[ ...𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙴𝚂𝚂 𝙶𝚁𝙰𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙳. ]

[ 𝙵𝙸𝙻𝙴𝚂 ://   𝙰𝙾𝙺𝙸 ,   𝚁𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙽   𝙴 .   &   𝚂𝙰𝙳𝙸𝚀 ,   𝙳𝙰𝚁𝚈𝙰   𝙰 . ] penned   by   𝐭𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐲 ,   for   𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐟𝐦 .

[outlcws]

with: @boneyardstarters where: outside the deadly possessions haunted museum when: anytime after august 1st

Wow, this place looks like shit. Wait. Did they say that out loud? No — no, they didn't. That might be fortuitous, because if they went in guns blazing and insulting the hunk of rubble in front of them, they were dubious they would be getting affable parties to answer their questions. What were they supposed to be looking for again? Oh yeah, clues — where are you, Scooby Doo? "Wasn't this place featured at that Weekend of Horrors festival?" they piped up after ogling to building for a good... minute, in all its ramshackle glory, "I wonder if they pissed someone off — Sorry, do you work here? I'm standing on something, aren't I?" Looking down at the crunch underfoot that they had been ignoring, they lifted their shoe and frowned at the dilapidated remnants of a doll who had definitely seen better days. Great, now something was going to be haunting their ass — and although they could read tarot cards, they didn't know the first damn thing about convening with the dead. "...Nevermind, I think I just found the first casualty — Anyway, I'm just saying, isn't it like, a little bit suspicious that a museum advertised for dead things is where a lot of mysterious deaths are popping up?"

[slauqhtered]

— 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚊 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍, 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 decade and some of working as a reporter ( hell, she's getting old. when had that happened? ) that there's a trick to snooping around a crime scene. it's simple, really---never talk to a cop. touchy little buggers, they are, always getting high and mighty about 'restricted areas' and 'hampering the investigation.' YAWN. it took being run off only twice before she'd learned her lesson, and she's followed it mostly faithfully ever since. but sometimes, like today, she runs into a certain conundrum. she can't find any one to badger except the person clearly investigating the scene. apparently, the museum gave their employees a few days off to recuperate. sweet, really, but it's created a dearth of gossipy witnesses. darya eyes the investigator carefully, considering her options. they don't look like a cop---they don't have the shoes for it. another reporter, maybe? or a pi? she tries her luck. ❛ the rumor is, ❜ she says, ❛ the museum bought some kind of haunted doll, and unleashed a curse. ❜ she hops nimbly over the shattered remains of the doll they had just crushed underfoot, flicking her gaze up and down with a pointed little smirk. ❛ personally, i think maybe the killer just has a sense of humor. but maybe watch where you step, yeah? ❜    

[herelostfound]

for: open starter ( @boneyardstarters ) when: anytime in august. where: outside cartwheel convenience & drug store.

Mandy sighed after another lighter had died on her, annoyed she had to drag herself out of her house and get another one, half annoyed at her wife's slight reminders about how her habit was gonna kill her one of these days ( she was right but when wasn't she ). Sighing as she walked outside the drug store, lighting up a smoke and taking a deep inhale as if when the smoke left her lungs she was stress-free again ( she wouldn't be between the LVPD fucking up non-stop and her having to correct each GODDAMN form ). Leaning against the brick wall behind her as she tried to collect her thoughts, another long week at the office with men who thought she was just the pretty lady down below who could fix there issues for them. Crystal eyes catching sight of the person near by as she blew the nicotine from her lips, waving it away with her hand. "Sorry I just noticed you or else I wouldn't have been blowing this shit right near you- unless you want one?" Mandy offered.

[slauqhtered]

— 𝚌𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝, 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚊 smoke in nearly a month. ronan hadn't even noticed, and the realization sends a shudder down his spine. used to be, he'd get twitchy without at least one a day ( yeah, yeah, it's a nasty habit. but he has way worse. ), and now the thought hasn't even crossed his mind. past couple weeks, he's had a ... different sort of craving. he's trying to ignore it. it's not working very well. ❛ i'll bum one, if you don't mind, ❜ he says, more out of habit than anything else, going through the motions of normalcy as if playing a part. he takes the cigarette with a nod of thanks, the tip lighting with a practiced flick of his thumb as he brings it to his lips. will it even affect him, now, he wonders? a curious drag later, and the answer is a resounding no. damn. and the reek of nicotine - stronger than it once was - nearly makes him gag. he hides his reaction with some effort, forcing himself to take another huff. ❛ thanks, ❜ he says shortly, ❛ rough night? ❜     

[divinitymctions]

@boneyardstarters  ›  OPEN STARTER !

CAP › N/A   DATE › AUGUST 4, 1996

LOCATION  ›  PHOTO FLIX DRIVE-THRU

for kaiden augustin, there was something special about developing films for photo hut patrons, old and new; having the ability to do that was always a joy. it was his passion, and as a wildlife photographer, it brought excitement to kai’s vigor. he and his partner always managed to go out and explore — just how he likes it — making up for the fact of not hopping on a plane and snapping images. he could do that here, in vegas, but it wasn’t as fulfilling. kai hoped to leave someplace sometime soon, a little desperate for the national geographic to give him a call on his landline. let’s forget the fact that he’s sixty ancient, but he tolerated vegas despite its intricacies and all. “hey, dear, how can i help you today?” kai unfailingly welcomed clients with a smile at the window, always enthusiastic to help whoever came up.

[slauqhtered]

— 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 closing when darya ducks into the shop, the little bell hanging from the frame clanging urgently as the door swings back & forth behind her. fuck. she reaches out to catch it before it can slam, just barely catching it before she makes even more of a scene. nice going, d. she's usually way more collected than this. ❛ sorry about that, ❜ she says, offering the guy behind the counter a tight smile, trying to hide her embarrassment. ❛ i'm kind of in a rush. are you guys still developing photos, or should i come back tomorrow ? ❜ she waves a disposable kodak in the air, the bright yellow faded and smudged. it's an ugly little thing, beat-up and battered, but the film inside should still be good. she hopes. ❛ look, do you take tips ? i'll pay you extra if you can get this done by 9am tomorrow. it's for work. ❜    

[slauqhtered]

                  ↻          [     𝙳𝙾𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙴𝚁://     𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙽𝙶   𝙵𝙸𝙻𝙴𝚂  . . .     ]

medalion rahimi, cis female + she/her, bisexual, sagittarius     ━━━━     HEY, i think i just saw DARYA SADIQ walking down the strip. stop by to catch up and you’ll learn the THIRTY THREE YEAR OLD is working as a REPORTER FOR THE LAS VEGAS SUN and lives in SOLSTICE APARTMENTS. given they are TENACIOUS but OBSESSIVE, it’s likely that they ARE NOT a vampire. on the flipside, rumor has it that SHE TAKES BRIBES FROM THE WEISS FAMILY TO REPORT WHAT THEY WANT + SHE’S TRYING TO GET HER BIG BREAK WITH A MAFIA EXPOSE STORY and it keeps them looking over their shoulder. i bet you can find them tearing up the dance floor to FLOWERS IN DECEMBER BY MAZZY STAR and you’ll know why they’re called THE CREEPY CRAWLY     ━━━━     TEDDY, 27, she/her, est.

     .  .  .  𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙲𝚂  :

 NAME .     darya amina sadiq. NICKNAMES .     dar. AGE .     thirty - three. BIRTH     DATE .   december 1st, 1964. PLACE     OF     BIRTH .     los angeles, california, united states of america. FAMILY .     tba. MARITAL     STATUS .     single. RELIGION .     muslim / agnostic. GENDER .      female. SEXUALITY .     bisexual.

     .  .  .  𝙰𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚃𝙸𝙲  :

TBA.

     .  .  .  𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙾𝙸𝚁  :

darya has always known how to survive. she is born in los angeles to iranian immigrants who crossed an ocean for promises that never quite materialized. her father loads shipping containers by day and drinks by night. her mother teaches night school and comes home with ink-stained fingers and migraines that never go away. darya watches them pour themselves into a country that gives them nothing back, and she decides early on that she'll never give so much of herself for so little in return.

darya understands the rules of power. her father tells her the truth has sharp edges, and she quips back that so does she. she lies well, argues better, and smiles when she tears someone to shreds. (she's a bit of a bully in middle school. she has her regrets. but who doesn't?) by high school, she’s writing for the campus paper and constantly getting censored by teachers who want her to write about homecoming queens instead of pta politics. they think she's idealistic, but they're wrong. she's just hunting for something to sharpen her claws on.

dayra cuts her teeth on a la rag with a newsroom that reeks of cheap cologne and cheaper whiskey. she builds her name off the bodies of men who underestimated her, and jokes with her coworkers about burying people. the laughter ends the first time she gets a source killed. a warehouse worker, like her father, who trusted her and ended up facedown in a drainage canal for it. she tells herself it wasn’t her fault and keeps moving. (straight out of la, in fact. she's not running. why would you suggest that?)

darya lands in vegas with a busted car and a chip on her shoulder. the city of is everything she hoped it would be---lurid, bright, and rotting from the inside out. she fits right in. she writes hard stories and drinks harder, wins awards for exposes on zoning scams and corporate buyouts. she starts getting calls from people who want to 'work something out.' sometimes she even picks up.

darya takes her first bribe in a coffee shop on the edge of the strip. she tells herself it’s nothing. just a name left out. what's the harm? if she refused, they'd only bribe her boss instead. the second bribe is easier. the third, and it's justroutine. soon, she's got a good thing going with the weiss family, taking dirty money in return for keeping their name out of her reports. she tells herself she’s still in control. she tells herself a lot of things.

darya finds something too big to ignore. the mob's fingerprints are all over this city, smeared over shells and fronts and forgeries. it's horrific. and she's thrilled about it. this corruption is the kind of story that could make a career. who cares about justice? she wants the book deal and the guest slot on oprah. sure, she might have to burn a few bridges. but if she gets her name on the byline she's envisioning, she won't need those allies anymore.

darya has no idea what she's really stepped into. because the real predators in this city have something far more dangerous than guns. they have teeth.

[slauqhtered]

                  ↻          [     𝙳𝙾𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙴𝚁://     𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙽𝙶   𝙵𝙸𝙻𝙴𝚂  . . .     ]

sen  mitsuji, cis male + he/him, bisexual, scorpio     ━━━━     HEY, i think i just saw RONAN AOKI walking down the strip. stop by to catch up and you’ll learn the THIRTY SIX YEAR OLD is working as an UNDERBOSS FOR THE WEISS FAMILY and lives in MANOR SUITES. given they are INTREPID but IMPUDENT, it’s likely that they ARE a vampire. on the flipside, rumor has it that HE HAS NO LOYALTY TO THE WEISS FAMILY; HE’S A RAT FOR THE VITELLIS + HE HAS NO IDEA WHO TURNED HIM INTO A VAMPIRE TWO WEEKS AGO and it keeps them looking over their shoulder. i bet you can find them tearing up the dance floor to LOVE YOU TO DEATH BY TYPE O NEGATIVE and you’ll know why they’re called THE SNAKE IN THE ROAD.     ━━━━     TEDDY, 27, she/her, est.

     .  .  .  𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙲𝚂  :

 NAME .     aoki ryota / ronan elias aoki.  NICKNAMES .     ro, rory.  AGE .     thirty - six.  BIRTH     DATE .   october 28th, 1961.  PLACE     OF     BIRTH .     las vegas, nevada, united states of america.  FAMILY .     rhea pallas, daughter. more tba.  MARITAL     STATUS .     single.  RELIGION .     protestant.  GENDER .      male.  SEXUALITY .     bisexual.

     .  .  .  𝙰𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚃𝙸𝙲  :

a stack of playing cards skillfully shuffled, nimble fingers too quick to catch. you think you know this game, but that shark-tooth smirk makes you unsure ; the faint scent of gun oil, forever lingering in the air. an acid bite that once made you gag, but now it’s almost a comfort ; the pale white of an old scar, sliced wickedly down a muscled back. absent-minded, with the manner of a long ingrained habit, your fingers trace it’s path.

     .  .  .  𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙾𝙸𝚁  :

ronan's life has always been uncertain. this is how it starts---on the fringes of vegas, seemingly worlds away from the neon lights and the gleaming silks of the strip, home to those the city wishes it could forget. the locals. ronan is born in a run-down little hospital, wrapped in a lovingly knitted blanket, with hot tears splashing against his cheek. there's a family waiting just outside the doors, good people who have sworn to give him a better life. she'd been so sure she could do it, just weeks ago. what does she have to offer a child? in the end, they leave alone. ronan grows up in a trailer in cactus ridge, in hand-me-down shoes and shirts just a size off, but he grows up loved.

ronan is, above all, quick. in the classroom, he has the answers first. on the playground, where few are fond of the sarcastic little punk with holes in his sneakers, he knows just how to get to safety. in the corner store on the weekend, slipping candy bars into his pockets, his fingers are lightning-quick. his mother always said, didn’t she, that he deserves the world and more? what’s a few chocolates? afternoons are spent at his mother's side, gifting her a set of paints his teacher just happened to toss out. she ruffles his hair, gives him a smile, and how could anything be wrong about causing that?

ronan grows up near the weiss family, if never quite a part of it. he's only seven when his mother lands a job at the lucky saucer (i'm thinking waitress -> hostess -> maitre d promotions, over the years?). lavish, exclusive, gourmet....and, of course, a front for the new mafia family in town. she ought to worry about that, she knows, but the pay is leagues above her old gig at a crappy little diner. if he never lets the customers see him, ronan is permitted to hang out in the back, doing homework and reading comics and occasionally pick-pocketing customers lost on their way to the bathroom. on occasion, the younger members of the family let him pull up a seat, teaching him how to cheat at poker and letting him taste small sips of whiskey, cackling at the way he wrinkles his nose.

ronan's mother cries when he is invited to join the weiss family. she never wanted this for him, he knows, and he hates the look on her face when she first sees him with a gun. but this path was laid out for him long ago. and really, what could go wrong? he is quick and he is clever, and he has watched the ways the family functions for years on end. he is young and he is arrogant, and he has a violence in him he hides from even himself. with a shake of hands, ronan becomes a soldier at only twenty, joining the ranks of men who watched him grow from boy to man.

ronan doesn't learn of his mothers death for days. he is carrying out orders for the godfather when it happens, and by the time he returns she has already been packed into a grave, a bullet in her head. (i'm still working out the details but it has something to do with the weisses. shootout at the restaurant, maybe? or she was dating a family member and killed by someone they pissed off? idk, i'll figure it out. the important thing is that he blames the weisses.) his grief is easily preyed on by the vitelli family, and he is coaxed into secretly turning turncoat while remaining a weiss in name, dismantling the family from the inside as he rises up the ranks. he is, after all, the last person they would suspect.

ronan woke up two weeks ago with a thirst for blood, a sudden hatred for the sun, fangs, and no fucking idea what is going on. uh-oh!

     .  .  .  𝙿𝚂𝚈𝙲𝙷𝙴  :

 +     intrepid, sagacious, meticulous, passionate, steadfast.  –     impudent, opportunistic, callous, reticent, insincere.

[rebelscaped]

cactus ridge trailer park, 30th july / @boneyardstarters

"Great. Really fucking great. Brilliant. Fan-fucking-tastic, exactly what I needed!" These words were, of course, hissed under his breath. His daughter, Hana, had of course been asked to stay inside the trailer already and, despite her impulsive streak, was generally well-behaved enough to do as she was told but he was still hesitant to go swearing up a storm at a volume loud enough for her to catch it. Kael was used to rain and wind. Of course he was, he was English. But his own experience wouldn't change that the trailer park was not built to resist this weather. However, dragging sandbags around was boring, tiring and annoying, as much as it was deeply necessary.

In a fit of (admittedly quite immature) impatience, Kael tossed one bag aside, as if he was sick of the sight of it. This was a laboured task itself, given the weight of the thing, but he hadn't exactly been looking about himself at the time. The awkward sound of a person tumbling over had him whipping around in an instant, a guilty sort of grimace plastered across his face. "Uh... ahh... are you, uh... good?" (Is that really the best he could offer??)

[slauqhtered]

— 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚘, again? you can take the boy out of the gutter, but you can't take the gutter out of the boy. oh, ronan is well - aware he makes for an ill-fitting sight---all sleek blacks and newly shined shoes, winding between old tires half-deflated and wicker tables that are years past due for a good soak. but something of his childhood remains in the way he balances on uneven paths, the brisk nod and grunt he returns to the old man drinking beer on a lawn chair. a skin shed, rather like the snake he has fashioned himself as, and ronan is trailer trash once more. christ, he can't wait to get out of here. engrossed as he is in memories he'd rather prefer to forget, he doesn't truly take notice of the other man on the path until he flings a sandbag over his shoulder, somehow managing to catch ronan right in the face. FUCK. the embarrassment is far worse than the pain. ronan stumbles back a step, just barely managing to catch himself against a handrail before he goes tumbling down. by the time he steadies himself, brushing stray sand from his blazer, his face is already twisted in a scowl. ❛ fine, ❜ he barks curtly, eyes flashing, ❛ lucky for you. watch where you're tossing those things, huh? ❜   

[starstckrs]

deja + ??? : july 31, mid - afternoon @ casual edge boutique @boneyardstarters

the torrential downpour wreaking havoc from above waxed and waned, which is what initially planted the false idea in deja's head that she had more time than she actually did for some retail therapy. she was particularly susceptible to cabin fever, even in her luxury apartment paid for by her residuals. she needed to move, explore, discover. and most of all - she needed a new wardrobe. she'd clung onto her current one for so long that most pieces were worn and tattered, too fragile for continued use. so, she ventured by cab to casual edge, one of the only places in vegas she wholeheartedly trusted when it came to her specific style. when she lived in los angeles, there were countless options, so much so that she often found herself stuck in decision paralysis. at least in vegas she could feel like she was contributing more to others, considering it wasn't a chain store like she used to frequent. once arriving and combing through each aisle meticulously, she carried an armful of clothes into the dressing room and emerged with the first outfit, watching herself move in the mirror before she noticed the reflection of another behind her. "shit. didn't see you there," she said, swallowing the fright she encountered from seeing them unexpectedly. "might wanna work on your 'hello's and 'how are you's before you give someone a heart attack," she remarked, then gave a gentle sigh as her hands fell to her sides. "well, while you're here, how do you think i look in this? and before you say it's too baggy, that's kind of the whole point."

[slauqhtered]

— 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚜 always been a temperamental mistress, as fickle & wild as the masses that roam her streets. many a winning streak at the croupier's table has been known to end in bills & bankruptcies, the chapel elvises make wagers on which elopements will come to tears & which will come to blows. the skies themselves roll the same dice, never behaving as they should. six weeks of dry, empty skies, and then the worst storm in months. on, of course, the day she'd stepped out in brand new leather boots. and so darya finds herself in the first boutique she'd spotted on the strip, rifling through shoeboxes for something both cheap enough to ruin in rain and nice enough to be seen in. it's far harder than it should be. bro--- what is with all the ankle boots? are they the new fashion? how horrifically tacky. as she turns into the next aisle, eyeing a pair of strappy brown sandals, she near gets bowled over by a blue-and-red blur ducking out of the changing rooms. she steps back to give the girl room, hands raised in surrender at the way she starts. is darya that intimidating? she's flattered. ❛ it's a store, babes. other people are usually in here, ❜ she lazily drawls, a wry smile at the edges of her mouth. she'd been just as startled, in truth, but she's become adept at never letting it show. she collects herself as she circles the girl slowly, gaze dragging assessingly up and down the outfit. ❛ don't hate me, but it's kind of...where's waldo. i don't think anyone over ten should be wearing stripes with jean shorts. ❜