#normal:accepted

[normalhqs]

Welcome to The Murder Club, DOLLY ANN!

( Congratulations, Tink! Please send in your tumblr blog and your discord to the main in the next 24 hours or THE BEAUTY QUEEN will be reopened )

STATS

Full Name: Dolly Ann Dixon

Faceclaim: Carlson Young

Age: 17

DOB: April 15

Year in school: Junior

Gender: Cisfemale

Pronouns: She/her

Side of Normal: North Normal

Worst fears: Getting crushed by a large pageant trophy

Milkshake order: Banana, no whip, non-fat milk

BIO

Dolly Ann Dixon came into the world two weeks early. Not because she was in any hurry to see the world but because she had a pageant to get to. When her momma found out she was having a girl she signed her up for the next pageant. There was no way she was going to let a little thing like a due date get in her, or rather her daughter’s way. It was all worth it, in Mary Helen’s eyes, when Dolly Ann won. With a start like that it’s probably no surprise that Dolly Ann’s entire life has been dictated by the pageant schedule. Her childhood was filled with music and dance lessons, pageant practice, flippers, and so many cans of hairspray that there’s probably a hole in the ozone right above the Dixon estate. There isn’t one inch of her that hasn’t been spray tanned, made up, pinched, and prodded all in the pursuit of the next title.

As an only child Dolly Ann has always been the center of her parents universe. They both dote on her. But it’s her momma that runs Dolly Ann’s life. Mary Helen makes a typical stage mother reliving her glory years through her child look like mother of the year. She makes all the decisions, even when she phrases as if it’s Dolly Ann’s choice. There is no choice in the Dixon household, it’s Mary Helen’s way, no alternatives. Even if she had wanted to rebel there was no time in her tightly managed schedule. As for her dad, he’s mostly working or playing golf. Once a month they have a daddy-daughter date, which is one of the only times she doesn’t have her momma looming over her. In their socio-economic circle they are a fairly typical family. Possibly a little more hairspray use than average but Dolly Ann comes from long line of beauty queens so it’s to be expected that family get togethers are a little more flammable than most.

Before the incident, Dolly Ann, or rather Mary Helen, had her sights on Miss Teen Normal as a stepping stone to Miss Teen North Carolina. Since losing her voice she’s been dragged to every doctor in the state of North Carolina that her momma could get an appointment with. Not to mention the acupuncturist, chiropractor, several nutritionists, a psychiatrist, and the Archbishop. Once her momma ran out of options Dolly Ann started thinking of her own. She’s not sure she wants to be in pageants now that a life-long eating disorder or being groped by some gross grandpa isn’t the worst case scenario. While there was no love lost between her and her competitors she didn’t wish death on them. And she certainly has no death wish of her own. In fact she’s a little upset that her momma isn’t more upset about someone killing beauty pageant contestants instead of being so upset that Dolly Ann lost her voice. Talk about messed up priorities. Instead of waiting around to be the prettiest corpse in Normal’s cemetery she’s decided to put her safety into her own perfectly manicured hands, even if that means seeking help from the fashion challenged Murder Club.

[normalhqs]

Welcome to The Murder Club, FRENCHIE!

( Congratulations, Emily! Please send in your tumblr blog and your discord to the main in the next 24 hours or THE BEAUTY QUEEN will be reopened )

STATS

Full Name: Francesca “Frenchie” Waverly

Faceclaim: Halston Sage

Age: 16

DOB: July 31st

Year in school: Junior

Gender: Cisfemale

Pronouns: She/her

Side of Normal: North Normal

Worst fears: Disfigurement and failure

Milkshake order: Cookies and cream

BIO

as the last day of july showed its shining face to the world, the cries of a newborn filled a hospital room in south normal health clinic. francesca eloise waverly had entered the world, and as she would for the rest of her life, she made sure that everyone around her was aware of her presence. she was joined, of course, by her partner in crime: her twin brother, theodore, was never one to be left out. he’d beaten her by three minutes: as such, she would joke that it was his duty as her older brother to set a good example. they were beautiful babies, healthy and just this side of adorably chubby, dimples and rosy cheeks mirrored on their charming faces. they were the objects of admiration of all their parents’ friends – so well behaved! some would chime in, leaning close and cooing at them. so delightful! i hope ours turn out just like yours. genevieve and james were the perfect couple – it was only right that they should have perfect children.

frenchie maintained this image of untouchable perfection. theo, on the other hand, fell a bit short.

their father was often buried in his work, so their care was left to the whims and desires of their mother. she, however, was not equipped to handle the news that her son was deaf. she knew that something wasn’t quite right, and yet she still struggled to accept the fact that he didn’t fit the perfect mold she’d envisioned for her little golden boy. never mind the fact that theo was still perfectly lovely, wonderful, charming, adorable – anything that set her child apart from what she considered to be normaland right was upsetting for genevieve. she learned, of course, to accept that this was an inevitability, and that theo’s deafness was as important to who he was as anything else about him. the family collectively learned to sign, tweaked their daily routines to suit theo’s needs, and genevieve propped up her best smile. theo knew, though, that he was no longer the favorite.

that honor went to frenchie.

from a young age, it was clear that frenchie had inherited her mother’s looks. these were shown off, of course, in pageants. as their mother doted on frenchie, dragging theo along to costume fittings and practices that lasted for hours on end, frenchie would sign rude things behind genevieve’s back or make faces to get him to laugh. oftentimes, people will say that twins have their own way of communicating. for frenchie and theo, this was much more literal: they talked nearly nonstop in ASL. while it was true that their parents learned the language alongside their children, they could never quite keep up with the twins’ rapid signing. though frenchie soaked up their mother’s approval, she thrived on the attention theo gave her. he was, by far, the most important person in her life: they shared everything. even the womb, for god’s sake.

and so it went. frenchie competed in pageants, theo watched from the wings, and genevieve hovered over the two of them like a hawk. as her daughter earned titles like little miss normal (and what a moniker that was), genevieve would parade her proudly around her little circle of friends, showing off her pride and joy. and like a flower to the light, frenchie shined with the praise, effortlessly portraying the delicate, charming pageant princess persona that her mother had crafted for her. though she still loved her brother above all else, she could never resist the overwhelming desire to please their mother. her expectations were brutal, but her attention was addictive – and frenchie had never exactly been the poster girl for willpower.

but as the saying goes: the higher they are, the harder they fall. instead of becoming the crowning glory of her high school years, the events of miss teen normal 2019 set her adrift in troubled waters. and when her voice still wasn’t coming back a few days later, she even deigned to consult the weirdos of her class – god, the indignity of it sent a shudder down her spine. frenchie knew that they knew she was only acting out of pure desperation, but she was grateful nonetheless for their conspiracy theories and attempts to figure out the truth (for once). they’re still weirdos, but, well. some things never change.

and yet, somehow, she’s fallen into a little routine with them. these days, when she shows up ten minutes late with starbucks, she’s carrying a tray with everyone’s orders. hell, she’s even waved to them in the hall once or twice. more than anything, they’ve become a surrogate of sorts for the attention lost from her mother. though she’s certainly had her failures before, nothing could compare to the look on genevieve’s face when she realized that frenchie wasn’t trying to play some kind of fucked-up prank. a deaf son, a mute daughter – oh, the irony; oh, the disappointment in genevieve’s eyes. now that miss teen normal 2019 has been postponed, frenchie’s mother has set up a rotating litany of doctor’s appointments, all in any attempt to figure out what’s wrong with her baby girl. frenchie, on the other hand, continues to grace the murder club with her presence, desperate to find any sort of explanation, traditional or not.

for now, she totes a bedazzled magnetic drawing board around with her to communicate, painstakingly attempting to teach them bits and pieces of ASL to make her life a little bit easier. without her pageant practices and rehearsals, she’s adrift, unsure of how to occupy herself. frankly, if she never finds her voice again, she doesn’t know what she’ll do.

and so she silently prays every night before she goes to sleep, wishing (just this once) that she possessed edwina’s particular brand of faith in god’s ability to perform miracles.

[normalhqs]

Welcome to The Murder Club, HOLLY!

( Congratulations, Tori! Please send in your tumblr blog and your discord to the main in the next 24 hours or THE SKEPTIC will be reopened )

STATS

Faceclaim: Abigail Cowen

Full Name: Holly-Eve Knights

Age: 16

DOB: October 31st

Gender: Cisfemale

Year in School: Junior

Pronouns: She/Her

Residence: South Normal, above her parent’s shop on Psychic’s Strip

Worst Fear: Being trapped in Normal, tight spaces

Milkshake Order: Coffee with no whipped cream but two extra cherries

BIO

Adopted by her parents Margaret and Elizabeth when she was only three years old, Holly Eve has never had a life outside of Normal, at least not one she can remember. In fact, her very first memory is passing by the flickering neon lights of Motel Hell(o) and wondering what kind of place her new home might be. Growing up with two wannabe “paranormal investigators” made for a lot of sleepless nights spent trying to create makeshift ghost catchers with two stuffed animals and a long thread of string she cut off one of her dresses.  The only thing that could ever chase away the nightmares was her favorite little stuffed dog Maximilian. But as the years went by, and she discovered the all-powerful internet, the intricate tales of psychics and monsters slowly unraveled, leaving nothing but charlatans and criminals in its wake. (The kind of monsters that Maximillian can’t chase away, though he does sit tucked under her bed ready and willing to come out of retirement should the need ever arise.) She loves her moms and has been sent to the principal’s office defending them on more than one occasion but coming home to an intense scent of sage every day is starting to give her a headache. Sometimes she wonders if her moms have any idea what they’re doing, or if experimenting with the supposedly supernatural is just a way to spend their days. The newspaper is her haven. A little place away from all the chaos where she can work to ground this crazy town – at least until she can get out of it.

That is, until, the deranged Breakfast Club infiltrates the only place of solace she has and starts trying to connect the dots to all the strange goings-on in Normal. In theory, that’s something she could get behind, but the so-called Leader has his heart set on blaming everything on the paranormal and ignoring the other very rational possibilities. Just because Holly hasn’t figured out what they are yet doesn’t mean there aren’t any. He gets her blood boiling white hot. But it’s not just this guy she has to tolerate invading her space. There’s the Jock, who hangs around the crowd who used to pull her pigtails in elementary and calls her Halloween Freak (not a creative nickname in retrospect, but it cut to the bone when she was just trying to find a place to fit in.) It feels like everyone in this nightmare club is just nodding along yes with whatever their Leader says and each time someone opens their mouth she feels a little more of her soul threaten to leave her body.  Especially the Stoner, who can’t seem to take anything anyone says seriously, and might have the vaguest motivations for being here out of all of them. She can’t help but feel a little sympathetic towards the way he’s roped everyone into believing his little fairytales, extorting people like the Babysitter and the Beauty Queen the same way all the fakes and phonies on Psychic’s Strip do. She’s half expecting to walk into her club any day now to find blue Kool-Aid set out in front of her.

But maybe she’s just a little bitter that he won’t get out of her nightmares. Recently Holly hasn’t been able to get a good night’s sleep and she’s sure her tab at Marie’s is getting a little out of hand from all her midnight coffee runs. Maggie and Lizzie have always been free spirited in their parenting so neither of them pays much mind to the odd hours she spends cavorting about town or guzzling her weight in eight packs of sugar diner coffee (and tea). Wherever she goes, she does her best to blend into the crowd and make as little fuss as possible. If she can swing it right, she’s planning on escaping Normal with an early acceptance into any school as far to the West Coast as she can get. The newspaper might be her only option at getting a good scholarship and this group of junior paranormal investigators seem determined to not let her escape.

[normalhqs]

Welcome to The Murder Club, JUNIPER !

( Congratulations, Penny! Please send in your tumblr blog and your discord to the main in the next 24 hours or THE STONER will be reopened )

STATS

Full Name: Juniper Ackerman

Faceclaim: Diana Silvers

Age: 17

DOB: June 13

Year in school: Junior

Gender: Cisfemale

Pronouns: She/her

Side of Normal: North Normal

Worst fears: Are you kidding me? Only thing left she’s scared of is death itself

Milkshake order: She’s got issues, so she drinks peanut butter milkshakes

BIO

Many people have told Juniper Ackerman that, for a girl who lives in a mansion big enough to fit the entire population of Normal, she couldn’t seem more South Side-born if she had it tattooed on her face. She was a walking, talking, cursing example of a juxtaposition. A soft, unimposing face accompanying a ready string of expletives at the slightest inconvenience; dark, inexpensive-looking clothes as she walks from the largest manor in her neighborhood; dried paint on hands only used in public to flip people off; tired eyes with dark circles permanently pressed into the skin beneath them always a little too wide to look normal; a name known by most (if not all) of the students, though few knew anything about her at all. If she weren’t so desperate to fill up the empty, to chase away the darkness by filling her home wall-to-wall with people, there was no doubt she would be a social pariah in every regard.

Biting words and ill-mannered jokes keep most people at bay from her, save for those few she’ll spare. Everything about her screams unhealthy coping mechanisms: from the faint scent of alcohol always clinging to her clothes to the nails she’s chewed off to the array of medicines-- both prescription and… recreational-- stashed away in the drawer by her bed. Her defense mechanisms are just as bad, though she wasn’t always like this. For most of her early years, she was a fairly normal (and nice) child. All she wanted was to make friends, to have people to spend time with other than the girl who lived in her closet. 

Then came the seventh grade slumber party to ruin it all. Everything had been perfectly prepared. An array of movies was chosen to keep her and her five companions up for hours, she’d ensured each invitee had three of their favorite snacks to choose from, and the family room had been cleared out to make room for their makeshift campout. She couldn’t think of a single thing left out, until that single thing began causing disturbance after disturbance in the middle of the party. Pounding headaches, missing belongings, pulled hair, and scratched DVDs were just the most prominent issues to arise within two hours. Headless Mary, as Juniper had fondly called her, didn’t like not being invited to the party. But at that point, June was aware she was the only one who could see her, and she wasn’t exactly sure how to justify speaking to someone no one else knew existed. That was what she’d been trying to explain to Mary in the kitchen, anyway, when one of the girls came to get another soda only to find the host of the party locked in a one-person conversation with an empty spot of air. Within the next school week, her reputation was completely trashed.

Throughout the years she found herself becoming more and more withdrawn; if she curled up small enough, maybe people would forget she was there and move on from calling her the local freak. She found herself spending more time with the older people who frequented her home while her parents were off. Being old enough to be left alone didn’t seem to matter, since the amount of people to come out of the woodwork the second she was meant to get the house to herself was outrageous. Somehow, even in spite of Mary’s presence, it took her a few years to realize she was the only living person on the premises during that time. That was when the drinking began.

The Juniper you’ll meet in the hall now is the same personality she created in the transformative summer between eighth grade and freshman year. Her appreciation for silence and basking in the sounds of nature was replaced with the blaring notes and voices of rock music. It’s still hard to catch her without some violent, thrasher music turned up to full volume in her ears. She’s not sure she could function an entire day without it. Her vibrant, brand-name clothes were traded in for tattered thrift store finds, allowing her to fly much further under the radar. Her upbeat, friendly personality markedly absent, her smile exchanged for a scowl. The only difference between freshman and junior year is this: it’s no longer all about self-preservation. Now, in the wake of Tommy Richter pulling a total Ouija Board and communicating to all the members of Normal’s dead kid population that she can hear and see them, she’s terrified of putting anyone else in these ghouls’ line of sight.

[normalhqs]

Welcome to The Murder Club, ROSIE!

( Congratulations, S! Please send in your tumblr blog and your discord to the main in the next 24 hours or THE FAN will be reopened )

STATS

Full Name: Rose Tuntayakul

Faceclaim: Lalisa Manoban

Age: 16

DOB: December 31

Year in school: Junior

Gender: Cisfemale

Pronouns: She/her

Side of Normal: North Normal

Worst fears: The dark

Milkshake order: Orea with soya milk

BIO

Rosie Tuntayakul is a target for bullying from the day she’s born. She’s the runt of a large, wealthy family, the scrawny and awkward sibling, a punching bag for her siblings. It’s a role she plays so well, without even meaning to. She has a talent for sticking her foot in her mouth and for being too enthusiastic. And thanks to her eagerness to please, her desire for real friendship, Rosie never learns any better. A diary extract from her ninth birthday reads: I’m glad I described the goody bag contents on the invitation. People really like Tamagotchis, so I think that’s why they came. Without many (read: any) friends, Rosie spends her days reading. She fancies herself as a regular Hermione Granger, and decides that one day, just like Hermione, she’ll find at least a couple of people who want to be her friend. Eventually, she does find one, someone with similar fanciful notions of love and romance. One friend, truthfully, is enough for Rosie. At fourteen, Rosie buys her first deck of tarot cards. It started as a mild curiosity, but a girl like Rosie needs something to hold on to, and paganism became exactly that. She’s able to divine comfort from the cards, and spends many a night holed up in her room laying out spreads while the Harry Potter score plays in the background. Her cards and her writing are what makes it so that Rosie can keep wearing that sunny smile on her face, no matter what. The Leader’s arrival in her life, if you ask Rosie, was written in the stars. The Death card she drew the night before told her as much: it was the end of an era, and with him, the Leader ushered in a new one. With the breakdown of her relationship with her only friend still weighing heavily on her shoulders, Rosie needed someone new, and the Leader perfectly fit the bill. Her fanfictions are tossed aside momentarily, dangerously teetering on the edge of becoming unfinished multi-chapter slow burners, as Rosie scribbles in her diary about the Leader instead. All she’s ever wanted is a group of friends to call her own, and his club? Rosie’s never wanted in to anything so badly, and that’s saying something. Rosie’s no stranger to embarrassing herself. She’s been doing it all her life after all. Though now, it’s by choice, begging the Leader for his time of day, tailing him and the group around at lunch time and after school. She never thought she would sink as low as she did though: paying him, making him pity her by telling him all about her pathetic life. She feels a little dirty at first, like she’s hiring him out as some kind of platonic prostitute, but that feeling quickly fades. Having something close to friends greatly outweighs the severe deterioration in funds she suffers. It’s like a burst of creative genius hits Rosie, all thanks to the Murder Club. They fuel her fanfictions. The students of Hogwarts have never acted so out of character, taking on strangely eerie resemblances to the members of the Murder Club, and focus shifts from Harry to Hermione, who, according to Rosie’s archive of our own account, is young woman with long skinny limbs and a fringe. She listens during their meetings, but just about. Just enough to draw out a draft for the next chapter of her current fanfic. Then, one day, the Leader declares his love for her and Rosie snaps to attention, pulling away from doodling in the margins of her notebook to look around the room, just to double check that there weren’t any other girls named Rosie around. Certainly an unexpected development … has her high charisma score in DnD transferred into her real life all of a sudden? Maybe she should try to get involved more often, really get her money’s worth. And maybe, just maybe, her story is actually about to begin. She won’t need to indulge in escapism anymore, her sad little existence can become something bigger. Life, starring Rosie Tuntayakul. She likes the sound of it.

[normalhqs]

Welcome to The Murder Club, MARIANA!

( Congratulations, Brie! Please send in your tumblr blog and your discord to the main in the next 24 hours or THE VIXEN will be reopened )

STATS

Full Name: Mariana Díaz

Faceclaim: Ester Expósito

Age: 17

DOB: August 8

Year in school: Junior

Gender: Cisfemale

Pronouns: She/her

Side of Normal: South Side

Worst fears: Being unloveable

Milkshake order: Dark chocolate cherry

BIO

Everyone at Normal Secondary School knows Mariana Díaz. If they don’t know her personally, they’ve seen her strutting through the halls and they’ve heard the whispers of her escapades within the boys’ locker room. She’s the one you should keep your boyfriend away from. The girl who can shatter a relationship with a quick wink or a well-shot snapchat. Of course, Mariana hasn’t always had this reputation. It’s relatively new, and if you ask anyone in school about Mariana’s past before this year, most wouldn’t be able to place her. Had she been a transfer? There’s no possible way she grew up in Normal, not with that body, those eyes. She would’ve been noticed. Right?

The truth is, Mariana was born and raised in Normal. Originally on the Northside, in a cute house with a white picket fence and three bedrooms for the brothers and sisters she never had. Her parents always wanted a bit of an age gap between their kids, if only to make it easier on them. It’s hell, raising toddlers at the same time. And before her parents could even consider having their next child, her father was taken from the world. He was a truck driver and had an accident on the road. Mariana found out at school, in third grade, when she was pulled out of class by a solemn-looking front desk attendant. Her world had been shattered that day, and forever changed

Mariana had never been close to her mother. No she and her father had a much stronger bond. And when he was gone, things between the two Díaz women grew ever more distant. Money became tight, her mother was barely home due to the incredibly long nursing shifts she’d pick up in order to make ends meet. The two ended up having to move out, and into an apartment on the Southside. Mariana became quiet, someone you wouldn’t notice. At least for her formative years. She blended into the background, sat at the end of the lunch table and ate quietly in peace. Teachers chalked it up to grief. But it was more, it was an absolute hatred of her life.

To escape she read. Books of adventure, of love. She dreamed she was those girls who were swept away in an epic love story. And because she didn’t receive that love from home, she searched for it other places. Her promiscuity began in high school, at a party. She had put on a short skirt, straightened her hair, and it was simple, nice. She had gotten the attention of a rather drunk football player, all while standing against a wall watching everyone else in the room. When the two escaped to a room and he called her beautiful while also forcing her hand between his legs, she let it happen. Because at least for that short amount of time, she was all he was thinking about.

It continued that way. Boys called her easy. It wasn’t dates to Marie’s Diner that she was getting, instead, a quick drive to the empty school parking lot for hookups. Maybe if she was lucky, 20 minutes of a movie at The Sunset Drive-In before lips found their way on her neck. Regardless of their destination, she’d never end up outside of the car. She knew they were just using her, but the high she got when they moaned out her name was always the same. It’s why she kept coming back. Of course, she thought the Alberonie boy would be different. He wasn’t, he was a boy after all. But he did give her something none of the other boys had given her before. Power.

The transformation happened overnight. Mariana woke up with beautiful silky hair, a body that was thin and fit and didn’t require her to break a sweat in order to keep. She watched hours of makeup tutorials online in order to learn how to achieve the perfect cat eye, to know exactly where to place her highlight for maximum dewiness. Red lipstick became her armor. When she walked into school, she wasn’t just noticed, she was desired. By every boy, she passed, by some girls as well. Students who never batted an eye at her, now wanted her to sit at their lunch table. So what if this newfound popularity came with some costs. The loss of her oldest friend and the need to suck boys dry? Fucking worth it.

[normalhqs]

Welcome to The Murder Club, EMMETT!

( Congratulations, Nikki! Please send in your tumblr blog and your discord to the main in the next 24 hours or THE KILLJOY will be reopened )

STATS

Full Name: Emmett Quinn

Faceclaim: KJ Apa

Age: 18

DOB: April 22

Year in school: Senior

Gender: Cismale

Pronouns: He/him

Side of Normal: North Normal

Worst fears: Being stuck in Normal forever

Milkshake order: Black and white, extra whipped cream

BIO

Emmett Quinn was destined to be a Somebody.

In the vein of all those bright and brilliant boys, determined to blaze their own trail through life, he had been definitively Ivy League-bound before he’d been old enough to understand what that really meant, before his parents had thought to think that perhaps their son was rather clever, wasn’t he? (They had always been a little bit slow on the uptake where Emmett was concerned.) He was a Somebody headed Somewhere Important,with a sparkling GPA and a list of extracurriculars that read like Yale clickbait, an overachiever with a specialist study in all things logical, and that, in a town like Normal (that specialised in all things normal) was quite enough to set him apart.

People like Emmett were never really fun at parties, too direct and focused and self-assured, but he’d found his people just as if they’d all been magnetically charged. Between swim-meets and crew practice and the endless list of extracurriculars and volunteering that popped up on his resume, he’d always had a tough time scheduling fun into the mix, but his friends had somehow had a knack for drawing it out of him. Future Somebodies attracted Future Somebodies like a gravitational force and Emmett’s friends had all been destined for something great — they were clever and gifted and witty and athletic. Sure, they weren’t Homecoming Kings and Prom Queens, but his friends held the keys to the future in their hands. Who cared about High School Royalty when you were sitting next to future Senators and Judges? Senior Year was supposed to be their victory lap, his own little clique of the soon to be Ex-Normal’s; next destination anywhere brighter than their hometown.

What happened at the cabin that night didn’t happen to people like them. To people like him.

He maps it out, sometimes, counting down the variables in his head as he makes the familiar drive from the carpark outside the local 7/11 to the cabin and back again, timing it by the clock on his dash. He catalogues every detail, breaks it down to show the workings, and plasters it to the schematics of that night like maybe he might unlock the truth of it if he just keeps looking. Forty-eight minutes is the longest the drive has ever taken him. Forty-eight minutes was the amount of time it took to snuff the brightest stars out of the Senior class in one unsatisfying mystery, leaving behind them only the bitterest taste of mediocrity, dissatisfaction and him.

One beer-run for a party that never-should-have-been and his entire world had been remade, shaped into a configuration he neither liked nor understood, but would grow to know intimately over the months following. He’s combed every inch of the woods around that cabin since, long after the search parties and the murmurs of how tragic it was had all died down. He posted flyers and checked in at the Sheriff’s office and demanded, of everyone in his life, that all of his ambition and his drive be met by something other than a maddening, quiet sense of indifference.

Even now, all these months later, Emmett can’t quite believe that all his bright and brilliant friends could be gone. As his grades and extracurriculars and acceptance letters tumble around him like forgotten toys and the swimteam wish he’d forget their existence, all his competitive spirit and drive seems to have been sunk into that one night, into the false promises of that Junior Deputy program that Emmett suspects they’d shoved under his nose if only to shut him up for a moment. Surely, one of his friends had found their way out of those woods, of whatever trouble had slunk their way that night (footprints that didn’t look like footprints; certainly not coyote tracks, whatever they say.) Surely, if he only digs his heels in and keeps on questioning he’ll find his answers. He always has before.

Except that Junior Deputy position, with all the benefits of cleaning coffee pots and filing paperwork and blatantly eavesdropping and snooping on every little scrap of information he possibly can, has gone and found itself a caveat; babysitting. The Sheriff insists that it’s more like bodyguarding, that the newspaper club has been sticking their noses into dangerous places and wasn’t it better, Emmett, to keep them out of harms way than to deal with another incident.

Emotional manipulation, unfortunately, works just as well as the presence of his friends casefiles piled on the corner of the Sheriff’s desk at motivating him these days. And he isn’t angry, he really isn’t, he might be in the furious throes of a spectacular burn out of all his Ivy potential but he’s not careening off the rails he’s just — focusing. As he always does. He’s shaved seconds off his personal best in the pool and the crew team hates him for their gruelling practices and maybe none of it matters but it has to be better than the dark hole that waits for him if he just stops.

And maybe he doesn’t relish the task of spending the dwindling moments of his senior year chained to a bunch of social misfits with a murky reputation that’s registered through even his obsessive spiral, but keeping himself busy is better than the alternative — to seeing the way that people look at him these days, not like he’s too bright to look at (not anymore) but like he’s plummeting down from lofty heights and might not survive the fall.  

But however far he might have fallen, no matter how often he is forced to dodge concerned parental looks and concerned teacher looks and concerned guidance counsellor looks and concerned coach looks, at the very least his association with the murder club lets him console himself that he hasn’t stooped to blaming his problems on yetis and ghosts. If they need someone to point out the obvious while keeping a close eye to make sure they don’t wander too far out of the light than, well, it’s not like Emmett has any friends left to remind him that he isn’t their mother.

[normalhqs]

Welcome to The Murder Club, BRYCE!

( Congratulations, Jess! Please send in your tumblr blog and your discord to the main in the next 24 hours or THE BRUTE will be reopened )

STATS

Full Name: Bryce Evans

Faceclaim: Charles Melton

Age: 17

DOB: April 10

Year in school: Junior

Gender: Cismale

Pronouns: He/him

Side of Normal: North Normal

Worst fears: Becoming irrelevant

Milkshake order: Strawberry with chocolate flecks

BIO

There are plenty of places one’s mind jumps to when they hear the name Bryce Evans - spoiled, annoying, a fucking dick – and really all of them are pretty damn accurate. The worst part about it? There’s a part of Bryce that’s always taken a twisted joy in being reasonable hated since, you know what they say, there’s no such thing as bad press. Kind words or poisonous curses, Bryce is happy so long as he’s being talked about and for the most part, it seems that desire is pretty well met by classmates from classroom to classroom and from all corners of the hall. If people aren’t falling in love with his killer smile, they’re talking about how much of a terror he is and truth be told, he eats it up.

When Bryce was born, his parents saw ambition, a chance for their legacy to live on in the form of their spawn and to wear the Evans name with pride. As he grew up though, that didn’t really seem to stick. At least, that’s what his father told him one night after one too many whiskey straights and after Bryce had done something to particular get on the old man’s nerves. Generally, his parents don’t pay him much mind and he doesn’t give a shit.

Well, that’s what Bryce tells people, cause everyone knows that giving a shit just isn’t cool anymore. Instead, he lies to himself, saying it’s better this way and at least this way they’re out of his hair, allowing him to host some of the most obnoxious ragers known to man. And so what if his parents don’t want to be a part of that? He’s managed – usually – with the help of dear friends who for some reason always felt like his company was worth all the bullshit they put up with to keep him around.

All that changed once Tommy died though. Secluded from those who could potentially witness any showing of emotion, Bryce had his first big breakdown that night. Not that anyone noticed and of course, afterward, he wiped away his tears and stiffened that upper lip because dammit, he needed answers. That’s when he got involved with them, the Murder Club, a little group he was tipped off about Tommy hanging around with The Jock before his best friend’s tragic end. Now, would he have rather just busted in there and started knocking skulls together until he got the answers he wanted? Sure, but that didn’t seem likely. So, instead, Bryce decided to link up with the little ragtag group of weirdos and residential annoyances, at least for now.