#wither.open

[badgestay]

WHERE: deadwood streets WHEN: 6:45 pm WHO: open.

by the time you rise high enough up in the ranks of the deadwood police department, it’s about the little nuances of the job. paperwork isn’t pleasant unless you’re a particular kind of deputy, and the politics aren’t really garrett’s favorite part of the job either. he likes being able to improve things - to fine tune the machine of the department as much as he can, underneath the weight of all the homicides, disappearances, and general crime rate in deadwood. he would prefer to never have to speak to the mayor again, for example, and to be able to just go on patrol.

so the solution is to sometimes go on patrol. garrett’s leaving work at a normal time. he’ll call in once he pulls into the garage, a final indication that he’s off call for the night, and he’ll be able to actually see his sons. they’ll put on a movie, or one of them (wyatt, probably) will be asleep. and on the rare early nights like these, he sometimes likes to do a little patrol work.

just a touch of it. speeding tickets and intervening in a few duis staggering out of heaven’s tavern at weird hours.

so when someone’s going seventy in a thirty-five zone, passing him by as he sits at a little past forty as a test, he debates it for a moment, and then flicks on the lights and siren, following them until they pull over to the roadside. he rattles off the plates and make and model to dispatch as they go, idle. not expecting a resposne right now.

flashlight, and stopping at that particular angle at the door so he can react if necessary. all the old tendencies, like clockwork. “okay,” he says. “i want to get home just as much as you probably do, so would you like to guess how fast you were going?”

[keykoded]

WHERE: outside vertex cinema, hill city WHEN: 8:11 am WHO: open to all.

she sort of drifts on the walk to work. it’s normal. people do it in cars too, but there’s no reason to spend money on the gas here in hill city. she can make it from miller heights to vertex cinema in about a twenty minute walk, depending on the lights, and that’s something she likes too. florence never liked to drive. she did it, but it was always with a sense of anxiety. if she couldn’t pilot herself, her own flesh and blood body, then how could she pilot a few hundred pounds of metal around?

well. she did, in the same way she gets around in the weird configuration of blood and flesh and bone that makes up her existence: unhappily, and because she has to.

it’s like she drifts all the way up to the doors of vertex. it’s her job to open and close, after all, and the showings never start on time. florence drifts like that all the way up to the doors, fiddling with her keys. it’s only when she drops them that she notices the other pair of shoes nearby and startles back, scooping up the keys and blinking.

“oh,” she says, “oh, god, sorry, i’m just - sorry, i know i’m late, it’s just me here today so give me a second and - are you here to see something? i mean, what are you here to see? i was supposed to play a streetcar named desire but we can do anything, i have the cabinet of dr. caligiri also set up too from yesterday, if that’s what you want, or i can dig something else up. so...”

she trails off before shoving the keys into the lock, her eyes dropping down to her hands, something familiar and safe, and working on actually unlocking the door properly.

[viknaerth]

The night-life of Deadwood had charmed Vik and she had made sure to acquaint herself with it accordingly. Though terribly surface-bound her syren spirit ran rampantly through each of her nightly outings. Tameness was never associated with the event that was going out. Whether it was crawling from bar to bar or dedicating whole nights to underground realms of fantastical pleasure, her stopping point was always at the whims of others. Either the bar would close or she would find a kind soul who’d show her to their bed. With nothing but debauchery in mind, she found herself in Bacchus, ready to lose as many hours as she was let. 

“It’s a waste of energy to keep yourself standing.” Vik offered coolly from her perch at the bar, offering a soft smirk to the person waiting to get served. They had been part of the lucky collective that had been regarded by Vik Naerth, a discerning judge of aesthetics. Deadwood had been so kind to her, offering divine specimens of all species; though wytches remained unwanted, unwelcomed and uncared for. “You never know what the rest of the night could entail.” 

[macaulay-mott-blog]

* ╱ 𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐓

●︎ when: may 8th, 2019  ●︎ where: deadwood park ●︎ with: open thread

the taste of dark-roast coffee stained his breath. it was soon masked by the mint-flavored gum the wytch slipped into his mouth as he adjusted the neat glasses that rested on the bridge of his nose. the blonde male spent the past four hours arguing with a client in his office about a particular dark artifact that was impossible to procure; even for him. after some heated exchanges, the two agreed that their behavior was deplorable and would not resurface in future conversations. the two understood the need for respect in their field and they’d dismiss this as a mere lapse in judgment. macaulay knew this man was a true fool not to listen to him, then again he’d move onto the next dealer who promised him this item. he’d eventually succumb to a scam and mac would merely smile as the other housed an inauthentic item. excusing his guest, he packed his bag, and headed to a place in town that brought forth an overwhelming sense of clam. as he approached his favorite bench in a very desolate park, the man took a seat and cleared his throat. “it’s a nice day out isn’t it?” he asked as he took a seat next to them and hoped they were ready for a idle conversation.

[giles-nesbitt-blog]

* ╱ 𝐆𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓

●︎ when: may 7th, 2019 ●︎ where: the lucky lady ●︎ with: open thread

working as a bartender wasn’t too terrible. it was a easy job; especially for someone with minimal education and no amazing future in sight. in hindsight - this seemed rather ideal. yes, there were times where the lonesome wolf would contemplate his future and where he would end up without that damn bunker haunting him but then he was reminded that was selfish. the pack took him in, they provided for him and gave him a place when they found as a child out in the woods half starved. to question those motives, choices, and decisions that aided him in his time of need was downright cruel. taking a sip from from the glass of whisky that was hidden behind the soda machine, giles noticed how empty this place was. fuck yea. this meant they would close close on time and without a second thought the red-head started to clean and restock the bar as his thoughts got lost in the idea and concept of space. the stars were a nice distraction from those darker thoughts that tended to haunt him. as a voice called out to him, giles felt his stare raise over the bar at the sight of a friendly guest who looked nice enough. “what can i get for ya?” he questioned the individual - his tone a lot nicer than usual and only because he’d recently been yelled at for his lack of candor.

[bigssidney]

WHERE: Black Hills

WHEN: Middle of the day

WHO: Open to all!

Sidney loved to take his Great Dane, Ramsey, on walks quite often. He was a big dog living in a one bedroom apartment and while his apartment complex had a small dog park, Ramsey really enjoyed running. Sidney liked to take him to the Black Hills, which was supposedly a national park but was more like a forest. He never had any run ins, though, as most people seemed to be intimidated when they saw how big Ramsey truly was. 

It was in the middle of the day, when Sidney had no work or school, and so he found himself walking Ramsey around the Black Hills as he would normally do. It was an interesting place, one that he often enjoyed exploring as it seemed like there was always somewhere new to discover. This time, Sidney found himself practically being dragged along as Ramsey seemed to be on a mission to find something. After a few minutes, the dog pulled Sidney towards a dense part of the forest. He stood there, staring into the tree line, as if he could see something that Sidney couldn’t.

Sidney just figured that he was smelling something, or trying to figure out where to pee. That is until Ramsey started to growl. Sidney could see all of the hairs on Ramsey’s back stick up and he began to get a little worried. Sidney found himself staring into the forest but couldn’t see anything. 

“Hello? Is anyone there?” He called out, scared that someone might answer.

[goldendichotomy]

WHERE: pride festival, streets WHEN: late afternoon - early evening WHO: open

no matter how busy he gets, the flurry of business and parenting and life conglomerated, alec always tries to make time for this.  too much of him can be related back to pride.  a first festival, first parade and all the feelings born from it.  like machinery finally clicking into the correct rhythm and leaving a young alec, someone who small he barely remembers anymore, reeling at the sensation of being truly known.  that feeling is all that lingers through the years.  less intense now but ever present when surrounded by the ecstasy of young ones and older folks all finding themselves.  isn’t that the point of pride, after all?  utter understanding of yourself and the ones around you.

even in south dakota that theory seems to prevail well enough.  not the largest pride he’s seen after decades in new york, but far more massive than anticipated.  rapid falls is bursting at the seams to contain them all.  spilling into sioux falls at night when time to rest, but inevitably the masses return.  overtaking even streets not portioned off from traffic and holding up masses of cars.  alec can see such things through alleyways away from his booth -- the reason for being here, the homage that he’s maintained every year since taking himself into art as a business as much as a hobby.

painting canvases is easy.  painting bodies is harder.  

alec offers both, his plain clothing stained by oils as much as latex.  different paints mixing together into a picasso mimicry that changes with sweat and time and more creations.  this booth is his lifeblood, free beyond donations at the customer’s will.  all towards a non profit more deserving of it in the changing climates than some may realize.  people enter at all hours, from the first second of pride to the last minutes wanting paint on their bodies or small canvases.  sometimes with ideas so specific alec is astounded.

other times giggling, squirming and turning pink when he tries to probe their minds.  

the girls leaving with a combination of both, one still red and the other wild eyed as she displays her fully paint slick torso to passing strangers, soaking in their oos and aahhs.  alec doesn’t try to hide his grin as he turns to the next approaching person.  paintbrush behind his ear, airspray gun hanging loosely from his fingertips as he gives a half joking, quick bow to the being before him.

     “canvas, body?  or are you here just to talk and watch it happen to other people,” he adds slyly, “so you can talk yourself in or out of whichever one might strike your fancy?”

[lausavisa]

WHERE: falls park, sioux falls WHEN: 1:00 pm WHO: open.

during her lunch break, she could spend her time locked up in the funeral home, eating another sandwich and observing a cadaver. it’s what her bosses do sometimes, the two utterly human siblings who seem profoundly unable to escape what their family means in this city. indigo, however, is an unknown factor and a new quandary. sometimes she stays out of pity, to give them someone to talk to that isn’t each other or themselves. but at least once per week, she escapes and walks to the nearby park. 

every day, you have to find the little pleasures, the little presents that fate hands you. she doesn’t prepare for them, and she doesn’t determine what they might be, but she finds one every day. the only rule is that they must be small and simple and profound in that simplicity.

she has succeeded in that every day since moving here to south dakota. and today is no different. 

today, though, the small present is a bird on the other end of the bench she’s brought her lunch to. it sits there on the arm of the bench, tilting its little yellow feathered head this way and that, observing her bag of chips. it has been sitting there for a few minutes now, seemingly gathering the courage to approach. despite the quiet peace of this, indigo is also acutely aware of when someone else is looking at her.

she turns, her movements slow and paced. “i’m trying to keep from scaring it off,” she says quietly. “so don’t move too quickly, or else it’ll be gone. i think it makes an excellent companion for lunch.”