#iriskings

[calxkestisx]

@iriskings

he taps the wood with his knuckles, the light sound echoing strangely into the room beyond, the door slightly ajar despite it’s possible explosive contents; the woman on the the other side. noah has been warned now by three different people about the sort of life he’s about to step into, about the sort of room he’s about to step into, about the sort of dealings and darkened intentions he’s about to meddle with, but he’s heeded nothing of this, he’s listened to nothing of this. people are not monsters, are not mythological, are not ghouls or goblins or machines-- they’re people, all bone and blood and sinew and mess. and whatever it is they say about iris king-blair, a fire-breathing dragon or a widow spider sitting on all the webs that connect the town, noah knows what he’s good for and knows what he’s not, and as long as a man has that between his fingers, there’s nothing much can affect him.

it’s a trick he’s learned from nine years on the brink, nine years hopping from town to town with barely a shadow in his wake, nine years working whatever crumby ends of cities he could crook a foothold into, whatever side dealings he could etch himself good for; he’s a far cry from the boy who left. noah bishop at eighteen years old had learned to live with himself after the gruesome reconstruction of his own family history, his own family curse, his own family haunting; there’s not much under stars or sky that could ever be worse, and that’s the hell of his situation, that’s the misery. that no matter how bad, no ounce of guilt can touch him now.

so he knocks on the door and opens it a crack, blue eyes peeking inside, his other hand wrapped around a newspaper. “mrs. king-blair? i don’t mean to disturb you but… my name’s noah bishop, i’m here for a job?”

[rosalinverville]

Apéritif || Iris & Rosaline

@iriskings

Winter closes in, chipping the sunlight away little by little, though usually by nine in the morning, the day would have settled in, and the customers looking for their morning coffee would have rotated out, switching places with people looking for more elaborate fares, ready to start their day. The 24-hour diner as usual, roused to life as the sun drew from the horizon. It was a rather calm, beautiful day outside, but right now, all Rosaline wanted to do was to go home.

Changing out of her work clothes, she rinsed her hands again when passing by the sink, out of habit if nothing else, and nodded at the waitress beside her who was at that moment, diligently facing off the stubborn coffee machine. “Later then, thanks for the hard work,” she smiled at her, and circled around the counter. As she gathered her stuff, Rosaline thought to herself about the approaching month of terror, about the series she still needed to finish on Netflix, about the people of Sallybrook and the smiles they brave everyday or have long given up on. But most of all, she thought about heading home as soon as possible, grab some wine, seize a nap, maybe both. Yeah, definitely both.

Then she saw a figure pull up right outside of the diner, craning their head slightly, looking through the window seemingly in an attempt to find someone. Likewise, Rosaline was compelled to do the same, and despite harbouring little intention to be sidetracked from her day plan, the outlines of the face now looking right back at her flushed away all her desires to be alone, and replaced her thoughts with one, single long faded fixation.

She rarely felt that way about anyone anymore, rarely had moments where a glance from someone could draw her down a diverging path, whisk her away from from her well laid out plans. But like anything, there were room for flexibility, there were exceptions. This was one such person. In fact, she has always been quite a welcomed diversion.

And Rosaline began thinking of her, of how oddly rare that their paths have barely crossed during the past few years. And she thought of all the time her thumb hovered over Iris’ name on her phone in hesitation, how that hesitation became uncertainty, how that uncertainly led to dissolution. Then odd and cliched it was, emotions surfaced like all this happened only just yesterday. Because in truth, she was hurt. Hurt enough by the plain dismissal to question whether their friendship was worth preserving through effort that would include her being insistent.

But at that moment, nearly five years later, none of it mattered anymore. And any hesitation, long gone. She was just glad to see her, glad and ready welcome her back into her life.

She missed her, she realised. She really, really missed her.

Rosaline sprung towards the door, her bag hanging loosely from one shoulder, tangled with her hair. She stepped outside into the crisp, morning air, almost biting, and despite her weariness, there was energy in her movement. She trembled slightly facing the bitter coldness, and landed her gaze on Iris. It’s her, it really is. A jolt of excitement manifested itself as a wide, close-mouthed grin, lighting up her features. Too much? She thought. She wan’t a schoolgirl, but she didn’t care. Propelled forward by eager steps, she called out to the woman. “Iris?”