#kataireo

[redemptioninterlude]

STARTER: new follower starter ! CONCERNING: karen page

there's little doubt within her mind, that like, shit is about to get super fucked up. and it's sort of her fault? like. everything feels like she's about to fucking choke and die right now, given the fact that she's been nabbed by the cops, and everything's spiraling, and they want her to play SNITCH, but like, already, things have just started to fucking spiral right out of control... she needs help. the kind of help that feels bigger than what she knows how to deal with, shouldering her phone as she called a number that ali had given her once when she'd asked him what to do if she was ever in a bad jam.

her name's karen page. ominous. but like, ali says she's good, and that, she's like good at knowing how to give good advice when shit is like, not good. and um, shit was really bad? to the point of like, not really knowing what the hell she was going to do, her eyes closing as she waited, anxiously, for there to stir any kind of sign of life on the other end of the receiver. listening to the dull RING within the receiver until she was startled with the voice of a woman, rue stuttering at first, needing a moment to sit up straight, clearing her throat, trying to start from the top. "hi. i'm rue. i'm... i'm kinda in a bad position."

she talks about getting pulled over. the cops. the photos they had of her trafficking drugs, and how they like, knew about laurie. WHO'S LAURIE? rue answers, almost without thinking, talking about how like, she owes her $44 million dollars from a deal gone wrong in high school, and how she's like, never gonna pay that off and how nicely laurie lowered the whole debt to like, $100k. but what that had meant was that she had to do some like, really uncomfortable things. like the shit that she got photographed doing, dipping in and out of a mexican bar, while swallowing condom bags of fentanyl.

it doesn't occur until later that that had meant the cops knew what she was living through, and that, like, there really was no help for someone like her. how suffocating. they even know shit about alamo, but, rue DOESN'T WANNA get into all of that. "c... can you help me? they want me to like... record these guys. this shit's gonna spark some kinda war."

★— ATTN: @kataireo

[nockeddown]

@kataireo  ➲  ❝  that's not the worst thing i've ever heard but it's certainly up there .  ❞

❝  𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝘀𝘁 , 𝗵𝘂𝗵 ? clearly you've never burned off an eyebrow .  ❞  clint shakes his head , but it doesn't clear the smile from his face . he doesn't reminisce often , and it's almost never 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙙 .

karen must bring out the best in him .

he takes another pull from his half - flat and flirting with room temperature beer .  ❝  honestly , it's a miracle me and barney made it out with 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙤𝙚𝙨 .  ❞

[insinkingcities]

Angel was never destined for great things. He was the firstborn failure, something his father passively reminded him of every interaction they had. Still, Angel was nothing if not dutiful; he dropped by to check in on his father, to kiss his mother's urn, to keep the peace. He never made it through high school. He went to Chino for 18 months to cover the club's ass, and he'd do it again if that's what they needed him to do. Maybe he wasn't book smart, but he was street smart. He was people smart. EZ might have a photographic memory, but Angel could read people better than anyone in the club.

He liked what he read off of this girl. She was prim and pretty -- not in the untouchable sort of way, but the kind where maybe she spritzed a little perfume on her shirt collar before she head out the door. Sure, he did the same with Old Spice (the old school cologne, thanks Pop), but you could just tell when a chick was doing it because they cared about themselves. No, no this girl didn't shop designer or boast name brand anything ... what he liked about her immediately -- what drew him to sit with her and shoot the shit initially -- was the promise of danger behind those baby blues of hers.

He knew a trouble maker when he saw one. He was the prototype in Santo Padre, after all. She presented nice -- she looked damn good doing it -- but he could see the mischief lurking under the button down shirt and neatly pulled-back hair. I'm just a journalist she said, and he nodded his head because he was just a mechanic. She got into shit. She was a catalyst, maybe not all the time, but sometimes.

It was an addictive quality.

Angel sat back in his seat. His eyes dropped when she leaned forward, drawn to the surely purposeful push of her chest and he wasn't going to bitch out on copping a glance. Hands sifted through the pocket of his kutte while he looked and came back with a beaten pack of Marb Reds. He plucked one from its nest and pressed it between his lips, lit it with the lighter tucked into the pack, and set it on the table between them -- an offering. Have one, if you want it.

Smoke billowed from his lips on the first drag and Angel blew it away from them, from the side of his mouth.

"I can be." Honesty. His head tilted with the comment and Angel chuckled slightly. Smoke plumed from his nose when he did, pushing out with each soft heave. "Scouts honor I'm bein' a good boy now. I know Santo Padre. Grew up here. Know the places good to go, the places questionable. The places you need special permission to go. Know the area around here, too. Got business across the border, further north. Know when those bad elements roll into town looking for trouble."

He paused. One brow cocked. With his free hand he took another drink from his beer and let the taste of hops and nicotine smoke linger on his tongue before he swallowed.

"Yeah? Maybe I want to see you handle yourself."

@kataireo, from here.

[clochanam]

one day, they'll make exactly the right amount of food. not the over-abundance that draws a wary groan from the table with each new addition. it's for everyone's benefit, they collectively agree, that aisling stay put on the deck chair, primarily because her involvement will only bring about more food being added to the stack, and at some point, you just have to be able to set in place a limit.

despite knowing this, however, aisling still yearns to go over and help. it's why stanley has started combining irish matriarchal techniques ( a wooden spoon ) with chiding words of vietnamese that keep her grimly seated on the deck chair, as though she were grounded from the frenzy of activity circulating the table and barbecue station.

she's about to go over, wooden spoon be damned, when @kataireo arrives, smiling brighter than the sun and earning a hearty round of greetings on arrival. aisling feels the smile that always comes around with karen nearby, and waves her over, trying her damnedest for a half a deadpan expression.

" ignore them, karen! they're alienating me, so we need to have a united front against them too! " yeah. the deadpan is non-existent; she's much too happy for even feigned sternness to survive. once karen's close enough, she pats the deck chair beside her, waving toward the cooler encouragingly. " i'm so glad you could make it, really. here, help yourself! i hope you brought your appetite! "

STARTER CALL! / the wheel picked: sitting on deck chairs while the squad enjoy a summer party together!

[agentinred]

totally not serious edit of your chara // @contritioned & @kataireo

[aliasinvestigate]

@kataireo said: if i kissed you right now, would you be mad?

PROMPTS FOR NEW INTIMACY

jessica's anger simmers beneath the surface, always. there's some cop-out line in there about the big green guy, some throwaway quip drenched in liquor-licked sardonicism about getting sentimental. jessica always has a hand ready to push out & shove. karen is always there anyway, immovable so it seems.

so if karen is a little under jessica's skin, is needling past her hard-shelled exterior, well ...

low light filters around the late night eagle spread of papers sifted all around them, a kerosene tint aided by the bottom bottle's spill of amber sanding all jessica's sharp edges. karen's exhale is shaded in jessica's own familiar flavor of whiskey ; jessica's palm is warm against the nape of her neck, tangled up in tousled strands.

" just ... don't. " don't talk about it, don't confront it. a sharp swallow lodges itself in the bulb of her throat. their lips are almost touching.

[devilletting]

Are there any other characters from the franchise you’d like to play?

frank for sure. sorry for picking the other man. i can't help it..... i love that guy

also vanessa she's so crazy i love her and her evil art dealer swag, and foggy because i like writing characters who joke around and he's just so warm and effusive...

[lifeforms]

@kataireo asked: WHAT WAS YOUR YOUTHFUL REBELLION?

lana can't help laughing, which speaks volumes: she's always so goddamned buttoned-up. she can't tell karen's asking her because she's after a good story, or because she can already tell there isn't one.

she's a little afraid to ask.

"i had myself emancipated, i guess." which, while technically a rebellion, had also been a complex legal process, and everyone had been impressed with her for navigating it, her aunt included. "i was sixteen. i was incredibly ---" she pauses, searching, "--- staid. i went to school, i ran a business. and then i got married." which most people she knows would designate as lana's youthful rebellion, in and of itself, but it had felt distinctly different to her. "i kind of speedran adolescence. i shouldn't have." a rare admission, that, small as it may seem. "what were you like as a kid?"