk about whatever she was working on. So, he'd let her be. But there was only so much a man could take. And he happened to have a free afternoon.
"Mhm..." Sachin replied, turning in a full slow circle to take in his surroundings. He looked back over to Ada, raising his brows as if to say sooo... no tour? He waved his hands, shaking his head, "No, no, the visual tour... I don't care what it looks like now. I want to know what it's going to look like when you're done." He wanted to know if she was building in shelves, using wallpaper or paint, if the tile in the kitchen was going to be porcelain or stone. He chuckled when she claimed the story was a tragedy. He supposed that made sense, considering the state the place was currently in. But he cared more about the vision.
A triumphant smile spread across his lips, Sachin's whole face lighting up with a smile as Ada pointed out the future sunken library and then told him to follow her. He made sure to watch where he put his foot, in case she was serious about rusty nails or uneven flooring. The absolute last thing Sachin wanted was to get injured somewhere he shouldn't even be. He followed behind Ada with his hands in his pockets, his gaze moving from the floor to the walls and ceiling, and back again.
"So, what's the why of the story?" He asked. "What made you decide to do this all on your own?" Sachin had been in town for a decade at this point, he'd known the previous owner in passing, and was naturally curious about the relation here. "Are you a relative of the previous owner?"
fountain pens, leather notebooks, vintage cars, free little libraries, supporting small businesses, dominos, first class, star wars, medium rare ribeye, affogatos, nyt crosswords, breakfast, writing sprints, farmers markets, eknoor, documentaries, winning ebay auctions, r&b, hindu mythology, vacheron constantin watches, being right
⸻ The realization that her quick ten-minute intermission had dissolved into a massive, unchoreographed afternoon slumber left her completely mortified. A deep, burning flush traveled from her collarbone straight to her hairline, turning her porcelain skin a vivid crimson as she briefly hid her face in the palms of her hands. Her heart was still racing violently, pumping pure adrenaline through her veins from the sheer velocity of her sudden awakening. Hearing Sachin's calm voice filter through the panic, she slowly lowered her hands, her sparkling grey-bluish hues wide and scanning the quiet parameters of the bookstore until they finally settled on him.
❛ At least there is that… ❜ She murmured, her velvet rasp slightly breathless and thick with the remnants of sleep. The fact that her phone hadn't been ringing off the hook was a small logistical mercy, though it didn't entirely erase the heavy anxiety knotting in her stomach. If Lukas hadn't called, it either meant the babies were still miraculously maintaining their routine, or he was intentionally letting her have her space.
❛ If you say so… ❜ She added quietly, choosing to invest her trust in his reassuring words. As the initial wave of disorientation finally began to settle, her features rapidly assembled themselves back into her familiar, stoic public mask, carefully hiding the lingering flutter of panic beneath her stoicism. She exhaled a slow, grounding breath and leaned over to retrieve her shopping bags, her gelid fingers tightening securely around the handles. ❛ I apologize for… Staying significantly longer than I had intended, Sachin…❜ She stated smoothly, her tone reassuming its precise, formal gravity. ❛ I assure you, this operational error will not repeat itself. ❜
Sachin kept his gaze on his work while Bella regained her full composure. He could see how this might be an embarrassing situation for someone, and he didn't want to make it worse. Truly, though, he wouldn't have offered his couch if he wasn't okay with someone resting there for awhile. He had customers who would come in and sit on that couch for hours with their book. Others who'd come in for ten minutes to type out an email or text then be on their way. It was a quiet place for people to do whatever they needed, Sachin didn't mind.
"Your apologize is not needed," Sachin promised. "The offer still stands for anytime you need a break." He offered a reassuring smile and a nod of his head. "Come back next week, I may have some more French children's books for you to bring home to the twins." And by that he meant, he certainly would, because Sachin simply wouldn't be able to help himself. "And there will be a mandatory rest period," He added on, putting on an overly stern tone to show that he was only teasing. "You must sit and do nothing for a minimum of ten minutes each time you step through those doors."
the thump thump thump of ada’s yellow pencil, a restless metronome against the scarred expanse of the vintage oak counter, cut off mid beat. the front door of the inn creaked open on its un oiled hinges, complaining loudly as a shadow detached itself from the persistent drizzle, crossing the boundary right into the heart of her disaster zone. ada remained entirely motionless, a statuesque figure frozen in the dead center of the half gutted parlor. her right hand was still tightly wrapped around the fiberglass handle of a heavy sledgehammer, the tool resting against her thigh like a weapon she had no intention of lowering. the air between them was thick with a floating, ghostly cloud of pulverized plaster and white primer dust. a particularly large flake of drywall debris was precariously nested in her dark, messy waves, right beside the bandana holding her hair back. and her jacket was smudged entirely white across the left shoulder, with a single streak of chalky dust mapped the sharp line of her cheekbone.
ada didn't blink, immediately sliding the pencil behind her ear, squaring her shoulders beneath her boxy blazer. "it’s a deconstructed spatial concept," she explained, completely flat and utterly defensive. "the structural integrity of the partition was impeding the natural flow of the aesthetic i’m trying to establish for the parlor. the asymmetry is entirely intentional. it's minimalist." it was as if she could feel the slow, skeptical silence stretched across the dusty room. clearing her throat, she tightened her grip on the sledgehammer, her chin tilting upward in a flare of pride. "and if you're looking at my hair, it's a textural accent. don't look at me like that, i know exactly what I'm doing."
It was very likely that Sachin wasn't supposed to be here. It was clear that there was work being done, and he certainly wasn't any sort of contractor or worker. He was simply a curious man, and often didn't mind his own business. He was a frequent visitor of the inns in this town, sometimes even checking in for a night or two in order to jump start his creative flow again. The Breezy Pines bed & breakfast had, after all, been the catalyst of his big move. So, he was curious to see what was being done to this place. Especially because the owner was so often in his book store reading through the how to books. He'd waited this long to come out and see what she was up to, but now he needed some answers.
"Minimalist," Sachin repeated, nodding his head as he looked around the space, his hands on his hips. "Is that the goal for the entire property?" He wasn't judging, he was genuine in his curiosity. Sachin was a very visual man, and hearing someone describe what was in their head, helped him picture it as well. He glanced over to the woman again, chuckling as he took in her appearance and the hair covered in a fine layer of debris. "Hardly even noticed," He swore. Sachin took another few steps into the construction zone, still looking around. "I'm fascinated by the work... truly... it's like a physical embodiment of a story in your head... the story of how you want this place to turn out."
"Can I have a tour?" He asked hopefully, using his most charming smile.
juniper’s gaze remained fixed upon him as he spoke, dark eyes tracking the animated movement of his hand. the corners of her mouth twitched, a faint, ghost of a smile threatening to compromise the severe line of her lips before she ruthlessly suppressed it. there was something undeniably absurd, and entirely intoxicating, about his bravado. he offered up his charm as if it were a tangible shield, a glittering piece of weaponry he could wield on her behalf against the gray, unyielding monolith of the publishing world. he was validating her. quietly, completely, and without the clinical pity she so frequently encountered from the rest of the universe.
"my personal charmer," she repeated, the syllables tasting like heavy velvet in her mouth. to have her isolation recontextualized by him as something romantic, something deliberate and powerful rather than a shameful consequence of her own fractured psyche, was a mercy she hadn't known she required. "a terrifying prospect, sachin. I shudder to think of the poor, mid level publicity assistant who falls victim to that catastrophic diplomacy of yours."
"the mere logistics of independent publishing sound dreadfully...administrative. you know i lack the basic temperament for spreadsheets and self promotion. i should likely accidentally delete my entire catalog out of technological incompetence within a fortnight. furthermore, i could never think to leave beatris to the circling sharks of the hoard and i'm far too prone to envy to envision her championing another author." she paused, her plum painted fingernails tracing the delicate, gilded spine of her closed notebook. "but..." she looked back at him, her chin lifting not with the arrogant posture she had weaponized earlier, but with a hard won resolve that had taken years of grueling therapy to cultivate.
"you are entirely correct. the anonymity is the fantasy. vesper darkwood is supposed to be a ghost story, an enigma whispering from the shadows of the pine trees. she does not possess a face, she only possesses a spine."
"Lives have been changed by my catastrophic diplomacy," Sachin said, his ever persistent grin coming back to his lips. "Bottom line is this, I..." He pointed his finger into his own chest and then turned it to point at Juniper. "Am here for you." If she needed a personal charmer, someone to keep her on track of her deadline, or a quiet companion to sit in her living room with his own work while she figured out her shit upstairs. Sachin was the man for the job. He would do anything for the people he cared about, and Juniper Nasr certainly made that list.
"Mmm, very true..." Sachin knew some things about publishing independently, but it was never something he'd had to do himself. But he'd had author friends complain about it before. Some thought it was freeing, and the absolute way to go, while others couldn't get their work out there on their own. Publishing was such a slippery slope with so many hurdles along the way. Once you had representation, it was best to try and keep it.
Sachin snapped his fingers, pointing at Juniper again as he nodded his head. "Exactly, and that's what you tell them. They'll get it, I'm sure." Her people needed to start seeing Juniper as an entirely separate entity than Vesper. They were not the same, and forcing them into one body, one face, would only cause harm and money in the long run. The two simply needed to continue to exist separately so that the readers got more stories. The readers mattered the most at the end of the day, that's how Sachin always saw it.
"I'm on a roll, I think," Sachin mused, kicking back in the chair and putting his hands behind his head. "What else can I help you with, hmm? What else is plaguing that brain of yours?"
⸻ The Frenchwoman simply wasn't built for easy vulnerability; opening up to someone was a process that took her months, if not years, to fully execute. It wasn't a personal slight against Sachin’s earnest nature, but rather the standard defense mechanism she used to navigate the heavy static of her history. ❛ I really appreciate it, ❜ She murmured softly, her velvet rasp dropping as she took a deep, grounding breath. She stared out into the quiet shop for a moment, looking at nothing in particular as she weighed the options. When his second proposal followed, it sounded dangerously appealing to her exhausted system. She took a second or two, analyzing the timeline, before finally giving a slow nod. ❛ Okay, sure. I suppose I can take a brief intermission for now, ❜ She conceded, finally stepping away from the counter and heading toward the vintage furniture he had indicated. ❛ Ten minutes wouldn't hurt anyone. ❜
She carefully placed her purse and the shopping bags, containing her newly acquired copy of Le Petit Prince, into a secure corner by the wall. Finding a comfortable position against the leather of the sofa, Bella leaned her head back. Her system was entirely overtaxed; the moment her cheek met the surface, her eyelids grew impossibly heavy, and her sparkling grey-bluish hues finally drifted shut as she slipped instantly into a deep, unbothered nap. Ten minutes rapidly dissolved into something much longer. Nearly an hour later, or a bit more, Bella's eyelids fluttered open. For a disorienting second, her hazy mind assumed she was back at the house, wrapped in the familiar safety of Lukas's presence. But as her vision cleared and the scent of old paper hit her senses, her features instantly twisted into a sharp frown.
This was completely outside her calculated perimeter. 'Ah, merde,' she cursed violently in the quiet gallery of her mind. A spike of pure panic shot through her veins. Lukas was incredibly perceptive, and she was terrified he might have already noticed her extended absence from the domestic loop, or worse, that the twins had woken up from their own routines demanding her attention. Abruptly throwing her legs over the edge of the leather sofa, she scrambled to her feet, her gelid fingers instantly reaching for her bags. ❛ Oh, mon Dieu! ❜ She gasped aloud, looking at Sachin in utter horror as the reality of the clock set in. ❛ I completely lost track of the timeline! What time is it?! ❜
Let it be known that Sachin did try and wake Bella after 10 minutes. He'd approached the couch quietly, as to not startle her if she was still awake, and he'd called her name. When she didn't stir, he'd gently tapped her shoulder. She hadn't moved. Sachin tried again after another 10 minutes, but ultimately decided if she was this tired to pass out cold in his bookstore, then she probably needed the rest. When Bella finally, and quite abruptly, shot up to her feet, Sachin startled.
"Just pass 5," He mused from the same spot he'd been when Bella laid down. Sachin had gotten through most of his stack of tip-in's and would need to go upstairs soon to retrieve another box. The store would be open until 8, so he could probably get through most of another stack if he buckled down. "I didn't hear your phone ring, or anything," He added. "If that helps at all."
Sachin could see that Bella was quite frantic, and he wanted to reassure her that she hadn't been asleep for that long. But naps could be like that sometimes. There had been plenty of times he'd gone down for a quick nap and woken up unable to remember where he was, who he was, and what year he was living in. Bella waking up on a strange leather couch, in a random bookstore, was probably quite confusing.
"Everything is fine, Bella," Sachin said calmly. "I'm sure you didn't miss anything important."
juniper’s gaze followed lestat’s descent as sachin deposited the creature back onto the floorboards. she watched the rabbit hop with casual indifference toward a stack of vintage poetry collections before she slowly raised her eyes back to sachin. his impish wink met with a dramatic, slow motion roll of her eyes, a wordless rebuttal devoid of any real armor. instead, she let herself sink just a fraction deeper into the threadbare velvet of the sofa. "I tolerate you, sachin. let us not romanticize the arrangement into something as pedestrian as liking you," she countered, though the dry cadence of her voice carried the unmistakable warmth of long established comfort that so few could provide her. as the laughter fully died from his tone and he shifted into the quiet, steady gravity she had come to rely on, juniper’s facade slipped entirely. she didn't answer his question immediately. her thumb absently traced the smooth, lacquered barrel of her fountain pen she finally located, her dark eyes reflecting the flickering amber light of the lamp.
"I didn't tell her no," she murmured, her voice losing its theatrical volume and sinking into something entirely unguarded. "I simply...stopped replying. which, in my professional lexicon, is the definitive equivalent of a declaration of war. I closed the laptop and decided that if I didn't acknowledge the demand, the reality of it might dissolve." she let out a faint, humorless sigh, her eyes drifting toward the tall, narrow windows where the relentless rain continued to beat its frantic rhythm. hearing him validate her boundary, stating so plainly that people didn't need to perceive her visage to consume her art, sent a quiet wave of relief through her. dulling the sharp, agoraphobic edge that had begun to constrict her chest the moment she recalled beatris's email.
sachin lived in the sun; he did tours, he signed books, he allowed himself to be acknowledge by the masses without the world collapsing around him. yet, he never looked down from that golden tower to judge the shadowed sanctuary she required just to exist. "it's easy for you to say," she said softly, though there was no malice in the observation, only a quiet, wistful envy. "you possess the sort of effortless grace that allows you to step into the public eye and remain entirely untethered by it. you are a name on a spine and a pleasant face on a dust jacket, and then you return here, unchanged. but to be known, sachin...to have a face attached to the narratives I weave...it feels entirely too much like an invitation for the world to breach my perimeter."
"they want the modern author," she murmured, her plum colored lips curling into a faint, cynical pout. "they want the curated digital existence, the aesthetic videos, the illusion of accessibility. they don't want a recluse who populates her parlor with taxidermy animals and speaks to a rabbit more than she speaks to the local populace. if they print my actual visage, the illusion is shattered. vesper darkwood ceases to be a gothic mystery and simply becomes...a woman who is too afraid to cross her own front threshold." she paused, the tip of her fountain pen tapping a single, quiet beat against knee.
"but you truly believe they'll fold if I remain stubborn?" she asked, her gaze searching his with a rare, childlike vulnerability that she rarely permitted anyone else to see. "or am I merely delaying an inevitable execution?"
"This is where a British spokesperson comes in handy," Sachin said, pointing a finger at himself. "Your personal charmer." He grinned again. "Let me get whoever on the phone and they'll forget what they even wanted from you, easy." People in the publishing space could be persistent, but he could be, too. If Juniper needed someone to honestly stick up for her, then Sachin would. Saying she needed to add her photo to her next novel shouldn't be a deal breaker of any kind. If she needed someone to remind her people of that, all she needed to do was say so.
"I know it's easy for me to say," Sachin agreed, easily validating Juniper's statement. "I was born into it... my birth was published in a city wide paper, for Christ's sake, I never even had a choice. And I'm fine with it, but that doesn't mean you need to be." It was clear to him that the people Junie was working with, didn't know her that well. And maybe hadn't taken the time to get to know her. If they did know her, they wouldn't try suggesting something like this. God forbid someone did show up at her door because they found out she was their favorite author. Sachin couldn't even imagine what that would do to her. If she was this anxious about merely the thought...
"But they can do all that without your face." Sachin rolled his eyes. "I find it more interesting that you are anonymous, actually. It adds to the fantasy of it all." Honestly, if he was only a reader and not an author, too, he would be so excited to turn up to a con and find his favorite character instead of the author. Sachin didn't see best selling authors as celebrities. They were just regular people, bringing stories to life. Juniper shouldn't need to suffer just because her publishing company thought she should show her face. If they wanted her to keep producing bestsellers, they wouldn't push this.
"I truly believe that your mental health is worth more than any book," Sachin said sincerely, holding her gaze. "You have the readers already, you could publish independently if they really want to push this." He gave her a reassuring smile. "Hold firm, Junie, you don't have to do this if you don't want to. And if they want to part ways, which will be the stupidest thing they could do, then I will personally help you find new representation."
juniper's physical momentum underwent a sudden, deliberate deceleration as her hand began a languid safari through the chaotic topography of the coffee table in search of a pen. and even slower, with the agonizing cogitation of a theater curtain rising on a tragedy, she leveled an unimpressed simper that was quickly, palpably mutating into something entirely haughty. "an acknowledgment?" she scoffed, the syllables dripping with such curdled melodrama that an outside observer might have reasonably assumed he had just insulted her literary lineage by suggesting she ghostwrite a generic seasonal cookbook for a mid tier supermarket conglomerate. of course, she was not so socially obtuse as to misperceive the purely jesting nature of his remarks, but still. the sheer, unadulterated gall of the man. she leaned back against the faded velvet cushions, crossing her arms tightly over her chest and lifting her chin to its most imperious, arrogant trajectory.
"sachin, darling, if i ever under the influence of severe delirium or a particularly aggressive fever, were to pen a dedication that read with the saccharine banality of a hallmark greeting card written by a desperate corporate publicist, i hereby grant you full, legally binding authorization to burn this entire estate to the ground with my mortal vessel trapped inside it. eternally grateful just to know you? it’s utterly nauseating." yet, despite the venomous flourish of her grandiloquent delivery, the suffocating tension that had tightly wound her nerves prior to his arrival had now entirely evaporated into the ambient ether. her gaze drifted across the expanse of the living room, locking eyes brown to remarkably beady with lestat, and it was only in this quiet interlude that she seemed to register the fact that someone else in the room was currently paying him attention.
"if you ever find your way into my acknowledgments which remains highly debatable, considering you just suggested I lower myself to the vulgarity of punctuality. it will be under a strictly coded, beautifully obscure pseudonym," she informed him loftily, her eyes narrowing in a half hearted attempt to look menacing. "something precisely along the lines of. to the insufferably motivation exile from across the wine dark sea, who plagued my parlor with his presence and whose scandalous youth provided the necessary moral rot for my antagonists. that is the absolute maximum allocation of sentimentality you will ever receive from vesper darkwood."
for a brief, suspended moment, her eyes wandered over the cluttered, claustrophobic surfaces of her domestic sanctuary; the precarious towers of loose manuscript pages, the austere taxidermy birds keeping silent vigil from their perches on the crowded bookshelf. the beautiful, chaotic asylum she so rarely deigned to leave. then she looked back at sachin, her expression softening into something genuine, even if she hid it behind a dry, characteristic veneer. "beatris made a rather ominous mention regarding an official author photograph in her final email before I wisely desisted from reading any more of her prose. which means, of course, that the publishing house is finally orchestrating a campaign to force me to reveal my actual visage, ruthlessly stripping away the appropriately gothic proxy I have successfully utilized for year. the sheer existential dread of being perceived has left me entirely without an appetite."
Sachin laughed, the reaction from Juniper being exactly what he was expecting. The more she said, the hardier his chuckles got. He kept his eyes on the tiny bunny resting on his chest, his two pointer fingers stroking the soft fur on his head. "Careful, Junie, keep talking like that and someone might think you actually like me and, dare I said, enjoy my company." He looked over at her and winked, his chuckles finally dying down. Sachin scooped up Lestat and put him back on the ground, letting him hop around freely again.
"But you told her no?" Sachin asked, his laughter fully subsided. He knew how she felt about keeping her identity a secret from her readers. He knew how much anxiety the thought of being known brought her. "You don't have to do that, Juniper, not until you're ready." Sure, it was exceedingly rare to maintain complete anonymity, especially in this day and age, but it wasn't impossible if her team was willing to work with her. "People don't need to know who you are and what you look like to enjoy your novel."
Sachin had always used his own name and photo, since his first book, and, truthfully, he didn't get noticed that often. He'd never consider himself any sort of celebrity. The only people who actively recognized him were the people who came looking for him on his tour or in the bookstore. The likelihood of anything changing in Juniper's every day life were slim, but even still, if she didn't want her face printed in the back of her book, then she shouldn't have to. "You've been a bestseller under your pseudonym, without your photo attached, and you will be again." Sachin waved a dismissive hand, leveling Juniper with a steady gaze.
