tamsin kennedy.

❝ FALLING isn’t the problem. It’s when I h i t the ground that causes all the grief. ❞

[tamsink]

jaceofmystery:

Jace laughed a little. Over the years, he’d gotten a lot better at talking to weird strangers. As anti-social as he was, he found that talking to others around West Hollow always got him some interesting information he might be about to use for Mystery Inc. Fortunately, this one didn’t seem as drunk as he initially thought he might be. Talking with drunk people was always a lot harder because he was never sure if they were the fun drunks, or the scary ones. “What happened?” 

Tamsin was neither particularly out-going or reclusive; he was quiet and kept to himself but he didn’t think twice when someone started to a conversation with him or when he needed to ask something. He was probably an introvert though, in general, everything tired him out -- he was tired after waking up, tired after listening to music, tired after going for walk, and tired after talking to strangers. But this? He didn’t have a problem with it. “Ran into server, bumped her tray, and found myself in the direct path of the splash,” he replied with a small shrug. “Nothing exciting.”

[tamsink]

lindyabbott:

She knew it. The Beach Boys were totally ruining her street cred. Lindy didn’t quite understand why he was still asking her about it when he seemed so unenthused about the topic of conversation. Maybe he was just being polite? Well, if he wanted to hear her talk about the Beach Boys let him. “Ah, a bit of both. There are certainly big hits present though. It’s the Beach Boys, you can’t exactly escape them. Especially when you started listening to them for summer related nostalgia.”

“Yeah,” he said with a short, sharp nod. “They’re the Beach Boys. Kind of the opposite of one-hit wonders, aren’t they?” Who in America hadn’t heard one of their songs growing up? Even if his parents had been more into Janis Joplin and the Who and he’d preferred Queen and Nirvana, the Beach Boys were still iconic. “Any recommendations for their non-hits?” he asked after a second of silence.

[tamsink]

finleylanerp:

finley had let herself be dragged out to parties by her friends and although she didn’t consider herself a big drinker she did like to let loose every now and then. but tonight she had let herself go a little to far, and that would have been clear to anyone who saw her. her friends were just as drunk, all of them off in their own little worlds to some extent. as she walked with them through the west hollow community college campus she saw someone in the distance, and for some reason her mind told her to walk over to them. she peeled away from her friends and made her way over to the person, a wide smile on her face. 

“hi!” she said with too much enthusiasm and grabbed the person’s arm lightly, mostly for her own balance, “what are you up to tonight?” she slurred through her words and giggled at the end. finley was a fairly shy and reserved person when she was sober, but get some alcohol in her system and all those walls came crumbling down and she’d talk to anyone who looked her way.

Out for a night time stroll, Tamsin didn’t expect to be bothered. Most people ignored him, preoccupied with their own lives or turned off by his hunched shoulders and ragged clothing. Frankly, he didn’t have a problem with that. It saved him any awkward encounters. But, when faced with an overly enthusiastic and obviously drunk stranger, he didn’t push her away. Though it had been two decades, he had vague memories of doing similar things when he was high and out of his mind. 

“Hi,” he responded hesitantly, the small smile on his face not reaching his eyes. She was leaning her weight on him but he managed to stay balanced. “Taking a walk. I’m guessing you’ve been up to more?” 

[tamsink]

lindyabbott:

Was her music really that loud? Lindy couldn’t help but wonder as she felt her face heat, the point only reinforced by the faint strain of the music coming out of her headphones, somewhat more audible now that they were in her hands and no longer on her head. “Oh uh just the Beach Boys.” She said, punctuating her statement with a somewhat self-depricating laugh. Not that she was embarrassed to be listening to them. But it did clash with the cool DJ persona she tried to give off. 

“Oh. That’s cool,” he said flatly, mostly because that’s tone in which he delivered almost everything. But the Beach Boys? Fine, he supposed -- no reason to be self-deprecating about them. Admittedly, Tamsin had never been the biggest fan of music but he’d had a lot of exposure from his parents -- two hippies who’d actually been to Woodstock (he was six months old at the time and babysat by his grandparents. “The big hits or something else?”

[tamsink]

lindyabbott:

Armed with her iPod and a notebook, Lindy found herself sitting in the park. She had come out here to try to get some ideas for a new set for the summer, but ended up making a new playlist instead. Reuniting with Abby had made her seek out the music of her youth, realizing that there were some songs that she hadn’t heard in a long time. She had just jotted something down in her notebook when she saw a shadow come across her notebook. She looked up, taking off her headphones.“Yes?”

It was rare to see Tamsin in out in the light of day. He preferred working the later shift at the dispensary and holing himself up in his attic when he wasn’t working. Sometimes, though, the dust got to be too much and he felt the urge to go out -- usually for a walk, sometimes to the library. Today he decided to take a detour through the park, passing by parents with children, friends tossing frizz-bees, and lovers lost in their own world. He paid all of them little mind but paused when he heard the faint beat of music coming from an unfamiliar woman’s headphones. “Ah, sorry,” he murmured as she looked up him. “I could hear your music. What’re you listening too?”

[tamsink]

mxnday-blues:

Monday laughed — it was always nice to find someone who could be said to be kin. Though she never touched drugs in school, she was usually coming down from something or nursing a hangover, enough that it may as well have counted. “Did you go to West Hollow, or..?” She asked, when her laughter had subsided. She was familiar with near all of the potheads she’d graduated with, sitting in the smoker’s corner with her cigarettes during second period more often than she didn’t, but the man before her didn’t look familiar. Or that much older than she was. “I’m usually right, so I’d get used to it now,” she said playfully. 

Tamsin nearly said yes; it was the first answer that popped into his mind because it was the truth but, considering the girl across from him didn’t seem much younger than he was physically, that would probably be a bad idea. So, instead, he shook his head. “Private school. Had uniforms and everything,” he lied. Details made lies more realistic, right? God, what if she asked the name of his private school? Shit. But the words were out; he couldn’t take them back. “And I’m not so I’m used to being wrong,” he said with a shrug, a lightness to his tone that said he had no problem with that.

[tamsink]

jaceofmystery:

He’d come simply to pick up a couple things for his dad but it was a moment later some random guy had asked him to sit with him. Not being really good with denying people things, Jace relented. It was a bit chilly so he’d brought his jacket with him. It was when he turned around and saw the other guy drenched, the pity he felt outweighed his desire to not interact or start offering things (like that jacket) to strangers. But he did. Excusing himself from his new drunk friend that was now eyeing a girl on the other side of the bar, Jace made his way over. “Hey. You alright? I come here every friday so you can borrow my jacket and give it back later if you need it… It’s just I wouldn’t go out like that in this weather, you know?” He chuckled sheepishly. “Just being a friendly neighbor.”

His initial plea had mostly had the opposite of its intended effect -- causing those that were looking to turn their heads and pretend they hadn’t heard. Not that Tamsin could really blame them. He wasn’t drunk but the evidence would point to the opposite. Tamsin was just about to turn and leave when he heard a voice from behind. Looking at the stranger, a ghost of a grin curled at his lips -- barely noticeable and looking more pained than pleasant. “Thanks. It’d be appreciated,” he replied. “Don’t really feeling like walking home while looking like a took a dip in a pool of beer.”

[tamsink]

mxnday-blues:

Truthfully, Monday liked Shakespeare. She had read the majority of his plays — at least, the tragedies — at her own pace throughout the semester of school they spent with him as a topic. Not that her teachers would’ve known that: Monday showed up to school hungover back then as many times as she did now. If anything, she was worse in high school than she was now. And if she hadn’t made a promise to her grandmother, she’d still be just as bad. But she wasn’t about to reveal herself as an English nerd to this stranger. So she bypassed his comment entirely, laughing as he reminisced about his own time. “Oh, I was usually too fucked up to get into any trouble. Miss Dechard,” she mimicked cruelly, “are you paying attention? I wasn’t,” she laughed again. “And yet I somehow managed to pass with flying colours. Guess I’m just that much smarter than you,” she teased.

At her admission, a grin spread across his lips followed by a breathy chuckle. “Well, since you said it -- I don’t think there was a day of high school where I wasn’t high,” he replied. It had just been weed and the occasional ‘borrowed’ prescription back then -- the heroin had come afterwards, when he had zero job prospects, no motivation to change that, and a group of friends that were anything but good influences. “But you’re probably right,” Tamsin continued with a shrug. “I was, at my best, average. And I was never at my best.”

[tamsink]

jaceofmystery:

“Alright, hit me again,” Jace said, still chewing on the small piece of the snack. He extended a hand to be given another. When suddenly him and his friend were interrupted by a loud noise nearby and he nearly choked from the surprise. Jace turned his head to see where it came from.

You’d think, for being a ghost and all, Tamsin would be more graceful than he was. If you did, you’d be wrong and he’d still be drenched in alcohol from server’s tray he’d just run into. Sighing, picking at the sodden shirt that was clinging to his skin, he glanced up -- noticing multiple sets of eyes on him. Too many people were looking at him for to disappear though the thought was tempting. Instead, he asked; “anyone have a spare shirt I can borrow?”

[tamsink]

mxnday-blues:

She rolled her eyes, finding herself less and less impressed with him by the second. And that was coming from someone who was a self-professed junkie herself: it wasn’t as if her standards were very high, to begin with. Then again, perhaps that was an unfair statement. Monday held herself to very high expectations, ones inherited from her grandmother, and she rarely allowed herself to toe out of the lines she had established for herself. She and her rules went hand in hand. 

But then, surprisingly, Monday laughed and it was a musical sound, not her usual short and quick chuckle. “Don Pedro is a stalker. Your teacher sounds like Shakespeare’s bitch if she thought otherwise,” then, “Let me guess: you had a hard time with Benedick’s name, too?” 

“Aren’t they all?” he asked with raised eyebrows. “I still fail to understand why Shakespeare is seen is the most important thing in English when he’s a playwright.” Letting out an unseemly snort, Tamsin nodded. “Got sent to the principal’s office for laughing at that one. God, Mrs. Goodwin was such an ass.” Then again, Tamsin’s side of things wasn’t necessarily to be trusted; he’d ended up in the principal’s office more than once and didn’t think highly of many of his teachers in hindsight, the high school ones especially. “How about you?”

[tamsink]

romansmoore:

“It was…actually kind of a bummer,” Roman admitted, frowning slightly. “It was basically just a big dragon, but the Jabberwocky is supposed to be a lot crazier than that in the original poem. That’s Hollywood for you, huh? Always switching things up and straying from the original material.” Roman couldn’t help but sigh, as if this genuinely bothered him. “But you don’t wanna hear my rants about that, man. I’ll just put you to sleep.”

“Huh,” Tamsin sounded, brow furrowing slightly. “Pretty sure that’s the first time I’ve ever heard of a big dragon being described as ‘kind of a bummer.’ How crazy are we talking about if a dragon’s not the cool version?” He could probably read about it in his poem or maybe if he found a copy of Alice in Wonderland but he preferred having it explain. Was that a sign of laziness? Who cares. “Still better than trying to parse some poetry. That might be your thing but it’s definitely not for me.” 

[tamsink]

blindwitch-darkwitch:

Mordecai stopped walking at the voice, his spine straightening as his blind eyes flicked about. It took a moment before his shadows were able to find the other, but they couldnt quite stick to the other so to speak; an occurrence that only happened when the person was a ghost. Mordecai cocked his head at the other, humming softly as he offered he spirit a small smile. “I am fine.” He replied with a small dip of his head, staying where he was. Some spirits were kind and gentle, while some were aggressive or spooked as easily as a deer. And with a man who practices what he practices, he could be a real danger to beasts like the stranger. “Are you?”

“Cool,” he said with a small nod. He was pretty sure the guy was telling the truth and, even if not, it wasn’t like he had the desire or energy to push. He wasn’t going to make or take trouble that he didn’t need to. “Yeah, I’m super,” Tamsin answered dryly, not sounding particularly enthused. He rarely did. Whether alive or dead, Tamsin’s default tone was a deadpan. But he was okay so, tone or not, it wasn’t a lie. “Walking home. You headed somewhere or just enjoying an evening stroll?”

[tamsink]

blindwitch-darkwitch:

It always happened with a new place. Once his home was settled, and he had his stuff perfectly in place and the movers had been sent on their way with a healthy tip, Mordecai found himself restless. Putting in the small earbuds in case another merfolk was out, Mordecai put on a coat to combat the crisp night weather, grabbed his cane and set out for a walk. 

Unlike during the day where he depended on his hyper aware senses, the night was the time where he could see perfectly. The shadows created outlines of every object, every path, every being around him. It was in a dark grey and black color scale, unable to make out designated features…but it was the closes to sight he would get. His cane tapping on the ground before him to just keep up appearances, Mordecai walked down the road to get a full view of what he was dealing with when it came to what his new home was. 

Tamsin had taken the late shift at the dispensary and was on his way home. The sky was dark and cloudy, typical for Oregon weather, but it wasn’t raining. He remembered how his father used to always complain about the rain. What had they expected when moving to a coastal Oregon town? Whether rainy or just cloudy, it didn’t bother Tamsin -- it seemed trivial in perspective. 

While most people his age (or who looked his age) would be on their phone or listening to music as they walked home, Tamsin was doing neither -- not least of all because his phone was a flip-phone was from 2003. It at least allowed him to listen and pay attention to his surroundings, like the progressively louder tapping sound from behind him. Turning to peak over his shoulder, brow furrowed, he realized it was an older man with a cane. Confused, he asked; “you okay, dude?”

[tamsink]

romansmoore:

“They were okay,” Roman replied, offering little more than a shrug. “I still like the original. It’s super weird, but in an ‘Am I high right now or is this movie just hella trippy?’ kind of way. Nothing wrong with that, but I guess what the live-action movies have going for it is that it’s darker. Oh, and it has the Jabberwocky in it too. Ironic, huh?”

He snorted at Roman’s description because... Yeah. That was exactly the reason his parents had like it so much and therefore had it for them to watch. They were hippies -- it was a part of the package. “Huh. Guess I’ll have to check it out sometime.” Though he’d have to get (or find) a working TV first. And electricity. And a DVD. That ‘sometime’ probably wouldn’t be soon. “What’s the Jabberwocky like in it?”

[tamsink]

mxnday-blues:

Monday stared at him blankly, as if she could not believe the reaction he’d just had. “Really?” She asked, leaning back in her seat to give him a look of disdain. “Are you 12 years old, for real?” She shook her head, “Yes, genius, and you can just as easily walk up,” she pointed to the section of Ethae that was the library, “and get one yourself, literally right now,” she scoffed.

She pulled out her phone, already bored of this conversation, before remembering she had next to no one she’d want to talk to anyway. What she wanted most, more than anything was to go home. Yet something kept her there (probably exhaustion or exasperation) regardless, making conversation with this dim-witted stranger. “How can a person fail English? You’re guaranteed a pass just by speaking the language,” 

“Nope, just not very thoughtful.” He blamed that on the drugs and the dying though it wasn’t like he could just explain that. Sure, someone in this town might understand -- it wasn’t like he’d know for sure beforehand -- but he could just as easily run into someone who thought he was nuts. “Guess I should do that,” he said, though the lack of motivation was evident in his voice. The laziness, however, was all on Tamsin.

Tamsin couldn’t hold back the chuckle at her question -- the closest he ever came to bursting into laughter. “Nah, there’s more to it; attendance, turning shit in, putting actual effort into things -- knowing English means nothing if the teacher can’t see that. Also, ‘Don Pedro is a stalker’ is absolutely the wrong answer if you’ve got an essay on Much Ado About Nothing.”

[tamsink]

marinyuan:

It was nothing short of a miracle that Marin managed to weave his way past and snatch up the box of cereal, looking rather pleased with himself as he tossed it into his cart. He hardly paid the other shopper a second glance, but still hummed the tune to Beyonce’s song to make it seem as if there was a catchy song stuck in his head. 

“I was,” he admitted, but only when it seemed his intended victim was none the wiser to his tune of persuasion. He’d get his prize and get away with his little stunt. “Beyonce is such a musical genius, don’t you think? Dare I say, she’s the voice of our generation. Obviously I could never possess the skill she does, but I like to think I’m not too shabby.” 

When he noticed the narrowed eyes and quizzical expression on his face, Marin couldn’t help but raise his brows in return. “Have you never heard someone sing before?” He asked, sounding more inquisitive than judgmental. “Or was my singing just that bad?”

Beyonce. Tamsin had heard the name before and knew it belonged to a musician; he’d even heard Single Ladies before. He’d probably heard other songs by her as well considering how popular she seemed to be but it was the only one he recognized. Music defined the adolescence of many but it didn’t for Tamsin. He’d found escapes from reality in other, stronger forms.

“Hard to compare -- you’ve got different voices and all,” he said with a shrug. It made the most sense without giving away his lack of knowledge. Tamsin shook his head in response. “Nope, just not used to people randomly bursting into song in the middle of the cereal aisle. But, y’know, whatever you’re down with.”

[tamsink]

TASK: APRIL 2018

If there’s one nice thing about being a ghost, it’s that you don’t need the same creature comforts as the living; electricity, heat, decor -- it’s not like the lack of those will kill you. And, if there’s one upside to Tamsin’s life, it’s that he has no qualms with a bit (or a lot) of dust. When he was alive, he got high in some nasty places. Now that he’s dead, waiting out the night in an unfinished attic doesn’t faze him. 

Since his death, he’s mostly been staying in the abandoned, foreclosed, and otherwise unoccupied houses; he typically only occupies the attics or, on rare occasions, the basements as that’s all he needs. When someone moves in, he moves out. He doesn’t do a lot in the way of decorating, doesn’t even bother to clean out the cobwebs, but he will absolutely go through any boxes left behind in search of something to entertain himself with. The places he’s called home are rarely fit for the living but, since he’s dead, it doesn’t apply to him.