dream's over!

tallulah kennedy. pbs assistant. coming back to earth.

[dantexcoltrane]

He doesn't deserve your laugh. You try to amuse him, but you don't need to. He doesn't even want it; he doesn't even treat it like it's the most beautiful thing he's ever heard; he's tone-deaf to you, Tally. If you only knew, if you could only know what you do to those that see you.

Tally, don't.

Dante is too far to hear every word, but there's one thing his ears have strained far enough into the conversation to catch one distinctly: maybe. She's been tricked and lured and teased and all for what? Ruination. Empty promises. An ending that is never coming. He knows her better to know that 'maybe' is another word for yes. She'll be on the front steps, waiting and waiting, not seen to be good enough to even have the door held open for her. One day, she'll know it's not from everyone's eyes, that in his eyes she'd never touch another handle if she'd let him. Those same eyes follow her from the corners, trailing after her, watching every step to the single drop that otherwise goes unnoticed.

On the ground are her keys. No one notices. How could they not see them? A pair of feet glide over them. Not one hand bends down to take possession of them until his fingers roll around them. The metal teeth run against his skin, sink into his palm. Tally, anyone could have these right now. But it's him. It's him. On some plane, some heaven sent map, these were given, transferred from her touch to his, entrusted in his care.

~~~~

"Miss!" Dante calls out, feeling a drop start to fall from the clouds above. It was time. He's been behind her for several minutes, just long enough for her favorite song to finish, for it to finish its repeat, for it to finish the next track and the track after that on shuffle like she likes. But it's time. Time to see her turn, to look at him, to send a jolt through his heart, to stop him dead in his tracks right before her.

"You dropped this," he tells her, one key on its loop for her, extended out for her to take. One key out of two. One key out of two and a keychain she's better off without. He nearly forgets how it sounded to splat against the side of the dumpster when he stares at her. "You must like loud music," he jokes before gesturing backwards, the last block they passed together with only one of them knowing it was a joint trip, "I've been calling for you for a long time." Forever it seems. Always. "You have to be careful. A lot of crime this side of town."

[tallykennedy]

the words aren't clear, her expression guarded and cautious while assessing why a stranger is talking at her. it's not the most unfamiliar of sights for someone who's taken a late bus home, or stood at a bar waiting for a drink too long. but it doesn't quite click into place the same way in the middle of the day, standing in front of her office building. but then the keys catch the light, she's reminded that not everything need be compared to a social life. somethings were simple, they were her mistake.

"seriously?" the headphones drop down to her neck, music paused as she finally looked what the stranger was offering her. "god—" she grabs the key ring without thinking, hand just grazing his own as she reclaimed what she should never have lost. "thank you." her voice is already exasperated; how stupid, dropping the studio keys again and again, even if the only inconvenience was having to ask leo for a new set. she was supposed to be better than that now, the recovered type never misplaced keys or left doors open, they dotted their is and crossed their ts.

"where'd you find them?" if it'd been a block it could have been two, and everything unspooled from here. "i mean, sorry, you're a life saver."

[dylnsohbrien]

[dantexcoltrane]

@tallykennedy

She's talking to that one. When is she ever going to figure out that they're only ever talking to her to use her up? He's connected the dots for her; it comes with the detective brain; it's not her fault, but if any one of them was any good for her, she would have never found herself at her lowest low. She would have never fallen far below the perch she should always be placed at. He's never understood it. It's obvious to him. She deserves so much more, so much more than a singer can give her, or a director, especially ones who seem too busy.

He's done his research. He knows who they talk to, who they spend their time with, who they look at the way Dante looks at her. It's never Tally Kennedy. He knows things about her that they could never know, things they'd never in a million years even notice about her that he's able to trace over with his eyes closed. Don't the pages in his notepad bleed from his feelings enough? The tip of his pencil curving to become a weak mirror of her hair in a bun? He'll never do her justice. No one ever could. He can only hope one of the cameras around this place is clear enough to take, official police matter, nothing less.

All he can do is watch for now. Be content with being closer this time than most. To be in the light of the bar, even if it's in the corner, busying himself during his limbo, curating her image as best he can, even when she soon becomes alone, even when he's failed to notice her walking in his direction.

[tallykennedy]

DANTE.

@tallykennedy

She’s talking to that one. When is she ever going to figure out that they’re only ever talking to her to use her up? He’s connected the dots for her; it comes with the detective brain; it’s not her fault, but if any one of them was any good for her, she would have never found herself at her lowest low. She would have never fallen far below the perch she should always be placed at. He’s never understood it. It’s obvious to him. She deserves so much more, so much more than a singer can give her, or a director, especially ones who seem too busy.

He’s done his research. He knows who they talk to, who they spend their time with, who they look at the way Dante looks at her. It’s never Tally Kennedy. He knows things about her that they could never know, things they’d never in a million years even notice about her that he’s able to trace over with his eyes closed. Don’t the pages in his notepad bleed from his feelings enough? The tip of his pencil curving to become a weak mirror of her hair in a bun? He’ll never do her justice. No one ever could. He can only hope one of the cameras around this place is clear enough to take, official police matter, nothing less.

All he can do is watch for now. Be content with being closer this time than most. To be in the light of the bar, even if it’s in the corner, busying himself during his limbo, curating her image as best he can, even when she soon becomes alone, even when he’s failed to notice her walking in his direction.

she laughs into the remnants of a latte, cold foam sticking to the rim of a chipped white cup, mismatched saucer dried from any spills. there’s only so much time in a lunch break, even if it’s buffered by comments about the fact that she has one at all. she’s pretty sure she doesn’t actually, that strolling back into the PBS offices a little later than stated every now and again wouldn’t result in much. but it’s the sort of laziness that slips, and she didn’t take the job to slip. so she acknowledges the squareness of her decision, the robot blazer she’s pulled over to disguise from a slightly cooler shirt. she nods— points at the crumbs that still dust the corner of leo’s mouth and picks up her bag. 

“maybe i’ll come tonight.” she shrugs, “maybe.” which is code for yes of course, i’m offended you even had to ask again. but they don’t say what they mean, and now she’s pretty sure they never will. “you’ll have to see.” she checks her watch and gives a salute goodbye before there’s time for another round of witty comebacks. they’ve been known to go on for hours. 

the office isn’t far from the coffee shop, the small cafe that she’s staked a claim on as her escape when the starched collars start the itch, a safe middle ground between past and present. it’s still long enough to pull out her head phones, pick a song or two to hum along with. the clunky over the ear headphones have a tendency to drag a fair amount of junk along with them, dropping the occasional receipt or pen on the ground while she secures the headphones over her ears. 

this time a pair of jangling studio keys hits the ground, the kind of sound that’s nearly impossible to miss unless someone can’t hear over the music that they’re currently selecting. she stands there, shuffling through the downloads of demos and eps that always seem to need a first listen, keys glinting at her feet. just waiting for to be noticed. 

[tallykennedy]

LEO.

“I’m Iron Man,” he needles with a straight face. “You can call me. You know, with this fucking new gadget.” A hand from his pocket pulls out the iPhone, the cracks on the back showing its age, those that aren’t covered up by the grinning lion sticker on the case. It winds up on the counter, half-tossed. What does it have to lose at this point? He gives her another glance at, taking her ‘good’ with a roll of the eyes, but an eventual nod to join it.

“Sorry, all I heard was funeral, what are we toasting to again?” Leo’s hand is already tipping his drink to his lips, taking the sip sans any words of good grace. “What’re you really doing there? They blackmail you into this shit or what? I know you. Shit doesn’t add up.”

“my bad.” eyes widen before they roll, return on investment in expression. there’s always got to be the next clever answer, how else would they survive. she picks up the phone that’s found itself abandoned as though she hasn’t seen it a thousand times before. “i don’t even know if i’ll be able to connect to that. what’s it on, like a 6g network?” 

it’s set back down, slid towards its owner who has no use for it when there’s still a toast on the line. “to not having to sing a cover of the latest taylor swift.” a small, but undeniable portion of being a singer for hire. though it’s a far stretch from any real reasoning she might have. she drinks finally to her own toast— is something blackmail if its self inflicted, no she figures that she’s just doing well. “i’m actually gathering intel, so i can make my own startup and then sell. maybe buy an island. gotta keep up with iron man.” another sip of her drink and she dances around the truth again. “i’ll even upgrade your recording studio if things go right.”

[tallykennedy]

leo.

“Your loss. I was going for the whole tab, but I’ll take first round.” The shots are placed in front of them, one each. Leo’s fingers fall on it about as soon as it’s found a home on the bartop, but it’s not raised yet, attention tracked back to his friend. “Say the word, and I’ll break you out. You fucking know that, right?” It’s not a joke, and the way the blue eyes are centered on her tells her that it’d be tonight’s fun to tell them she quits. They soon roll, nearly to the back of his head, when she gives him the defining detail.

“Fuck… That’s who you soldout to?” He might not know Orion Mitchell, but he does know a network, even when he wishes he didn’t right now. “Tal, come on. The hell are you doing there?” Fucking waste. “Which one’s the boss again? I’ll get you fired. Time me.”

“i’ll get the bat signal ready.” she smirks, although it’s a serious enough offer, she doesn’t exactly think that she’s going to be calling on it. this was the new world after all, where they both sat at corporate parties, there on their own merits. there’s nowhere to go, certainly nothing she really wants to go back to. “until then, i’m good.”

they’ve been friends long enough for her to spot elaborate act over the truth. sure it was a change of pace, something that she’d decided for herself without announcing it— a rapid departure from groupie by day, singer by night. but she needed it, had to try it and see. “i’m just trying something new. when they write biographies about me i want to throw people for a loop.” skip out on the chapters about overdoses and psychiatric care, keep it on the up and up. “aren’t you going to toast to my maturity?”

[tallykennedy]

orion.

Perhaps the less he says about Cal Remington the better. It’s not that there are any feelings towards him precisely, but hearing about him constantly can cause a person to grow a certain fondness for silence. He gives Tally an expression that translates this as much as it can without the words to dress it properly, ending with a silent release of breath to wash it away. “You may have to resort to Harlow for a complete filmography,” he replies, a hint of a joke with a slight smile to accompany it before they return to work, taking his seat at the desk while eyes draw back up to her.

Her assurance should make him feel better than it does. He has done enough to gain approval from Bridget, but he’s learned from experience it’s not as hard as it first appeared to be. It leaves personal approval. What he can do that is better, to make sure there is success at the end, a way to make his mark forward in his own name. “Bellamy playing Bardot’s mother is as likely as Cal Remington playing her love interest.” He ponders for a moment before a tap of the fingers against the desk signs a thought. “If one A-lister could become two… that would be most helpful.–Two Irons. Charles and Jacqueline? She’d work well for Adora in a perfect world; though, as far as I know, she’s not keen on television roles.”

a laugh catches in her throat, as though she’s probing to be sure it’s okay before committing. an interesting subversion to the loud and limitless humor she used to find in everything. it’s not uncomfortable, just different, a pull over to the quiet side of life. who was allowed to laugh openly at the women paying the bills, not even the boyfriend it seemed. cal remington moves further from her mind, along with whatever weird agenda harlow pulitzer has. 

“jacqueline irons.” she really is jumping into this world head first, trying to keep up with a hundred extra names that have found their own slices of real estate. last names to be picked up now were made of wrights and welles. and irons, two of them. she nodded, trying to connect dots where she should have already done the research. “i mean it’s not really just tv is it.” she figured no star really wanted to stoop to something that could be sent to endless reruns. that was just good business, keeping their brands as illustrious as possible. “prestige work in long form drama, something like that. aren’t we really just trying to hook them?” he seems sure about the rest of the cast anyways, so there must have been some angle to sell. “she’d have to sweep award season at that level.”

[acecroft]

Watcher (2022) dir. Chloe Okuno

[tallykennedy]

ORION!

He almost corrects. He almost says Chase’s name instead of the name they both share. But he shouldn’t. He won’t. This is business, even though the fact stings him. His brother is now a contract, and all he can do is give Tally a belated nod of the head. He understands. He hears her. She’s just doing her job. And she does it well. Besides, in some way, he can have a reprieve from one additional note that causes him to narrow his eyes.

“Not from me.” He doesn’t sound surprised, located somewhere between a sigh and a groan before he breathes in. His vision flickers back to her, a tone that edges almost on sympathetic. “I’ll ask Harlow not to bother you after hours, especially with things we have no control over at the moment.” Sharp Objects is his main project, and where Cal Remington could possibly fit into it, he doesn’t know, nor wants to try to figure out. “I don’t suppose he can pass for a thirty-something.” There’d be a huff of a laugh if he was in better straights, but a look is simply flickered in her direction before his phone is finally felt again in his hand, returning it to his pocket. “It’s not too late to do a final push for bids.” Is he talking aloud or asking for opinion? A moment passes. “You’re around the targeted demographic for the series. What do you think so far? Is there someone I’m overlooking for this?”

“right...” she assembles the pieces as he hands them over to her. an override from the system meant harlow or bridget, not her actual boss. that was good to know, gave her time to ignore it rather than trying to adjust the points balances to fit another person. “well listen, he’s a real hit with the mom crowd.” but he’s not fooling everyone for trying to pass for thirty, and besides from what she’s read of the script that’s taken over their office, there is something a little too serious to be considered the cal remington fair. “doesn’t that guy usually do like period pieces anyways?”

she wouldn’t think of him at all if it wasn’t for the occasional rerun. but she’s not exactly the prime subject. apparently harlow pultizer is, as if there were ever enough hours in a day to unpack that. “nah. i think you’ve got a good grasp on it.” she knows whatever she’s going to say is less interesting than what’s on the phone, but she figures its worth a shot anyways. as long as it’s just the two of them in the room, the talking seems easier anyways. “i mean you only need one or two a listers for it to be considered prestige tv instead of just normal stuff.” she’s no critic, but that sort of thing seems like a pretty safe bet. “so bardot balances mitchell.” four leads just meant that they needed four stable people. “as long as you get someone good for the other lead which— i mean bellamy’s probably a no but you can always hope.”

[tallykennedy]

LEO!

“Led on by thirst, always hot, hell yeah,” he tacks on with an understanding squint of the eyes, game of checkers with words, pieces jumping over each other from either side. “Lucky you, I’m real tonight,” he goes on with a turn of his head, “unless you’ve got a company card to buy this shit on.” An added gesture is given to the bartender, rounding up hers on the tab that’s just opened up. Tequila for two.

The real interest is where the job is coming from, and who it’s coming from. He tracks her vision, falling on the suits and pencil skirts jammed in a corner. He nearly gags. There’s nausea in the blue eyes that look back at her. “Say sike right now.” Not that Orion Mitchell fires off any braincells, but any one of them is enough for him to get the impression he needed. “Is it too late to get your soul back or did they already eat it?”

“you can buy the first round.” which will buy her just enough time to ask if the company tab is under mitchell or pulitzer or pbs, or if this is a strict no drinking on the clock party, as she’d been warned would happen from time to time. it’d been easy to agree to all the little terms, assuming that there would be work arounds eventually. she hadn’t expected the eventually part to happen quite so soon, but that was fine. it couldn’t be bad anyways.

“too late.” she sighs, the heartbreak wearing through every syllable, shaking her head slowly at the loss of such a precious piece of herself. as though every nine to five was paired with some kind of soul-sucking behavior. they’d wound up at the same party, hadn’t they. “they wore black robes and everything, just like you always warned me.” her pout dissolves into a smile, as though it ever threatened to stick around. “what’s wrong with pbs? got an issue with small business?”

[tallykennedy]

LEO!

“What? You thought I was a fucking mirage? I get that.” He gives her the passing shrug, the smug half-smile that’s reserved for good friends. He has a small handful, kept it that way on purpose he’s found out, and she’s been missing for longer than he meant. Nothing a drink can’t solve while she leans in and he turns to order a round for them both. There’s something she says that he hasn’t heard come up before, a four-letter word that’s long forbidden and makes him eye her better. “So that’s why you look like that?” Katie’s eye would be better here. All he can say are vague descriptions like ‘buttoned’ and 'stainless.’ But there’s a definite difference. “Who’s the boss? A funeral director?”

“always disappointing...leading travelers astray...you get my confusion.” she nods, as though they’re discussing facts and not exchanging playground insults. it’s easy to say, she hardly has to think when it comes to talking to leo. they match beat for beat, she pauses while he orders, picks up with his question, adjusts the collar of her shirt as though it’s going to make the outfit look more professional that it already is. 

“that one.” she tips her head in the direction of where the pbs employees seem to be circulating. they all tend to congregate and wait to see which of the family members will grace the team with their presence. she’s still too new to know the difference, or maybe they just all are equally uncomfortable to be around. “orion mitchell, heir-in-law.” something like that, who knows. “think i could do better?”

[tallykennedy]

ORION!

“Please.” He’s not in a rush. There is a climate in the office that keeps everything moving, a clockwork motion that sets everything into a harmonized rhythm, conducted in part by him while he looks up from his message to give her an appreciative smile. By the time his eyes are holding dates and points again, the smile has faded, a carving in stone that has smoothed from the weather.

“Bidding looks promising this morning,” he voices as his thumb continues to scroll through the list, steadily keeping score. Today is important. This is where dear fate can intervene and trample all hard work. All they can do is tip the scales as much as they can. Will it be enough or not? Chase Mitchell’s name permeates his vision, crooks his lips to a slightly downward slant before his screen clicks black. “Thank you.” Another smile, newly sculpted, taking the coffee from her hand into his own before a breath skims over the surface. “Is there any news you need to break to me before the day starts? I trust you to make it as easy as possible.”

bidding. before it was nothing, something people mentioned as they passed around drinks and topics. it was easy to ignore, actors needed work, who wouldn’t. but now it was a still point in a turning world, a mark on the calendar that could not be ignored. they needed the correct points to go to the correct people, there needed to be the smallest percentage possible left to luck and chance. for so long her life had been the opposite— she was trying to adjust quickly to the care involved. it always started with the little things. like getting coffee right every morning. 

she nods at his thanks, already grown wary of the continual you’re welcome that this job seemed to convey. her smile compliments the gesture more than words could before she pulls off the sticky note pressed to her belt. “eyes on santiago’s project, if kinney doesn’t get pulled then let you know. keep accounts for bardot and mitchell in the event they drop. and...” she squints at her own writing as though unsure what should could have meant an hour before. “i got an email to add remington to my watch list? was that a late night call?”

[ladamarossa]

Maika Monroe’s wardrobe in Watcher (2022)

[tallykennedy]

LEO!

It’s been a minute, but he knows that voice. That pitch-perfect ear has never betrayed him, especially with the sound of someone that can belt out Bohemian Rhapsody after half a bottle of Tito’s, a friend if he ever knew one. “Shit. Sorry I don’t do autographs. Catch me on onlyfans.” But that smirk is wide, as wide as his arms are held out only to pick her up in a hug before her feet are back on the ground. “The fuck are you doing here?”

“i knew that was you i saw.” her voice trips up an octave has he hugs her, as though the sheer enthusiasm of the gesture has been enough to squeeze the breath from her. and it always is— what a familiar face in a sea of glitz can do for the stranded. “i’m just here for the conversation.” she leaned against the bar, immediately more casual than she had been moments before, as though a bubble has descended around them, professionalism forgotten in the face of friendship. “no— boss asked me.”

[tallykennedy]

@leoxthorn​

“well they just let anyone in here.” she says by way of greeting, smile on her face betraying anything other than fondness for the man that found her at the bar waiting for a drink. as though it wasn’t an event that they had both been invited to, she’d been allowed the guest list. one of those perks of knowing staff in the industry these days. “or did you get lost on the way to the studio superstar?”

[tallykennedy]

@orionmitchell​

there is something to be said for the fact that the production offices of the pulitzer broadcast system always stay perfectly clean, the fluorescent lighting hums through all hours of the night. the interchange of desk guards know her with a nod, office assistants know her on sight, making space for her in hallways and around the copier. everything is exactly where it should be at all times, there is no conflict to be made or manufactured. she thought she would have to be dragged kicking and screaming into adulthood. it turns out it’s not so bad.

“morning.” she offers her boss, lack of a better label clings to the thought. but he’s her boss, and they have a routine when in office. coffees and paperwork, a meeting schedule with timed alarms that ping for her with clients names in case either of them forgets. “the usual?”

[tallykennedy]

BASICS—

full name: tallulah jane kennedy

birthday: march eleventh

age: twenty eight

zodiac sign: pisces

religion: agnostic 

religious level (1-10): 2

birthplace: los angeles, california

current residence: los angeles, california

height: 5′6″

hair color: blonde

eye color: brown

sexuality: pansexual

romantic preference: panromantic

relationship status: single enough

languages known: english, spanish

DETAILS—

car: white 2014 volkswagon golf

phone: black iphone x with an ultra impact case

music genres: 

wardrobe: has recently made the switch from boyfriend jeans and ill fitting t-shirts to an adult wardrobe. button ups, pencil skirts, even bought a trench coat. she can’t seem to leave behind her pair of adidas superstars though.

estimated net worth: a little under $500,000 thanks to some spotify tracks

ransom value: the $5 box at taco bell

CONNECTIONS—

edgar kennedy; father

aspen kennedy; mother

leo thorn; stuck like glue

rowan young; keeper of the secrets

zoe marshall; newest commiserator

orion mitchell; boss friend?, definitely just boss

chase mitchell; still registering

the pulitzer twins; on the periphery 

LEVELS (1-10)—

drinking: seven four

swearing: six three

smoking status: three zero

drugs: five zero

cooking proficiency: six

intelligence: seven

emotional/social intelligence: five and seven respectively

creativity: seven

temper: five one

[maikamonroesource]

Watcher: in theaters June 3rd!