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@saltedearths
SALTEDEARTHS — multi-muse blog for chroniclerp, written by kael.
FT. dante hernandez - ❝ there is nothing left in the tragedy of my life, so i will live in spite of it. aye, i will live on in my dead man's stead, here, in my bitter glory. ❞
INTRODUCTION. TAG.
FT. bartholomew kennedy - ❝ i have been held captive by the man i once was—there is nothing left for me in the future of it all. ❞
INTRODUCTION. TAG.
"what, am i just supposed to pretend like you didn't enjoy shutting me up?" he asks, brow arched. at least he's using the right name this time. that may smooth over any sharp edges dante's brushed against, but it doesn't make him any more bearable. offering merely a shrug on the topic of what uses he has, he sidesteps personal satisfaction to laugh at his next guess. "god, you think i'm a burglar?" there's a moment of internal debate on if he should let him keep going or just put him out of his misery... which even in the span of only a few seconds ends in a violent war. "i'm going shopping for a party later. is that really so hard to guess?"
The mild irritation gives way to a slow heat behind his ears. While it takes a lot for him to feel any sense of propriety between cursing up a storm and a legion of macabre jokes in his back pocket, Max seems to know which buttons of his to push to make any sort of control implausible. But between an unstoppable force and an immovable object, Dante lets the thought experiment continue as he clenches his jaw again, though he realizes it's a bit of a tell when it comes to a conversation with the man, and tries for conversation again.
"Honestly, I didn't think you were the party planning social sort. If anything, you'd be the type to crash a party," he says, rolling his eyes at the statement. "But your... sparkling personality is probably something I've missed. Or have you got that tucked in your back pocket?"
"why, doctor hernandez, aren't we being familiar today?" faint note of surprise, light lilt as if pleased… really, by the man's usual grumpy standards, he was practically showering her in adoration. how nice. how suspicious. "can't a girl just check in? it really is a shame if you don't have that in your life, but! never fear, i've been baking again." yes, with his little recommendation taking into account. "but it sounds like you've been having far more interesting a time. i didn't realize candles could be toxic unless you ate them… maybe that's why incense gives me a headache."
"Different sort of candle—something involving poison, but I don't have time to get into it right now." There's ink stains on his hands for calculations and forensics for any type of poison that acts in a similar manner when diffused. It's toxicology and physics and God knows what else—a storm of things that seem to push his brain a little further than car accidents. "I appreciate the, ah, I'm sorry what exactly did you bring? I've been at it for a shift and a half, and I'd appreciate the run-down Miss Blume." There's an apologetic smile across his face, though perhaps it was his brain telling him to slow down for a moment, a plea where only coffee ears it any reprieve.
Considering it seemed like the only people who associated with him lately wanted to either call him a moron or talk business, Linus was a little pleased by the compliment even if he didn't believe for an instant that one drink was all it took to put Barry in a better mood. "Has he decided to go live in a cabin in the woods?" He could keep guessing, but linus doubted he'd be able to guess. Niko always felt like the quiet and unassuming one between them until he snapped, and then something dramatic happened, somehow knives got involved and -
"Wait, what?" Setting his wine glass down, Linus frowned like he hadn't heard Barry right. "What do you mean - Who stabbed him? How has he kept that quiet?" Bless having money and being able to get people to sign a nondisclosure, but Linus didn't understand how word hadn't gotten out. He also didn't understand the idea of Niko in the hospital. He didn't get stabbed, and if he did, surely he got right back up like Michael Myers, a persistent threat that kept coming and did the most of the stabbing.
"Down, boy. Down." He smirks at Linus, amused by his questions. It seems like old hat to Barry, bad news regarding Leon, but the man yaps on and on like an excitable puppy—and it makes him want to shut the conversation down one way or the other. The man has too many questions; he'd make a fun private gumshoe, if only for the thought of Linus in an ill-fitting trenchcoat and notepad. Who? What? Why? And Barry figures the man would want a medal for his efforts too, but he keeps that to himself, content to take another sip of whiskey in Linus' kitchen.
He looks at the space, letting him stew in the questions for a bit, silently judging decor and appliance alike before continuing. "One: yes, the man was stabbed. Two: I don't know, he won't tell me. Three: hospital's discreet, at least. Honestly, I epxect some fucking gossip rag to start reporting on it any fucking day now." He sighs and shakes his head, shooting the rest of his whiskey as he tries to formulate a sentence carefully. Enough to satisfy Leon's pride and feed Linus' ego. "To be frank, being a messenger boy for a tip isn't something I came here for, Linus. There's something I want from you, and I think you'll be pleased with the request."
It was true that empty apartments didn't come up often and it could be difficult to get one on short notice, but it was hard to believe that a Walsh is finding it impossible. "Alright, well, I can see where you're kinda backed into a corner there..." While she could be sympathetic to Leon's situation, it would be a lie to say she would offer to be his neighbor. "Did he not get a cut from the movie? That could be a down payment on a house, no problem."
"Just give me the cash, they won't know." Trying to pin down the interests of her toddler was a difficult question; their favorite toys changed like the weather. "Right now, they like blocks and Cars, and by then it could be anything." A month ago, it was the beach ball being thrown around every day, now it was Lightening McQueen himself flying through the living room. "But it's next year they'll really understand, so you have a while to learn how to be 'Uncle Barry' if that's what you're looking for."
The Walsh movie is a can of worms even he doesn't want to get tangled up in, and that's saying something as a professional in gossip. "I'd talk to the director, but I think Leon'd kill me." He knows about the whole deal, but being actively involved in it was something he'll leave to the siblings. If they wanted to get the money or not wasn't his say, but he'll have to admit that Leon actually taking the cash could help. Though wanting him to—well, that's another talk with his therapist or a bottle of scotch. Or, to be frank, something to be buried deep. Preferably mixed with a faceless twunk in his grip.
"Fine. Buy the kid a toy or a binkie or whatever," he says, fishing out two hundred from his wallet. Thank you accounting—company finances can be boring, but does the paycheck help? Definitely. "And Uncle Barry? Really. Not that I can't be persuaded to, but it's a little bit of an ego boost to think I'm uncle material. Mostly, I'm more 'Mom's friend' but that's on me."
After he agrees, Becca relaxes back into the chair. She didn't exactly have a back-up plan other than a bucket of bleach. "Right. You could give me a signed photocopy of a pamphlet and that would probably be enough." It didn't matter if they were fighting her due to stubbornness or neglect, at least they couldn't claim it was a miscommunication. "I don't mind paying for it; this is way out of your job description. I really appreciate the help." Just as she starts to wonder about what he could be doing with the police, she hears it- Roseland.
Her eyes snap to his, holding him in place while she comes to terms with what he's implying; he knows something about the Estate involving mold already. Why would he think she was arguing with Nic about this? After a moment, she blinks and answers flatly. "It's not." For once, this was her own problem; a patch had formed behind the washing machine in her apartment and the landlord was refusing responsibility. "Is there a reason why I would need this for him?"
Well—fuck. He simply clicks his tongue in response at first, realizing that her ex-husband isn't probably on her mind at all at this point, and tries to simply allay her fears and resolve the situation. If Nic catches wind of this, he's pretty sure that he'll never hear the end of it. Best to nip it in the bud right now, though being on the defense isn't his forte. He prefers to go for the jugular, and seeing that as a healthcare professional—let's say that he'd have preferred the old workload than the fuck-up he's dealing with right now.
"Honestly, between the gator pond and the contractors I helped send in, I must've assumed the worst." Dante matches her flat tone, able to play chicken like the best of them. Never let 'em see you sweat. "The house is old, and I half-expect it to blow into dust one of these days, but that's just the cynicism talking, Ms. Vergara. Sorry for the alarm, I thought—well, common point of conversation and all. It doesn't matter, I think."
Well. Perhaps not a day to mess with Barry, message received loud and clear. It seemed like a good thing suddenly that he had more to offer than wine, now if only he had some kind of steak cooked to perfection that he could offer up like Barry was some starving wildcat that would become lazy and non-lethal with the taste of meat in his mouth. Holding up a finger as if requesting the man to wait, Linus went to a cabinet and pulled out an open bottle, missing not quite a quarter of its contents. Not to him, but to the sink, the bottle carefully so that it looked like Linus was more willing to partake in the stronger drink than he actually was.
"I never hear from him unless he wants to insult me." Linus admittedly flatly as he sat the bottle of scotch down next to the wine, bracing himself against the counter. He didn't see any need in pretending to be a nice, happy family to Barry, who likely knew Niko's distaste for him more clearly than Linus himself. "Seem like you could use a stronger option. So what is it now? Does he want to sue me for defamation or something?"
Scotch. A nice surprise. "Good man. You remembered," he says, taking a drink from the glass, the familiar woodsy burn of it a welcome sensation. The praise is a low bar, of course, the wind-up before the throw as Barry takes a moment to take in his company's liquor. And the admission—if he were to be honest, him and Linus were in the same boat; both by choice, both by the same man. It was the wrong question to bring Barry, as he merely smirks at the thought of Leon using the local law firm to sue. God knows that a couple of his indiscretions walk those halls.
"No, no. Nothing like that, Linus." He gestures with his glass, the liquid sloshing around as he all but feels the warmth it brings him. "Leon went to the hospital. Stab attack. You hear about that, or have the paps not caught up with local events yet?"
John huffs through his nose, humorless, thinks back to those days when they were both young and proud and life still stretched out endlessly in front of them. For all his thinking, though, he doesn't remember anything about numbing spray. "Whatever you say, brother."
Then, curiously, the conversation takes an interesting turn. John figures that it's only natural, that this is how old friends catch up... first you talk about what they do, then you talk about what you do, even if Dante has no idea the line he's toeing. He eases back into the booth with a bit of a slump, decides to test the waters. "A cult, huh." John nods slowly, thoughtfully. "How'd you come up with something like that? You see a character in sunglasses and a bad hairpiece?"
Ah, and there's that feeling again, as if he's about to be dragged by the ankles—his gut's right a lot of the time, but his curiosity pulls him in deeper as they talk. "Don't you remember that I used to do this shit for a living? Usually just chasing ghost stories, but sometimes, we'd come across some cultists. Or hippies. Or zealots. Those were fucking horrible." He still remembers vigils and dead-eyed people, praying to a leader or a god they couldn't comprehend. Sometimes, it was harmless enough, but Dante always knew that those situations tended to implode or explode, one way or the other.
He counts off on his fingers, one by one. "One: complex outside the limits where members are isolated. Two: high security and secrecy among members to the point of mythology. Three: it's a small town, and honestly—gossip works. Sometimes." It's easy, and while he has his misgivings, there's an eerieness that lets him keep a firearm within a holster whenever he's not on call. "Not my fucking business, though. I'll let shit slide until I can't."
"Still a gentleman," Gim says with a laugh as he climbs in, nodding. "Works for me. Surprise me." Although it's hard to surprise someone that's been living in the same place for over thirty years and while Gim knows the place they eventually pull up to, that doesn't make it a bad choice. "This place has some of the best breadsticks around. Well, not sure if it's the bread as much as the dipping sauce, that olive oil with all the butter and garlic. Might not be the healthiest thing in the world, but indulging is good for the soul."
As they pull up, Dante smiles as the other man talks about the breadsticks and the olive oil—he'd come here many a time right before a long night in the hospital, and while he can't externalize it, he's happy that Gim has good taste. "I'd call it medically required. Though, I'll just give you that perscription, if you're hankering for it." Parking smoothly, he puts it in park as he tries to snatch glances of the man in the corner of his vision. As an excuse. As if he was back in high school. "You want me to open the door for you again, Gim? Least I can do on a lunch date."
leon just rolls his eyes. he knows full well that barry can be charming, but that there's no way in hell he's using it for the right reasons. "do whatever you want," he grumbles, refusing to play his game. he doesn't have the twenty to spare, anyway. there's a reason they're still living together, as miserable as it is. at one point, it would have comforted him that barry stayed with him. now, all it does is make him prone to scowling. he can still remember his father's voice, even if it hurts. if he keeps doing it, his face will stick. he's beginning to think the old man was right. "no," he answers curtly. "now shut up, i'm trying to watch this."
"Oh, Leon. You charmer. I'm beginning to half-assume that the fuck stabbed you 'cause of your smart mouth at this point." The mean joke, the snide remark. It's all he knows how to do at this point—it's their easy rhythm, their little fucked up love affair that seems to linger even as its death song echoes throughout the halls of their home.
He fixes his coat and sighs, debating whether or not to go to Linus to spite Leon—though he wonders if doing it now would benefit either of them. Does he care about Leon this much? Does he care about this situation? Barry looks at Leon and his gaze lingers, looking at him with a mixture of anger, affection and pity. The wounded animal of a husband on his couch. "I'll stay, if only to piss you the fuck off," he says, rolling his eyes and stealing chips. "And talk, darling. Unless you tell me to go."
"if i was good all the time you'd have nothing to look forward to," he says, a smirk playing on his lips. he has no intention of letting dante have even an inch of ground, despite all the inches he's shoved into him. doesn't matter. if he wants obedience, he'll have to be more imaginative than that. or more sexy. whichever. "but if you were, it'd be your loss. you seemed pretty satisfied with yourself at the time."
"Making a lot of assumptions there, Max." Truth be told, the back-and-forth was something of a brain cleanser. Something to shake him back to reality and ground him where he stood. Max was a gunshot wound to the bleariness of gore that was his nights and days, as refreshing as being drowned in Alaska. "Maybe the satisfaction only gets you so far—mouth's more useful doing something else. And you still haven't told me where you're going. You gonna go to Jonestown out by the town's borders or something? Burglarize Verdant Hills or something? Damn."
As much as the professor finds those who have encountered the spiritual world fascinating, he is equally intrigued by those who avoid it. Finding non-believers feels just as sacred, especially in a town as historic as Antioch. What codifies one's belief? What doesn't? These questions have been at the heart and soul of Maharth's intellectual pursuit.
" Honestly, the places you mentioned are justly important, " Maharth says, emphasizing his statement with a light tap of the air with his index finger as he comes to his conclusion. Shepherded by the other man, Maharth verges upon a nearby parked car that stands out among the typical models on Antioch's streets. Its coating is glossy like a candied fruit and just as tempting.
While others may hesitate to get into a car with a stranger, for the professor, it's second nature. The very manner of his studies requests the goodwill of local people, and he's probably hitchhiked more than a thousand miles in car, wagon, boat, even a camel. His senses are astute enough to pick up on nefarious intent, and Dante doesn't trigger any alarm bells. " Why not if I'm already tall enough to ride? " he says, playing off of Dante, " and if the pie is as good as you make it sound, I'd love to taste it myself. "
After getting the go-ahead to come in, he sits in the front passenger seat and thanks the driver for the ride. While Oregon is lovely this time of year, a spot of air conditioning is even lovelier. Plus, does he get to make an acquaintance? A friend? Glancing over to Dante, Maharth chances a conversation, hoping it won't be a distraction. " Have you lived in Antioch your whole life, Dante? "
His old shady government job has him gauge the man upon reflex. The niceties were exchanges, and caution is thrown to the wind as quickly as the invite is placed—if he didn't know anyone, Dante would have declined. Maharth seems to think differently, keeping the suggestions and riffing off of the conversation playfully. Either there's an optimism about people there, or Dante is too wary for his own good. Antioch's getting to him. Or the job. But looking at dead bodies arranged as if it were art really isn't good for anyone's mental health.
"No. Just a transplant, like you. Used to travel for work," he says, checking the rearview mirror as he he drives off. His migraines at least, were cooperating with him, his tone steady and even. "How 'bout you then, why come to Antioch? I just wanted somewhere to chill out and collect a paycheck. You seem like the kinda guy that should be in Loch Ness or something."
Closed: @saltedearths / Barry
"This feels backwards. Aren't I usually the one showing up at your doorstep?" Linus drawled before taking a few steps backwards and letting the door swing open, moving his arms wide to wordlessly invite Barry in. "Has Niko deigned send me a message, does he have you playing errand boy for him?" Another step backwards, spin, and straight to the kitchen because he just assumed any conversation with Barry was going to result in a need for wine. There was probably something stronger that he could offer and he would, never let it be said he didn't know how to host and if Barry was an invited guest, maybe he would try harder at it. "You don't really seem the messenger boy type, you know."
"I just don't seem it, Linus. Either way, I like a large tip, so if you've got one—I got an open palm for you." There's an edge to his voice, something that says poke me at your own peril. Linus seems to like testing boundaries, and while Barry wants to learn how hard he can push, he simply takes a step into his space for a moment as he's let in, and lingers, before following him to the kitchen and wine is let out. A surprise, but only a deadpan look on him as he waits for the glass to fill. He'll never turn down free booze, after all.
Leaning forward against the counter, Barry continues. "You hear from your brother lately, or is movie press keeping you busy?"
it really was as if everything always came back to his family. “ hi, barry, ” the youngest greeted him with a minimal bow of his head. he was never quite sure how to act around niko—leon's husband ... what a mess, all of it was. averting his gaze, he tapped away at the screen. “ single or double espresso ? ”
There's always an awkard tension with him—not like Linus or Leon, both of whom have Barry keen to test out his claws, but Jae at least was a nice man, and that always set his teeth on edge. Nice people always did. It never used to, but there was always time for habit forming. "Triple it." A pause lingers between them—how the fuck does he address Jae of all people? "Seems slow. What, no siblings bothering you this time?"
moron. leon bristles, but he doesn't bite. he doesn't have the strength in him right now. this spat alone has sapped most of it... to say nothing of the knife wound still sunk into his side. "you think linus is going to listen to you?" he snorts, shaking his head and sinking back against his mattress. the things he puts up with. in prison at least he wouldn't have been subjected to barry's attitude. insults, sure. but it means less coming from sweaty prison guards. more than anything he doesn't do, leon hates what he does. why does he have to know his favorite movie? why does he have to know what would comfort him in moments of peril? "...you mean you can't get me both?"
Does he think Linus will listen to him? He doesn't know, but if he had to take an educated guess, Barry thinks he can bend him around his little finger, but he'll never tell Leon. Maybe that'll finally get him to snap—and they can both be knife-wound buddies. But petty insults won't get him to agree, so he'll do something underhanded and be the bad guy again. "I can be charming when I need to, Leon Walsh," he says, smirking. "Bet you twenty that he'll listen."
What a diva. Disappearing for a second to grab some chips and turn on the TV so that Bravo play in the background of their conversation, Barry simply sits. Lounges, even, as he relaxes into a chair. "Don't say I don't do shit for you now, dollface. Can I expect some quid pro quo for my top-notch nursing?"
"Something's keeping you from ripping the band-aids off?" She wasn't exactly the best person to be giving out marriage advice, but Becca found it interesting that he was hesitating while she had been too hasty. "Are you guys doing that thing where you each try to make the other leave first, but now nobody is? Because I've done that before... in high school." Which seems appropriate given his teasing, and she humors him with a matching tone and rolling eyes. "He's fine. Between the swap meet lot and the house, he's been busy. Christmas might actually end up being at my place this year if it keeps at this pace."
Band-aids. Plural! Personally, it wasn't hesitation that kept him there, more some sort of sick sense of equilibrium that he'd found appealing—and he wasn't going to just kick the guy out on the street. That and he feels like they owe each other. Duty and family and the high that he gets whenever Leon shoots him a look like he's next on the chopping block. "I'm just waiting until he gets an apartment." A pitiful excuse, but it's an excuse he'll use time and again. "Takes a while, since half the town sort of knows who the fuck he is."
There's a heart beating in between his ribs, and a small smile at least graces his face as Becky talks about her whole... situation. He shouldn't preach, but hypocrisy is given to both friends and enemies. "What's the kid like again? I swear to God, half the time I'm tempted to give a toddler cash before forgetting that they don't like the stuff."
" Yes, as Antioch as it gets, such as the famed Antioch Swamp Monster or the haunted cemetery. " Maharth banters, wondering if any of these topics would prompt an anecdote to his newfound guide. He's so fascinated by the plethora of local legends here and the perspectives of the people who've grew up with them.
At the prospect of eating local, the professor gladly accepts. He'd like to get situated in Antioch as much as possible before the convenient excuse of being the new kid on the block wears off. He approaches Dante, rolling his wrist and drawing his palm to offer the man a handshake. " Nice to meet you, and I'm grateful for your help. Please, lead the way; I'm happy to follow. "
The Swamp Monster. The haunted cemetery. Dante's been here for all of three years—or perhaps more, as time seemed to bend around the sleepy little town in a warp, and still he doesn't remember half the urban legends around town. He'd left chasing ghosts to his old division, now he just deals with car accidents, crush injuries and people's guts.
"Sorry, bud. You're shit out of luck—if you want the creature feature tour, I'm not your man. Watering holes and food? I've got you covered." It's not a bad thing to know in town, and at least he has an amazing repertoire of places that deliver late, just for those times he needs to be in the hospital at all. Leading him to a car fit for a doctor, pristine and shiny, Dante waves at it with a mock flourish. "Last chance to get off the ride, Maharth. It's a drive to the diner—and I'm in the mood for the blueberry pie."
