#crimenalist

[lovetold]

Ida I miss you come back

i miss u 2 <3

[cassandratheory]

Woodsboro, California was supposed to be one of the safest places in the world. A suburban town where nothing ever happened. The Stepford Wives existed, the Men were White and Blue collared workers, kids existed within their normal antics of being menaces to society.

NO ONE THOUGHT IT WOULD EVENTUALLY BECOME THE KEY TO A KILLER CAPITOL PLAYGROUND. SIDNEY NEVER THOUGHT SHE'D LOSE SO MANY PEOPLE HERE.

Blood stained face, she sat in the back of the ambulance truck, shocked by the incident. Sidney can't help but reflect on what just happened and what it all means. Billy Loomis and Stu Macher ruining her idea of love and friendship. The loss of Tatum Riley that would gut Sid for years to come. The way she viewed and felt love never being the same. Sidney always doubting it from others and from herself as well. She sat in silence knowing that the Massacre that was Ghostface at 261 Turner Lane in Woodsboro changed the entire trajectory of Sidney Prescott's life.

SHE JUST IS NOT FULLY AWARE OF IT QUITE YET.

❝ What did you say? ❞ She snaps back to reality. Sidney's body is sore and tender. It's like every nerve is on fire with each injury sustained during the attack. ❝ Where's Randy? And Gale? Are they okay? ❞

@crimenalist

[crofter]

𝙷er decorum seems to be vacant. Missing, absent, forgotten. 𝔏𝔦ƙ𝔢 𝔞 𝔟𝔲𝔩𝔩 𝔦𝔫 𝔞 𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔞 𝔰𝔥𝔬𝔭, her demeanour is disruptive. She causes Calleigh's morning coffee to tip over, falling directly onto her own leather boots, and instead of offering an apology: [SHE LETS OUT A HISS OF PROFANITY UNDER HER BREATH.]

QUARTER TO ONE, [ 12:45 ].

𝐀nd the campus is filled with students, lounging around on the sun-kissed grass, the Spring air harsh on Lara's cold manner. Reeling from the end of midterms, overzealous for whatever sober-stripping night they have planned, she can feel herself turning bitter by the second. Spotting Calleigh from a distance, a vision of a familiar face being a bittersweet start to her truancy, she knows she has no right to be upset. From the surface, it seems like typical Lara, pissed about something or the other. But underneath layers of self-pity, 𝙳𝙴𝙿𝚁𝙴𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽, & the absence of her ambition's catalyst, Lady Croft has strayed from her pristine GPA. Blame it on her constant partying, her inability to stay in one city for no longer than ²⁴ hours, & the disgust in authoritative control ... It is what has led her here, towering over Calleigh, expression different to her norm.

@crimenalist ── 1999, UNIVERSITY COLLEGE LONDON.

𝙻ips are pouted, eyes blank, thin manicured brows arched. " I need a cigarette. Do you have a cigarette? " She's perfectly aware that she sounds ridiculous. Consonance laced with irritation, discourtesy, 𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔡𝔞𝔦𝔫. She doesn't mean to throw it all at the blonde, nor does she want her to coddle. Right this instant, all she wants ... is the sticky-brown sensation of tar running down her throat.

𝕭ony digits slide into her pockets, the cinched waist of her leather jacket keeping them warm. Another sensation to fixate on, rather than the enveloping regret & shame. To admit she's failing in front of Calleigh ─ the poster child for academic weaponry ─ would be the greatest embarrassment of all. Lips twitch, and she tilts her head in a moment of submission.

" ── I'll buy you another cup of coffee. "

[systemist]

LH. Lee stood alone,  waiting. Whoever she had come here with had gone,  whoever she had been listening to speak in this crystalline - structure of a building where the sound echoed so delicately though never fragilely,  they had also gone away.   Whatever echoes remained of the bustle that filled in the building during its waking,  working hours had long scurried away,  settling in for the night,  keeping away in hidden corners to tease the night crew as odd bumps and murmurs in the after - hours.   Why hadn’t she just left with the others?   Gone home after the day had sunk below the horizon like the rest?There was a missing step:   a phone call that needed to be made before she could call it and out into the night.   A phone call awkwardly taken,  routinely made,  and on some of those days back then  —  deeply needed.   But the line had gone dead and now there was a gaping hole in front of Lee where an easy step should be;  most days she could get across it with a bit of a leap,  but sometimes. . .   like now,  it took a bit of warming up to.   So, Lee stood alone,  waiting for her thoughts to subside,  for the moment the timing felt right.  Then,  she would take the step.   Same as she had done every day since—

HER MOTHER’S VOICE, REEDY AND LACED WITH A LIFETIME OF STRAIN,  STRETCHING OUT THROUGH THE LINE TO REACH:   LEE?

THE LIEUTENANT’S VOICE,  SOFT AND LILTING WITH ITS NATURAL MUSIC,  SOUNDING SO SUDDENLY THROUGH THE EMPTINESS TO ASK: CAN I SEE YOU? / @crimenalist

Her head turned,  but her body did not follow;   there was only the slightest of lowering in one shoulder as her gaze sought out the lieutenant.   Eyes met and Lee gave the smallest inclination of her chin for a nod.   Her shoes whispered across the cold tiles,   and in stepping into the lieutenant’s lab,  Lee could see that though there were hardly two specks of dust to rub together out in the hallways, the immaculate took on a new meaning here in this small universe of steel and precise numbers.   The extra lab coats hanging on hooks by the door drew her attention,  but only for a moment;  then,  as light often found itself caught in all manner of matter,  so did Lee find herself drawn back to the sunny,  cordial woman at the centre of the lab.   She stood still and asked,   “  Is this about what Sanford said?  ”

AGENT HARKER’S VOICE, STEADY AND QUIET IN ITS SURENESS, RINGING OUT IN A SINGULAR PLAINNESS. NO NERVES, NO CLUES TO WHAT LAY BEHIND.

[crofter]

Time can be quite kind to Lara. Grief comes in waves, just like her attitude, as well as her joy. The latter comes in a much more relaxed way compared to others, the slight flutter of her ebonies being enough... Yet what brings her such immense joy — the kind where time itself becomes redundant, and the only necessity is the thrill seeping through her bloodsteam: 𝚃𝚁𝙰𝚅𝙴𝙻𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙾 𝙵𝙸𝙽𝙳 𝚄𝙽𝙲𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝙶𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳. Both emotionally & physically, she finds something new wherever her combat boots take her... After last year's Paris debacle, and fighting for her mere innocence, you would think that same humility would be thriving in its newfound home of liberation — quite the contrary, actually. Instead, it finds home in absence, as it is no longer manifested in Lara's frame. The only thing there is the hunger for more. [More danger? Extra challenge! Whatever the mission – 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚃 𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙸𝙽.]

Lara's kept herself busy with quite a few things, it seems. Weekends are preoccupied with boxing, Mondays + Wednesdays + Thursdays are reserved for Kip and training. With Tuesdays & Fridays left vacant for mischief. As a favour to Margot Carvier, Lara had agreed to give up this week's Friday to a seminar... Led by none other than Lady Croft. As it came to an end, as did her interest, she opted out of taking the immediate eruption from the student body ahead of her as an insult once she was done. The Tomb Raider doesn't dare to occupy herself with things that will cause doubt. Actually, she rather enjoys being her biggest fan. And with that, she acknowledges the empty conference hall with a subtle nod, accompanied with a half-sigh.

FINGERS SCRAMBLE THE REAR POCKET OF HER LOW-WAISTED JEANS, TAKING OUT A PIECE OF GUM & LAYING IT FLAT ONTO HER TONGUE. [@crimenalist: still pretending to be an archaeologist?] It comes from behind her, and for a split-second, the hair on Lara's neck stands tall. She immediately wipes away the surprise on her face, letting a rush of coy take its place. “ Whatever pays the bills, right? ” Marion will not be paying Lara for this. “ Were you here for the entire thing? You could've told me you were coming — I would've worn my PORN STAR t'shirt. ” Voice monotone, yet the slightest tinge of menace comes out to play. Lara notices her hair is a little darker, yet pays it no mind. She might be remembering it wrong — considering it had been a full year since she'd last seen her: (𝙶𝙰𝙻𝙻𝙸𝚅𝙰𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳 𝙿𝙰𝚁𝙸𝚂.

“ So, who's died now? I know you're not just here to see me — The 8 unanswered calls since I got back from Paris last year have made that very clear. [LARA IS NOT ONE TO TALK, SHE HAS HAD FOUR NEW PHONE NUMBERS SINCE.] Ah── ” She holds a finger up to stop Calleigh from speaking. Then gestures to her ear to explain that they may have ears on them.

“ Come. Let's have a smoke. ”

[crofter]

[𝐋]ara's been feeling so reminiscent lately. somewhat second nature, living in solitude should come fairly easy for the brunette – except it causes her to claw at memories & miss the chill of london's winter air. paris hasn't been all that disappointing, what with the warrant out for her arrest & her never-ending bad luck ordeal. finding solace in a run-down kebab shop has never felt sweeter, reminiscent of her night outs at the local ronnie scott's, but the tarmac feels different –you're in new waters: THEY SEEM FRESH BUT SOMETHING'S DECAYING. whether it's her time left without handcuffs or the potent roadkill laying by her feet, her cards have been dealt. nothing left to do now but to live [with it.

the kick snare, eyes wide shut in a bid to time travel, report back to a time where no one knew her name yet loved to look at her face. it's been so long since she's walked into a room with confidence & full conviction, prepared to blow anyone anyway– whether it be with her tongue or her gun / she'd appreciate the choice back. deep in thought, reminiscing once again, both for the sake of remembering a time where things weren't so dreadful and to mask the scent of wastage & cadaver. leather biker jacket fastened to repel a chill, whether successful or not, she fiddles with its zip whilst sinking into her seat.

–that is, until she's greeted by a porcelain face. she seems too pristine to be found under these dim lights, the very ones that accompany lara every night to her destined doom. . berry lipped, piercing blues, ENOUGH TO MAKE THE TOMB RAIDER CRUMBLE.

before she can speak, the cat leaps out of its bag– and she is familiar with the truth. one she's known for far too long, bearing it alone & without the freedom of sharing with another. once the realisation hits, she feels her throat dry itself, croak up the very second she has the chance to speak her mind. *no one has asked, –but the choice has returned to its rightful owner. [@crimenalist.

❛˚ Pouvons-nous parler en anglais? Can you understand me? ˚❜ she doesn't mean for it to spill like a plead, yet the damage is done. ❛˚ . . .Who sent you? ˚❜

[astrophager]

⋆ ⭒ ˚ . ⋆ KISSES GONE WRONG. ACCEPTING.

hair. fingers tangle in hair unintentionally, followed by frantic untangling. — @crimenalist.

❛ you— are so— confusing. ❜ the insult — if that is what it was intended to be — certainly loses its weight when it is dispersed between mouths meeting breathlessly, the thrum at his neck as rampant as a rabbit running along his veins. all in all, he thinks the conference went well : no nonsensical questions, no technical difficulties, and he’d given as good as he got in each debate sparked, including with her. he finds himself wondering more and more often if calleigh will be at these events, never dares text her number ( still unsaved in his phone but the digits practically memorised, their messages fleeting and ephemeral, sporadic in their frequency or lack thereof ) but always seeks her out, would know her in a crowd or from the back of her head, always gives a wry smile but never an outright greeting unless their circles happen to collide. they certainly collide now.

the empty lecture hall echoes their tottering footsteps as they find a wall for purchase to lean against, and he swears his hand shot upward to save her head from knocking against the solidity of its surface. instead of cradling her crown his fingers suddenly get wrapped up in blonde tresses — an impressive feat given how poker straight it is — and his attempts to untangle himself only result in further retorts of pain from the woman certainly no longer kissing him, her face a picture of annoyance.

there’s the calleigh i know and tolerate. still i am apologetic — i’m not a total jackass — and carefully extricate myself from the knotted nest that her hair has become, have to hold back a spluttering laugh and make a throaty sound of amusement instead.

his hands are more hesitant in matting down the mess of it, wondering if she’ll bite his hand off for trying, but really the chaos of it only makes him want to kiss her more. hasn’t that always been where they were most comfortable ? an ambiguous back and forth, never quite knowing where they’ll land. ❛ you’re so not sulking about that. after you didn’t tell me you’d be in genoa. be serious for a sec. ❜ maybe he’s holding a bit of a grudge, and maybe he’s also still holding the nape of her neck, gently guides a pressure with his hand that meets with the ducking forward of his lips, nose nudging with hers when he waits at a breath’s distance away. she’s got to lean in and close the gap first.

[hailpercyus]

" I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING. I SWEAR. "

ANOTHER SCHOOL EXPULSION. GREAT. JUST WHEN HE STARTED GETTING ACCUSTOMED TO THE PLACE. THE FRUSTRATION IN HIM CAN BE SENSED AS HE CLENCHES THE EMPTY COCA-COLA BOTTLE IN HIS HAND.

" I BET YOU THAT STUPID SMELLY GABE SET ME UP. HE DIDN'T EVEN WANT ME AT THAT SCHOOL BECAUSE IT WAS TOO FAR. I BET YOU HE PUT THAT STUFF IN MY BAG. " PERCY CAN FEEL A SWELL OF RAGE TOWARDS GABE, TOWARDS HIS MOM FOR BEING WITH HIM, TO HIMSELF FOR NOT BEING HYPERAWARE OF WHAT WAS EVEN IN HIS BAG.

" I'M LUCKY I DIDN'T GET ARRESTED! I OWE YOU ONE BY THE WAY. REALLY, THANKS. I'D PROBABLY BE SEEING THE INSIDE OF A JAIL CELL IF IT WASN'T FOR YOU. "

@crimenalist : accepting .