#event thread;

[vitafurtiva]

Atlas ran through a list of things in his head. Had he had enough to eat? Did he have his phone, Sloane’s keys, the whiskey? The container of sliders on the counter he knew he could grab just before they left. There was a pricking in the back of his head. He chewed his thumbnail, considering what he needed to do still, weighing the pros and cons of drinking more blood, just in case. The ring Rory had given him was on a cord around his neck, tucked under his shirt. It would be the first time he’d been able to be in the sun in a long time.  Sloane poked their head into the living room, still half dressed, hair still wet from their shower. “You ready?” They asked, adjusting the bathing suit top. He couldn’t quite keep himself from ogling for a moment.  “Hm? Yeah, just about. Are you?” He asked, grabbing the keys to Sloane’s car.  “Grabbing my shoes and my Bag of Holding and then I think so.” She responded, bracing one hand against the wall as she pulled on her shoes. The Bag of Holding in question contained a blanket for sitting on, a few bottles of water and one of his flannel shirts that they’d stolen from him eons ago.  “I’m driving,” he insisted, grabbing the container of sliders from the kitchen counter and moving toward the door.  “Yeah, yeah. I’m driving home,” they responded.  “Nuh-uh. That’s me too.” He opened the door to let her pass him and then turned and locked the door behind him as he left.  *** He’d forgotten about the checkpoint, but was pleased to see Ray there. Sloane was just behind him as he approached the detective, a smile breaking onto his features. “’Ey! Sucks they’ve got you workin’ today. Got someone you’ve been wantin’ to meet. This is Aut- er, Sloane.”  Sloane stopped just behind him, and pulled her sunglasses off, choosing to place them on her head rather than over her eyes. Her dark eyes met Ray’s as she looked him over for a moment, trying to hide a smile. “You must be Ray. Joey told me about you.”  Atlas turned and pressed a quick kiss to Sloane’s temple and her face broke into a full grin. “If you find time later, come find us. I made some buffalo chicken sliders that Sloane’s trying to hoard for herself. And whiskey.”  @detectivegoldstein

[teamechelon]

@rileysnipes

Spencer came back to Riley’s room several minutes later, with all three dogs in tow. He looked exhausted, but relieved to see that Riley was still there. “Are you okay?” Spencer asked him. “Talk ‘ta me, love.”

[teamechelon]

@battingtobroadway

Spencer got Phil into his room, and set him down on the bed. Phil was almost completely out of control, still screaming and wailing. He started to get right back up, but Spencer pushed him back down. “Stay put!” he said firmly, trying to be heard over the sounds of Phil’s grief. “You can’t go back there!”

“I HAVE TO GO SEE HER!” Phil shrieked, reaching up to punch Spencer. He grabbed a fistful of hair, yanking hard. Spencer gripped Phil’s wrist and forced Phil to let go, straightening up.

“Phil, stay here, okay? I’m gonna get Kyle.” Phil just rolled over onto his stomach and wailed loudly, giving up on getting out of the room. At this rate, Spencer wouldn’t even need to get Kyle. Kyle would probably come investigate the noise on his own. “I’m sorry brutha,” Spencer said, yet again. “I’m so sorry.”

[teamechelon]

Phil was in his room when Spencer found him. Sprawled out and resting on his stomach, he had headphones on and was flipping idly through a magazine, looking utterly bored. He barely managed to catch Spencer entering out of the corner of his eye, so he shut off the music and rolled to his back before sitting up. Frowning at the expression on Spencer’s face, he pulled the headphones off and tossed them to the side for now. “Spence, buddy? What’s wrong?”

“Phil…” Spencer looked away, tucking his hands into his pockets. “....there’s no easy way ‘ta say this, but your ‘ma’s gone.”

“Very funny. What really happened? You look like you swallowed a bag of razors or something.” Phil scowled, decidedly not liking this new idea of a joke. He pushed himself up off the bed, getting to his feet. Already, he could feel his heartrate rising as the stress and anxiety started getting to him.

“...I ain’t jokin’. She’s dead.” Spencer backed up, avoiding Phil’s gaze.

Phil’s face darkened, rapidly becoming annoyed. “Spencer, this isn’t fucking funny. If you think this is going to impress me, think again.”

“Phil...I swear ‘ta god, I ain’t jokin’.” Spencer swallowed roughly as he held his hands up. “You know I’d never lie ‘ta you, especially about family. I know how important it is ‘ta you.”

Phil got to his feet, marching closer and grabbing the collar of Spencer’s shirt. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but instead he shoved the RED roughly into the doorframe as he stormed out and let go, heading for his mother’s office to see for himself.

He fully expected to see Sylvia sitting at her desk, wearing that obnoxious smirk he hated so much. Phil could almost hear her shrill voice now. Phillip, darling, mommy loves you! It made him sick. But just because he hated her didn’t mean he actually wanted her dead (regardless of what he’d previously said, he was sure he didn’t actually mean it).

….and she was not at her desk. Phil stopped just short of her doorway, staring down at the body left lying on the ground, surrounded by a small pool of blood. Her blank eyes were staring at something off in the distance, gaze already turning hazy.

“No…” Phil whispered. “...no no no no no.” He sank to his knees and scooped her body up. “Sy….mom…” He shook her, as if this was just some sick prank being played by both her and Spencer. “Mom!” Phil shook her harder, tears filling his eyes. “Come on, this isn’t funny!”

“Phil…” Spencer’s voice came from somewhere above him. “I’m so sorry, brutha..”

“Shut up!” Phil whirled around, gripping his mom’s body tightly to his own. “Shut the fuck up! What would you know, huh?”

“...my dad’s dead, Phil.”

Phil let out a strangled wail, trembling furiously. “Mommy,” he whimpered. “Mommy please. I didn’t mean it! I didn’t mean it! Mommy!” He hunched over her, breaking into loud sobs.

“I’m so sorry Phil,” Spencer whispered. He crouched down, trying to pull Sylvia away from Phil, who only clung tighter.

“NO! DON’T TAKE HER FROM ME! SHE’S MINE!”

“You gotta let go brutha.” Spencer pulled Phil into a hug with one arm, holding him firmly. “She’s gone. I’m so sorry.” His other hand was still trying to pry Phil’s hands away from the body.

“She-I….” Phil gave up and let Spencer pull his mom away. “....I just wanted her to love me!” He would have collapsed in a heap, had it not been for Spencer holding him upright.

“Come on, we gotta get you out of here.” Spencer struggled to his feet, dragging Phil up with him. “C’mon Phil.” He started to half carry Phil out of the office.

Phil, when he realized what was going on, started screaming and reaching for Sylvia again. “NO NO NO NO! MOM! DON’T TAKE ME FROM HER!” He started struggling in a desperate attempt to get free. “Spencer don’t! I need her I need her I need her!”

“I’m sorry,” Spencer said again. He had to lift Phil up off the ground, carrying him over his shoulder back to their room. He’d have to get Kyle too, so Kyle could keep Phil from running off.

He couldn’t stop the tears spilling from his own eyes. His grief was more for Phil than for the woman that’d been killed.

[teamechelon]

Spencer waited until Riley was asleep. He didn’t bother even trying to drug the sniper, because it was likely that even if he did wake up, he likely wasn’t going to leave the room. Slinking out of bed, Spencer scratched Heimdall behind one ear as he and his dog slipped out of the room. Spencer had a job to do, and it was better he do it than someone else. 

He headed back to the office where Sylvia’s body still remained. It was a disgusting sight, and Spencer wasn’t sure if his repulsion was at the body or at the fact that even in death, she was still hurting Phil. “I hate you,” Spencer grumbled to himself as he lifted her body. “He’s never gonna be fully free of you, is he?”

He carried her outside, stopping long enough to grab a shovel resting nearby. Spencer then headed for a small corner well away from base. It was hot out, and the effort of carrying her and a shovel already had him sweating -- his shirt sticking uncomfortably to his back. When he was a good distance away from any building, Spencer dumped the body unceremoniously to the ground. He had no respect for her as a living human, and Spencer wasn’t about to give her any respect now. As far as he was concerned, burying her was about the only respect he’d offer to the family in general.

It took him a couple of hours to dig a grave big and deep enough to hold her. His arms ached from the effort muscles screaming for a break from the effort. Rather than pick Sylvia up and place her in the grave, Spencer just kicked her in, leaning against the shovel for support. He took a certain level of glee as he watched her roll in and hit the bottom with a soft thud. As he shoveled the dirt over her, Spencer grinned.

“I guess it’d be appropriate ‘ta give a eulogy,” he began. “How’s this fer one? You sucked, an’ I don’t just mean dick. You never deserved an ounce of respect, an’ I’m glad you’re dead. I’d have done it myself had Phil not told me ‘no.’ It’s th’first time I’ve actually been excited ‘ta see you, if we’re bein’ honest. You were delusional an’ freakin’ nuts. At least I can admit when I’m a horrible person. I know what people think of me, an’ I’m okay with that. You? You’re just an old, washed up dead body in th’ground, an’ that’s the best you could’ve ever gotten.”

He finished piling the dirt on her, then used the back of the shovel to pat the ground down as flat as he could. As an added measure, he spat on the fresh grave. “Here’s ‘ta hopin’ Phil finally breaks free of your control, bitch.”

He tossed the shovel aside and walked back inside, Heimdall trotting by his side. Spencer was ready for a shower and a change of clothes, grossed out by the blood, sweat and dirt covering his body. The sooner he got back to Riley, the better.

[antiquatedanecdotes]

Felicia hadn’t wanted to show up, preferring to spend holidays of wherever she might have been in relative solitude. However, Riordan had browbeaten her until she’d caved, agreeing to at least make a brief appearance at the Founder’s Festival before disappearing again. Crowds of people weren’t her favorite, but they had their uses. Like disappearing into.  She pushed her sunglasses up over her nose as she made her way toward Rory’s home, figuring that would be the easiest way to find him. She was hesitant - they had spoken previously, but the subject of the scars down her back had never come up. Then again, he’d never seen them. But here, in the light of the Founder’s Festival at the lake, Felicia had her back exposed via her swimsuit. Her legs were covered by long camo pants, but the scars from her neck down were clearly visible, deep burns clearly tattooed to skin.  She knew what they were from. She hoped Rory wouldn’t realize they were from the night of the fire. She didn’t need to add guilt to his conscience - didn’t want to assure him she’d already forgiven him, even if part of her still held anger at the Beholders for what they’d both become.  Finding the porch swing empty, Fee dropped herself into it, throwing her legs up  and making herself comfortable, and mostly horizontal. She was content to nap there until events really got started, barring her brother didn’t drag her off to be a participant. She was really only here for him anyway.  Pulling out her phone, she started to text him and then thought better of it. Maybe he was already down by the lake and he wouldn’t know she was here. Then she could just disappear.  @deadfractals

[redrightarm-blog]

@bluetailored

“H E Y,” in the darkness around them, Keith’s voice rings clear. He’s just settled down on his sleeping bag (it’s far too hot to warrant crawling into it) only to have his traveling companion set up right beside him. A boot-clad foot knocks into Lance’s shin, and Keith attempts to push at him.

“Move over. There’s plenty of space.” They’re holed up in the crumbling shell of some two-story shack. The first floor had been too open, what with holes and windows, so they’re up in what would be the attic---and there’s actually not a LOT of space, but Keith’s still not about to let Lance lie that close.

“Go sleep in the other corner. This one’s mine.”

[unsowing-blog]

🐙– - – These Southron parties were so different from anything Theon was brought up with. No Iron Islander would ever attend such a thing unless they planned to crash the place. Only then would it be acceptable to show your face in a place like this. No, ironborn would drink and sing, celebrating whatever it was they came together for in a loud manner. Their parties resulted in people being too drunk to stand, screwing anything and everything, and the loss of at least two of your fingers. Northern parties didn't seem too different from the ironborn ones. Less violence, but other than that? They were much the same.

The masquerade held here was one for the songs. One where beauty and appearances mattered more than bonding with the guests and enjoying yourself. The biggest difference he noticed was how important it was to play the game of status here. Everyone would hide behind a smile while looking to-- figuratively-- stab you in the back. Theon could play that part easily enough, finding he quite enjoyed the intrigue of it.

He'd made his way through the crowd easily enough armed with charm and a smile. Standing near the dance floor he turned to the closest observer.

“Care to dance?”