fragile one

[stcrmyeyes]

HEY, i think i just saw SAMANTHA ALCOTT walking down the strip. stop by to catch up and you’ll learn the TWENTY NINE YEAR OLD is working as a/an COPY EDITOR FOR THE LAS VEGAS SUN and lives in MANOR SUITES. given they are INTELLIGENT but BLUNT, it’s unlikely that they ARE NOT a vampire. i bet you can find them tearing up the dance floor to THE FAMILY JEWELS - MARINA and you’ll know why they’re called THE BROKEN BIRD. 

trigger warnings for intro : child abuse, suicide

pinterest : link

Originally born in Tasmania, Australia, with her half sister and brother and father, Samantha was the youngest of the three. The family was upper middle class and may have appeared to have it all and as if they were perfectly content from an outside perspective but within the walls of the home, it was anything but happy.

Her father was a disdainful and mean man, though majority of his contempt was received by her older sister physically while the youngest hid in the shadows and, for the most part, was generally ignored my patriarch of the family.

Samantha may have gotten by without much of abuse directed her way, but she was often neglected and received little attention, leading her to become self sufficient from a young age.

She spent a lot of her childhood trying to move around the house in secret and exist without much notice, enjoying many hobbies that could be done in solitude, such as reading and writing.

When she was just eight years old, her older brother would take his own life as a teenager, leaving just her and her sister under their father's care and making the family home even more unbearable to be in.

When she was not much older, her sister had accidentally pushed her when Samantha tried to jump in to stop her from being hurt by their father, something she had usually never tried out of fear. This would lead to a life altering injury to her left leg, leading her to walk with a slight limp even now, though she has a multitude of lies that she uses should anyone ever ask her about. Very few are aware of the truth behind how she actually got it.

As soon as she turned eighteen, the blonde moved as far from home as was possible, choosing a school in America to go to and ending up at Boston University to study journalism. From there, she would go on to Syracuse University for her masters, while working a number of media internships. She would continue to move around the United States based off taken job offers for a number of different media outlets, enjoying the distance from a home that was nothing of bad memories and a world away from a life that was determined to leave in the past.

She would eventually settle in Las Vegas, NV after securing a position as copy editor at the Las Vegas Sun.

Usually keeping to herself as it was the way she had lived her life for so long, Samantha is incredibly career-focused and is usually spending long hours in the newspaper's office or taking her work home with her, unbothered by working past the usual nine to five hours. She'd prefer to have something to focus on than nothing at all, finding too much free time bothersome.

When she isn't working, she can usually be found doing yoga, encouraging her own caffeine addiction with plenty of coffee, or spending time with her girlfriend.

[hearts-and-hugs]

As the blonde talked, it seemed like she might know a lot more about the family than she did--though it's not like working at the Casino granted her much face time with the Vitelli family, nor did she really want that. Still, her eyes got a bit wider and she said "Oh, wow... Well, I don't really blame them for wanting to take their time with it." She knew from personal experience, of course, though she always found it best to keep moving and looking forward. It wasn't out of avoidance, really, but rather, a need to find the bright side of every situation. She and her sister had been blessed with the gift of optimism, which is something that not many other people could say. When she mentioned the unsweet tea, it was as if an invisible light bulb had gone off at the top of her head. "Oh! Sugars, you did ask for an unsweet tea! I'm so sorry about that, darlin'!" she said, her southern twang escaping from her lips. "I'll be right back with that!" With that, she was off, her orange hair flowing behind her. She headed to the bar and requested a tea, yet when the bartender asked, she couldn't remember if it had been sweet or unsweet... To say that Celeste was forgetful would be an understatement. In the end, she'd gone with unsweet--her guest could always put in artificial sugar if she needed it. Finally, she arrived back at the table with the woman's drink. "Here you go, love. Sorry about that--I don't have the greatest memory."

[stcrmyeyes]

HER BROWS ROSE IN CONSIDERATION of agreeing with the other's sentiment, empathy seemingly rolling off of her in bounds. The blonde supposed that was the normal response by any bystander taking note of the family's troubles, looking in from an outsider perspective and unable to see anything but grieving relatives. Part of working in news and media that Samantha had always prided herself in was always looking at everything from a purely objective perspective, unwillingly to allow any bias to cloud her judgement were she be able to help it, including that of sympathy. Perhaps it made her cold, and she was starting to believe that when she lacked the same understanding as the waitress; if anything, she was more annoyed that the story everyone wanted to hear more on was being held up by a family who was all over the city only now wanting privacy. "I suppose they have a reason, but with all they're involved in regarding the public, they should know now isn't the time for seclusion." Her tone was even, maybe even a bit detached, the same it would take on when speaking on any work matters. What did manage to garner some sort of emotion on her face, even if it wasn't the tragedies of one of the city's most notorious families, was the southern charm exuded from the candy-colored woman, a small smile of amusement in response to the accent and pet names falling from her mouth, certainly not something she was used to in Sin City. "Thank you. Sweet tea is a bit too sweet for me. That may not be what you're familiar with hearing, though, with its popularity in the southern states, correct?" At least from what she had gathered in the years she now had under her belt of living in America. "Where are you originally from?"

[somethignnclever]

location: dollhouse burlesque time: event 1997 being broad on purpose for: open! @boneyardstarters It wasn't the attention she enjoyed, it was the rush. Similar to hopping up on the stage at Glitter, or looking down the dip of a roller coaster, singing in front of a crowd presented a unique euphoria that she happily indulged in. One round, she covered You Oughta Know after being obsessed with Alanis Morissette for the last month, and now she belted out a rock version of Helter Skelter with her own blues voice, putting a twist on the vocals.

She's beaming by the time she bounces off the make shift stage, giggling and letting her friends know she'd be back after getting a drink, stopping at the karaoke sign up list again to see if there were any other songs that stood out. Eyes dart to the side, her body shuffling over a bit so the person next to her could read teh book.

"Please, if you know what you wanna sing go ahead, I'm not sure I'm gonna go again." She smiles, handing the pen over to her new counterpart. Were they here for karaoke? Who knows, she can't hear much, but she does know one of the bands is going to go on soon, and the host would probably be wrapping up. But if they wanted to be brave beforehand, she wasn't going to stop anyone.

[stcrmyeyes]

HOW SHE HAD MANAGED TO LOSE TRACK of her date for the night shouldn't have been a difficult challenge to figure out, the burlesque club was absolutely packed to the brim and her girlfriend was nearly impossible to find amongst a sea of people despite their brightly colored hair, especially so when Sam lacked any good vantage point. She had figured her best bet would be choosing one side of the room to try and scan the rest of the grounds from, even if their average height offered no true aid in such an endeavor. Perhaps it was a bad idea to split up, even if the bathroom line was much too long to hold someone hostage who hadn't needed to go. Taking a step back, chin raising with no hope of getting a better viewed, Samantha hadn't meant to bump the stand holding the book of what she would soon learn to be holding the karaoke list, gaze immediately dropping to it. "Oh, no, I couldn't-" Getting up in front of a crowd with all eyes upon her would essentially be what her truest nightmares would be fueled by, unable to think of a worse fate than being at the center of stark attention of so many people. "I wouldn't know how to have the courage to get up in front of everyone and sing. I'm not sure even my shampoo bottles are only a captive audience by force when I sing in the shower." It was meant as a joke, but her ever-existing dry tone prevailed even as she spoke it. "You've already sung tonight, haven't you?" Her red hair seemed familiar, even under the florescent lights of the club. "You should go again. You have a nice voice."

[flytrcps]

with: @stcrmyeyes where: outside glitter gulch when: anytime during the event

"I look like a right fucking arse right now." There was a twinge of irritation in her conjecture that was directed solely toward herself, one hand against her cocked hip, sporting a cowboy hat that kept tipping down over her eyes and an empty holster slung around her waist, and spurs on her boots that click-clacked every time she took a step in any direction. ( Which, by the way, were insanely fucking heavy and led her down the rabbit hole of wondering how anyone stomached to wear them every hour of every fucking day less than a hundred years ago. ) "And you want me to hit this shit with a hammer like I'm Thor? What if I hit it hard enough that I go flying into space? Or... flying right onto my ass and blow the seat of my pants off." Of course, Ivy was complaining for the sake of complaining — given it wasn't a game of chance and strength that Samantha could participate in herself, their qualms were actually relatively few. "Okay, stand back, just in case I throw this shit like when I dropped that bowling ball on my foot the last time we went out to Sunset Lanes. I'm not willing to repeat my trip to the ER over that one."

[stcrmyeyes]

"NO, I THINK YOU LOOK...CUTE." A small smile and dusting of a blush coated the tops of her cheeks with a compliment, blue eyes turning to take in her girlfriend's appearance once more. "The American cowboy hats are much more aesthetic than what the Aussie stockman wear. If everyone here was dressed like one of them, there'd be a lot more trench coats..." Not that Samantha believed the costume version of cowboy attire was entirely accurate, but even she, someone who wasn't entirely keen on crowded events and nights out on the town, could appreciate how the theme of the night reminded her of old westerns she'd put on the small television in their house to drown out the yelling of her father and whoever he chose to harp on for an argument on any given evening. The only perk of barely existing to him was that it would usually be her brother or sister chosen for such a role. "Ives, if you truly do not wish to play the game, you don't have to," she conceded, though she knew her well enough not to take every complaint to heart but rather with a grain of salt. "I thought you would prefer to hang out at the part of the festivities that weren't located at your work. And for what's it worth, if hitting that lever hard enough to ring the bell gets you the biggest prize hanging up there, then certainly sending yourself flying should get you an even more impressive one," she joked, proving that despite the list of them being incredibly unserious, she had still listened to every word. Taking a step back as instructed, a pale hang gestured for her to go ahead, reminding, "Get a good grip on it. I don't wish to return to the emergency room tonight, either. But also because if my years of softball taught me anything, it's all in the grip." A bat wasn't entirely comparable to a hammer, but it was the most helpful advice she had to offer.

[dinah-lance]

[prettysads]

wylder + ??? : may 30, mid - evening @ glitter gulch lounge @boneyardstarters

mud wrestling was one of the few experiences in life wylder was a thousand percent certain she needn't endure. and yet, one of her rowdier friends had suckered her into it, not that it was a very difficult task—even years later, she was still learning that 'no' was a complete sentence. by the time they had versed one another and wylder was proclaimed the champion of the mud pit, she was made unrecognizable from the amount of grime lathered on her short stature. she wiped her face off with her dress, cowboying up beside the overseer so she could collect her reward, then immediately slipped inside in pursuit of a sweet treat. she perused the selection, her elbow inadvertently winding up in the ribs of the people beside her before she leaned in and selected a lemon square, then another just for good measure. she shoved half in her mouth and enjoyed the icing melting on her tongue, side-shuffling her way through the crowds to make it back outside where she could sit in the open air and decompress. but the block was packed, leaving little seating available for her. she spotted a bench at some point, which relieved her as she came up to sit on the empty half. "sorry. this isn't taken, is it?" she asked, offering a mud-covered smile that begged sympathy. "just wanna find somewhere quiet i can eat this lemon square. did you—want one?" awkwardly, she held the second lemon square she snagged from the display out toward them.

[stcrmyeyes]

SAMATHNA HAD MOSTLY BEEN WITNESSING the performance before her with raised brows, slightly impressed with the physical muscle it would take to wrangle such a beast and also in awe that the mud hadn't been a deterrent at all. She couldn't handle that herself, which only made it more impressive to see the ones wrestling with pigs do so as if it were nothing. Scooting her plaid-covered ass to the side, she was easily agreeable. "No, go ahead. Wasn't sure if I could believe the gals in there were real, to be honest," she joked, coughing afterwards as she didn't know if her compliment landed or had just sounded strange. If she were perfectly honest, she had just showed up to see her girlfriend's sparkling face, partially worried from how it hadn't made such an often appearance as she would like. "I mean, I would prefer if you didn't get any mud on me, but I understand if that's an unreasonable ask," Ah shrug fell from her shoulder. "No hard feelings if not just...you know." Her hand ran down the side of her pencil skirt, not meaning any true offense but being mindful all the same. "Lemon isn't exactly my favorite--but thank you. Wasn't there some sort of blueberry scone being served as well? Or did I mishear?" Boots kicked against the flooring, feeling awkward and incapable of filling the space all the same. "You did really well, at the wrangling, I mean. My girlfriend would probably have a better thought on it but, even I could tell you did a good job."

[flytrcps]

You should know by now you're never a bother. It was as if the stress evaporated from their pores — Samantha had always been equipped with an abundance of patience that they thought they were undeserving of, as they could be a fearsome hothead when it came down to it, especially when they were out in public together. There was nothing shying them away from a fight with a stranger if they misconstrued an act or a slip of the tongue the wrong way. Trauma had altered their perspective of the world into a bleak array of greys, and the copy editor was the splash of color on the page. Learning how to appreciate others without assuming themselves to be either a burden or someone tucking away a hidden agenda into their coat pocket was an arduous step in their program that they hadn't fully wrapped their psyche around. "...Do you think they're having fun, at least? Alice and McKayla. I could barely handle Cyrek's wedding without being overwhelmed." The turnout for the guest list had been significant, even if the reception itself was lacking in lavish ornamentation that she imagined the Weiss family was churning out. She didn't know much about the family at all, except that Romi had deep pockets and had once lived in that massive manor. A small smile came to cradle the corners of her own mouth, saying softly, "I've had worse couches. It's comfortable enough for me to doze off in your arms."

Pushing wet curls behind her ear, she admitted, "I'm surprised he got married at all. What they ended up doing for it seemed very... them, I guess. We haven't really gotten to know each other again since... I disappeared." Could it be counted as an I if the choice wasn't her own? At times, it felt as if it was her fault. Maybe if she had been paying more attention to the people she was surrounding herself with. Or been on the straight-and-narrow where her reality didn't narrow down to the next time she could go to the corner store. She often found her mind wandering to what chain of events led up to it. Had someone begun following her, taking note of her patterns, back when she was couch-surfing in New York City? Or was it someone she knew? It was a moot point now, anyway. "Um, the landlord was kind of a twat to me and kind of vague. But only a couple days, I hope. The apartment's really kind of a shithole, I'm surprised something didn't fucking break any sooner. It's the smallest place in the entire building." After a moment, she patted the spot beside her on the bed, inviting her girlfriend to sit with her.

[stcrmyeyes]

SAMANTHA HAD ALWAYS BEEN A STRAIGHTFORWARD PERSON, and she had always thought that made her superb at communication. Rarely was ever a question of where the blonde stood on something because she would try to make it as obvious as possible, until it came to her interpersonal relationships that were often lacking in that exact subject and left her confused on why. Up until recently with Ivy and she had to connect the dots, which was not an quick process that stating everything in her mind, to her, meant it something was left unsaid it was simply because it wasn't an issue. Samantha didn't need to say Ivy was never a bother because were they ever, she would simply say so. Thus if she never had, it should have been obvious the vice versa was true.

Clearly, running on assumptions of what was obvious wasn't the best way to conduct any relationship, but especially a romantic one. A hard learned truth.

It was something she was trying to improve upon, even if it was a lengthy process as there hadn't been any successful examples regarding love that she could look to for insight; if anything in her family, there had just been large flashing signs of what not to do. But when it almost appeared that her girlfriend relaxed a bit after hearing her words, she took it as a silent sign that it was a step in the right direction, even if it didn't earn its own vocalized response. "I would hope they are; it would probably be easier to write a good article if they weren't being tortured by sitting through it. Though I have to say, marking two people getting married is the singular only similarity those weddings would have in common with each other," she joked dryly, though it was hardly humor when she was sure the comment had a high chance of being true. "Well, I'm glad you think so, hopefully Willow agrees. Not about the part including my arms, though, as those are already reserved for only one person." A small smile formed on her face, though it next morphed into thoughtful interest. "You didn't think he would get married? Why is that? They didn't appear to have any second guessing regarding marriage judging by the vows. I believe you, though. Even if you aren't as close now, I think you still know him better than I." Not only did they have a unique tie in genealogy between her and the gang leader, there were also times it was awkward when she would get distracted by just odd it was to watch who sometimes felt like a ghost of her own brother age all while knowing he never would. Unintentionally, it bred distance on Sam's end. Walking over to sit next to the Burlesque club worker, she gracefully sat upon the edge of the mattress next to her, moving a lock of wet bubblegum-colored hair, letting her hand falling in the space upon the sheets between them, never forceful with her touch. "I was thinking maybe, as poor as it is that this happened, that maybe we could use this as an opportunity for us. We spend a lot of time going back and forth between each other's places, and...I don't want to sound as if I'm rushing things, but if this week goes well, I wouldn't hate tossing around the idea of living together, you and me."

[thcshyster]

The event had been devastating. A wrench to his chest as the news hit him. He found out about it quickly, probably sooner than the other Vitelli children, and he was quick to rush to the scene. With his influence and connections, he was able to gather some whispers about what had happened. Devastating couldn't begin to cover it.

The harassment the family had been receiving had been taking a toll on Meera in particular. She had been dealing with them for weeks, her own personal issues making her a spectacle of conversation. To say the increased attention was not settling on her comfort was an understatement. So, of course, in predictable Jimmy style, he agreed when she asked him to get them off their backs.

His office had become an increasingly popular spot. Visitors were coming and going so often, he had to stop taking personal jobs. His priorities would first and foremost always be the kids he took responsibility for.

"Yes, I have been close with the Vitelli family for a very long time. They've been going through more than anyone should have to this year. I'm just hoping to ease some of their burden." This would be a very cryptic interview. Answers were not coming, but he hoped some publicity, a sob story, would be enough to hold the public off even for just a day or two.

"I know there are questions. It was a horrific scene. Franco has become beloved by many. It's only natural for people to want to know what has happened." Franco's popularity was questionable; Jimmy was well aware of that, but press was press. He was more than accustomed to the language of it.

Jimmy nodded. "I trust your work. You haven't failed me before." He offered her a sad but polite smile. He had always preferred kindness, friendliness. It's why he had never taken a role of authority before. He didn't have it in him to drive fear. "So what do you want to know? I will answer the best I can."

[stcrmyeyes]

IT WAS NICE TO ACTUALLY HAVE a piece of her own to once again work on over the editing and placement of someone else's, uncommon in her day to day responsibilities but not unheard of. Considering the two best journalists were saddled with the Weiss wedding they had been attendance of, it would make sense for Samantha to take on the other boisterous news that had happened on the same day, of which she had witnessed via the television that sat in the corner of the Soapbox when trying to get all of the bedding cleaned for her new guests staying over. It seemed they shouldn't been sending their writers there over the wedding, though the copy editor heard that event hadn't gone without its own tumult, either. (Besides, the Weiss family was paying a pretty penny to have it covered as front page news. The irony that it would be sat next to an article detailing an assassination.) "When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions," she quoted softly, coughing afterwards when she realized it may not have been as well known. "Shakespeare. The relevance of his words never seem to expire. I'm sure they're very lucky to have your aid during this time, though." Pulling the cassette recorder from her bag, she placed it upon what she assumed to be an expensive desk between them, asking, "Do you mind if I record our conversation? It'll make it easier than writing down every one of your words." And Sam refused to get a single quotation wrong as she hadn't once in her years of journalism. "I appreciate your trust," she replied genuinely, a sincere smile crossing her face, as it truly did make her job easier to have such an interview subject who had such faith in her abilities. "Are you able to speak on Francisco Vitelli's state? It seems all reports up until now have been kept vague. Additionally, were there any threats made against his person in the days leading up the speech?"

[materialistses]

Anya Taylor-Joy in Japan

[alessandroxvitelli]

With: @boneyardstarters Where: Vegas Strip When: March 24th, 1997

Sunglasses on his face, Alessandro was currently finishing a post-lunch cigarette. Taking a final drag, he threw it on the ground, stepping on it, and then exhaling the smoke. He was currently looking up at a billboard that was being set up near the MGM Grand, grinning. Sure, his brother had just been shot, but... Alessandro had information the public was not privy to, a little bit of plastic surgery, and he'd be fine. He was helping Meera run things, but she had a good head on her shoulders, realistically better than Alessandro's. Leading the family was a temporary position anyway. This billboard, though, that was going to be his. Just his.

Apparently, one of the pictures in the newspaper of him at his father's funeral caught the eye of a few designers, who wanted to use him as a model....one of the faces of the 1997 Calvin Klein Spring Collection, that billboard was going to be him doing just that. When he heard someone speak to him, he snapped out of it, turning to face them, nodding his head.

"Can you believe it? That whole billboard up there is just going to be me? I mean, I've always been told I've had a big head, but now I really am." Still smiling, he paused for a few seconds, realizing this person probably did not approach him about that. "I imagine you probably care more about the other reasons the Vitellis have been in the news, to which I cannot comment on that, at all. So don't even bother. Although I will say this, everyone is fine. We're all good, pinky promise."

[stcrmyeyes]

SAMANTHA ALCOTT WAS QUITE FAMILIAR with the Vitelli family, regardless if her face was entirely unrecognizable to a single one of them. As copy editor, she read every single article about, featuring, or mentioning both families who the city both from behind the scenes and from centerstage, and there was some interest she took in it, if she were to be entirely honest. She presumed it was for the same reason anyone's eyes were drawn to a newspaper mentioning them, whether you liked them or disliked them, or merely felt indifferent, there was something that made the events surrounding them alluring, as they were quite literally, anything but boring. And that was practically a goldmine in her line of work. Finding Alessandro Vitelli appreciating...well, himself wasn't shocking to her, eyes following that he was gazing at with wonder. "It's an impressive accomplishment. I'm sure you're quite proud." Sure because it was practically written all over her face. To her, who would much prefer to exist under the radar of almost everyone, she couldn't imagine a greatest horror than that of having her face plastered for all to see, on such a large scale. "Oh, I've not approached for any sort comment; the Sun has already received one regarding your family from Mr. Bates. Plus, I don't think pinky promises are exactly able to be put on the record." Her eyes looked over at him then back to the billboard. "Speaking of off the record, you...surely do not seem concerned that there must be some threat to your family, even if everyone is alright."

[stcrmyeyes]

where: snell law firm when: march 22nd, 1997 who: @thcshyster

SAMANTHA HAD FINALLY GROWN FRUSTRATED WITH the run around of receiving no definitive quote from the Vitelli family, waiting days as the press continued to report on the death but receiving no further direct information. If there was one thing to be said about Samantha Alcott, it was that she did not mess about her career, and while carrying the firm belief that the Las Vegas Sun should be the first to publicize a direct Vitelli quote, she refused to take no for an answer and chose to take one herself once the lawyer chose to act as the spokesperson for the family by offering one. "I'm sure you're going through a lot now," the blonde conceded as she took a seat across from Jimmy Bates, the thought not lost on her that he had quite a exquisite office. "But I'm sure you're aware that the public is in quite distress and wishing to hear from the family after witnessing what had happened. And our publication will handle everything with the utmost of respect, but the longer it all goes without a comment, the more questions and hypotheticals that will arise." As pushy as she truly was when it came to reporting, and she had to be pushy in the past to get to the rank of copy editor that she now sat at, honor and respect sat heavily on her heart. It was also why she refused to publish anything her own eyes ran over that couldn't be proved verifiably true, despite the money offered otherwise. Her honesty couldn't be bought. "Thank you for agreeing to meet. You have my word that whatever statement you hand over to us will be published as is, no edits or extractions."

[hearts-and-hugs]

location: riviera casino & hotel

date: march 25, 1997

@boneyardstarters

The last few days had been quite the whirlwind in the city of Las Vegas. After the assassination at City Hall, it seemed that the Vitelli family had been scrambling to get control of the situation and even though others might think of the PR nightmare it was causing, Celeste couldn't help but feel for the Vitelli family. After all, she knew what it was like to lose someone that you loved. It was horrible and sad and her heart went out to the family. No matter what kind of mess business they were caught up in, they were still people at the end of the day. Everyone had feelings.

Business had seemingly continued as usual at the Casino and even though the staff hadn't been told much about it at all, it was all over the news and it seemed to be all anyone could talk about. "It really is so sad," Celeste said, frowning for a moment as she thought about Franco's demise. "I just hope that the family can mourn in peace. There's so much talk about what will happen next but they just need a moment, ya' know?" Suddenly, she spotted one of her tables from across the dining room and a look of surprise crossed her features. "Oh, shoot! I forgot to put their order in!" She disappeared momentarily as she ran to the bar and apologized for the hundredth time about forgetting to give the drink orders to the bartender. She of course came back to her conversation, though, which was much more pressing to her than her actual job. "Oops," she giggled. "I have got to stop doin' that," she smiled.

[stcrmyeyes]

WORKING IN JOURNALISM HAD ALWAYS been her dream. Not only had Samantha managed to achieve that dream on a speedy path of rising through the ranks of newspaper across the states, but it had been her ticket to moving far away from the man she refused to vocally refer to as her father and a door to freedom to never having to see him again. Despite spending all day working with words, there were none to be found to describe just how coveted her career was to her, though, with all of that said, even she couldn't deny just how insane it could become, especially with all of the recent events. Death after death was being dropped onto her desk faster than she could assign article topics out to writing staff, and the biggest still had so many questions surrounding it that there was very little to actually print without including predictions and guesses rather than true, hard facts. She would have loved to actually experience more what it was like to play house with her girlfriend, but she was seeing the walls of her office more often than that of her own home recently, which was exactly how she had ended up at the Rivera to hopefully have a date night to make up for it. "They seem to be keeping to themselves, so I would believe they are. I've yet to get a statement released by any of them. Perhaps they haven't quite finished mourning the last head of the family, though." Which was frustrating when it only added upon more of what lacked to be put in the paper. "Did you also happen to forget to request an unsweet iced tea from the bar? I'm not sure how long I've been waiting..."

[ofdesertroses]

open starter @boneyardstarters (3/4) muse: constantine gillinski location: outside of soapbox

the washing machine and dryer weren't working at his home. well they haven't been working for days. or was it months? at this point, connie wasn't entirely sure how long it's been. he hasn't had the time to call someone to fix it for him. and he certainly didn't want to go to his elderly mom to ask her to wash his clothes for him. so after a really long day at work, he stops at the soap box to wash a load of clothes that consisted of scrubs and like maybe a few street clothes he's managed to wear.

it had been getting too warm in the building, so he decides to sit outside for whatever cool air there is. it was late at night, not that many people around. which only let him have the clearance to open a can of beer and take a drink of it just as someone else comes up.

"don't worry i promise i'm old enough to drink this." he tells them, picking up the can to show the other. "besides, you wouldn't take a doctor's only source of happiness would you?" he takes a sip and places the can on his knee. it was then that he realizes that he forgot to change his pants to regular ones and saw some blood on his scrubs. "well shit...guess i'll have to wash these tomorrow." he sighs, looking at his can before looking at the other person that joined him. "you here to do late night washing too or just passing by?"

[stcrmyeyes]

THE SMALLER WASHING MACHINE AND DRYER in her unit was being reserved for Ivy and Willa's arrival, as the blonde wasn't sure if the leak that had sprung in their home had left any clothing or fabrics a mess. But ever the host with high standards that she was, she desired to also be able to offer clean bedding for the two roommates as well, leading her with a laundry basket of rumpled sheets and blankets carried on the hip of her pencil skirt. It was an unideal situation for her girlfriend to be dealing with such an inconvenience, but it had brought about an opportunity that Sam was unable to ignore: playing house seemed to make logical sense to her this far into the relationship, and this had brought it about without her even needing to make such a suggestion. And if it went well...that started an entirely new conversation for them to have. The start of conversation had taken her off-guard, never one who was very personable right off the bat and even more than that, she was almost surprised to be noticed. "It would be rude to," she agreed, noting the charisma and yet, lacking any to bring to the conversation herself. "That hard of a day, though, that a beer outside the laundromat is the only happiness? The medical field must be truly brutal." Her job could have high demands, but she couldn't imagine dealing with life or death on a regular basis. The blood was impossible to ignore once his own eyes had fallen on it. "Is that in relation to the rough day?" Situating the basket on her hip once more, the copy editor shook her head. "My apologies, that was incredibly rude to ask. But yes, did the basket give it away?"

[flytrcps]

with: @stcrmyeyes where: samantha's apartment when: march 20th, 1997

Fucking incredible stroke of luck they had — they came home from a long, boring ass day at work to discover that a pipe had burst from the water heater in their basement apartment and there was a good foot of water that ducks could wade through on the floor. After calling the landlord, who insisted there was no use in trying to clean it up tonight, she was left with the choice of sucking up her own pride and dialing her siblings, or one of Willa's, or calling her girlfriend. Option C had won out, and now her roommate was dead asleep on Samantha's couch, and Aiying was sitting on the copy editor's bed with drippy pink curls and a towel around her neck, waiting for her hair to air dry so that her perm didn't puff up to twice its size and give off the appearance of a poodle. "Sorry to bother you. I heard on the news that it was a busy day for the Sun. Like, journalists to write articles about how awesome the wedding was... or something." Actually, she didn't know that much about how journalism itself worked — it would be a good way to bond with her sister Alice, who was always desperate to find ways for the pair of them to grow closer. A fart would be a welcome icebreaker to their awkward silences, sometimes. Sam didn't lead them to feel lesser than as a result of how behind they were from the real world. In their early twenties, they'd foregone prospects of higher education for finding the bottom of bottles and making anger at the world their public enemy number one. Crossing her legs on the bed, she glanced in the direction of the cracked bedroom door, checking on her slumbering roommate. "I didn't want her sleeping with the fishes. Her siblings were all busy tonight, too. Did you go to that wedding, too?"

[stcrmyeyes]

"YOU SHOULD KNOW BY NOW YOU'RE NEVER A BOTHER," Samantha responded warmly with a small smile reserved for her girlfriend, shuffling the pages of paper she had been pouring over at the small desk set up in the corner of her bedroom. The call may have made her leave work earlier than the copy editor usually would have, leading her to place the few articles she hadn't yet gotten to proofreading in the leather portfolio she carried with her to and from work and catching up on what remained while the other made use of the lavish shower in the master bath. "Luckily that doesn't add to my workload until their articles are actually written, but we have our best were in attendance there." She was confident whatever Alice and McKayla were able to churn out in response to the request for the press present for the event. Her head craned as she leaned to follow her line of sight, though it was impossible to see the reporter from where she sat. "I just hope my couch is comfortable enough for her; I had chosen it for how it fit the room rather than for comfort." Though her being fast asleep now was a good sign. "Oh, no, I don't actually write for the paper much anymore, so there wouldn't be a good reason for me to be there. I bet its beautiful, but between you and me, weddings aren't very interesting to me." Pausing after she slid the portfolio back into her bag, she spun the chair around to face Ivy, following up to correct herself, "At least your brother's was unique, which made it a bit more entertaining." Technically her own brother as well, but it felt uncomfortable and weird to use the terminology our brother to her girlfriend, regardless of one half lacking biological ties and the other half lacking any knowledge of him before adulthood. "Were you given any information on how long it'll take for the leak to be fixed? I don't ask because I'm looking to get rid of you, actually it's a bit of the opposite."

[b4rredteeth]

OPEN STARTER @boneyardstarters

Gemma exited the cafe with a flourish, placing the heavily tinted sunglasses on her nose and giving her long trenchcoat a sweep. She did not smile externally, but she lived to create an image, and she knew she looked like she could stab someone and look absolutely beautiful doing it. There was an edge to her that she carried everywhere she went, because she knew some might recognise her for who she was, and she dared them to try their luck. She wanted them to try.

Sadly, most of the time, nobody did.

She even went all the places where she could easily be cornered: dark alleys, empty parks, stuffy bars.

The Weiss capo brought the steaming cup of coffee to her lips and started walking back towards the centre. She fell in line with another at the traffic light and stared at their bag. "Your bag is open," she commented. "Might want to check if you haven't fallen victim to the city's lowlives."

[stcrmyeyes]

SAMANTHA HATED THE IDEA OF BEING FRAZZLED. Her mornings at work were early, preferring to be the first to the Las Vegas Sun's office if she could help it, and her nights were late, finding she did her best proofreading and place setting of articles when there was barely any noise wafting through the halls. She lived to be in certainty and control after years of having neither when they were stolen away by a father who thrived on chaos and unpredictability. Her morning seemed to have taken inspiration from such, with an batteries that ran out of juice overnight in her alarm clock and a rushed, incomplete version of her morning routine (that did include still making some breakfast for her slumbering partner, as that part couldn't be skipped). Hurrying through the door with all her belongings in her arms or shoved in the big tote she dutifully carried to and from work, it wasn't until her heels were clicking down the sidewalk did she receive the clue into her bag hanging wide open, stopping dead in her tracks when the other pointed it out. "Shit," she mumbled, coming to a halt right then and there and looking around her, as if any missing objects would pop out at her. "Did it look like anyone was reaching for it?" Possibly asking for too much, but as the blonde went digging it through herself, she resumed with another question. "There wasn't a planner laying on the sidewalk, was there? What would a thief even do with one, besides absolutely ruin my day." More than it already had been with an upsetting start.

[pro-royalty]

Anya Taylor-Joy

makeup and photography by Raoúl Alejandre

[thesw0rd]

Where: outside the soapbox With: open

There was a heavy downpour the last hour, the ground almost vibrating with the drumming of heavy drops that pounded into the concrete. It left the air humid, despite the cold weather. Petrichor rose off every surface, covering the usual fragrance of smoke and car fumes. The sounds however, returned to normal in the absence of the shower.

A cigarette rolled between the pinch of his first and middle finger, elbows propped on his knees. He stared off at the road, eyes unfixed causing the lights and vehicles to blur together. There was another thirty minuets left on his dryer. He never bothered to buy one for himself. He didn’t mind smoking on the curb.

As the wind blew it sent water droplets that hung from the awning splattering across his shirt, the places it landed clinging to his frame, his jeans darkening with each point of contact.

There was something peaceful about the wait, being unbothered during a time that requested nothing of him. Dominic’s life was like a train that never ran out of track, never quite found the stops. For the most part, he referred that, staying busy. But this was the one time he dedicated himself to silence.

The cigarette was nearing the bud, the cherry burning on the last of the white paper. Without looking, he flicked it off to the side. He wouldn’t have bothered looking at all if it weren’t the looking feeling of being watched. He turned his head only a small fraction, his face still mostly toward the road and offered a small glance to the side. It appeared, he had thrown the remainder of his smoke directly onto someone’s shoe. Oh well.

Without a second thought he diverted his attention back to the road. He didn’t offer an expiration.

A moment passed and he could still feel eyes on him, that uncomfortable burn in the places they landed.

“What do you want? An apology?”

[stcrmyeyes]

IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A PEACEFUL NIGHT. Samantha gotten in late, a normal occurrence for her as her weekday evenings were usually spent at the office even if everyone else who had an acceptable work/life balance had departed once the five o'clock hour had arrived and gone, but the copy editor would always feel a draw to her desk until all work was finished, leaving anything to the next day surely to be racketeering around her mind until she could return to it, so she might as well. The only reasoning that could truly make her leave behind unfinished business would be plans with Ivy, but considering on that night, there were none, she pulled open the door to her luxury condominium at a late hour and was met with silence and darkness. With the consideration for a glass of red wine on her mind once she had completed the few tasks that needed handled of her home, it was swiftly taken off the menu when her washing machine refused to start up and the clothes that had been shoved in were already having liquid detergent seeping into them, leaving the blonde with no choice with to throw them in a basket and lug them all the way down to the nearest opened laundromat. Not only had the trip been unplanned, but so had having to play dodgeball with cigarette butts, which was exactly how it landed upon the tip of the sneakers she'd pulled on to match the comfortable clothes she changed out of her work clothes for. Blue eyes bore into it for a second too long, finally flinging it off with a twitch of her ankle before the steely gaze was wordlessly turned on the person it had departed from. "One would be nice." It hadn't mattered that it was a rhetorical question, her response was straightforward and lacked emotion, anger nor annoyance, as well as any hint of sarcasm. "That would make the most sense. An apology is much less expensive than a new pair of tennis shoes." Again, there was no disdain in her voice, instead just stating an objective fact.