#wrhq.start

[sama-not-sam]

who: Sama and OPEN where: the main kitchen when: a little after 7am on Sunday morning

Sama had a lot of experience with hitting the ground running after a long flight. She’d tried innumerable tricks over the years, gleaned from coworkers and articles and even the occasional blog post, and she’d found what worked for her. An eye mask to sleep on the flight was crucial, as was putting her hair up in a clip so it didn’t get flat and splashing cold water on her face in the airport bathroom. Of course the most important step was coffee, but only after she’d reached her ultimate destination. If Sama tried to drink coffee before a flight it just made her antsy while she was on the plane, and these days people tended to get nervous if there was an antsy brown person on a plane.

The venti iced coffee Sama got from the Starbucks at JFK gave her the buzz to drive from the city to Woodrow House, in a rental car because she refused to ask one of the drivers to pick at 3:00am, but by the time she pulled up the drive, it was long gone. Sama chose to ignore the mess of feelings bubbling up at the sight of the place where she’d done most of her growing up in favor of focusing on her current objective: more coffee. She carried her suitcase into the kitchen with her, hoping to avoid the sound of the wheels rolling across the entry hall carrying up the stairs. It would be great if Alison’s room wasn’t on the second floor, but she doubted anything in this house had changed that much.

The coffee maker was one thing that had changed, however, and Sama noticed that immediately. Gone was the familiar coffee pot that had been state of the art when Sama left but, she had to remind herself, that had been 14 years ago. State of the art in 1991 was not state of the art in 2005, and Richard had always loved having the latest and greatest. This coffee maker was very fancy, and not a model Sama was used to, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her. She found the light roast coffee, she needed the extra acidity in the morning, a travel mug, so she could bring her coffee into the shower with her, and made sure the reservoir had enough water in it. 

With her hands planted on the counter to either side of the coffee maker, Sama stared it down. “You will not be the coffee pot to defeat me,” she muttered, as much to herself as to the appliance.

[naomikojima]

Who: Naomi and OPEN

When: Monday, September 5, 2005

Time: 5:32pm

Where: Movie Theater

Gif Credit: Here

It's the moments we share, the memories we find. She had been thinking about the final clue Mrs. Tristan had given them from the scavenger hunt earlier that day. It was not unexpected to have such a sentimental ending, but it had surprised her how nostalgia would creep up in certain locations they visited. It had been so easy to cast aside the physical space that is Woodrow Estate as just a place, but reliving it through the activity proved it wasn't.

It also surprised her how tired the hunt had made her. She wasn't old, or out of shape but the stress, timezone changes and lack of sleep had begun to take it's toll on her body. It was noticeable as Naomi slowly walked to find a quiet space, notebook and pen in hand, that she could work in that wasn't on the third floor.

The movie theater was a welcoming space with seating, somewhere she could park herself as she brainstormed for Mrs. Tristan's latest surprise for them; the gala. Naomi considered it a gift that her only duty was the menu, allowing her to hide in the kitchen rather than stand in front of a microphone and crowd again. The others could enjoy the glamour and glitz that came with these events while Naomi could enjoy the behind the scenes work. Her menu plan was Richard's favorite foods, and as she thought of ways to re-contextualize them, she drifted off.

When her eyes opened again, what caught her attention was a small movement and after a few moments to wake up, she realized she was no longer alone. "Hey," she mentioned before wiping a bit of drool from the left side of her mouth. "What's going on? What time is it?"

[rcubens-a]

🕑 DAY 1 — 09:47, MONDAY ☏ @woodrowhub | open to all

Scavenger hunt my ass. Reuben was never good at these sorts of thing. Always lagging behind others, maybe finding a clue but not knowing how to interpret it, only getting them when another ward would whisper the answer in his ear. He eventually turned his nose up at these sort of things, in the way only a teenager can, scoffs of annoyance, rolled eyes and decries of “I’m too old for this!” Though deep down getting even one clue would keep him satisfied for a lifetime. Maybe Mrs. Tristan would throw him a bone— unlikely.

He wanted to pretend to be disinterested, to seem like he was too grown up for such childish things but, it was cute that Richard wanted them all together again— it would’ve been nice to see him happy. Not to mention having everyone at Woodrow under better circumstances. He’s sat at the main kitchen counter, confusion knit between his brows as he taps the clue card against his hand. He would figure this out so help him god.

He jumps at someone else’s presence, quickly slipping the clue under his arm. He smiles sheepishly, “scavenger hunt,” he says drawing out the last syllables in a sing song.

“You find any yet?”

[themickey]

open starter @woodrowhub where: the terrace ✨ when: idk like 11pm (hopefully before ghosty time)

"i know it's late and you're probably asleep. or maybe you're just ignoring me, but i hate how much i need you right now." mickey's words slurred slightly as she spoke into her razr phone. the voicemail greeting of her ex girlfriend was a familiar sounds the preceded this confession. "i wish you were here with me, today was really hard. i can't believe he's gone...but now you're gone too and i hate it." there was a bottle of some fancy whiskey she stole from the wine cellar with dante earlier perched on the ledge next to her, a decent amount missing from it. there was a lit cigarette hanging between her fingers. "i miss you so much, i'm so sorry." mickey looks up at the stars and takes in a deep breath. there's a pause before the automated voice speaks into her ear. "voice message complete, press 1 to send." mickey pulls the phone away from her ear, thumb hovering over the button when she hears the french doors open and one of the wards walking outside. quickly, she presses the 'end' button, deleting the message, and snapping the phone shut. "hey, sorry, i just needed, uh, fresh air," she says holding the cigarette up, hoping she didn't look completely miserable. though, who could blame any of them if they did on a day like this.

[thetcrmented]

location: the pond, the woodrow estate

date: saturday 2 september, 2005

@woodrowhub

carmen knew she was avoiding everyone. as more of the wards had descended upon woodrow house, she had retreated. this was not her usual way. in the past when they had come to visit the house - when she had still called it home - she had always made an effort to spend time with her fellow wards, since those moments were few and far between. but there was not an energy of reunion hanging over the house. there was a spectre of death and an unshakeable air of grief that had started to feel suffocating.

so she had escaped outside, hoping for a moment of peace, before she had to field more questions she didn't have answers to. but she got the sense she wasn't alone before she heard the footsteps behind her, approaching the edge of the pond where she was sitting, feet dangling in the water, her shoes abandoned beside her.

"sorry i was just getting some fresh air," she said, raising her hand to shield her eyes from the sun, unsure why she was apologising. but saying sorry felt like the only thing that felt natural at the moment.

"i'll come inside soon."

[vesvius]

OPEN STARTER | @woodrowhub When: The Wake Where: In the ocean of Richard's achievements

Sebastian used to think he knew a lot about Richard, but at his funeral, he realized he could have known more. Much more. Standing among the many pictures of the deceased's achievements one caught his attention. It was an old picture of 16-year-old Richard ballroom dancing, even if it shouldn't surprise him it did.

For the longest time, Sebastian thought about writing a book based on his adoptive father, but he resisted the idea, afraid that he wouldn't live up to his own expectations, or Richard's, now that the man was dead the idea came back to his mind. It would have to wait until he finished the one on the missing daughter.

"Did you ever see Richard dance?" He asked the person suddenly standing next to him. The question came out almost as a whisper as if he was asking the voices in his mind instead of the breathing human being looking at the same black-and-white picture. "I never did."

[natcliachen]

LOCATION: The Dining Room DATE: Monday, September 5, 2005 (dinner time yeehaw) Open starter @woodrowhub

Nothing could have quite prepared Natalia for how strange it felt for all sixteen of them to be present at the dinner table without Richard sitting at the head of it. It felt like a joke that wasn't funny — uncomfortable and off-putting. It certainly wasn't an atmosphere that felt enjoyable to be in, much more consume a whole meal in. Never in her life has she been so desperate for Reuben or River to do something attention-seeking. She'd even take Reece making a joke at this point.

Rather than subject herself further to suffering through the weird mood old traditions brought, Natalia thought to use this time productively and make an announcement. She figured all of them could use a distraction after all. She gave her fork a break from pushing her food around and cleared her throat.

"So..." Natalia started. "Has anyone been to the greenhouse since we've all been back here?"

[rcubens-a]

🕑 DAY 1 — 08:55 11 hours since the eulogy

☏ open to all | @woodrowhub

Hair of the dog was said to be some sort of magical healing potion for moments like these. Though, maybe Reuben was too old for such fallacies. His hangover from the morning was boring into his head and maybe some of the anxiety from what the others would say about his Eulogy.

He knew he shouldn’t have said it— as he wrote it, it was as though the frustrated, attention starved kid within him, crawled its way out and grabbed his pen. It was embarrassing and cathartic all at the same time. No one would understand but, then again he wouldn’t expect them to. Reuben had a very unique circumstance. One that didn’t really require Richard for survival. In another his timeline, his aunt took him in as her own and in another he went to boarding school from 13 to 18 and became an upstanding citizen who dealt in mergers and acquisitions, made more money then he knew what to do with and had a beautiful wife and a picket fence and a dog.

Unfortunately, he was cursed with having too much and seeing it as not enough. At the funeral he heard stories of triumph, love and acceptance he never felt. He was jealous. Jealous that everyone had fond memories of Richard whilst his were shrouded by disinterest. When he left the cemetery he walked around the grounds for a bit and wondered if he could make it to the small airport and book the next flight to DC without saying a word to anybody.

Ultimately, he didn’t. Maybe he liked the pain. Everyone yelling at him, telling him how stupid and disrespectful his eulogy was after all Richard did for him. At least it still meant he was at the centre of the narrative. Reuben couldn’t exist in a world he wasn’t at the centre of— maybe this was a fault of his.

Nevertheless, he found himself alone in the kitchen. Sipping on whiskey. He twist the glass to hear the clank of ice against glass. His shoulders hung low and the general boyish glow had seeped out of him. He looked somewhere between 13 and 93. His eyes only lift as someone enters the kitchen.

“I know, I know— I fucked up, I’ve heard it from everyone, I’m sorry.”