THE TOWN MARKET ft. manon — OPEN ! CAPPING AT 5 REPLIES ( 3 / 5 ) .
fingers skimmed every object, the intentional move to feel the weight of every trinket atop their palm — touch : it was how they decided to move through the world, omitting most sound in favor of the grounding feeling of something more tactile. the myriad of choice seemed to stump them, surely walking into a bustling market on a weekend, no list, no inspiration in mind, wasn't the best idea. but, alas, manon was here, continuing the incessant journey of finding something, anything to liven up the bleak, salt-bitten metal of their new keeper's dwellings — a singular poster of the regional flora and a smattering of random postcards didn't suffice any longer. “ what do you have in - in your hand ? ” an abrupt interjection, hopefully ingested with grace by the other. “ 's pretty. you - you should get it. is it somethin' v-vintage ? ”
𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗂𝗆𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌, 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌 — fleeting attention + wandering hands, he’ll graze anything that holds widened hues for more than a second. markets are a dangerous place for the fanciful, anyone will tell you that + milo falls such easy prey to salt - weathered countenances offering shiny trinkets. case in point: mother - of - pearl handled mirror that he’s admiring, potential christmas present just begging to be painstakingly buried in bubble - wrap + sent home to his mother. “ y’wanna look ? ” they don’t startle him, but he does turn a beat faster than intended — easy smile graces artless features, nodding down at what he proffers forth. “ i think so. apparently, the handle was handmade by a fisherman for his wife, some kind’a present for their wedding night. very sentimental. ”
OPEN STARTER · @kilmerstarters
location · the docks
" you see that shape out there on the horizon ? " it was a rock — a monolith some odd few hundred feet out, peeking up out of the water. the head of a giant, oceanic beast keeping watch over the shore. a protector of atlantis. " was out here on my boat one time, a little past three in the morning, and i swear to you it had two glowing red eyes ... " judge paused for effect, corner of his mouth curling up in a wily smirk, before turning his attention back to the dock cleat he'd fixed his beloved boat up to the night before. " will you hand me that wrench over there ? this bolt's coming loose. " as if he never said anything about the rock at all.
“ 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲, 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗶𝘁 ? ” narrowing of hazel, pale shape of her hand acts as a dismal sun visor — uniquely shit one, given the way cyra still has to squint into blinding rays. ( glimmering, dancing, rippling little jewels of light on an ever - changing ocean, moody as anything + god, doesn’t that just sum this whole place up ? everything’s got its own damn mind to make up. ) “ you paint an interesting tale, mr. waterhouse, i’ll give you that. ” cynicism’s edge is taken off by her answering smile, broad, pearly / when she reaches back for the wrench he’d spoken of, hues will dart forth to the rock in question. just for a moment. just to make sure that nothing glares crimson. ( damn you, judge. )
OPEN STARTER · @kilmerstarters
location · a bar, some place downtown
" WAIT — say that again ! " in a moment, jake had practically dove into the other's lap. up until now, they'd been doing very little to hide how seriously obvious their eavesdropping was. but leaping into a stranger's — as all kilmerites still were to her : beautiful, bewitching strangers — booth was a whole new level of conducting research. " the last part. say it again. that line was golden. "
𝗰𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗽 𝗱𝗿𝗮𝘄𝘀 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗰𝗶𝗿𝗰𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 left by a sweating glass. ( vodka soda + a hint of lime, he’s yet to become a pabst blue ribbon princess — rue the fucking thought, honestly. ) for what it’s worth, he’s not thinking about the syllables that trip off silver tongue, let alone that anyone besides his sister can hear the shit he’s spewing … illusion shatters the minute that jake scrambles into adjacent space. on the record: he doesn’t flinch, thank you very much. off it, though … one sharp kneecap will bruise in a few days’ time from where he’d launched it straight into the underbelly of the chipboard table. quick mutter of, ‘jack, i’ll call you back’ + they have his full attention. “ … which part ? ” faux - confusion is every bit as darling as he wants it to be, thick brows knit + one canine dug into lower lip, toying with broken skin. ( just in case he needs to bite down on the half - moon shape of a smirk. ) “ the bit about a couple of teenagers fuckin’ near the batman statue at four in the morning, or … ? ”
named. ─── milo jackson cain.
nicknamed. ─── his name sounds like a nickname all on its own, so he’s never earnt one.
aged. ─── twenty3.
date of birth. ─── june the eleventh, 2001. 6.47 pm.
place of birth. ─── sydney, new south wales, australia.
occupation. ─── cashier @ driftwood records, + planetarium projectionist @ tanya b. heady museum of natural history + planetarium.
nationality. ─── australian.
gender + pronouns. ─── cis man, he/him.
orientations. ─── bisexual, biromantic.
zodiac. ─── gemini sun, aquarius moon, capricorn rising.
mother. ─── alicia danielle cain, née davidson.
father. ─── robert paul cain.
siblings. ─── jacinta jasmine cain, older sister.
marital status. ─── single.
children. ─── none, thank god.
pets. ─── a three - year - old blue heller, called patsy. his sister currently looks after pat, given the whole ‘impulse move to the middle of nowhere’ thing he pulled off.
notable extended family. ─── lots of aunts, uncles + cousins on both sides of his family, which leads to rambunctious family get - togethers.
visually. ─── stands at six foot tall, all lithe + lean. very much a sleeper build ; unobtrusively muscular, almost non - threatening until you look a little too hard. freckles + moles are a constellation across his entire body. prominent adam’s apple, which seems to grow whenever he nervous swallows. a head full of jet - black curls that have a tendency to fall into his eyes. speaking of: big, brown, baby calf eyes. forever crinkled at the corners as a result of a mischievous, toothy grin that lights up his whole face. truly unfairly long, beautiful lashes. littered in patchwork tattoos all over, no rhyme or reason to any of them. dimples punched into both corners of his mouth, frustratingly charming. one piercing in his ear, + a simple silver chain hangs around his neck, a la connell waldron. in terms of clothing, he’s very, very casual — almost averse to formal clothing. reckons he’d have a reaction if he had to wear a suit. certainly hasn’t made friends with an iron in the past few years. favours oversized t - shirts, graphic button - ups that he’s allergic to doing up. ( everybody’s gotten very, very used to the first three buttons being undone, + a stretch of skin being exposed. good thing jack isn’t here, she’d whack him upside the head. ) favours jeans, dickies or uniqlo trousers. owns far too many pairs of vans, but that’s neither here nor there.
education. ─── graduated his local high school, obtained a bachelors’ degree in media from the university of new south wales.
religion. ─── agnostic. knows he believes in something, but he doesn’t quite know what yet.
socioeconomic standing. ─── thoroughly middle class.
current residence. ─── a three - bedroom house shared with two roommates. ( give him his roommates !!! ) a genuinely decent place, albeit littered with their collective shit + an unholy amount of takeaway containers + ashtrays + instruments in places they shouldn’t be. his room is decked out in posters ( framed, he’s a grown - up, or so they tell him ) + fairy lights are strung up around the room. his sister bought him an oil diffuser before he left + he’s usually got that going, mostly because it lights up + casts a neon glow. vinyl player is forever going in the corner, + he has several crates’ full of records.
personality. ─── shit - stirrer extraordinnaire. there’s a halcyon joie de vivre that glows off of milo, infectious in the way he smiles + the echo of his laugh. it’s impossible to be down around him, not when he’s forever making a quip or an off - colour joke, syllables always lifted with the ghost of an amused little chuckle. it’s hard to get him to take anything seriously — eternal stoner philosophy of, ‘it’s all good, man, nothing to worry about’. not a single wukka to be had, even when he probably should have several wukkas. he’s delightfully easy to get along with, annoyingly talkative + determined to make friends with everyone he comes across. ( also: local whore. again, neither here nor there, but once a tremendous flirt, always a tremendous flirt. he claims he can’t help it, but he definitely can. ) he’s just … a remarkably chilled - out person, whose life goals appear to be coasting along + making shit up as he goes.
mbti. ─── esfp.
enneagram. ─── type 7w6, the entertainer.
element. ─── air.
temperament. ─── sanguine.
vice. ─── lust.
virtue. ─── diligence.
inspirations. ─── nathan young, misfits. jess mariano, gilmore girls. seth cohen, the oc. lip gallagher, shameless. richie tozier, it. james potter, harry potter series.
anthems. ─── dial drunk, noah kahan. that sound, sam fender. fortune favours the bold, gerry cinnamon. trouble, cage the elephant. crush, ethel cain. glamorous indie rock + roll, the killers.
likes. ─── natural bodies of water, preferably salt. loud live music, the kind where you can feel the kickdrum in your chest. getting stoned + wandering through museums, galleries alike. bonfires. all kinds of liquor ( not keen on american beer but he’ll still drink it ). skateboard stickers.
dislikes. ─── supersized meals. being landlocked. the engine warning light on his car, which refuses to leave no matter how many times he gets the damn thing serviced. kale. the smell of cheap sunscreen. kombucha.
last watched. ─── frasier, s1 ep 8: ‘beloved infidel’.
last listened to. ─── the greatest view, silverchair.
last read. ─── heavier than heaven, charles r. cross.
last social media post. ─── an instagram story — a short video of a guitar riff he’s been playing around with. half - thirst trap, it’s posted from the comfort of his bed, + he’s very clearly shirtless behind his guitar. dickhead.
favourite colour. ─── green.
favourite food. ─── burnt butter + sage gnocchi, with a goddamned enormous rainfall of parmesan.
favourite drink. ─── if he’s in the states, diet coke. if he’s back home, a crisp crown lager.
favourite animal. ─── dog.
𝗳𝗶𝗹𝗲 𝗮𝗰𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀: [...] ꗃ 𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗒.
again, cannot b fucked with something big so here we go pt 2 !!!!
born in redfern, sydney. grew up in the suburbs with his parents ( a tradesman + an english teacher ) + his older sister ( an insufferable know - it - all, but his best friend regardless ). there’s nothing remarkable to note about his childhood — he was a good kid, half - decent at school once he was diagnosed with adhd + medicated for it. very athletics - focused, despite a natural aptitude towards humanities - based subjects that he’ll come to fall in love with when he’s a little older. class clown but not in an obstructive way ; everyone’s best friend, blessed with an irresistible charm.
he’s a little shit as a teenager, + his sister spends entirely too much of her time trying to corral him into being normal — to no avail. weekends are spent with his friends, jumping the turnstiles on the train + flirting his way out of any fines, charming his way into discounts on drinks that he shouldn’t be buying, sneaking into concerts + calling jacinta to pick him up when he’s blackout drunk. ( quite frankly, it’s amazing that their relationship is as solid as it is ; he refers to her as his rock, the anchor that steadies him when he’s bobbing through waves, unbuoyed + unbothered by what crashes over him sheerly because he knows she’s there. she simply rolls her eyes + affects an annoyed tone when she refers to her kid brother, eternal dipshit. )
high school is no challenge for him, especially when he bothers to apply himself. ends up as school captain, captain of their afl team + the editor of the school paper. he shouldn’t be able to juggle it all as well as he does, but it just sort of … happens. at the same time, he’s fallen head over heels in love — childhood sweetheart, drifted away + turned adolescent devotion. when he passes his driving test, his first solo drive is in his mum’s holden commodore in the middle of the night, to go see his girlfriend. ( side note: loses his virginity that night. couldn’t wipe the golden glow off of his face, even when his mum was giving him the third degree about fucking off with the car. ) when they graduated, he was privately convinced he was going to marry her ; dreams of neat fences + the smell of freshly - mown grass, kids giggling in the pool + his arms around her shoulders, chin buried in the mess of her hair.
what happens: they make a decision. he’ll go to the university of new south wales for journalism, she’ll go to monash for medicine, they’ll see each other where they can. love professed in bedrooms + the backs of cars alike, kisses pressed to the sweaty tangle of her fingers through his. ( we can do this, right ? long distance ? couldn’t imagine anyone i’d rather do it with, babe. ) he browses jewellers for three years, sets his eyes on an eye - watering diamond + starts a little fund. casual jobs worked, childhood bedroom still inhabited so he doesn’t have to pay rent. facetime calls + trips to melbourne where he can, shamelessly charming her roommates so they go out on the town + leave them alone for the night. what happens: they’re twenty - two, + he notices a hickey on her neck. it’s faded, but it’s there. it opens up a world of observances that he’d had his blinders on to: an unfamiliar shirt draped over the back of a chair, the rushed goodbyes on phone calls, the distance that had grown, ivy + rust through telephone lines. “what’s that? on your neck? don’t lie to me, please.” he’s a little choked - up when he asks, + she has the dignity not to lie. “i’ve, um. fuck, milo, this is so hard. i love you, i always will. but i’ve m-” ( your call has been disconnected. )
diamond ring fund be damned. shattered pieces of his good, broken heart lie on the floor. gold - limned dreams are burst like bubbles, + in a moment of desperation, he throws a dart at a map. the first one misses, lodges itself in a polaroid of them together, his mouth pressed to hers. ( you said forever and i almost bought it / i miss fighting in your old apartment / breakin’ dishes when you’re disappointed / i still love you, i promise / nothing happened in the way i wanted / every corner of this house is haunted. ) the second one is more expertly aimed, lodges itself in some bumfuck town in rhode island. three hours later, he’s formed a plan.
kilmer’s cove is nothing like sydney, + he falls in love with it for exactly that reason. he’s worlds away from his broken heart + the life he thought he wanted — what he has now is a degree that he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with, an apartment with a collection of roommates that he thinks might be the best + worst people he’s ever met. jacinta keeps asking him when he’s getting over his tantrum + coming home. ( not anytime soon, jack. sorry. )
named. ─── cyra clemency forrestal.
nicknamed. ─── none available.
aged. ─── thirty.
date of birth. ─── february the first, 1994. 3.51 am.
place of birth. ─── dungloe, county donegal, ireland.
occupation. ─── current rector at st. james’ chapel.
nationality. ─── irish.
gender + pronouns. ─── cis woman, she/her.
orientations. ─── bisexual, biromantic.
zodiac. ─── aquarius sun, libra moon, sagittarius rising.
mother. ─── aoife marianne forrestal, née o’flannery.
father. ─── sean donal forrestal.
siblings. ─── none.
marital status. ─── single.
children. ─── none.
pets. ─── none, + that’s probably for the best. she does feed + care for a colony of stray cats that live near the rectory, though.
notable extended family. ─── none of any note.
visually. ─── stands at a modest five foot, five inches. instantly, her eyes are her most notable feature — big + wide, a beautiful chocolate brown that always look glossy, like she’s on the verge of tears. high cheekbones + a strong jawline, usually tensed / there’s always a muscle ticking somewhere on her face. long hair that reaches her mid - back, naturally curly copper that’s either left loose, woven into a braid, or up in a meticulous bun ( stray tendrils will always find their way out to frame her face ). curves at her bust + hips, very much an hourglass figure. one piercing in each earlobe, nothing more. no tattoos. no notable scars. almost always seen wearing a gold crucifix around her neck, + a claddagh ring on her left ring finger ( position flip - flops depending on the day, whether she’s prayed yet, or whether one of her lovers has just left ). in terms of clothing — when at work, she’s almost always in starched collars + immaculately - ironed slacks, always black. she’s very neat, very typical rector in the way she carries herself at work. outside of that, she favours flowy clothing in earthy shades + natural materials. lots of cottons, linens + wools, skirts that end up hitched around her knees, bell sleeves that drape over the fine bones of her wrists. ( she won’t ever admit to a collection of what’s best described as scraps of jewel - toned lace in her bedside drawer, but it sure does exist. )
education. ─── graduated her local high school, + obtained a bachelors’ degree in religion from trinity college, dublin.
religion. ─── catholic. incredibly strange relationship to it, but her faith + devotion are unwavering. it’s just that she struggles to keep her hands entirely clean of sin.
socioeconomic standing. ─── middle class. no real aspirations to wealth or success.
current residence. ─── the upstairs residence attached to st. james’ chapel ( very hot priest from fleabag - esque ). it’s quite a comfortable little home, neatly decorated with secondhand knickknacks + trinkets she finds at various markets. her favourite spot is the kitchen + living room, which is bathed in glorious sunlight in the summer. lots of posters on the walls + rugs on the floor. you very much get a sense of her personality scattered throughout.
personality. ─── upon first meeting with her, there’s a delightful sparkle in cyra’s eyes. she comes off as warm, inviting, compassionate + genuinely interested in the minutiae of your day - to - day life. she’s talkative, offers advice that, prima facie, sounds like it might actually work. there’s an unrelenting charisma about her that oozes out of every pore, from the lilt of her accent to the way she throws her head back on a boisterous laugh. in quieter moments, you get the sense that something’s not quite right with her. that glint is gone from shimmering hazel, + she seems … unfocused. unsteady. a little sharper, a little meaner. canines catch the light, caught on an almost - unfriendly grin. ignore the faint scent of gin + nicotine on her breath, she’ll assure you that it’s just a strange new perfume. ‘dr. jekyll + sister hyde’, someone’s whispered once, when they’ve caught her on the tail - end of one of her worsened moods, likely still smarting from a barbed comment thrown unthinkingly. maybe all is not well with kilmer’s new rector. ( maybe there never was anything well in the first place. )
mbti. ─── infp.
enneagram. ─── type 2w1, the servant.
element. ─── air.
temperament. ─── phlegmatic.
vice. ─── lust.
virtue. ─── kindness.
inspirations. ─── tba.
anthems. ─── ethel cain’s entire discography. tammy faye, nicole dollanganger. punisher, dollie rot. the secret history, anyone’s ghost.
likes. ─── petrichor. the dusty smell of old books. persevering for the best possible outcome. cozy blankets. bed socks. hot drinks of all varieties. wandering around nature for hours on end. antiques + secondhand belongings, anything with a story. crusty bread. hard work.
dislikes. ─── instant gratification. uncomfortable clothing. the back pews at st. james’ chapel — close to the heater, sure, but fucking uncomfortable. mindless television. overconsumption. hot weather. any mustard that isn’t wholegrain. soggy bread.
last watched. ─── bridget jones’ diary.
last listened to. ─── this mornings’ news, playing while she made breakfast.
last read. ─── the virgin suicides, jeffrey eugenides.
last social media post. ─── none. whilst she has profiles on social media, she doesn’t actively post on it.
favourite colour. ─── green.
favourite food. ─── pad see ew.
favourite drink. ─── tea, taken white with one sugar.
favourite animal. ─── panther.
𝗳𝗶𝗹𝗲 𝗮𝗰𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀: [ ... ] ꗃ 𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗒.
tw: heavy doses of religion + religious themes.
cannot b fucked writing something proper here so. have the run - down :3
born + raised in dungloe, ireland. only daughter to the local pastor + his wife, who taught sunday school. wherever she goes as a kid, god follows / both comfort + nightmare, she cannot run from him. she develops a crick in her neck at a young age, from being bent over the dog - eared bible that she was gifted the day she was born.
weird kid in school. lovely, bubbly, friendly to everyone but had a real carrie white thing about her that she didn’t really shed until she went to uni. got a bit preachy, which didn’t tend to end well for her. forever lingered on the outskirts of every conversation, everyone a bit too awkward to invite her in for fear of ending up with an unsolicited sermon.
fucks off to dublin to study religion at trinity when she turns 18. classic uni experience — when marianne sheridan says, ‘classic me. came to college and got pretty.’ she was always pretty, yes, but all the sheepish awkwardness of her adolescence falls to the wayside like a costume that doesn’t fit anymore. she embarks on quite the juxtaposition of a life: in daytime, she commits to her studies, almost always in the library, straining the shit out of her eyes as she pores over endless tomes. at night, she ditches her books for bars + bedhopping, sins of the flesh don’t feel quite so impious when they’re trailing fingertips along her exposed spine + when teeth are grazing over someone else’s pulse point. father would be horrified, wouldn’t he ? father’s not here right now.
she graduates, + kind of … flounders, for a while. she doesn’t really know what to do, it’s not like anyone is really hiring pastors back in dungloe, given that her dad’s still kicking, + there’s a part of her that’s reticent to move anywhere else. ( she knows she can’t stay in dublin, though. deems it bad for her spiritual health. probably her physical too, given the caning she gives her liver in the 4 years she lives there. ) in any event, she moves back — starts taking over teaching sunday school with her mam, gives a sermon here + there. mostly, she picks up work in a bookshop owned by her childhood best friend’s pa.
+ that’s life, for a good few years. she languishes, she rots, she’s devoted like nothing else, her faith strangles her + the rebellion of her college years dies a quick death. god is always there, passenger princess when she drives to the next town over for a plastic bottle of vodka that she keeps under her mattress in her parents’ house. disapproving tut, she’ll have to deliver something really rousing to the elderly masses that polish a patina into the front pews. ( jesus, what kind of life is this ? yours, my darling. relish in it. )
she’s browsing the internet one night when she sees it. hiring. rhode island is a world away, + she’s half - cut, miserable. she applies on a whim, + when her phone rings, she’s shocked in a momentary silence but she takes it anyway. we’d like to invite you to an interview. does zoom work for you ? no, doesn’t know how to use the feckin’ shite, but she manages it. gets it. creases her parents’ brow when she says she’s moving to the states, kilmer’s newest rector. may god be with you, darling. christ, i hope not.
baratheonpilled
titsay
