" See, Was That So Hard To Ask For An Opinion? Trust Me? It Didn't Kill You After All. " This, Spoken

FOR : open, come take a seat! LOCATION : sitting at a bench, just away from the party's warehouse TIMESTAMP : aprox 1:04am.

" talk about ... a mess, huh ? " effie says to the person lingering next to her stoop. since the warehouse began to clear and the music cutting with the announcement to evacuate ... she's had a cigarette between her fingers. another lost soul to join the bloody past of red creek. she's been here long enough, around for many a halloween, to know what the boogeyman mask represented. some were mindful, some were distasteful. the common denominator : all were aware. and that awareness ... was coming back to the forefront. and the hype about the town's potential ghost reviving beginning to surface into rattling rumors. it all comes full circle, doesn't it ?

the journalist's soul in her is alit in secret. the classic questions a buzz. how she'd write it, if she should even fathom to ask their friends or be more tasteful. questions and questions, ideas and ideas. however, she knows she'll let the hype die before typing away at her encrypted laptop. a fiend for knowledge, yes, but never crass. too many journalists out there were monsters after all. she'd never stoop so low as to disrespect someone like the others. effie's expression to the other isn't as panicked as it should be. remorseful, yes. scared, no. a sigh sounds from her lips with another puff of smoke. she offers a wry smile. " think its safe to walk alone ? not enough details out yet to know if it's, you know, smart to. "

water under the bridge had a tendency to get too high, threat of flooding often ignored. damon likes to overlook warnings ; pass through waist-heigh water and count the seconds until they're engulfed. however, when it came to selin ... there's a certain twist in their gut. the severity didn't merit groveling, but fuck the consequences of actions can make a paper cut look fatal. sniffs, a borderline laugh, at her. rising waters of damon's own making alone ; selin's more of a breeze. disturbing the surface and bringing the ripples. the leaves falling to rest on top without making a sound— and all that poetic bullshit they'd never say aloud. shoulders droop from tension with invisible cord snapping with the little bump. the smoke coils in his uncharacteristic silence, maybe signifying that relief he feels. its easy to slip back into a factory setting, let the smile curve against his mouth and hand rest against knee. " got to at least give me my few moments of actually being serious, sel. " this comes with an arm coiling around her shoulders, tugging her towards his side with an air of comfortability. their nasty little addiction and its burn, thankfully in his eyes, kept away from wafting towards selin's face. fingers wiggle next to her face.

" buuuut! you get tied up in any of my shit again, break my pinkie. i'd deserve it. you'd better promise me that. " pointer finger finds its target: her cheek. presses there in a longer than necessary poke. keeps the smile on his face that she'd affected him with. which selin affects him in a lot of ways. wouldn't have stuck around otherwise. she's genuine, at least he thinks so, in a way he hadn't found himself able to be. admirable, really. the air she brings ; spring little breeze. thinks she'd be capable of anything she'd set her mind to. after all, he wouldn't let just anyone stab him with a tattoo gun's needle. wears the presence of exactly two people against his skin ; one which has started to fade, much like the once freshly laid ink has. this one is still dark in its black lines. briefly wonders if he'd slip away from the shadows from her, too. " alright. alright. enough of that shit. tell me what's new, what's on your mind. hope all this creep talk around the time isn't keeping you up at night. be a real bummer to hear. i've taken the bummer award for the night and i'm not handin' it to you. "

" you do know the consequence to breaking a pinky promise is that i get to break your pinky , right ? " the warning is delivered with narrowed eyes , and all the faux malice of a house cat , despite her best efforts at appearing serious . teasing aside , selin had been genuinely concerned for moment that it might be true , the relief she feels to have him dispel that fear more real than she'd care to admit . remnants of the girl whose day used to be brightened just by catching a glimpse of the other in the hallway still seemed to linger every now and then , even despite the decade that'd passed and the friendship that'd formed between them . " yeah , alright . proving small town stereotypes false one day at a time , then . there really is shit to do around here . " the smoke that billows from his mouth mixes with their warm puffs of breath in the air , transfixing in a way that makes her itch to ask for her own cigarette . she doesn't even smoke , not anymore , but that was the thing about damon . it was easier to crave things off the path she'd settled into in his presence . a smoke , her art — things off limits or out of reach suddenly seem graspable . guilt stirs at the change in tone of his voice , the seriousness feeling foreign . she'd always hated to make people worry , or worse , to make them feel bad . and maybe that's why selin brightens , like she could fill in the bit of lightness he'd shed with his apology . " please , that's water under the bridge already . plus , you know , it's always exciting matching with you . tattoos , black eyes , what's next ? " she bumps his shoulder with her own , lips lifted into what she hopes is a grin that displays she was being genuine in saying it was alright . " i know it was an accident . "

FOR : ricardo! @inadeqcies . LOCATION : ricardo's rich boy home . TIMESTAMP : 7:35pm .

as if the register wasn't already its own personal shitshow, this might just be its final downfall. questions, questions, questions. plagued with questions. effie on the streets, her business line, her email. it didn't matter if the owner's email was listed anybody who was curious enough would bombard any reporter related to the post. maybe it wasn't the release of the information that pissed effie off, maybe it was just ricardo. no, no, more accurately it was the fact she was cut from the information. woke up the next morning to a post surrounding bronte and daniela and not a single inkling of ricardo's intentions. the release was haphazard at best, a clear indication of a rushed dump. if effie weren't so distressed, she might even be impressed with its half assed effort. it's better than anything she'd imagine ricardo capable of.

instead of the office effie tracks down his personal abode. wasn't hard to look at the records and figure out the address. this is personal, so she's going to make it personal in his own home. three continuous knocks against the door until it's opened. there's a complaint on ricardo's lips as he opens the door. it goes in one ear and right out the other as she shoves in, hands thrown up.

" i didn't know you had it in you! really, i didn't. " a certain passion ignites in her voice, " but what never fails to show is your absolute arrogance, ricardo. you know how many people are trying to get an insiders scoop from me? some extra juicy bits? giving me some bogus gossip column shit? i can't even say a word because ... oh, i don't know anything! care to lift the veil for me? such as where the hell this daytime drama incident came from? and if you even crosscheck your source? "

FOR : kieran ! @horrorphase. LOCATION : exiting a back alley into the sidewalk, yikes . TIMESTAMP : fuck ass o'clock prob .

you're probably wondering how damon got into this situation. see, a common note about them was their tendency to be out of place. constantly on the move, stopping for a quick drink or maybe a smoke on a bench. odd jobs, favors and fuck knows what else ... they never really seemed to pause. there's a restless energy to them at their core and it seems to finally be deflating as they excuse themselves from who they're smoking with in the alley. a little two finger wave, a heavy sigh. despite being a human battery, at some point they always seemed to run out. not to mention no one is here to see damon crash and burn. they can let their shoulders  — 

scaaaaaaatch that! ( it's always that fucking way, isn't it? ) as soon as they step out of the alley and take a turn they're scuttling back just as quickly. boot heel catches against cracks in the pavement, hand raising to catch themselves on the building's brick. " wooooo, shit, kier! " immediate recognition. they laugh a little until it dawns on them: how fucking weird to be slinking out of a back fucking alley in the middle of the day. sure, they've been in weird buildings with kieran. kieran's been out of place before, but with the news of late? yikes.

" alright first off, fancy meeting me here, eh? " points at kieran, " before you start doing your little ... " opens their hand to wave their palm around, " psuedo-ghost-hunter-detective-nancy-drew-carmen santiago thing ... just meeting a friend. reclusive fella. what are you wondering about for this time? "

" did something happen ... " she remembers the split of her dress in an instant. thin, sutured with a quick pin stolen from the bar. " oh, that. ugh, got it caught on someone's spikey belt. i think. " an exasperated sigh. " and you say you can't get anything past me ... look at you. " on the contrary, effie hasn't drank yet. she tries to stray away from the habit. finds being the role of the sober friend at the party to be more fulfilling. though, really, who is she to pass up the offer? the atmosphere here is different than the office, kennedy seems to feel lighter. she'll take it. another show of her good intent in picking at her pieces ; the small criticism. if effie thinks differently of kennedy she'd never voice it unless it becomes a necessity. it hasn't yet.

" my poison is usually a warm blanket and wine at home. i'm kind of a fish out of water here. " she grasps kennedy's hands in a steadying gesture, coaxes her to sway with the beat just a bit. " think ... i'll go with the classic whiskey sour though. classy. " she grasps kennedy's hands in a steadying gesture, coaxes her to sway with the beat just a bit. " but i think ... i'll go with the simple whiskey sour though. real classy. " and that's her personal cue to pull their sway towards the bar. " gotta say, didn't think this was your scene. though i guess i sold you too short as a new york girl, huh ? "

“did something happen today?” they ask, never missing an opportunity to be nosy. kennedy isn't sure why they invited efiie out to dance. they never made much of a habit to hang out with another journalist back in new york. maybe they were growing soft. a realization they will no doubt nurse along with a headache tomorrow morning at the rate they are going. that’s a problem for later though. right now? everything is good. the music is good, the ambiance is good, kennedy is feeling good, effie is looking good. it’s all good! effie’s observation earns chuckle from kennedy. “i can’t get anything past you, can i? okay — i might have a bit of a head start on you.” they admit, looking down at their hands for a moment before flashing her a rare, mischievous grin. “so let’s get you caught up! what’s your poison?” 

the direct and casual tone catches her off guard. even has her voicing it atypically : " oh. " it's amusing, really. the nonchalance. the ability to voice opinion, one based in earnest or not, without batting an eye. a stray thought comes to mind: kieran should make a podcast or try putting his opinions to paper. might be a damn hit. " should i thank be thanking you for that? i mean, really, this isn't some sort of indie horror flick. but, hell, you're making me curious who you are suspicious of. that's just the writer in me though. " effie's earnest at least, but she is wondering what's on his mind, who. it might even be useful to jot down— consider it for herself. yet, out of good manners, she doesn't press.

eyes flicker down to the unlit cigarette leaning close. the unspoken request met with her own lean. cigarette between her lips she lights it with the butt of her own. obverses him over it quietly. a creature of habit she is. ends it with a long drag and a collection of her bag while she stands. " thank you. i'm not really ... scared, but i don't think i want to cram myself into the bar like everyone else is. that'd really be what wigs me out. not enough room to breathe. " she adjusts her purse against her shoulder, slowly walking in the direction her apartment rests. eyes cast upwards a considerable distance. effie's never felt small before, but it's hard to ignore just how looming kieran was. that's a frame she'd never want to see in a dark hallway — a horror flick — only his shadow visible. " i have to ask though ... were you headed home or trying to snoop? no judgement. i'm no better sometimes. "

…                      oncoming headache was absolutely a cautionary tale against night outs, did not mean to get so senselessly wasted, especially when he only really attended that stupid halloween party for one single-minded purpose. and well, that turned out to be an utter fucking failure. but there wasn't anything quite as sobering as the news of yet another tragedy, the cogs and gears of his mind slowly beginning to turn again despite the lingering effects of alcohol and god knows what else he might have taken. “ safe as life. ” which was just another way of saying not at all, blown pupils thoroughly watching the smoke billowing from her mouth as if it was the most entertaining thing in the world. but it was a needed distraction nonetheless, something to fixate on while he attempted to get his shit together. but maybe he needed a far stronger stimulation, harshly pinching the bridge of his nose ⸻ and a groan slipped past his lips, nothing like some good ol' pain to jolt someone fucking wide awake. “ you're lucky i don't suspect you, ” said with typical nonchalance, taking out a marlboro of his own from a silver case. “ i can keep you company till you think it's safe. ” he had read way too much data and while she checked the white working class boxes of most female midwestern serial killers, a journalist like her was more likely to be the vulture circling the bodies, rather than the vicious wolf itself. he could be wrong, it wouldn't be the first time, but blame it on the alcohol, because kieran felt safe enough to lean in, tilting his head to meet her eyes, the unlit cigarette hanging from his lips as he silently asked if she'd light it off hers. maybe she wasn't the killer, but it still felt like flirting with danger : effie floyd just had that look, like she could eat you alive.

FOR : open, come on in ! LOCATION : redstone bathroom ( or just coming out of it for accessibility ) TIMESTAMP : 2:43am

" great fucking job, damon. hilarious, really ! why not start a fight on the night someone's fucking murdered. genius ! " loud nonsense from a split - opened mouth. they're not speaking to anyone in particular, but their own reflection in the dirty mirror. they're not sure how bad they look, but they're definitely going to feel it in the morning. head, swimming. knuckles, aching. " gonna have a blackeye ... christ. " they smack their own face just to feel the sting. spring themselves from the disorientation of adrenaline and mixture of alcohol.

this is their cue to stop mulling and find a place to sit until the crowd settles down. slip away with an opening. otherwise, who could say they wouldn't start another fight? with their unsteady movements ... a threat of this already appears. shoulders knock into someone and they're immediately scrambling back like a wild animal. " shit — " their hands move in a sporadic manner of surrender. palms up, moving around in a circle in front of them. " sorry. i'm sorry — not trying to start anything else. swear it. "

restless energy exists under his skin. constant need to get his hands on something— it's kept him out of most trouble last few years. quelled the electricity making his hair stand on edges ; the pins and needles at bay. couldn't stumble into bad habits, lose the plot if they had something to do. ironically, had considered looking into mechanics before the tattooing gig. only problem with cars were the lifeless shells. couldn't tell what the hell was wrong with an expressionless husk. it lacked a form of art ; detailing couldn't even compete. if damon's fixed his absolute joke of a ninety's era honda, surely he could do something. " well, if you don't know and i don't know what the hell is wrong with it ... who's to say it isn't an easy fix? " its genuine in the way it's stressed, fingers fiddling with an edge silver ring circling his finger. palms itch at the thought. " least i could do, yeah? gives me shit to do, you somethin' less to worry about. hopefully. i ain't a mechanic, but ... i like to keep my knowledge expanding. " snorts at that. " you know me. can't stop keeping myself busy. just keep it in mind, yeah? " a clap of their hands. " now, with the damon business spiel out the way ... what you want? i'll cover it. no, nope nothin' about handouts or any of that shit. i asked you if you were free to chill. "

the    air    in    places    like    redcreek    carried    a    sweetness    that    clung    to    her    skin    like    sap,    tacky    with    memories    she'd    rather    forget    —-   memories    of    a    town    smaller    than    this    one,    trapped    between    cornfields    and    steeples,    drenched    in    kindness    so    artificial    you    felt    like    you    were    suffocating. it’s    why    she    tries    to    stay    in    the    margins,    on    the    side ;    here,    but    not    really,    easily    forgettable.    a    person    you    jot    down    in    the    crevices    of    your    memory    and    then    discard.    but    now    she needs    help.    fucking    can’t    stand    that    she    does,    but    requires    it    nonetheless.    without    a    means    of     transportation    she’s     truly stuck,    one    purgatory    traded for    another. it's that fact that forces her to act    like    words    have    threaded    through    her    suspicion,    like    saccharinity    in    eyes    and    a charm she almost wants to fall for    doesn’t    remind    her how    she's learned generosity doesn't always mean goodness    —-    instead how one usually meant the absence of the other.    " wish    i    knew.    every    time    i    try    to    gain    any    type    of    speed    the    check    engine    light    comes    on    and    he    quits. " fingers drum over the rusted metal, gaze catching theirs. " you sure you want another project? "

FOR : ha - jun ! @redcreekfm / @newwayin . LOCATION : REDSTONE BAR . TIMESTAMP : aprox 2:00am .

it's a goddamn disaster everwhere damon turns. its only been an hour since a fucking body was found ( ah, redcreek ! word travels as fast as lightning here ! ) and everyone is up in arms. there's whispers about the resurgence of the boogeyman, eyes of fear and anger all around as the celebration ends. people are rushing home, gathering into groups to thwart any other attempts within the night. however — like anyone else who couldn't stomach the thought of going home — damon finds themselves at the bar.

three drinks down, each one burning their throat harder than the rest. a prick of regret settles in the churning pit of their stomach. if it was going to be this packed, maybe he should have just went home. too late to decide now. the crowd at the door makes it impossible to sneak through without irritation. god damon is so irritated. they're sitting at the bar with the chatter around them growing by the seconds. they're trying their best to steel it, bite their tongue not to involve themselves. such is their knack, their nature. involve themselves, get to know everything and nothing all at once. damon just couldn't tonight. they decide they have to go. with a fourth drink emptied the second it met their fingertips, they jump to leave. ( here we fucking go ! the path towards nirvana awaits ! )

practically shoves through the crowd to get a single inch to his mile. shoulder - to - shoulder. sorrys here and sorrys there. at least people are aware of their panic, the tension they're pouring into the already thick air. they make it to the middle and feel confident in their escape — but their thin cord of patience snaps with a shove. single hand with force to the back which nearly sends damon to topple over another anxious patron. this ... this is what finally involves them. a hot flash of anger, adrenaline and the night's tension balling up their fists. " what the fuck, man ! " not a question. demanding, aggressive. they whip around and make the connection of hands, to body, to face. if they knew hajun, it doesn't register. it doesn't matter. what registers first is the arched swing to a jaw. " i get it's a sardine cane in here, but you're messin' with the wrong fucker right now. "

damon seems to lose some tension in their shoulders when they realize its hana. it emulates in the heavy sigh they give, hands dropping to their sides like a ton of bricks. " fuck ... hi, han. still got myself all worked up — you'd probably knock me on my ass anyway. " they're surprised they weren't knocked more on their ass, but luckily with the fight being broken up, well, wasn't a lot of time for that. one thing is for sure their head is pounding and the outside, loud chattering and whispers definitely isn't helping them.

at the offer, damon sounds a heavy groan. " god, yes, get me outta here. what i was trying to do in the first place. but, you know, you saw how that went. " shoulders deflate as they sink down the doorway of the bathroom. definitely isn't considering anyone else stuck behind them or trying to get in. centers in on hana for a moment, finding it the best way to keep grasp of their focus. " i think i've had enough law - breaks to steal the first aide kit. i think if you get me to the street that'd be more than enough. walk of shame myself home. unless you wanna make sure i don't jump anyone else. "

☾ one moment, she's downing waters at the bar in an attempt to not walk home plastered with an apparent killer on the loose. her eyes remain on the phone, texts becoming more legible but less frequent with every passing second. the next, an alarmingly bad fight breaks out in the middle of the bar crowd. nosy as ever, hana managed to clamber to a vantage point (kneeling on her barstool), only to spot damon breaking away from the fight. she gapes for a moment as her brain tries to catch up to the scene in front of her.

she tries to trail after the other, coming to a halt at the bathroom door — it would maybe cross a line to follow someone into the bathroom uninvited, even if they were friends. so hana waits. maybe a bit too close, because here comes damon directly into her shoulder. ❝ whoooa, calm down. ❞ she says, mirroring the way their hands go up in surrender.

❝ if you were trying to fight me, i'd take lots of offense. just so you know. ❞ she tries to joke, but she does pout a bit when she looks up at them. ❝ wow. talk about ouch. that must've been— intense. do ya want me to steal a first - aid kit from behind the bar ? or like, get you outta here. whichever. ❞