#parkskylar

[ireneclermont]

WHO: @parkskylar WHERE: conclave & gala

She hadn’t noticed her at first.

But then the name popped in her mind —Skylar.

A flicker. A memory. A half-forgotten moment from a past life she didn’t remember filing away. But the face stuck. It always had, there were not a lot of hunters who went missing after all.

And the mark on her ankle hadn’t stopped bothering her since she’d stepped foot inside this place, but now it pulsed —slow, steady, like it had found a name to attach itself to.

Vampire. Or wolf. Either way, not just a girl who, for a fact, used to be one of them.

Irene didn’t second-guess it. She made her way across the floor, glass in hand—not because she’d been drinking (she never did, not here, not when the stakes felt this high), but because it gave her something to hold. Something that didn’t shake.

When she stopped at Skylar’s side, it wasn’t abrupt. Just… precise.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Her voice was quiet, but sharp enough to cut through the music.

“You’re either very brave or very stupid.”

A beat.

“Are you even supposed to be here?” Her eyes scanned the room, not lingering long enough to draw suspicion. “Aren’t you afraid someone might recognize you?”

There was no heat in her tone. Just curiosity dressed up in suspicion. She tilted her head, studying the other woman more closely now—like maybe there was something she’d missed before. The way Skylar held herself. The tension behind her eyes.

Yeah. Something was off.

“I remember you, you know,” Irene said. “Wasn’t sure at first. Thought maybe it was just another one of those faces that looks like someone else.” She gave a small shrug. “But it’s you.”

A flick of her thumb over the rim of the untouched glass. She didn’t drink. Couldn’t. Not when her skin was buzzing like this. Not when every bone in her body was on alert.

“So.” Her gaze narrowed, just slightly. “You hiding in plain sight, or are you just that confident no one here would try anything?”

She didn’t say the word. Vampire. Wolf. Other.

She didn’t have to.

[huntedarte]

The weeks following the Conclave fell back into some semblance of a routine. The visitors all went back to wherever they had come from and as far as Arte had heard, no one else had been murdered with symbols carved into their body. Hopefully, that would stay the case considering there were other things at play.

Since that night, Arte felt a little more at ease with the position they had claimed. They had survived their first conclave without anyone challenging them, and maybe... they weren't as awful at this as they thought? They mulled over the idea silently, red hair spilling over the seat of the ragged couch while their legs dangle over the back of it. The sound of the side door of the Alley opening makes them blink their eyes open, and an upside-down vision of Sky enters their field of view.

"H-hi," they say, twisting their neck slightly to follow her approach, and then wriggling their body into an upright seated position on the furniture. "Is um, are you good?" they ask. She's been quiet, quieter than normal, and Arte isn't sure if they had done something wrong. "How's Foam?" / @parkskylar

[huntedarte]

continued from xx

They don't move any closer and they try not to stare. They hate when people stare at them. Sky hasn't run away which means she's not afraid of them or mad at them, at least that's what Arte hopes. "Just... walking and th-thinking," they shrug. More like pacing and catastrophizing, but to Arte, they tend to be the same thing.

It's mid-afternoon, the sun already beginning its slow descent toward the horizon. It would be dark soon, and Arte still doesn't know where Sky goes when she's alone, when she's not with Arte or at the cafe. There is an entire life to the other wolf that they haven't gotten to know yet, but still they wonder.

"D-do you have plans.. tonight?" they ask suddenly, finally looking up to meet her eyes. "Th-there's a place. Kinda..." They frown because they're not quite sure how to describe the ramshackle warehouse that serves as their pack headquarters. And they're not sure how Sky would feel about the wolves milling about either. "I'm... we hang out th-there sometimes." // @parkskylar

[ireneclermont]

WHO: @parkskylar WHERE: bun intended

The air still smelled like lavender and old spellbooks—clinging to Irene like second skin even after she’d stripped off her apron and locked the shop behind her. Most nights, she’d go straight home. Avoid people. Avoid…everything. But tonight, the sharp edge in her chest wouldn’t settle, and the idea of silence felt louder than usual.

So she walked. Not far. Just enough to find herself in front of Bun Intended, its neon sign buzzing faintly above the patio lights. The smell of grilled onions and toasted buns curled around her like a hook.

She didn’t even like burgers that much.

Still, a milkshake and fries sounded like something that wouldn’t ask anything of her, so she ordered both, tucked herself into the far end of one of the outdoor benches, and tried to lose herself in the happy chaos of dogs chasing each other through the patio. It helped. A little.

She was halfway through her fries —shoes kicked off, milkshake balanced dangerously on the edge of the table—when she noticed the figure hovering nearby. Looking for a place to sit, scanning the filled tables. Irene didn’t recognize her at first. Just saw someone standing alone, holding a tray like she didn’t know what to do with it.

Irene’s voice came before she could stop it.

“Seat’s open.”

She nodded to the spot across from her, then adjusted her legs to make space, even if she didn’t quite smile.

[huntedarte]

[ FAKE ]: alternatively, the sender (who has just been crying in private) hastily wipes away their tears and tries to greet the receiver casually (to varying degrees of success). (SKY)

Time always passes in a blur for them. They're bound to the day-night cycle, but when it comes to weeks or months, sometimes it's impossible to tell what happened two weeks ago versus two months. It's not an excuse, even though it feels like one. They've gone from one crisis to the next, all while beating away nightmares and memories to the best of their ability. There are also some good things to it, the small group that has coalesced around them. The feeling of belonging and safety that they have been missing for over a decade, yet it also brings a new sort of terror.

They don't mean to avoid Skylar, but every time they think about her smile, they also think about the silver-black burn that scars Flick's torso now, and how uncharacteristically subdued the blonde has been since the night of the attack. It was like watching a flame burn down low and they hated it. They didn't want the same to happen to someone else they cared about.

But Lucian is here. So is Cam. And the mysterious witch who looks so much like Cham. They are not as far away from the horrors as they had assumed, and the instinct to run is still rooted deep. Run far and fast so the danger follows them. Lead them away so the others are safe. Isn't that what an Alpha does?

They are pacing, agitated and restless, and they don't realize where their feet are taking them until they spot Sky's frame against a tree, and they can smell the salt from her tears.

Like a switch, their own fears get shoved to the back of their brain and they approach slowly, making enough noise not to startle her. "H-hey..." They almost ask if everything is okay, but the words die in their throat. Obviously she's not. Arte chews on their lower lip and bounces on the balls of their feet for a few long moments before dropping to the ground to sit cross-legged. There to listen if Skylar wanted, or give her the opportunity to walk away if she didn't. / @parkskylar

[howlonwheels]

closed starter for @parkskylar where/when: doughfellas, dinnertime

Despite the many different species living in Port Leiry, pizza seems to be the universal language, on every tongue. Hunters and witches were, after all, only human. But Arleen swears in her six years here she's even seen and smelled vampires chowin' down at Doughfellas, if only to prove to their fledgling clan buddies that garlic ain't all what Hollywood made it out to be. And on nights when she's not in the mood for tourists, no doubt the smell of onions, pepperoni, olives, and bacon has her mouth watering like an absolute dog.

Means it's busy as hell at dinnertime, though, with the carryout counter piled high with greased cardboard. Arleen does her best to navigate the shop floor amid the others getting their pizza fix for the evening. When she gets to the counter, the no-doubt underpaid cashier distractedly hands her a box and she waits to check it 'til she's at the outside tables -- but already her wolf nose can tell something ain't right.

"Awh, damn. This one ain't mine," she muses, looking back over her shoulder. No chance she's tracking down the person who actually ordered this one, but that unmistakable scent hits her nose as a young woman exits the shop -- there's the veg, the meat, and the musty smell of a turned wolf beneath it all. Arleen sighs and hollers, "Hey. I think they gave you my pizza by mistake."

[devilsvenom]

@parkskylar

She wasn't sure she was ready to be a crazy cat lady at the ripe old age of twenty - two, but when she came to the cat cafe for the only cup of coffee in this place that she actually enjoyed rather than just stomaching, you became familiar with them. One in particular had kept her company many times before. "Hey, what's the adoption process like? Do I just say 'ay, can I have this one?' and you say sure and I give you some cash and boom, I'm the owner of a cat or..?"

[carsonsanderson]

@parkskylar

"I just -" he let out a huff, knowing no one had asked him to talk but he needed to get these conspiracy theories off his chest. "- it doesn't make any sense, but I feel like something super bad happened and everytime I try to think too much on it my head hurts and god this is stupid," he groaned before looking besides him. "I sound crazy, don't I?"