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Roland calling a meeting and placing the murderers under the same roof once again seemed like the beginning of some sort of sick joke that Caleb didn’t want to be a part of, but his curiosity had gotten the best of him despite the voice in his mind screaming at him to reconsider his choices. He had quietly slipped into the room amidst whispering and and suspicious glances, situating himself neatly near the exit and by the corner. It was a perfect getaway spot for when this whole meeting eventually evolved into a screaming match between all the suspects, something that he had no intention of partaking in. When the accusations started, Caleb had never expected anyone to point their finger at him, blinking in sheer surprise as clear disbelief invaded his features.

A part of him was hurt that people thought he was capable of doing something to Eric, let alone killing him. Though another part understood considering his line of work as well as his habit of shutting everyone out of his life. He briefly considered leaving right then and there, but he knew it would make him look far more guilty than he did now. The scowl on his face clearly did nothing to discredit the allegation, but he stood his ground no less. “What is this? A witch hunt? I’m not the killer. Do you really think I’d do something like that?”

#sus:starter #//tbh feel free to not match length or anything!! i know alot of this is inner monologue #anyways i have an early class tomorrow!! i'm probably gonna pop off now

Time: after 8:30pm. Location: town hall - back door. OPEN.

Nights like these, Roland wished he did smoke, because his fingers were itching to scratch or grab at something. The meeting had been a disaster, he’d barely said what he really wanted to say, and it was only getting clearer that he’d simply have to fend for himself. Relying on the people of this town was going to get him killed next -- he shuddered at the image of his own body sitting in a pool of his own blood. Just like how Eric had met his bitter, pathetic end.

The fresh air outside was helping him cool his head, however, and he’d just decided to take a couple more minutes before going back inside to clean up when he heard footsteps coming his way. In no mood to deal with anyone else’s objections or grievances, Ro made sure to keep his head down and his eyes glued to the screen of his phone.

“Sorry, I really can’t help you right now. If you have any complaints about tonight, you can feel free to leave a message with my secretary,” he cautioned, not bothering to look up at who it was standing near him.

#( queued )#( starter: OPEN )#sus:starter #( event: one )#( this is short & sweet but feel free to lengthen it or shorten it or whatever ! )

time ;; 12:40 a.m. location ;; triton’s carpark status ;; open

She’d only gone to the party to make a deal. One of her favorite customers ( and by favorite, she meant one who always paid up front & in cash and never tried to fuck her ), had insisted on it. She’d only stayed because she liked watching people make drunken fools of themselves at karaoke and the drinks were damn good. And perhaps because she liked to show off, and it’d been a while since she’d had a reason to. And of course it was all ruined rather quickly when the smoke had cleared and the panic had given way to confusion followed by more panic.

“Jesus,” Letty breathed, almost not believing her eyes. “This is some fucked up shit.” She had wanted to disappear into the night, but she knew that was probably not the best idea, especially considering she hadn’t yet been cleared like so many others there that night. No, leaving would make her look guilty of something. Of what, she wasn’t entirely sure, but she wasn’t going to risk it. She was just thankful all she had on her that was slightly incriminating was a handful of twenties in her bag, but that could be passed off as stupidity rather than something illegal.

Maybe she should have felt spikes of terror at arson and the warning. Maybe she should have tried to mimic more what others were doing, found a group to worm her way into as an attempt to make herself just another pretty girl in a crowd, but she couldn’t bring herself to. All she could be was thankful that she wasn’t being dragged into the mess once more. “Guess it’s a good thing I took a cab.”

#sus:starter #event:002 #( toil & trouble | event )

TIME: 20:45 LOCATION: town hall STATUS: open How poetic! Territory once marked by an obnoxious individual, granted her free access to walk across the length of flat marble and stone. Grief drowned her in the same way it had when she lost her beloved husband, barely even a flinch jostling her pretty figure. Eyes remained pealed, ears open, hopeful for an ounce of information, the tell-tale sign of a buried secret. Hands had been pushed into the dirty on many occasions, if only to disguise the scarlet marks. Craven souls clung to one another, hoping for security under the guise of friendship. All anyone ever did was take, and then take some more. She detested the vultures, saw through the thin veil of the planned event. They would never have her trust, or her cooperation.

With a quick glance around the room, Lara decided that none were worthy of her protection, her resources. She would set them alight, if it would keep her warm. Waxing on a genuine expression, although there was very little truth to it, the blonde walked over to the nearest suspect, pushing her crimson lips together, “I’m surprised nobody brought baked goods. A town meeting usually comes with an array of overly-sweetened foods, to compensate for the callousness of the atmosphere.”

#sus:starter

The moon held itself high up in the sky, giving a soft glow to the streets of good old Fable City. Night was Femi’s favorite time when it came to the beloved city, the time when everything grew quiet, people went behind closed doors, and secrets came to light. Femi lived for the high of the nightlife. This day was no different. Femi was most productive at night which is why he was at work late, typing away for a new article that he wanted to try to make into the morning paper. It was a update on the murder of the mayor, not that Femi had anymore clues himself. It seemed like people were going to be pretty tight lipped. To destress a bit, he’d stepped away from the mess of a desk with coffee stains, papers thrown around, and one too many candy bar wrappers. He stood under the moon and night sky, the low light of the street light illuminating the outside of the building as he sat on the concrete steps and smoked the single cigarette he had left on him.

#smoking tw #sus:starter #kinda after the meeting considering i'm sick and might not be able to participate much with that but i wanted to throw femi onto the dash #starter;

TRICK OR TREAT

TIME: 10:35 PM LOCATION: Triton’s Car Park STATUS: Open

He’d seen people scrambling first, noticed people grabbing onto one another with terror upon their faces, saw them scatter as if someone had fired off a warning shot. But the music had drowned out his ears and the whiskey had dulled his senses, his reaction time far slower than it should have been at a time like this, at a scene like this. Shoulders shoved and arms pushed and voices yelled, but he couldn’t focus on any of it, not with the overwhelming and all too familiar ball of anxiety rising up his throat as he was forced to join the herd, as he was ushered out among the swarm.

He saw the flames second, roaring to life just across the street as black fumes billowed out of the opening in the wall of the garage, but he ran the first chance he got. He made a break for it when the sea of strangers parted, needing space and air to breathe. What the fuck? Someone gasped beside him and he whipped his head around to gawk, the interruption in his panicked thoughts a welcome distraction. And he shared the exact same sentiment. Random cars set ablaze, a warning, a message—who could know for sure? Mild terror glazed over his already numbed exterior, settling into his bones as he stood wide-eyed on the pavement. Curios, the timing. And at such a grand affair, no less. What the fuck, indeed.

He heard their voices third, the men in blue with their flashlights raised high and their fingers just inches from the trigger. Rashid Zaidi, come with us, they’d said, pulled him away from his scorched, once white and now singed black Toyota Camry and insisted on speaking with him. Where do you work? The University. Where do you live? The Woodlands. Did you have any enemies? Yes. No. It was routine, as routine as can be when you’re standing in front of your burnt-to-a-crisp mode of transportation while answering questions from the police, but he was confident he handled it well even in his inebriated state—in fact, it only helped.

After the commotion, he’d wandered back down to the front of the entrance and toward the crowd, not really sure if he was seeking comfort or simply trying to blend in, but it covered both bases. He was careful to stick to the outskirts, pulling out his pack of smokes and lifting one from the box, but as he lit the cigarette a shadow emerged from over his shoulder and he turned to greet the fellow victim, perhaps perpetrator, maybe just innocent bystander.

“Quite a night, huh?” he let out a half-hearted chuckle, “Happy Halloween.”

#10:35 PM #l: triton's car park #e: toil & trouble #sus:starter #pls dont feel pressured to match #i often get carried away :/#also i'll reply to some starters tmrw!!

TIME: after 8pm LOCATION: Town Hall OPEN: to anyone

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If she’d been in the position to choose, Eden wouldn’t have appeared at town hall at all. The identity of Eric’s killers was of very little consequence, it wasn’t as though she was going to offer a basket of muffins as a thank you but neither was she interested in seeing anyone punished for an act they were probably all guilty of in dreams. Guilty of when they could control that they didn’t get caught, so really who were they to sit in judgement? Or stand, as the case was, with so many asserting dominance with straightened posture and loud words.

She was, quite frankly, sick of the whole charade already.

Would have happily spent the entire evening perched against a table zoning out to far off lands if it hadn’t been for the unfortunate focus she was subject to. Arriving with Carter was not a good look by any measure, particularly when the unfortunate (Woodlander at least) consensus seemed to be that her kind were always in trouble with the police. Adding to that the wrongful accusations against her father and a supposed family history of murder, and the last place she wanted to be was in proximity to the Deputy Sheriff. Certainly not when a penchant for being a good samaritan had forced her to be late. Notably so. As adept as she was at appearing unaffected, the reminder of a room full of people looking at her with contempt, suspicion, or pity, was a little more than she was prepared for. After all, they were in the same boat this time. Without the chance to plan her reaction, a hand swept up to tug hair behind her ear as her gaze fled from those present. The epitome of a chastened child when her hand fell back to join the other, fingertips tangling in soothing motions.

She couldn’t stop thinking about it, how it had taken a rescue from both Carter and then Max to have her even move from the doorway, be freed of their attention. Really she would have left if it wasn’t for the return of logic and her more practiced demeanour.

“Do you think there will be many more of these?” It might have been helpful to look at her companion before asking, so she’s at least aware of who it is. And yet the goal seems more to protect their little pocket of silence from the surrounding noise, her voice far more calm and level than the ones currently assaulting the air. “Mob mentality doesn’t usually bring the truth to light, just drowns it out with noise.” A soft and muted smile as she offers them her full attention, keen not to appear as animated as those around, “Although I suppose it takes less time for the Sheriff’s department if they group us all together like this.”

#sus:starter #absolutely do not need to match i rambled on #eden. event starter

TIME: 8:30. LOCATION: Town Hall. STATUS: Open.

“This? Is a complete waste of time. I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, Mr. Park, but this isn’t a whodunnit — someone was actually murdered, and, believe it or not, trying to intimidate the killer out of the shadows isn’t going to do anything but up the already rampant paranoia. Save the pitchforks for when we actually know who murdered Eric Rousseau, and, for God’s sake, let the police do their damn jobs.”

His own outburst remained at the top of his mind as the meeting drew to a close, his own anxiety at an all-time high. At the very least, Max was grateful he remained poised, despite shouting down one of the most important men still alive in the city. Accusations were being slung back and forth like mud, and he never wanted to dirty himself in the crossfire — though he’d be hard-pressed to admit it, Max certainly saw himself above the rest of the city’s squabbles. He wished he had never been obligated to attend, wanting to separate himself from the tragedy as much as possible. He was well-aware of the implications of his heel-faced turn, Eric’s body not even cold before Max had begun his criticisms, tearing apart his supposed friend’s legacy in written form, piece by piece. Despite his own personal feelings towards the man, they had maintained a facade of friendship for several years, so his apparent turn in loyalties would be, as he well knew, suspicious enough.

He needed to play it cool, but that was easier said than done. His rant had betrayed more of his feelings than he would’ve liked, and that put him in a more vulnerable position than if he had remained silent and sucked it up, tolerating the nonsense. Max wasn’t a politician like Eric Rousseau was, but he wasn’t an idiot, either. He knew he had a reputation to maintain, some degree of professionalism so he could keep this identity he’d so carefully constructed — and be able to discard it when enough time had passed. Life wasn’t a game to him so much as it was a program — and that outburst, like any other decision he’d made before, was a questionable command in a long string of writings. It didn’t have any particular inherent value, positive or negative; it was the mistakes he’d make later that would make it disastrous. To ward that off, he’d have to correct. And that meant he’d have to do the thing he dreaded most in this world: Max would have to schmooze.

A subtle swig from his flask in the coatroom later, and Max had re-appeared in the crowds to mingle. Wine on his breath and a sense of ease falling over him, and he was as ready as he’d ever be for the uncomfortable interactions to follow. Without further procrastination, Max jumped in, sidling up to the person closest, wearing a carefully neutral expression. “This whole thing is so performative – leaves a bad taste in my mouth."