dekeyz

[dekeyz]

CLOSED STARTER FOR @marlownewman newman residence, monday early evening.

it had already been raining by the time deacon pulls into the driveway. and he doesn't even get to put the tonneau cover on the truck when he stumbles out and runs around the length of the house and towards the coop as the last of the chickens filter in. he'd forgotten to close the door before he left a few hours ago, against kellan's strict reminder to make sure all the chickens are inside whenever he has to be away until past dinner. he takes comfort in the fact that his brother was very likely not home yet or he would've found the coop closed (and all his stuff thrown into the front yard; this isn't the first time he'd left the coop open, and the once family favorite, eggy, would attest to that if she were still around). in fact, he doesn't expect for anyone to be home until the porch lights turn on, followed by the sound of the screen door creaking.

he has to squint at the figure emerging from the doorway, rain catching on his lashes that he has to swipe a hand on his face like he would his windshield just to see his sister now standing at the top of the steps.

"was just getting the chickens inside," he says, gradually making his voice louder to be heard over the dollops hitting the roof of the coop. hands find each opposite arm, pulling at the sleeves of his teal-and-orange windbreaker as he hugs himself for some quick warmth. "you won't... tell kells, will you?"

[dekeyz]

"uh..." deacon holds up the ziploc filled with all sorts of old, defunct coins advertised to have come from all around the globe. "i got these for five dollars. not sure if all of these are even worth anywhere that much combined anymore. i mean, i can't not start a coin collection at this point, right?" keeping it up, however, would be an entirely different undertaking that he's not sure he can commit to. "no, yeah, thrifting's cool. i mean, most of my shit's just hand-me-downs from my brothers, which isn't really the same thing, but it's kinda the same thing, i guess. 'cept, i know for a fact i'm not wearing a dead man's clothes, you know?" there are worse things, he's sure, but the thought makes the hairs on the back of his neck rise. "what did you find?"

“Did you find anything special?” Bryan asked the person next to him as he browsed the yard sale. He looked around checking out what people had brought. “I brought in some stuff this morning, just some old clothes that don’t quite fit anymore. I love thrifting, though. Sometimes you can find the best treasures that way.”

@merrock

[dekeyz]

ft. @eleancr-finch

THE BEAR (2.09)

[dekeyz]

ft. @brooksienewman

[dekeyz]

the faint glimmer of the moonlight against the rapidly moving waters helps in guiding deacon's way towards the creek, though he'd been coming here enough times for his feet to know just where to land even with his eyes closed. along the edge of the water, on a slightly downward slope, he kicks over a small clump of twigs and leaves and finds a dry patch of dirt he can sit on. small splashes of water hitting the rocks start to lightly dampen his curls and the sleeve of his left arm. he brings his knees closer to his chest, saving whatever fabric he can from getting soaked. he has vague plans to return to the party, but in any case, he'll just go back to eleanor. she'll have him in whatever form, he's sure.

up here, the stars look fake.

he'd always thought so. he also thought that he probably just wasn't close enough to make a sound judgment. to make sure, he used to look for one of the nearby birch trees low enough to hitch himself on, would try to pull himself down with his weight or maybe a rock caked in enough mud to hold on to, hoping that upon release it would fling him towards the sky to get him a closer look.

you'll probably just land on the moon, scotty used to say, and he'd usually be on the next tree trying to situate himself in between branches. he also said that it was likely the stars they were seeing were already probably dead. he'd read it in a book, so it must be true.

deacon, on the other hand, didn't read enough. if i can see it, then it's not dead, stupid.

he was too scared the tree wouldn't get him high enough and he'd just fall right into the water, anyway.

no, you're stupid.

it takes the rustling of leaves and the sharp, distinct sound of twigs snapping at him, announcing new company, to have his focus shifting from the (edge of the world) overhanging rock where the stream ends, towards the figure standing from across the short stretch of water it takes to get to the other bank.

if i can see it, then it's not dead.

movement. the head tilting, the bending of an elbow, the chest expanding and contracting at a breathing pace. too tall to be thirteen, too visible to be unseen, too alive to be dead.

had he been followed? had he left a trail? the sound of water could have just as easily drawn enough attention to itself. or was it the stories of what happened here, moving tourists to curiosity to study the height from which the boy had fallen?

deacon registers familiarity, then recognition. his eyes are glued against vitus' face where he searches for evidence of eleanor's indiscretions, debating whether or not he should just forget about the plea he'd made, the warning he'd left vitus with the last time they'd seen each other.

for now, at least, he decides to waive it, and he's the first to break the wall of silence, "i'm sorry," when he speaks just loud enough to alert vitus of his presence. and once more, "i'm sorry," says it with his chest now, voice splitting past every molecule of water between them. he winces at the occasional spritz at his face as he turns his head. "she didn't have to do that to you."

@dekeyz Enchanted Forest Gala: July 22, 2023, approx. 8pm

Too quiet. Far, far too quiet out here. Vitus follows the creek as it bubbles and expands, tracing the evidence of a waterfall. He needs a cacophony of sound. Something to drown out the yearning that blasted through his skull upon watching Tommy chase after Marlow, leaving him there, stranded and useless.

He finds it—a moderately tall cliff, split in two by a steady gush of water, plunging to join the rest of the creek below. Vitus stands on one side of it, hands in his pockets. Head tilted back so he can see the sky in those brief spells where the wind rustles the canopy enough to break it. His lungs draw air, in and out, flushing the memory of Marlow's laugh as it broke.

He's so preoccupied with the task of resetting that he doesn't even notice the ghost trapped at the bottom of the waterfall, embedded in the rocks just below the creek's surface. Nor does he notice Deacon, some twenty feet off to his right, on the other side of the water's crest.

[dekeyz]

"act? i dunno what you're talking about. don't hate me 'cause you ain't me, kelly," he teases his brother with a side-eye. he counts the darts in his hand to make sure he and kellan are on equal footing and neither of them—himself, specifically—are going to be a dart short that could cost them a righteous victory. and on the matter of victories, "fine. farm chores, then," he decides. it's a strategic choice; none of them are barely home these days, so the house shouldn't be too difficult to manage. the farm, on the other hand, especially with the summer harvest, is an entirely different story.

narrowing his eyes at the balloon wall, he throws his first dart, which ends up accidentally piercing through one of kellan's red balloons. "no! that doesn't count!" quickly, to make up for the mistake, he sends another dart flying out, and its sticks into the wall between two blue balloons. "fuck!" he's still got six darts left. glancing over at his brother, kellan makes it look so easy. maybe having a bad leg makes you have better hand-eye coordination, like how being blind amplifies your sense of hearing, or something like that. he moves towards the barrier, torso pressed against the rainbow tarp-covered wood and leans forward as far as he can go. only then does he manage to pop a blue balloon, but the game attendant steps in front of him, blocking his view and telling him that he can only throw from behind the barrier. "oh, shut up." he acquiesces, anyway, just throwing and throwing, hoping something will stick, until his hands are empty and the wall is three blue balloons less.

"You've got that mister cool and collected act down so well, I think even you believe it." Sometimes each of the siblings forgets what it's like to have such a tight knit family, people who know everyone else almost as well as themselves. Sure, there were secrets, but the tells were still there.

"Both?" He shook his head. "It's one or the other, Deke, you can't be absolved of both." He reached for a dart, aiming it up with the balloons, hitting the first one with a resounding "pop."

[dekeyz]

deacon was prepared to hear about a funny, albeit concerning story about how nell had clocked some creep at a park or a grocery store or something, how they must’ve deserved it, and briefly contemplate whether or not this makes them terrible people before deciding that neither of them cared enough about the implications on their character to dwell on it for too long, that they’ve done worse, together and apart. but then she brings vitus’ name to him like a cat dropping a dead bird at his feet, a grotesque sort of offering, and he could feel his innards twisting like the thick ropes she uses to anchor her boat to the dock.

“you… what?” he almost forgets about the near-weightless thing in his hands had its ears not twitched at the sound of his voice. it’s almost comical now, how he has to keep his hands still held out. “why? what the fuck happened? i- vitus?" there’s a grim expression on her face, though deacon could easily wager that it has less to do with the knowledge that she’d punched somebody and feeling sorry for it and more to do with the fact that she’s on the cafe’s shit list—again, as she’d so eloquently put it—and while he reserves judgment for until he hears her fist-facing-front side of the story, he can already take an educated guess at her answer.

There's a familiar trickle of warmth down Nell's spine at those words. Later. It's an open door. Half her life now, all those years and arguments and partners between, and she'll still step through it without hesitation. She tilts her head back and quirks a smile, but Deke's gaze has already fallen to her hands. Vitus left a splash of color along her right knuckles. The edges are just now starting to rust and fade. She's not ashamed of what she did, but the days between the incident and now have been hungry. Her hours at the sanctuary and on the boat have eaten the time she'd spend with Deke. Telling him over the phone while she checked the lobster cages didn't seem ideal.

She sighs before saying, straight as ever, "I punched Vitus. At the Cobblestone. So - yeah, they banned me for a month." She frowns slightly. "Again."

[dekeyz]

"yeah? maybe i'll bring those boxes over to your place sometime. we can sit down and... i don't know, sort 'em out. maybe colton will want some, too." it would be a great bonding moment, especially for his nephew, honoring their father somewhat. deacon didn't really participate in all of the postmortem delegation of which things will go where and with who, had left that mostly to his older siblings and his aunts and uncles. the necklace and the walkman and the tapes had just sort of called to him. he'd learned a lot about their dad this way, what kind of music he'd listened to, how he used to court their mother, what he sounded like when he was his age.

and on the subject of what colton does and doesn't know about his father, "i guess it'll be exciting for him to find out. you know, when you're long gone, and he and rosalyn and whoever else you and cordelia decide to whip up in your little love shack find your little lighter with the dancing hologram hula lady and be like, 'huh. i never knew dad smoked,' while they light a spliff in your honor." that's how it was for a few things, anyway, after their father's passing. "but that won't be for a long, long time, though." he moves to sit next to his brother, fixing the thorny crown on his head. "yeah, you are. you're old. you fell off a ladder you've been climbing for forever and your kid's learning how to shave. you're old. your doctor probably tells you to watch what you eat now, too. and i feel like i should start saving up to buy you a walker as a retirement gift soon." he smiles mischievously at his brother as he brings the cigarette to his lips. "but that's also, like, a pretty cool thing. watching your siblings get older. it's like that guy on youtube who planted chia seeds on top of an egg with a smiley face on it and he shot a timelapse video of it growing and growing and it looked like the egg was aging, but it was literally just an egg. you're the egg, cagey."

Cage wasn't blind, wasn't entirely dumb, knew that there were things about his brother that he didn't know; things about all of his siblings that he didn't know. And sometimes that was the way that it was supposed to be. They all had their secrets, things they felt they needed to keep on the inside, rather than spill their entire guts to everyone that they came across. Maybe someday he would understand his younger brother's draw to the dark-haired woman, the one he could remember his father bailing out of trouble for Deacon, the way that Cage had rolled his eyes and took off, not wanting to watch his brother get into trouble with her. But that day didn't have to be today, at the Gala. "I have some of his records," he breaks himself from his thoughts, "when I bought my house, uncle Dan just let me keep a lot of the stuff he couldn't take with him, so the record player gets put to good use. But I might take you up on that, for the ones you don't listen to so much," Hank and Merle and Willie, the ones that he popped in on long drives, remembering the way their father would sing along when he took him along to see the houses he was building, or they delivered blueberries to nearby towns. Music he listened to when he washed dishes on quiet nights, or hummed in Cordelia's ear when they were sitting on the porch swing. It ran in his blood. And his left boob. "Smartass," but there was no venom laced in it, especially not with the smile that stretched across his face.

Had he been ten, even five years younger, it would have been game over for Deacon. He would have had the younger man over his shoulder, plowing him down into the soft grass at their feet. And then Marlow would have marched over to separate them, Kellan would have sighed and told them to clean themselves up, Emeline probably would have cheered them on, but Cage was older, mature, more wiser, wearing an expensive suit that he didn't want to trash, and that was why a head slap would have to do, dropping back down to sit as he narrowed his eyes at his brother. "Fucker," one of the nicer names that he had probably called his brother through the years. "He doesn't need to know that I occasionally have a cigarette," especially considering the fact that he did so as infrequently as possible, and far away from Colton, Rosalyn or Cordelia. But a small victory smoke for the sake of getting to the Gala, having the chapel done, and his siblings all being in one place… wasn't so bad. "And keep whining, cry baby, I'm not too old to beat your ass."

[dekeyz]

his mouth forms a scandalized 'o' at the hand that snakes around his ass, leans forward until his mouth is almost pressed against eleanor's ear and says, with a playful lilt in his hushed voice, "you're gonna have to wait 'til we get home, honey." he smirks. pretend domesticity isn't lost on him. it isn't entirely new, either. but neither of them are suited for the real thing, and so it's in private moments like this that they settle into the comfort of what they already have and the things they cannot lose should things ever change. pulling himself back slightly, it's in this angle that he notices the faint, familiar patch of red smudged against nell's bony knuckles. "that's not an allergy, is it?" he speaks with i-already-know-what-that-is sort of irony, quirking a brow at eleanor.

"Not in front of the children, dear." One of her free hands slid downward and, with her eyes still innocently trained on the bunny, she pinched Deacon's ass. It was odd to see him in a monkey suit. Odder still to attach the word charitable to either of them. She'd have been more comfortable in private with him wearing nothing at all. There was an honesty to that. A simplicity. With one finger tickling behind the bunny's ear she said, "mmhmm, hard luck." There was a soft spot inside her for lost, abandoned, or twisted things. Her own cat at home had been found behind a dumpster. One might say Deacon had been located similarly. "Guess you'll just have to adopt."

[dekeyz]

‎ THE BRANCH SWAYS LIGHTLY UNDER HIS FEET, the leaves rustling as his weight shifts, and he has to grip the trunk with everything he's got. "jump? that's the best you've got? you want me to die, wes? you want to see my name in your office?" the office being the place where wesley works, the place where they first met: the graveyard. and maybe he's just being dramatic—he's only got to be about ten feet above ground—and normally, he would have no problems doing just as wes had suggested, except he'd be landing on uneven ground, and with the crown of thorns sitting on his head, it's a quick trip to the er. of course, he could always just take it off, but the crown is the reason why he's up in this tree in the first place. tossing it down would break it and having wes catch it is just asking for a lawsuit. "or you could just come up here, keep me company. i've got a great view, by the way."

Wes had wandered out into the woods, needing time away from all of the socialising, when he heard someone calling out from a tree. "What the fuck," he muttered, under his breath. He had been startled, looking around until he spotted Deacon on a branch. "Jump?" his eyes shifted between Deacon and the ground, estimating the distance to gauge the potential risk.

[dekeyz]

‎ "OH DEKE, IT'S SO LITTLE - i'm so glad you're talking about the bunny right now." he snorts, trying to keep his hands as steady as he can as finch tries to pet the bunny—oh, his mind is going places—with the kind of gentleness he only sees her use on a select number of things. "you know, i read somewhere that you're supposed to return a baby bunny to its nest if you find one. problem is, it's too dark to find that hole." he glances around the trees, their surroundings enveloped by the night. the little lanterns they've put up for the party didn't extend this far. quirking a brow at finch's comment, deacon realizes too late how his 'mama bunny' remark must've struck a chord with her. "mm, yeah. she's a real piece of work. think we can get it a raccoon friend to raise it instead?" he says, lifting the tiny animal slightly in his hand.

"Oh Deke. It's so little." Nell made a soft sound at the back of her throat as she curled forward. One of her hands came up beneath Deacon's the other hovered over. There was a vibration to the little creature as one finger pad ran, light as a feather, from snout to tail. It tugged on something malleable in her chest. "Mom probably got scared off with all the commotion out here." She bit her lip, but couldn't help adding, "I know the type."

[dekeyz]

"EH," is the tired response he gives, coupled with a half-assed shrug. if only cage knew the kind of people he often, and very intimately associated himself with, whose beds he'd wind up on, the rooms he'd wake up in, how early it had all started... finch could then very easily become cage's favorite person. hell, he's lucky he's able to keep any friends at all. and it's not by coincidence that she happens to be the only person who knows these things, either; deacon is determined to keep that knowledge the fuck away from his family. leave what little of his dignity he can for their sake. "his music suits you, though. i have like, two boxes of his tapes in my room, if you wanna grab some." he doesn't tell cage that he'd brought their father's old walkman with him, sitting in the glove compartment of the truck. he knew it was going to be a difficult night, having this whole fete so close to the falls. listening to the things his father used to hear often helps to make him feel like his comforting presence is still there, like they're sitting in the same room. he takes a long drag of his cigarette as if to suck all that nostalgia back in, choosing to focus on and appreciate the light-hearted humor he shares with his brother at present. "i didn't know you kept all your wealth in your left boob, cagey, but you know what? you're welcome."

he sticks his tongue out at his brother and his lousy attempt at snatching his phone away from him. he used to be much more agile, and it makes deacon a little sad that he's not so quick on his feet anymore, that he no longer poses the kind of threat he used to. nowadays it just feels like cage has to try twice as hard to pose a challenge. deacon sticks his left elbow out as he leans back to try and keep cage away despite their proximity in such a limited space. he smirks when he spots the micro-second hesitation in cage's eyes at having his hand anywhere near the thorns adorning his head, but manages to do so anyway. "ow, ow!" deacon exclaims dramatically, a performance he'd given countless of times in their childhood, despite cage's hand only landing below the crown, just above his nape. "i mean, it's not my fault if i make it my wallpaper and colton just so happens to borrow my phone."

The look that Cage gave his brother said that no, he didn't quite think that his brother had a fully formed brain. But he didn't say that part out loud, instead shrugging both shoulders. "I'm just saying that sometimes I question your taste in friends, is all," and worried that he wasn't always making the best decisions, but he was his big brother. It was his job to fret about things like that. One brow raised the tiniest bit as Deacon scolded him for his taste in music, his lack of knowledge about what was on the radio, leaning back more against the post. "Every song on the radio these days sounds exactly the same, I hate it," whenever Colton fiddled with the dials and knobs, he had to resist the urge to swat his son's hand, enforce the 'my truck, my music' rule, even in the Traverse, with its new and improved sound system and what not. "I do," he agreed, tone softening a bit. "I feel like one of us had to get his good taste, though," at that, he grinned, knowing that each of them had taken something from their father. A personality quirk, something about their appearance, likes and dislikes, it was just how things worked. Trying to keep a straight face when Deacon talked about what Cordelia could possibly see in him, he let out a forlorn sigh, "she's just after my wealth and my business, obviously." Although there were probably better ways to go about that. "But I'm glad that you and everyone else can finally see what she sees in me, makes me feel real good right here," he rubbed his knuckles against his chest, over his heart. He was about to say more, opening his mouth to do so when he saw the flash, narrowing his eyes. "Deacon." And then he was stepping back, and Cage was launching himself forward, every bit of exhaustion leaving his mind as he tried to lunge for his brother's hand, just missing it as he slipped his phone into his pocket. "You ass," he swatted at his brother's head, instead, letting out a gruff sigh. "That goes nowhere near my son, you hear?"

[dekeyz]

"HEY, I LIKE FINCH. YOU THINK I DON'T GOT A FULLY-FORMED BRAIN, TOO?" it would make sense, somehow, that maybe something just stopped working in his head, or a blockage had formed, a little snag in his code. "no, you don't listen to the radio. that's the problem." he tsks rather aggressively at cage, plucking the cigarette from his mouth as puffs out little o's—a trick he'd learned from finch, no doubt—into the humid summer air. "you have dad's taste in music," he says after a short beat. he would know this: he hoarded most, if not all, of their father's cassette tapes, after all. "you know, people always ask me what cordelia sees in you. 'cause, you know, she looks like that, and you..." he does a little apathetic wave at cage's figure. "...when you're not all dolled up like this anyway." he's ribbing his brother, does it with all the love he can summon in his bones. besides, the newmans have never been the vain sort (except for that time he'd accused his little sister of it in the heat of the moment, but he didn't mean it, not really, he never does), and it's always the inside that matters, as jason newman used to say, which puts deacon in a rather tight spot since he's not so sure his insides are pretty to look at, either. slowly pulling his phone out from his pocket, he discretely angles it towards cage, but forgets to turn off the flash when he snaps a photo of him mid-drag. he doesn't feel any remorse, grinning instead when he gets caught. "oops, my hand slipped." expecting retaliation, he takes a step back, making sure he's out of cage's reach when he puts his phone away.

"Bullshit," he shot back on a barked laugh. Colton, maybe. As much as he razzed his kid, or razzed him to other people, he genuinely was a good kid, without a mean bone in his body. Kind, respectful, listened to his dad, but did have a tendency to leave dirty dishes on the floor of his bedroom. One step away from a life of crime, basically. At what Deacon said next, Cage actually did roll his eyes, shooting his brother a look. "That means nothing, he doesn't even have a fully formed brain at this point," which meant that he wasn't going to trust his son's taste in anyone at that point. As much as Cage wanted to believe the best in people, trust that they were good at heart, he still had his reserves, knew that it was impossible to just shake that. But discussing Deacon's friendships was a conversation to have when needed, the net time he got in trouble and she was at his side, or worse, she got in trouble and Deacon tried to come to her rescue… not at a Gala. Of course, it might not be the place to have his musical knowledge insulted, either. "I don't fucking know, do I look like I listen to the radio?" he laughed out loud at the thought. Cage had a cassette player in his truck, he had playlists of Hank Williams Jr. and Johnny Cash on his phone, he didn't exactly spend his time browsing the top forty. "Always is," he responded with a small smirk on his lips, because that was Cordelia. Spending hours getting ready, and it showed, the moment that she had stepped foot down her staircase, and again walking into the Gala. Lighting up the cigarette when the lighter was passed his way, he tossed it back to Deacon and shook his head. "Not Colton," the last thing his son needed to know was that his father occasionally enjoyed a smoke, getting that idea in his mind. "Cordelia would just tell me I'm sexy," he took a drag off the cigarette, knowing that it was a very bold lie.

[dekeyz]

CLOSED STARTER FOR @xwesjames, the woods, close enough to the chapel to hear the party.

"SO, YOU'VE FALLEN INTO MY TRAP."

his voice is guttural, ominous as he announces his presence from one of the lower hanging branches of an oak tree sitting near the slope that leads to the river. it's darker here, with the nearest source of light coming from the chapel, and he could barely make out the features of the person's face, just that he knows that someone had arrived. whether or not he knows them doesn't matter to him; he's been waiting for someone to come by for the last fifteen minutes, he'll take anyone at this point. "so, funny story... i'll tell you about it if you help me get down."

[dekeyz]

"WHO, COLT AND ME? PFT. WE'RE ANGELS." he bats his lashes at his brother as if that proves anything, though if one were to look at the amount of times cage had come home to find his house in some sort of disarray or the neighbors calling him about some troubling thing the nephew-and-uncle duo were up to in the front yard, cage's concern is pretty well-founded. "say what you will about finch, but i'll have you know that your son actually thinks she's pretty cool, so." he's sure colton has enough memories of his uncle and his not-girlfriend babysitting him to tell his friends about it when he got older. he's not so sure, however, that finch is the kind of girl whose company cage wants his son to be around when he's old enough to start thinking about relationships and the sort. "jesus, is that what you think modern pop music is? get low and the macarena? cage, that is so uncool..." he shakes his head admonishingly. "yeah, i'm sure she's the belle of the ball." he might've spotted cordelia earlier, arm in arm with his brother, an image of their younger, former selves. the quarterback and cheer captain. prom king and queen. they were made for each other, in a sort of sickeningly sweet way. "oh, i would love to take a picture of you right now," deacon says, his own cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth when he hands cage a light. "send it to your son and girlfriend. wonder what they'd think." he wouldn't, not really, but it's fun to think what their reaction would be.

His grin only grew when Deacon rolled his eyes, because if he could steal that reaction from his brother, he should have won some sort of reward. It was nice to be the one to elicit the eye rolls for once, and the lack of retort told him that at least he wasn't wrong; he did look pretty good. "I was going to say that you could go home and hang out with him, but the two of you alone in my house has never been good news, so, no. You're stuck here with the rest of us adults," he heaved a dramatic sigh, "isn't growing up so much fun?" Admittedly, attending the Gala with a girlfriend in tow and having someone to sneak away with for breaks did help, and he could avoid that boredom that Deacon was mentioning, letting out a breath. And then of course stopping himself from rolling his eyes this time around, when he mentioned Eleanor. Cage was never sure what to think of the girl, never sure what kind of trouble she and Deacon were going to get into. "Raise hell?" he filled in, voice flat, before he found himself letting out a laugh. "Deke, it's a gala, they're not going to play Get Low or the Macarena." Although he could only imagine what the crowd they were looking at would look like doing that sort of dancing in the middle of the woods. In those outfits, to boot. "She…" he trailed off, craning his head to look through the crowd, trying to spot the starry woman his heart belonged to, "is somewhere. We just got off the dance floor and she's got a much higher social battery than I do," he admitted on a low laugh. Eyeing the cigarette that Deacon was holding his way, he hesitated only a moment before sitting up and taking it, turning it over in his fingers and then holding out his hand for his lighter. "Thanks."

[dekeyz]

‎ DEACON SNORTS. he'd just been fucking with her, for the most part, blurting out the first thing that came to mind when he saw her. but she sounds genuinely concerned and now he feels kind of bad. "so what if they look like rice krispies? rice krispies are fuckin' bomb. you ever had a rice krispie treat?" now he's craving for some. he wonders if he could get one when he's done here. "that's what you look like. you look like a rice krispy treat. covered in that green tea matcha shit." he pauses, lets all of it sink in for aisha. "you look like a snack, is what i'm saying." it's a compliment of the highest regard, on the deacon newman scale of complimenting things. "no, but seriously, you look great." he pinches his thumb and index finger together, the other three digits sticking out. "so, what's up, you havin' fun?"

"What?" Aisha looked over at the man who'd been standing near her outside the chapel. He must've been talking about her necklace, something a bit gaudy she'd probably never wear again after the gala. She only bought it because it was perfect for this event, or at least she thought. "They're supposed to be leaves. Do they really look like Rice Krispies to you?"

[dekeyz]

‎ "CINDERELLA, HUH? YOU'D LOOK THE PART." he grins. he's not so sure he could say the same for himself. with her shimmering crown and his made of thorns, they're a stark contrast to each other. still, playing into the fairytale moment, he takes a stilted bow, hand on his torso like he'd seen in those movies, before opening his palm up for her to take. "merlady," he says, his fingers curling around her hand. and no, he knows squat about dancing or how to not step on somebody's toes, but he would be damned if he couldn't get at least one dance from her tonight. "well, i say it was worth it. you look fucking fantastic." and he chuckles, hearing himself say it out loud. that wasn't very prince-like of him. and neither is nearly kicking chloe's heel from under her, but he quickly holds her up before she could lose her balance. "that's just the way i am, naturally," comes his brand of cocky sarcasm, but receives her compliment with a small nod of his head and, "but... thanks. finch- uh... nell, you know, eleanor? she helped me with the crown." he realized too late that the thing was going to be taking place at a chapel and now he feels like he has to go into confession after for blasphemy. among other things. "you come with anyone?"

Chloe was flushed with amusement at the reaction that Deacon had to seeing her in her full attire. Though, it did feel quite nice to be gawked at, knowing just how long she planned out her outfit. And she couldn't help but notice how he was dressed as well, eyes picking up on the few buttons undone on his white shirt, the added pendant hanging off of the chain he always seemed to sport and the crown that added a nice touch to the look he was going for. When she fully paid attention to Deacon, she could make the observation that his sculpted nose and jawline were features that attributed to his handsome face. It must be a Newman thing, she thought. As they made their way to the other patrons who decided to dance, Chloe could recognize the tune that the band was playing, liking the spin they put on it. Once they carved out a way through the elegantly dressed crowd, Chloe looked back at the other with a grin that overtook her face. "Wow, you sure know how to make a girl feel special. I feel like this is my Cinderella moment, just without the fairy Godmother and the glass slippers." Somewhere in the sentence she wanted to make a Prince Charming joke but he looked more like Prince Eric in the clothes he was wearing. "But to answer your question, I'd say it took a few hours. Only because the makeup took the longest. If we're talking about planning the look, I might need to keep that under wraps. No one needs to know how much time I spent on this entire look. What about you? You look pretty dashing yourself."