#daniel morrin

[lookslikechill]

WIP Intro: Between His Fingers

➤ Title: Between His Fingers ➤ Genre: Historical Fiction, Murder Mystery, Romance ➤ Tense: Close Third Person  ➤ Status: First Draft/Planning ➤ Setting: Port Cassandra, Northern Coastal California, USA//late 1940′s ➤ Rating: 18+ for sexual content, violence, and just some heavy-ass content. ➤ Themes: personal struggle & growth, PTSD/mental illness, internalized homophobia, institutionalized homophobia, toxic masculinity, flawed/ineffective government/police, police accountability, familial relationships, gay male romance, secret relationship, murder mystery.   ➤ Featuring: secrets & mysteries - old city - underfunded police force - different kinds of romantic relationships - The Ocean & The Forest - car troubles - men being stupid - Angst(tm) - Passion - drunken nonsense - Everybody Smokes(except Miles) - And Swearing

➤ One Line: Two cops in late 40′s coastal California try to solve crimes while also being secretly super gay for each other.

➤ Summary:  

With state of his knee, damaged in the war and making it impossible for him to pursue anybody or anything on foot, Alistair James Sheep is lucky to be an officer with the Port Cassandra Police Department in the first place, never mind the anxious state of mind he keeps tucked under the rug.  He is unlucky to be divorced, a fairly uncommon status in the late 1940′s.  The matter of luck is a bit more complicated when it comes to the forbidden relationship he somehow managed to slip into with Miles Crawford, his very male crime-solving partner of almost two years.  

The modest city of Port Cassandra had not been the most squeaky-clean, crime-free place since Alistair had lived there, but a sudden spike of murders and arson cases has the city on its toes.  It wouldn’t be that much of a problem, if it wasn’t for the department’s outdated and old resources, lack of organization, and dismissive and ineffective Captain.  If that wasn’t enough, some of Miles and Alistair’s fellow officers seem to be more interested in causing more problems than solving them.  

➤ Characters:

Alistair Sheep(pov), 28, male(he/him); reserved & sharp-tongued, anxious & paranoid, mechanically inclined, introverted, detail-oriented, always the driver, great shot, bad at emotions and sharing.

5′10″, white man with a build on the narrower side of things, lean, very dark brown, wavy hair and a short, full beard, modest, blunt eyebrows, brown eyes, sharp/pronounced jawline, subtly bumpy nose with a slight curve to the left,  straight & alert posture/stance, tends to rest his weight to the left, resting asshole face.  

Alistair arrived home before the war ended, in 1944, due to the injuries that left him with a permanent limp and an inability to run effectively.  He doesn’t (refuses to) use a cane most of the time now, but most likely will have to give in as he gets older.  He and his then-wife and childhood friend, Emily, moved to Port Cassandra in very early ‘46 in a last-ditch effort to save their crumbling marriage, which obviously failed.  With the issue of his mobility, he joined Port Cassandra’s Police Department under the condition that he would always have another Officer, capable of running, with him when he was on duty outside of the Station.  

Miles Crawford, 24, male(he/him); gentle & compassionate, capable & confident, prone to singing, whistling and humming, a big picture man, the runner of the pair, can be too willing to forgive and lacks skepticism. 

5′8″, white man with a sturdy, thick build, bit of a belly, wide through the shoulders, short, curly brown hair, clean-shaven, wide-set dark brown eyes, slightly freckled, round face, thick, tapered eyebrows, small ears, nose small & rather rounded, standing stature usually squared but relaxed through the shoulders, expression open and relaxed on average, smiles often.  

Miles grew up in Port Cassandra, in one of the cabins in the woods by the beach on the outskirts of Port Cassandra.  He never knew his mother, and his father was neglectful, at best, physically abusive, at worst.  He left home at 15 and spent the rest of his childhood living with the PCPD’s second-in-command, Joseph Sawtelle, and his family.  He joined the city’s Police Department as soon as he was able, and Sawtelle acted as his mentor throughout the first few years of his service.  

➤ Links:

Port Cassandra Location Intro Valentine’s Day Special Playlist & Excerpt Excerpt - Startled FFF: The Move Character Aesthetic - Alistair Sheep Character Aesthetic - Tobias Rigby Character Aesthetic - Daniel Morrin Character Aesthetic - Alistair Sheep - by Farrradays Art & Playlist - Alistair Sheep - by cr0wfood Worst Tag Game Intro - Alistair Sheep Miles Crawford Character Intro Alistair Sheep Character Intro

Excerpt, Cont. Character List, and Taglist below the cut!

Content Warnings:  Sexual content, physical violence, gun & weapon violence, police violence (mostly cop on cop), unhealthy coping mechanisms re: abuse of cigarettes and alcohol, avoidance, repression.  Homophobic language & violence.  Abuse re: neglect, physical abuse, bad dads in general.  Also war imagery & mentions.  Murder, blood, and gore, of course. Fire, as well.  

➤ Excerpt:

Alistair rotated the wheel and pulled into the thin dirt driveway to the left of the shack of a house they had been called to.  The house  appeared to sink into the forest that surrounded it, the look of it was so raw, wooden, and narrow.  It looked like it belonged there, except for the glaring lights in the windows that cut through the twilight gloom.

It would almost be a peaceful sight, worthy of a postcard, if there weren't first responders hanging out on the front porch.  An ambulance in the driveway.  And now, the police cruiser he sat behind the wheel of.  In the passenger seat, Officer Crawford, Miles, was looking at him again.  Alistair straightened his back and cleared his throat.

"What?"

"Nothing.  You just, you know, you looked like you had something on your mind."

"I assure you nothing is ever on my mind," Alistair said without thinking, and scowled when Miles immediately looked amused.

"Sure.  Why don't we head in before they come looking to see whether we've died, too?"  He said, tilting his head in the direction of the house.

"That joke is in extremely poor taste, Officer Crawford," Alistair drawled as he cut the engine and popped the car door open.

➤ Cont. Character List:

Emily Castaldi, 28, female(she/her), Alistair’s ex-wife, and childhood friend, with whom he still maintains an awkward and erratic relationship. perceptive, clever/witty, independent, works as a housekeeper at one of Port Cassandra’s struggling hotels.

Arthur Pimento, old(60′s?), male(he/him), Captain of the Port Cassandra Police Department, he was a very successful, heroic officer as a young man and won’t admit those days are gone. proud, strict, close-minded, sophisticated, unwilling to admit he’s not as capable as he used to be, married with adult children.

Joseph Sawtelle, mid-40′s, male(he/him), PCPD’s second-in-command, doesn’t feel as if he has as much of a sway over the department as he should. tired, resigned/reluctant, quiet, bitter, married with two feisty teenage daughters, mentor and parental figure to Miles.

Gentry Sinclair, late 30′s, male(he/him), PCPD Officer, family man who just wants to be friends with everybody. bright/cheerful, asks a lot of questions, wants to know the people around him well, Ken doll attractive, married with three young children, he will show people pictures of his family and babble about them.

Daniel Morrin, early 30′s, male(he/him), PCPD Officer, cocky with an ego the size of Texas and not above bullying behavior to get things his way. selfish/self-absorbed, very big and knows it(loves it), takes up way too much space and gets way too close, kind of an asshole all around, picks on everybody(”jokes”), gets along best with Rigby and Sinclair. 

Tobias Rigby, late 20′s, male(he/him), PCPD Officer, served in the war and has never been seen with a woman he wasn’t related to.   extremely reserved/quiet, says very little, very blunt and straightforward when he does open his mouth, short/small but can definitely kick your ass, frowny & mysterious.

Conrad Fitzgerald, early to mid-30′s, male(he/him), PCPD Officer, served in the war but was a Prisoner of War for most of it. a bit erratic, brazen, talks a lot, boxes in his spare time, has been seen by Alistair entering and leaving underground gay bars yet to be raided, charismatic in a relaxed way, married without kids.

Rosemary Fitzgerald, mid 30′s, female(she/her), Conrad’s wife. like her husband, considered a bit odd, smiles too much and talks too fast, paints skulls, only seen wearing dark colors, stubborn, comes to the Station too much.  

➤ Taglist:  @livingdeadwriteblr -  @cawolters - @agnesfagen - @the-real-rg - @balletshoe-punk - @lie-hart - @phloxxiing - @teacupwriter - @newdivinities - @omgbrekkerkaz - @soul-write - @elisabethrosewrites - @cirianne - @ladywithalamp (ask to be added or removed!)

➤ Tagged: #Between His Fingers, #bhf, #bhf:wip

[lookslikechill]

Between His Fingers: A TTWR Update

Total Words Written: 12,764 Words Written This Week: 0

I haven’t actually written at all in the last week, I’ve been so busy working andd working  and thinking about money ahhh!!  So today, no new writing to share, so instead I’m gonna share, bum bum bum, casting for Between His Fingers if it was a movie or a tv show, or something.  It’s below the cut!

Jack Falahee as Alistair Sheep

Michael Jones as Miles Crawford

Paget Brewster as Emily Castaldi

Kurt Fuller as Captain Pimento

Matt Ryan as Joseph Sawtelle

Michiel Huisman as Tobias Rigby

Oliver Jackson-Cohen as Gentry Sinclair

Armie Hammer as Daniel Morrin

Alex Pettyfer as Conrad Fitzgerald

Ophelia Lovibond as Rosemary Fitzgerald

[lookslikechill]

Scene: Fight Me!

A continuation of the drunken nonsense found HERE!

Content Warning for: physical violence, physical harm, swearing, police on police violence, under the influence behavior, mention of guns, and low-detail vomiting.

“You know damn well I never had a mother, you vile bastard!”  

“Like that makes you special,” Daniel Morrin scoffed into his pint glass, which was mostly empty.  “Neither did I, you fuckin’ idiot.”

And that was how it started.

Conrad Fitzgerald’s long face, already red from the alcohol, went even redder.  His shaggy, dirty blonde hair was pale against the flush of his skin.  He grabbed Morrin’s shirtfront in an angry fist and pulled the much taller, broader man toward him.  Nose to nose, eye to eye, Fitzgerald spat out, “We’ll see who’s an idiot after I’ve knocked those words outta your goddamn mouth.”

Morrin’s face split in a shit-eating grin.  “I’d like to see you try.”

Everybody around them groaned and the bartender slapped the counter between the two of them.  “Hey!  Take it outside, boys.  I wanna keep my paycheck.”  

Morrin downed the last of his drink and slammed his glass down hard enough to make dollar signs temporarily burn in the bartender’s eyes.  Alistair stood up from his seat on the other side of Miles from Fitzgerald, and the lot of them- him, Miles, Fitzgerald, Morrin, Sawtelle, and Sinclair- filed out of the bar.  Fitzgerald shoved Morrin out in front of him and half-stumbled, half-charged out into the night.  

This would almost certainly not fly if the Captain ever join them on their nights out, but as it was, Sawtelle didn’t quite have the gumption to keep fiery Fitzgerald and egotistical Morrin under wraps.  Each of them combative in their own right, and, under the influence of alcohol, likely to butt heads in a severe way.

As for Alistair, he had enough trouble on his hands without putting effort into stopping his stupid coworkers from beating the shit out of each other every time they had an argument and happened to be drunk at the same time.  Miles didn’t like it, he could tell, but he was much smaller than Morrin and Fitzgerald boxed on the weekends.  Sinclair had a sweet family man air about him most times, but now- now, with the booze running and the night air in his lungs, Alistair could see an excited gleam in the man’s eyes at the prospect of watching those two idiots fight it out in the bar parking lot.  

“GUNS,” Sawtelle hollered with a tired, “I can’t believe this is my life” undertone to his voice, and held out his worn hands before the two of them could properly square up.  Both men grumbled, messily fiddled with their holsters, and handed over their weapons.

Alistair stood back a good yard or so, and shifted his weight onto his good leg.  He lit a cigarette to keep him busy.  Miles sidled up besides him and crossed his arms over his chest, staring as Fitzgerald and Morrin squared up like they were his kids and he was personally responsible for this nonsense.  “Let it go,” he muttered through a mouthful of smoke.

Fitzgerald stood like a boxer, long legs bent, feet apart, fists up, leading with his left.  Morrin was loose through the shoulders and legs, head slightly cocked.  All six feet and seven inches, two hundred plus pounds of him taking up space in the night.  For a long second, all was still.  Sinclair stood with Sawtelle, across the way from Alistair and Miles.  Sawtelle had tucked their guns under his waistband, one on each side.  Alistair imagined Sinclair was holding his breath, waiting in anticipation for the action to begin.

Morrin made the first move, simply charging in and attempting to lift thinner, lighter, borderline skeletal Fitzgerald off his feet.

Fitzgerald ducked his arms, popped up to the right of him, and nailed him in the face with a solid left hook.  Morrin visibly swayed and stumbled to the side, hand going to his face while his nose became a fountain of blood.  Collective breaths were held, as for a hot, tense second it appeared as if the large man would be making peace with the ground shortly.

“-’ou broke my ‘uckin’ nose!” Morrin exclaimed as he steadied and tossed his head up, blood running down around his mouth and his eyes open and wild.  Meanwhile, Fitzgerald wasn’t giving him the time to bellyache about it.  He had slipped around and behind the other man while he was reeling from the blow.  He was presently wrapping his arms around Morrin’s neck.

Alistair blew out a cloud of smoke as Fitzgerald’s twiggy arms tightened around Morrin’s neck.  As the man’s face somehow grew redder, but not more red than the blood on his skin, Alistair offered a light to Sinclair’s offering cigarette.  Next to him, Miles winced visibly.  Sinclair having inched his way around the outskirts of the scene to join him and Miles, Sawtelle was the only one standing on the other side of the brawling pair, scuffing his shoes in the dirt and looking somewhat like a kicked puppy.  

Morrin gave as good as he got, jerking his head back into Fitzgerald’s face.  He used the resulting slack his grip to tear out of Fitzgerald’s arms.  He turned, nearly lost his balance, and descended on Fitzgerald.

Literally.

As a result of Morrin’s actions, he had stepped backward, into a slight dip in the ground, and fallen right over backward with a drunken yelp.  Morrin was no more graceful as he fell heavily onto his knees above skinnier, paler Fitzgerald.  They both looked foolish and flushed against the filthy dirt parking lot, at least to anybody who wasn’t taken up in the violence of it all.  

As above it as Alistair was currently acting to be, at least in his own mind, he was kind of hoping Fitzgerald got the upper hand again.  If he had to stand witness at all, the man he liked slightly more may as well win.

Morrin landed a punch on Fitzgerald, his fist huge in comparison to Fitzgerald’s head.  His hands were nearly white against the night-darkened navy of Morrin’s uniform, the fabric gripped tightly between fingers like claws.  

Fitzgerald jerked a leg far out to the side and grasped Morrin by the hair.  The combination of both made Morrin’s balance impossible to keep, at least with the alcohol in his blood and on his disgusting breath.  He toppled over into the dirt, sending plums up dust up around him.

Fitzgerald, now bleeding from a split lip and holding his face with one hand, rolled onto his knees with a groan of effort and pain.  He knee-shuffled over to Morrin, planted his knees on either side of Morrin’s knees, and drove his fist into the other man’s gut as if he was slamming a mug onto a table.  

Morrin made a noise somewhere between a guttural grunt and a breathless cry of pain.  He scrabbled to prop himself up on one elbow, turned his head, and yakked up his last three beers and a sizeable dinner.  He held up his other hand, as if that alone would stop further onslaught from his opponent.  

Above him, Conrad Fitzgerald straightened and watched on, deadeyed.  His hair was more roused than usual, his shirt was unbuttoned, and his cheek was beginning to bruise.  Panting, he spat out, “Done?”  And licked his lip.

A long moment later, after Daniel Morrin was finished redecorating that particular patch of dirt with a sprinkling of gravel, complete with a clearing of the throat and a spitting of vile mouth contents, he responded, “Done.”

With that, Fitzgerald unsteadily pushed his lanky self back to his feet.  With a gait somewhere between victorious swagger and drunken sway, he went back into the bar to finish his last drink.

[lookslikechill]

For the drabbles asks: "Fight me"

wooo!!!!  Here’s the first peek of that drunken nonsense promised in the Between His Fingers intro post haha. Enjoy!!  

Content warnings: physical violence, mention of guns, alcohol consumption, and swearing.  (also police violence, against each other)

“You know damn well I never had a mother, you vile bastard!”  

“Like that makes you special,” Daniel Morrin scoffed into his pint glass, which was mostly empty.  “Neither did I, you fuckin’ idiot.”

And that was how it started.

Conrad Fitzgerald’s long face, already red from the alcohol, went even redder.  His shaggy, dirty blonde hair was pale against the flush of his skin.  He grabbed Morrin’s shirtfront in an angry fist and pulled the much taller, broader man toward him.  Nose to nose, eye to eye, Fitzgerald spat out, “We’ll see who’s an idiot after I’ve knocked those words outta your goddamn mouth.”

Morrin’s face split in a shit-eating grin.  “I’d like to see you try.”

Everybody around them groaned and the bartender slapped the counter between the two of them.  “Hey!  Take it outside, boys.  I wanna keep my paycheck.”  

Morrin downed the last of his drink and slammed his glass down hard enough to make dollar signs temporarily burn in the bartender’s eyes.  Alistair stood up from his seat on the other side of Miles from Fitzgerald, and the lot of them- him, Miles, Fitzgerald, Morrin, Sawtelle, and Sinclair- filed out of the bar.  Fitzgerald shoved Morrin out in front of him and half-stumbled, half-charged out into the night.  

This would almost certainly not fly if the Captain ever join them on their nights out, but as it was, Sawtelle didn’t quite have the gumption to keep fiery Fitzgerald and egotistical Morrin under wraps.  Each of them combative in their own right, and, under the influence of alcohol, likely to butt heads in a severe way.

As for Alistair, he had enough trouble on his hands without putting effort into stopping his stupid coworkers from beating the shit out of each other every time they had an argument and happened to be drunk at the same time.  Miles didn’t like it, he could tell, but he was much smaller than Morrin and Fitzgerald boxed on the weekends.  Sinclair had a sweet family man air about him most times, but now- now, with the booze running and the night air in his lungs, Alistair could see an excited gleam in the man’s eyes at the prospect of watching those two idiots fight it out in the bar parking lot.  

“GUNS,” Sawtelle hollered with a tired, “I can’t believe this is my life” undertone to his voice, and held out his worn hands before the two of them could properly square up.  Both men grumbled, messily fiddled with their holsters, and handed over their weapons.

Alistair stood back a good yard or so, and shifted his weight onto his good leg.  He lit a cigarette to keep him busy.  Miles sidled up besides him and crossed his arms over his chest, staring as Fitzgerald and Morrin squared up like they were his kids and he was personally responsible for this nonsense.  “Let it go,” he muttered through a mouthful of smoke.

Fitzgerald stood like a boxer, long legs bent, feet apart, fists up, leading with his left.  Morrin was loose through the shoulders and legs, head slightly cocked.  All six feet and seven inches, two hundred plus pounds of him taking up space in the night.  For a long second, all was still.  Sinclair stood with Sawtelle, across the way from Alistair and Miles.  Sawtelle had tucked their guns under his waistband, one on each side.  Alistair imagined Sinclair was holding his breath, waiting in anticipation for the action to begin.

Morrin made the first move, simply charging in and attempting to lift thinner, lighter, borderline skeletal Fitzgerald off his feet.

Fitzgerald ducked his arms, popped up to the right of him, and nailed him in the face with a solid left hook.

[lookslikechill]

Last Line Tag

Tagged by @confunderewrites! Thanks for tagging me (so long ago hhbnieonig)

Morrin gave as good as he got, jerking his head back into Fitzgerald’s face.  He used the resulting slack his grip to tear out of Fitzgerald’s arms.  He turned, nearly lost his balance, and descended on Fitzgerald.

Literally.

As a result of Morrin’s actions, he had stepped backward, into a slight dip in the ground, and fallen right over backward with a drunken yelp.  Morrin was no more graceful as he fell heavily onto his knees above skinnier, paler Fitzgerald.  They both looked foolish and flushed against the filthy dirt parking lot, at least to anybody who wasn’t taken up in the violence of it all.  

Tagging: @livingdeadwriteblr @dahl-my-life

[lookslikechill]

The Cafe Test: A Characterization Exercise

Tagged by @writingonesdreams!! Thank you!

I was going to do this with DW’s big four (Clay, Alistair, Miles, and Quince) but then I decided it would be nice to work with some other characters on this!  So I stuck 23 of DW’s biggest players, including the main four boys, into a randomizer and went with the first four:

Adrian Risinger

Daniel Morrin

Blake Elmfield

Daphne Donovan

Did they get a cafe they liked? What kind of cafe do they like? What does that say about their character?

Adrian and Morrin both exist in the small coastal city of Port Cassandra in the 40′s, so their options are limited to upwards of three local options.  

Morrin: Would be comfortable in any of them.  As a Port Cassandra Police Officer he’ll receive respect (and probably a small discount) at any of them, which he enjoys.  After Sinclair and alongside Sawtelle, he probably makes public appearances in local places/businesses/etc off duty the most often.  

Adrian: Would go wherever the crowd is thinnest, less racket, and would not make a habit of going to any one cafe too frequently, to avoid being noticed.  

Blake and Daphne live in the much bigger city of Astervale, in the year 4146, so they have a much larger variety of options.

Blake:  Would choose a cafe with a lot of different food options along the lines of sandwiches, soup, etc, even bordering on a diner.  If the cafe were to become a favorite of hers, it would probably have a rotating menu or specials that change very often.  She’s a total foodie who likes to try new things.

1. Where do they sit? (Near the door because there’s an exit? Near the back to hide? Where it’s shadowy? Where they’ll be seen by a waiter? Lots of table space for writing/drawing/hands? Minimal space? Would they ever sit with others? What do these things say about their character?)

Adrian: Would sit where she is somewhat hidden, especially from anybody passing by outside or just walking in, and never with other people.  As a wizard living in Port Cassandra’s tiny magical underground, she doesn’t want to be noticed when she’s among the regular population, and she doesn’t want to be questioned.  She would need minimal space, keep to herself, and make little noise since she would only be visiting for a short time and only for a small snack. 

Morrin: He would sit as close to the entrance as possible, or by/at a window, if not both at the same time.  He likes to peoplewatch and will start conversations unprompted.  He absolutely will take up more space than necessary, often filling up an entire other chair next to or across from him with his various possessions- hat, coat, briefcase.  He’ll stretch and spread his legs about, rest an arm on the chair next to him (and probably not the one he’s already filled with his stuff).  He’s a big guy with a big ego, he has no problem filling up space.

Blake: She would pick a seat with the best view of the city/outdoors to make the most of her outing.  Outside of work, Blake typically spends most of her free time entertaining and feeding herself at home, so going to a cafe would be a special treat for herself.  

Daphne:  Daphne would prefer a cafe with lots of floor space, furniture very spread out, and lots of natural sunlight.  However, Daphne is a community gal who will rarely be caught inside a restaurant/cafe/bar without a couple coworkers OR her entire family, so she may end up wherever other people want to go.  She’d need extra space just to accommodate the people in her company.

2. What do they order? (Is it sweet? Is it focused on hydration only? Is it expensive? (Can they afford it if it is?) Is it milky and warm? Is it to wake them up? To comfort them like a hot cocoa? Does it bring back memories? Do they get a drink connected to other people in their lives?)

Adrian: She’d get a great big mug of hot chocolate, hot and sweet.

Morrin:  The largest cup of coffee available, darkest roast possible, milk, no sugar. 

Blake: She would order some sort of hot tea, probably not anything fruity, and she would add no milk and no sugar. 

Daphne: She would get a small iced coffee with cream, sugar, and some sort of fruit flavoring like mango or blueberry.  Just a small taste of something sweet.  A treat in moderation, a show of self restraint.

3. If they get a snack, what do they get? (See above for similar questions to ask. Another good one is: Are they allergic to anything? Are there health concerns? Do they have to worry about their digestion for any reason? Or is their stomach made of steel?)

Adrian:  She would get a small cookie of some sort.

Morrin: He would get a plain bagel with butter, or something equally simple and flavorless. 

Blake:  She would get a good spread of food, between 2-4 different things, depending on what the cafe had available, and then she’d sit back and take her time consuming it all.  

Daphne:  Would order something balanced for herself, vegetables and fruit and eggs, perhaps with some kind of bread item on the side.  

4. How do they pay? (Are they rich? Poor? Do they count their pennies or do they throw a whole bunch of gold on the table? Or are they rich and stingy, counting their pennies because that’s how they got rich in the first place? Do they run out without paying? Do they not give a shit about the law? Are they desperate for a feed and want to pay but just can’t?)

Adrian: Isn’t poor, but the currency she possesses is useless outside of the Underground.  She would trick the waitstaff into thinking she paid with Magic.  Later, it would wear off and they would realize she never paid, but by then the memory of what Adrian looked like would have somehow crumbled.

Morrin: In coin, bc it’s 1947.  Probably just leaves the money on the table and walks out.  

Blake & Daphne: Pay cash?  Tipping is probably old hat . . . (I need to give currency & payment practices in 4146 NY/USA more thouhght)

5. How do they interact with staff? (No eye contact? Lots of smiles? Friendly banter? Awkward conversation?)

Adrian:  Small, polite smiles, limited eye contact, almost too quiet when she speaks.  

Morrin: He’d be perfectly charming, all grins and jokes and boisterous laughter.  As long as no mistakes are made, he’s pleasant, and even adored by the staff.  

Blake: Lots of eye contact and chatter.  She’ll want to know what their personal favorites are, what’s been most popular, etc, etc. 

Daphne:  Polite and pleasant, but clearly not there to spend much time socializing with the staff.  

Tagging: @transboywrites @requiemesque @mouwwie @nkta-ink

[lookslikechill]

Character Aesthetic//Between His Fingers ☇ Daniel Morrin

Reaper Man by Mother Mother

Oh yeah I'm an ugly mess Not in the face, but in the head

Harder to Breathe by Maroon 5

How dare you say that my behavior is unacceptable So condescending unnecessarily critical I have the tendency of getting very physical So watch your step 'cause if I do you'll need a miracle

Bloody Nose by Hollywood Undead

I never felt so low But I love the way I look, yeah With this bloody nose Look how many hits it took ya