WHEN: the night of the founders ball, somewhere around 12.30 am
WHERE: the Catalina Island Casino, second floor.
WHAT: Miles comes face to face with the secret that has plagued him his whole life.
Mentions: a few of the housewives of Catalina Island, Madeleine Walker, Claire Woodrow-Marlowe (only NPCs), Reina Rhodes.
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It had been a few hours, and most of the crowd was getting tipsy when he got to the bar and ordered another alcoholic beverage, when he managed to catch someone’s attention. Madeleine Walker herself, raising her glass to him and he in turn did the same. “You know…” Miles didn’t want to talk to this woman right now, because whatever she had to say, she was going to be drunk and he didn’t have the patience for rambling. “You know...you look so much like my son…”
Working in the City Hall meant that Miles had gotten good at snooping and record keeping. Once he got his way around the system, just checking up on the regular man’s records was a piece of cake. Some might call it snooping, but for Miles it was just gathering intel. Years of being on his own, and then the life of crime, meant that he was always looking behind his shoulder, and being cautious. Know thy enemy. That was the only thing he cared about, knowing who his neighbours were.
So the casual snooping had gotten him the records of the Walker family; two parents, one son. What had caught his eye was Madeleine Walker though; just the angle of her face, the smile looking so familiar, till he realised where he had seen that before, on his own fucking face. It had to be a coincidence, because people looked like other people, there was nothing wrong in that. But there was something about her that bothered him so much, he decided to keep an eye on her. After all, Reina was always having these ladies over for luncheons and usually more catfights than he’d prefer. But if Madeleine was going to pose a threat to his family, he had to know about it first. After all, that’s the only reason why his gut instinct was to be trusted.
It had been a few days before the event, actually. He was at work, typing and filing as he usually did. When his curiosity struck again, and he searched for Madeleine Walker. Reading through her history, which wasn’t a lot, he was surprised by the last name, Ellis. Not uncommon, of course, but the coincidence was too much for him to handle. He closed the file and refused to dig any deeper than he had to. Miles could sense he was digging into something that he didn’t like, and he wasn’t about to kick the hornet’s nest.
At the event, behind all the glitz and the glamour, and the masks and all of the perfumes in the air that threaten to keel Miles over in sneezing fits as he entered the place, his steps were light and he was on guard about something. Dressed like Reina had asked him to, hand in hand with Naomi as they entered the Casino, his eyes were restless, as if he was looking out for something, or someone. His gut was telling him something wasn’t right, and he decided to ignore it. Miles thought he was just being paranoid, and he decided to focus on the party instead, feeling for his knife tucked away in a secret pocket of the blazer.
It had been a few hours, and most of the crowd was getting tipsy when he got to the bar and ordered another alcoholic beverage, when he managed to catch someone’s attention. Madeleine Walker herself, raising her glass to him and he in turn did the same. “You know…” Miles didn’t want to talk to this woman right now, because whatever she had to say, she was going to be drunk and he didn’t have the patience for rambling. “You know...you look so much like my son…”
Miles politely set his glass down, “maybe it’s in the hair style.” He’s met Madeleine’s son, and that boy has a good head on his shoulders.
“No, no, not Kai. He’s his father’s boy…” Who knows why Madeleine was feeling so chatty today, she usually never talked at the luncheons. That honour went to Claire Woodrow-Marlowe, who was no doubt, eyeing this conversation with an interested gaze from underneath some mask or the other. Madeleine was still talking, but Miles had zoned her out, “....in Memphis….” His gaze snapped back to her, meeting glassy eyes with a confused stare. “Huh?” He asked, trying to make himself less sharper than his tone was.
“I was talking about home, in Nashville. That’s where I’m from. I used to be a beauty queen, you know? Pageant princess, darling of the south and a professional at that. But then...that wretched man left me with a fucking baby. He was a friend of a friend, and my father’s employee. But he said he loved me and then left me with that squalling brat. I had to travel to Memphis to give birth. Sodding thing tore me right open…” Madeleine paused to drink, and Miles could feel the blood rushing to his head. “Two days. I took him and then I tried to be a mother, but it’s hard when you’re hungry and your Papa would give you a smack behind your ears if he heard of this. So I left the baby on the steps of a church, said some grace and hoped for the best.”
Miles tried to keep his gaze steady, as if the story had nothing to do with him, even though his hands shook and his face had turned red as he tried to keep this all inside. “Uh huh…” He barely managed a response. Madeleine didn’t seem to care, and she was saying something more, but Miles wasn’t listening. And Claire had decided to come join the conversation, so he made his polite exit and made a beeline to the men’s room.
The truth should have set him free, but instead it had broken his heart. Miles knew the story; the orphanage never let him forget who dropped off a bastard child to be purified, but instead left the nuns a devil in the form of an angry boy. The maiden name, the drunken stories, the lines on her face….Miles knew. And in his silent rage, he let out a scream and then he cried. All while he stood before the sink, studying his face in the mirror and trying to keep it all together. Nobody could know what he knew, not even Madeleine, and certainly not Reina.
WHEN: Valentine’s Day weekend
WHERE: Iris and Eve
WHAT: Miles is trying his hand at some mixology with the new bartender, while trying to not impress Cleo. (Prompt: 65…My muse trying to impress your muse)
FEATURING: @cleohalliwell
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“Yeah sure thing dude. You uhh...you wanna try a Martini first? Or a Margarita?” Schwartzy joked, and Miles used the towel draped on his shoulder to swing it at the guy, responding to the tease. “C’mon man, I know how to mix a goddamn cocktail. Gimme something good...” And just at that moment, walked in Cleo.
It had been a pretty languorous morning at Iris and Eve, with the early brunchers being served and leaving Miles with not much to do. According to the hostess, they were not expecting much until late lunch rolled about, and with that, the manager decided to don his apron on and get on behind the bar.
“Sup, Schwartzy?” Smiling to the other guy working the bar today, it was safe to say that Miles got along easy with the guy. They talked about girlfriends and employment woes, of how small and big Catalina seemed to be simultaneously, and he was helping out the bartender with glasses and liquor on taller shelves. “Say...you think I could mix a few drinks? I’m not as good at English Doug, but I’m sure I could impress a few of the ladies at the table over there.” Looking up to wink at one of the brunchers, a blonde in a beach hat, there was something cocky in the air about Miles.
“Yeah sure thing dude. You uhh...you wanna try a Martini first? Or a Margarita?” Schwartzy joked, and Miles used the towel draped on his shoulder to swing it at the guy, responding to the tease. “C’mon man, I know how to mix a goddamn cocktail. Gimme something good...” And just at that moment, walked in Cleo.
There was something about the way she walked into the establishment, handbag by her side and acting like she just didn’t care; Miles couldn’t help but stare, entranced by her aura of nonchalance, but mixed in with the chaos that only she could bring in on two feet. Maybe he was staring too intently, because the woman looked back and suddenly, Miles was painfully aware of himself, dressed in uniform with an apron tied to his waist. Schwartzy was waving her over, and if he wasn’t so keen on being professional, the man would have elbowed the bartender.
“Pass me the shaker, buddy.” Miles began gathering the ingredients of a strawberry Daiquiri, not daring to look up at Cleo right now. Because he was pretty sure if he did, then he would mess up, and he wasn’t here to give hurricane Petra the chance to laugh at him for his nervousness.
With as much grace as Miles could fake, he went to work on the drink, trying to mimic the way English Doug did his drinks and spins, trying to make it a show as much as a drink. “Don’t shake it like your high school girlfriend’s tits, man!” They all laughed, Miles had to throw in a small boob joke for Cleo, before he poured the drink with a flourish.
“Consider this one on the house. A-k-a, ask Reina to pay for this one.”
