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[masonhcrtley]

DEVI JOGIA.​

She’s not drunk: she’s fucking dead. She’s got to be. There is no way that one of Kass’s favourite actors is right before her right now. She glanced back to her pint, then him, then back at her drink. Maybe this is a sign to quit drinking. Yeah, right. When pigs fly, that’ll be the day. “Correct me if I’m drunk, but you look an awful lot like Mason Hartley. My… My best friend loves that guy.” How is she suppose to refer to her as now? Wife? Ex-Wife? Dead wife? No fucking way. Best friend was technically true, but still hurt so much. And felt much too simple to refer to her as such. Yet if she were to use the other title, she would just burst into tears. Yeah, not in front of this guy.

The second clash caused her to jump again, looking in the direction. “Good god,” she grumbled, startle turning to annoyance. Glancing at the blond, she raised a brow for a moment. “Hmm… Could end up getting in trouble…” She knock back the rest of her drink then set the glass back on the table. “Sure, what the hell? Our excuse if we get caught: I’m drunk, you were trying to stop me from getting into drunken mischief. Shouldn’t be a problem, the staff might believe it. Think I can make a believable drunkard? Might be difficult, but I’ll give it my best.”

Mason grins up at her, regarding her by the bar. Usually, he would have graciously corrected her, saying why yes, I am the one and only actor, Mason Hartley — but he thinks he could do well with some modesty. “Hey, I’ll cover for you. People have said I’m a decent actor — guess we’ll have to see about you.” He gets up and plops himself down in the stool next to hers. “A drunkard, huh?” He taps his drink against hers. “For all I know, you might already be halfway there.”

He takes a swig of his whiskey. “All you gotta do is act like you can’t find the bathroom. Drunk people do that all the time.” Neck craning over the bar, his eyes searched for the bartender, but nobody seemed to be tending the bar. “It’s now or never. Maybe we’ll stumble across some crazy conspiracy.”  

[masonhcrtley]

DOLORES ROMERO.​

he tugs on the drawstrings of her sweatshirt and,  for a second,  it has her feeling childish,  not taken seriously,  though her smile remains  —  even if her jaw clenches.   rather than speak on it,  dolores pushes back such an impulse as her own pessimism.   the stubborn way she oft dissected people’s words,  searching for any possible hidden meaning.   he’s just being playful,  he’s a playful guy,  stop letting everything get on your nerves.   in an effort to return some sort of playful banter,  she looks at his own outfit choice and thinks to remark upon it  —  though the two tequila shots are readied,  set down before she comes up with anything.

his enthusiasm,  per usual,  is unmatched,  and it actually gets her to smile.   like,  really smile.   not the concerted expressions she typically puts on in advance.   it catches her off-guard,  watching as mason salts his hand in preparation,  and dolores quickly catches up.   a moment later,  she nods in agreement:  salt,  lick,  shot,  lime.   immediately,  her face scrunches up  —  both from the sour ripeness of the lime,  which she sucks dry,  and the horrible strength of the tequila,  a burn she feels travel within her chest.   ❛  i dunno,  maybe you should remind me,  ❜  she mutters,  shuddering as her shot glass is at last traded for her paloma.   tequila for more tequila.

then,  just as she’d felt childish moments before,  the woman is feeling childish once more.   the introduction of playground taunts and the way such teasing has her perking up,  competitive fires lit,  brings a new heat to her veins:  an eyebrow cocks and,  after licking her lips,  dolores turns to mason.   ❛  you did not just call me chicken,  ❜  she laughs.   ❛  i’ll show you who’s—  ❜   midway through that thought her voice cuts off,  a hand swatting his arm gently as she spots an open table.   ❛  i’m ‘onna go get that one.  ❜

HER enthusiasm,  this time,  surprises dolores.   her drink is carried carefully as,  mere seconds after speaking,  she’s weaving among other patrons to snag said pool table.   and she’d like to attribute it to the alcohol or mason’s own infectious attitude that,  for the night,  she couldn’t brush off  —  but dolores couldn’t place what it was.   perhaps an exhaustion from dealing with herself.   she glances to see how closely mason followed after,  to see how closely his enthusiasm held up,  and dolores leans over the green to begin racking up for their game.   ❛  you feel like making this interesting?   like….  loser buys the next round?   i’ll even let you break.   or are you chicken?  ❜

She’s offended — how dare he call her chicken, but he catches that sparkle of animation embedded in her reply. Mason’s never seen that before, what with her being so professional (almost too professional) on set. They’re playing potential lovers for crying out loud, it would make it a little easier if he could actually talk to Dolores like a normal person. 

Mason has his beer in hand now, a draft on tap, following her to the pool table with a twinkle in his eye of his own. It’s steeped in relief — relief that she didn’t exactly hate him, as far as he thought, that perhaps work would be a bit less tense in the upcoming weeks. He picks up the cue, single brow raised, intrigued by the sudden wave of confidence. The tequila had certainly worked its magic. 

“Shit, that confident, huh?” Mason tilts his head, hands flipping the stick around with ease. “Sure, I’ll wager that — but if I win, you have to stick around, too. No running off after you buy my drink.” He wags his finger in her face, tutting gently. 

And so he breaks, without fidgeting, rife with the confidence of a man. When he finishes, he looks over at Dolores, satisfied with where the balls have ended up. His gaze doesn’t waver, not because he wants to intimidate, but because nobody has ever questioned it. “So,” he starts, “how’s Hollywood treating you so far?” He’s genuinely curious, if only because she had the chance to mold her narrative. Mason hadn’t, with his famous mother writing the narrative for him before he even received a chance to speak for himself. And now, this affair, this ruinous act of sin would be what defined his career. 

[masonhcrtley]

DEVI JOGIA.​

open starter: all

It was a rough day. No matter what, they were behind schedule on everything at the shop, they were shorthanded, too many customers both trying to buy auto parts and trying to get repairs. Devi did everything she could to keep everything in order, herself and her workers going overtime. Not only that, but the eleven year anniversary of her mother’s death was this month. So overall, she could feel herself slipping away. With her brother in town for a little while and watching the kids tonight, she needed a drink. No, she needed to get fucking drunk. Sitting in a booth at the pub, she’d forgotten how many hours it’s been since she arrived. How much she has drink, a little pyramid of shot glasses at one point filled with tequila accompanied with a couple drinks of Guinness and whiskey Coke. She’d been slowly working on another pint, her gaze on the table as muddled thoughts cloud her mind. It wasn’t until she heard a sudden loud noise when she jumped and came back to earth. “Jesus fuck- what was that?”

OPEN STARTER: located at mcflanagan’s, march 1st/2nd @ midnight // @catalinastarter​

Mason isn’t usually a McFlanagan’s fan (too many gruff old men watching his wide smile like he didn’t belong), but after a long day, he’s not feeling much up to chatting at the other bars. At least here, they’d leave him alone — nobody cared to fan his celebrity ego here.

Nursing a finger of whiskey, his head whips up when he hears the loud clash. Coming from behind the bar, he leans over his stool to see what was going on. “Shit, I don’t know. They probably dropped some plates or something.” But right as he says it, another clash rings throughout the bar, followed by some shouts. “Damn. You wanna go check it out?” Mason grins at the other, gesturing to the gate where the bartender could enter and exit from behind the counter.

[masonhcrtley]

AVA HALLIWELL.​

“That’s not what I mean, I—” Ava paused for a moment, lips pursed as she carefully deliberated her next words. The funeral home, with all its negative reputations and all, it was somewhere she could hide and be left alone by the rest of the world. In a way, a place where people came to face the dead was weirdly a safe haven to her. It’d always been somewhere she could run to whenever her family grew suffocating to her, into the open arms of her aunt where she would always know the right words for her to hear. Without that, it was just her now. Alone here and today with a reminder of a past she suppressed for so long until she crossed paths with Mason’s again. “It happened once or twice, and I just like the quiet sometimes, that’s all.” Was what she ultimately settled with and shrugged. “There’s nothing in there, by the way,” She gestured at the drawers, in attempt to ease the tension and reassure him. “We’re still in the middle of getting everything ready, what with the funeral home being burnt down last summer.”

It wasn’t until when Mason spoke, when Ava was about to ask about his family, that perhaps he didn’t have many people on the island. His grandfather was six feet under what with their interaction at the cemetery, and the divorce, she remembered now, from their texts too. “So, you’re in no rush to go anywhere then?” She ultimately deducted, rather than to tread into the other dangerous territory. “I do but, it’s not like he keeps track of my every minute whereabouts, unlike—” Her late husband, she’d almost let that slip, as she shook her head and continued. “You know, you’re famous, you make it sound like people won’t make a fuss over you going missing but, I’m pretty sure a search party will go out looking for you. So I guess we’re just going to have to make do with each other until someone come to our rescue.” 

➵

He’s overreacting, he knows that. Mason had the tendency to dramatize everything in his life, to feel the rough tide of the emotions to every last crest and trough in the wave. It’s what made him so good at his job, really. In front of the camera, he could be as striking as he wanted, right at the center of the stage. Star-quality, as they called it.

But in real life, his leading man ego is only a liability, as evidenced by Ava’s reaction towards him. His memory lands on high school, how he thinks it’s always been like this, how it always begins with an overreaction.

Mason grumbles, pulling out his phone — sadly, bars still missing, and he shoves it into his back pocket. “It’s different,” he replies. “You know it’s different, right?” He pauses on purpose, leaving his response vague, almost as to get a reaction from Ava. “People actually care about you. I don’t know if I can say the same for myself.”

[masonhcrtley]

[masonhcrtley]

AVA HALLIWELL.​

For a brief moment, their current predicament was enough for her to forget all that was left unsaid between them, finding somewhat amusement in Mason’s reaction, to say the least. Her demeanour was almost equivalent to one left long in the past. Ava couldn’t help but scoff at his words, not quite believing him for a second. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever helps you sleep at night, Mason.” She shot him a look with a shake of her head. 

Her heart was still pounded against her ribcage when Mason mirrored her reaction, her eyes narrowing for a second when he turned her own words against her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, this happens all the time.” She muttered with a shrug. Ava wasn’t exactly pleased to trapped in the same room with Mason either. At his question, she paused and mulled over it seriously this time. “Honestly? I don’t know. Later today, maybe? I am supposed to hand over my keys to someone else so I can make it home for dinner.” She sighed, before raising her wrist to check the time on her watch. 4:00pm. There was no way of knowing her staff was going to show up sooner or later at this point. “But hey, you’re the hotshot actor here, maybe someone will notice you’re missing first, right?” 

➵

“You’re telling me that being locked in a morgue is… normal for you?” Disbelief permeates his tone, and he sighs, leaning against a free wall (ensuring that it wasn’t the wall with the drawers) and lowering himself onto the ground across from Ava. It’s only as he sits in the silence for a few minutes does he realize that his upset didn’t come from the morgue itself, but what he’d learned to associate with it. Ava meant that night at Geo’s, with Mikey’s fatal accident; Ava meant that first meeting back in the cemetery, where he’d forgotten to place the supermarket carnations on his grandfather’s grave; Ava meant her funeral home and a morgue, where he’d felt the walls of death enclosing in on him with no escape.

Mason runs a hand through his hair, huffing, finally giving an answer to her question. “It’s my day off,” he reasons, “and I live alone. You do the math.” No, nobody would be looking for him until his call time at 4AM the next morning. He knew what the crew said, about how they should ignore him when he gets into one of his moods, even though they’d pinned him as oblivious to their words. “You’ve got a boyfriend, don’t you? Some guy that’d, I don’t know, call everybody and their mother if you’re missing?”

[masonhcrtley]

AVA HALLIWELL.​

Being trapped with her old friend was hardly part of her plans for the day; if anything, it might just be preferable to put more distance between the pair than anything else. Had last year never happened, Ava would react just the same as Mason was right now. But she was simply tired, of all the surprises life had in store for her. Instead, she slid down to the ground, making herself comfortable as it could just be hours before someone noticed they were trapped in the basement.

“Look, if there’s a way to unlock from this side, I would’ve done it already,” Ava frowned, watching Mason as she could just note ideas was racing in his mind as he attempted to figure a way out for the pair. Then his next question surprised her, and there was a glint of amusement that creeped inside. “Are you scared?” The words slipped right out of her lips before she could stop them, although shaking her head in response to his question. “I don’t know, to keep everything safe? But last I’ve counted, there’s still two living people in here.” It was probably not the answer Mason needed right now, but before she could reassure him, a sudden clash of a box tumbling to the ground caused her to jump to her feet, her heart pounding against her ribcage in fright. “What the hell was that?”

Shooting a look of annoyance at Mason, albeit Ava probably deserved it for her nonchalant attitude mere moments ago. “Okay, now you’re being funny. That’s enough, I’m sorry that we’re both locked in, okay?”

➵

Could Ava Halliwell be possibly taunting him? He can’t remember if she’s ever been this blunt, but regardless, it’s been years since he’s properly talked to her for longer than fifteen minutes. It throws him off-guard, and he turns around, chest puffing up subconsciously.

“Scared?” He says it as if it’s the most ridiculous concept in the world. “Pfft, I’m not scared. I just — well, you can’t say this is exactly ideal!” He isn’t angry as much as he is annoyed at the prospect of standing close to possibly dead bodies. He sniffs the air, but it just smells overwhelmingly of bleach ad other miscellaneous cleaning supplies. 

Right as Mason is about to let out another large huff, he hears the loud crash of the box falling to the ground, and he jumps. “Shit!” he exclaims, taking a few steps back into the door with a thud. Seeing that a box has just fallen, he groans, bending down to shuffle the things back in. “Now it seems like you’re scared,” he mutters, clearly unhappy with the whole ordeal. He turns back around, giving Ava a look. “How long did you say until someone comes by? Or realizes we’re missing?”

[masonhcrtley]

💬 → jay.

JAY: I know I have the worst timing, disappearing when we'd finally reconnected again, but family stuff beckoned. You want to maybe grab something to eat sometime?

MASON: YO! Hey! No worries at all man.

MASON: You got it all sorted out?

MASON: I'm free for dinner on the weekends

[masonhcrtley]

AVA HALLIWELL.​

Pearly whites nipped on her bottom lip as Ava took a step back, allowing Mason to occupy the space before her instead. His remark caused her eyes to roll, although there was a sinking feeling that creeped inside her stomach, as though his efforts wouldn’t pry the door open either. As if something was reading her mind, Ava watched as he struggled against the door all the same, before his laughter surprised her, blinking at his words. “What— hey, I’ll have you know, that I can pull a better prank that this,” She proceeded to squeeze herself between the space between Mason and the door again, tugging on the door handle with all her strength, grunting as she did so. 

“See?” Ava uttered when the door remained sealed shut, as if to prove her point. She was rather breathless after, shaking her head as she wandered further into the room. “Fuck,” She mumbled to herself, before turning to Mason. “So I — uh, I think we’re locked in.” A sigh slipped from her lips, as she continued. “I swear I need to get that door fixed. I thought something was holding it open — but look, someone is supposed to come and lock up so…we’ll get out, eventually.” It was weird, how eerily calm the brunette was regarding their predicament, although it wasn’t the first time she spent the night at the funeral home. “I’m sorry, I hope you’re not in a rush to go anywhere today.” Her tone was apologetic, as she continued. “Plus, I know it’s not ideal, but me and a bunch of ghosts can keep you company in the meantime, huh?” She added with a grin, hoping her quip landed well with Mason and to make light of their situation, to say the least..

➵

Despite Ava’s casual nonchalance over the whole ordeal, Mason has already begun to panic, under the guise of petty annoyance. He pulls out his phone — regrettably, there are no bars whatsoever for him to use — and he huffs, slipping the device back into his pocket. No, he had nowhere to be, of course, but the prospect of being in the funeral home’s basement is not something he’d planned on doing. 

“Locked in?” It’s purely rhetorical, the abject shock crossing his face as if he’s just been told that dragons are real. “Wait - what do you mean locked in? Isn’t there a way to like, I don’t know, undo the lock from this side?” He whips his head around side-to-side, taking in his surroundings the best he could. “Are there bodies in here?” he whispers. No, Mason isn’t scared but... he feels as if he should know if there are corpses around. “I - what the hell is the point to lock this door from the outside, anyways? If everybody’s supposedly dead?” 

[masonhcrtley]

📱 - Gabby & Mason

Gabby: I was once at a rehearsal of the day itself. And just out of nowhere this bride asks the only blonde bridesmaid (bride is blonde herself as well) if she can die her hair brown for the wedding.

Gabby: Just because she wanted to be the only blonde

Gabby: Probably not the worst I encountered but the first one that came to mind.

Mason: Holy shit 😂

Mason: Did she do it? Dye her hair?

Mason: That is appropriately insane and exactly what I needed right now, so thank you 🙂

[masonhcrtley]

DOLORES ROMERO.​

[ Mason Hartley ]  203 main st in lafayette. don’t get lost cause I’m also directionally challenged 😊

her thumbs are poised over the keyboard,  blue message lighting up the haphazard cracks in her phone’s screen.   she’s loitering outside the establishment,  half-listening to the various groups of people outside smoking,  chatting,  messing around.   there’s a couple clinging to each other,  mouths pressed together as they lean casually against a lamppost.   and dolores can smell grapes in the air with each puff of smoke some guy,  clad in an aviator jacket,  long hair tied up in a bun and eyes leering,  blows from his pen.   she types out a message  —  I’m here  —  before deleting it and raising her hand to her mouth,  preparing to nibble on her nails until she consciously stops herself from doing so.   the guy  —  a stranger  —  with the bun offers her a hit and she looks at him shortly,  gives an uh thanks i’m good,  before shoving her phone into her bag and heading inside.

she always felt foolish wandering around looking for familiar faces,  and she feels foolish now.   it’s generously loud,  warm and crowded,  as she  —  standing at a mere five feet and three-and-a-half inches  —  raises to her toes,  neck craning to see if she could recognize anyone and make a beeline for them.   she doesn’t.   and after sucking in a breath,  dolores sets her sights on the bar instead.   at least a drink could ease the ball of anxiety that’d formed in her gut;  its origins unknown.   after they’d bid their temporary goodbyes on set,  she’d gone back to her trailer to change out of her character’s wardrobe,  wash her makeup off,  then reapply mascara and a few thin strokes of eyeliner before finally figuring out a means of transportation to three palms  —  all while taking frequent breaks to scroll twitter and sip on a whiteclaw.   she’d even contemplated bailing on the plans.   it’d taken getting lost down the wrong cross street and choking down an antacid before dolores finally showed up.

halfway to the bar she hears her name being called and she searches for its source.   though she’s unable to immediately locate it,  dolores does spot mason  —  really,  spots his shoulders and the back of his head first,  seemingly looming over surrounding patrons  —  and she opts to head there.   nearing the bartop,  she tugs down her hoodie  ( star wars,  the original trilogy,  raw-hemmed and cropped by yours truly,  a comfort piece of clothing )  and she smiles,  shoulder brushing against him.   and mason  —  true to himself as ever  —  greets dolores enthusiastically,  and a laugh emits through her nose.   ❛  i made it…  ❜  she remarks,  tone decidedly casual.   her gaze wanders,  taking in the arcade’s vibe.   ❛  sorry that it took me a little while.   y’know,  directionally challenged,  ❜  her voice playfully directs to mason,  stopping as a bartender pops open a bottle to slide it over.   dolores requests a paloma then,  after a second’s hesitation,  two tequila shots.   to her present company,  she straightens,  expression shifting to something more upbeat,  ❛  do one with me, yeah?   then we’ll go…   play something,  or whatever.  ❜

Casual — it suits her, more than the heavily curated wardrobe the costume designer selected for their characters. What can he say? — the film is gentle, muted, and the array of faded L.L. Bean flannels and thick khakis (though comfortable beyond compare) isn’t exactly his style. It’s clear from her sweatshirt she has her own flair as well, and the corners of his eye crinkle in amusement, wondering if she’d be the type to co-opt vintage clothing for fashion’s sake. 

Mason decides not, tugging on the drawstrings, not unlike the way a schoolboy would to a young girl. “Wouldn’t have pinned you for a Star Wars fan,” he says, grinning. He’s one to talk, in his flashy Hawaiian shirt. “It’s all good. You’re here, and that’s what matters, right?” 

He doesn’t even have time to protest before the tequila shots are ordered, set in front of him, almost as a challenge. So much for starting off slow, because he’d sooner be damned than let somebody else outdrink him (that competitive streak always has to rear its ugly head), and he salts the back of his hand, readying a lime in haste. “You think I’m the type of guy to turn down a free tequila shot? Come on, on the count of three...” And he counts, salt, shot, lime, in that exact order. 

“Phew!” It’s been a while since he’s done a proper shot, the strongest thing he’d drank in the past few weeks had been expensive whiskey, straight from the bottle, but the head-dizzying tang of a relatively cheap tequila is no match for rich, full-bodied weight of a good Scotch. “All right, remind me not to do that again.” But already, he’s struck by the delightful buzz of the liquor. What was it about tequila that made it such a happy drink? (And staunchly on the other side, whiskey, the drink for sour old men, bitter despite their wealth.) He leans in, hands out and against the edge of the bar, head turned and cocked to the side. “I seem to remember you challenging me to a game of pool, y’know, if you’re still not chicken.” 

[masonhcrtley]

for → @sagexhawthorne location: little bird books time: early evening

Though Mason has never been much of a reader growing up, in recent years, he’d become to appreciate the beauty of books. With all the time he had, sometimes television didn’t quite cut it. 

He didn’t stick to any particular genre or type of book (though he had a particular soft spot for horror-themed novels), preferring to run his fingers over various spines until he came across a cover that he liked. On this particular day, he’s pulled out a romance novel, scanning the back cover with a watchful eye. “What do you think about this?” He said to the person browsing next to him. “D’you know if it’s any good?” 

[masonhcrtley]

DOLORES ROMERO.​

three palms arcade.   decent conversation.   an airbnb.   pixar movies.

her gaze turns to the waves,  hungrily lapping at the shore,  impatient for an answer  —  will you or won’t you,  she thinks.   her options weigh against each other,  bringing a soft snort to her own amusement.   again she wonders why this decision seems a difficult one to make:  most anyone could decide by now.   yet,  dolores pictures herself at home  —  the airbnb,  where she’d sink into someone else’s sofa,  surrounded by objects that weren’t hers.   she pictures the movie she’d likely land on,  then immediately zone out during.   something she’s seen a hundred times over.

and then dolores pictures mason and the others,  having their own good time until three in the morning.   she imagines what they might say about her  —  kinda weird,  seemed pouty,  difficult to work with,  not very fun  —  and,  selfishly,  how that could affect her career.   when she turns back to him once more,  her cheeks are still flushed;  the look in her eyes still distant.   and again  —  again,  again,  again  —  she contemplates how outgoing he seemed to be,  how generous and warm,  and dolores can’t help but question his motives.   though not everyone operated under false pretenses,  in her experience they often did:  consider her own thought process,  mere seconds ago.

was she talking herself into going,  or talking herself into staying home?   she already knew the answer.   she should’ve said so from the beginning.   his smile’s gentle and,  beside herself,  dolores wonders what’s behind it.   ❛  whatever.   i’ll go,  ❜  she starts,  a sigh.   her neck tilts to better look at him  —  the man nearly an entire foot taller  —  as dolores steps forward,  fist raising to lightly punch him on the arm.   ❛  only if you’re gonna be okay when i beat your ass at pool.   i guess i’ll just change outta this,  then meet up with you guys there…?  ❜

Does he breathe while waiting for her answer? — Mason can’t be sure, though his next exhale is heaven on his lungs and he nods, twice in rapid succession. Doesn’t really know why he’s nervous, but maybe it’s because he’s never had to deal with somebody possibly disliking him before. Her answer is a bit less enthusiastic than he would’ve hoped. She’s nonchalant, with a whiff of exasperation that he’s not quite sure is real or imaginary. 

Nevertheless, Mason nods. Dolores is funnier than he’d initially thought of her being, with her sly taunt about beating him in pool, and he chuckles, throwing his hand up in surrender. “I’ll take your word for it, but don’t place any bets on Street Fighter,” he replies. “Can’t beat a kid with too much time on his hands as a kid.” 

TIME SKIP. 

203 main st in lafayette, he texts. don’t get lost cause I’m also directionally challenged, and before he presses SEND, he adds a smiling emoji for good measure. Contrary to popular belief, Mason isn’t a flirt, but it doesn’t stop the masses from assuming what they wanted about the actor. 

Three Palms Arcade is crowded, as expected, though he’s almost positive a quarter of its patrons are from their set. They’ve sprawled out over half the bowling lanes and the arcade, all with a drink in their hand, courtesy of Mason, who’d bought the first round. Every so often, he’d take a swig from the beer in his hands, a sorry attempt at masking the furtive glances he’d steal away at the entrance. Maybe she would walk through now, maybe she’d turn up halfway through the night. And of course, maybe she wouldn’t show up at all. Dolores certainly didn’t owe him her appearance, no matter how much he begged. 

Mason rises from his seat, sliding his empty beer bottle across the bar to ask for another, when he feels somebody’s shoulder brush up against his arm. He turns, eyes brightening almost immediately. “Hey! You made it.” 

[masonhcrtley]

AVA HALLIWELL.​

“All I heard was something about the mayor’s kid, or something?” Her brows furrowed slightly as Ava tried to recollect what she heard running through the town’s rumour mills, although when she came up short, a smile resurfaced again. “I’m glad you made it out in one piece, anyway.”

“Well, I don’t have a lot of choice on this island,” She answered with a shrug, but Ava knew she was merely coming up with a half-hearted excuse to help her sleep at night. The funeral home was her aunt’s legacy, and the truth was, there was a part of her that felt obliged to keep this business alive for her. A soft chuckle fell from her lips at his words, shaking her head lightly. “It’s not like I can’t leave here if I want to have a conversation with an actual living person. Dead people just seems less judgy.” Her remark hung in the air as the door clicked shut behind them, although she casted no thought to it as Mason posed another question to her again.

“Oh yeah, just here will do.” Ava placed the boxes down by the shelves, before stepping aside to allow him to do the same. Turning back towards the door, she grabbed the handle and tugged once as it stubbornly remained shut. She tugged again, but her efforts were to no avail. “God, I—” Another tug. “I don’t remember this door being so heavy.” She muttered to herself before sighing and turning to Mason. “Do you— uh, mind trying?” But deep down, a part of her felt this weird feeling creeping inside her stomach, as though even Mason’s attempt wouldn’t even pry open the door either.

Judgment isn’t something that Mason has shied away from, with his remarkable ability to separate criticisms from an assumption on his character. How he’d always been okay with being mothered because those things are precisely what he’d missed in his childhood. 

But he doesn’t make any further comments on the matter. He crouches down and gently drops the boxes in the corner of the room, far more eerie than the main floor. “Huh,” he hums, hands on his hips as his eyes wander around the space. “You really spend time down here alone, huh?” 

But before Ava can answer his question, he hears her struggling against the exit — naturally, given that it looks to be a solid-looking door — and he walks over, confident that he’d open it like that. “Yeah, no problem,” he says, “although I’d hope that you’d know how to open a door given you’ve worked here for a while...” 

The door, in protest, stays staunchly in the same space. “What the hell..?” And Mason pulls again, with all his might, but still, it doesn’t budge. He takes a few steps back, looking at the door and then Ava, then back at the door again, before he starts laughing, shaking his head. “Okay, Ava. Very funny. Make the big guy feel weak. Now open the door.” 

[masonhcrtley]

📱 - Gabby & Mason

Gabby: My God, the drama alone would make me want to have that job.

Gabby: Even though bridemaids can be very dramatically as well

Gabby: You ever met a bridezilla? You DON'T want to meet one.

Mason: Spill 😂 Worst bridezilla you've ever encountered

Mason: I'm here for the good drama!

Mason: Not the sad, depressing kind that's associated with divorce!

[masonhcrtley]

DOLORES ROMERO.​

and that’s a wrap for today,  folks!   their early release brings a sense of audible relief.   as if everyone had been just WAITING for that line to come;  crew members immediately moving to pack things away and get on with their night off.   dolores is no different,  hopping from her chair and stretching,  releasing a groan as she did so.   the natural buzz accompanying everyone’s excitement  —  finally a morning off,  you got any plans tomorrow,  you want to come with us  —  hums within her ears,  as she meanwhile starts toward her trailer,  eager to wash the day off her face.   and though she idly listens to them,  silently longing to join their conversations,  it’s only when a hand touches her that she stops.   and,  without needing to look,  without needing to hear a voice,  dolores knows who it is.

mason hartley.   she turns just so to look at him,  facing him sidelong,  and is taken aback for a moment,  as always.   perhaps shocked that someone could look the way he did  —  or shocked that someone could harbor such a friendly demeanor,  against whatever odds.   her gaze turns briefly to his hand on her shoulder,  before it falls,  and she realizes she’s let too many seconds go by without a response.   so,  lips part,  her weight shifting to one leg,  and she says NO but,  to her surprise,  what comes out instead is:  ❛  i dunno.  ❜

she’s unsure why she says it,  just as she’s unsure why her initial impulse was a hard no.   it’s not like the woman has grander plans for that night or tomorrow.   yet,  in spite of this,  she shrugs,  ❛  i mean…   i just got disney-plus,  so like.   you’re gonna have to make it interesting.  ❜  the words are intended as a joke,  though she quickly realizes her tone was flat  —  rude,  even.   cheeks flush,  her head shakes to correct herself,  and dolores stammers on.   ❛  i mean—  where are you guys gonna go?   i don’t really…   know the island well,  honestly.  ❜

Relief — it washes over him in spades; he’d been expecting her to downright refuse, even if her answer is lukewarm at best. And that had been her demeanor towards him their entire month-and-a-half of filming: lukewarm, not testy enough for him to leave her alone, not friendly enough for him to make judgments about her character. She is a puzzle that he can’t quite solve, the itch right out of grasp in the middle of his back, Mason has never learned to gracefully back away from a challenge.  

He stands there, a phantom of a smile, pale and thin, touching his lips — the comment she makes about Disney-plus and its catalog of childhood nostalgia, hinting that familiarity is always better than novelty. Hands on is waist, he lifts his chin and nods, that burst of awkward chuckle shooting out of his lips again with the finality of a punctuation mark. “I don’t know if I can compete with all of the Pixar movies, but, uh, I can promise decent conversation, at the very least. Don’t get your hopes up too high,” he jokes. “We’re thinking Three Palms Arcade. It’s open ‘til three, and its loud enough to keep us up until then.” 

[masonhcrtley]

📱 - Gabby & Mason

Gabby: You are forgetting that this was not my first choice in job

Gabby: So it better be allowed because otherwise I will have to quit my job right away

Gabby: I'm here if you want to talk Mase :)

Mason: Thanks, Gabby. It's really nice of you to say.

Mason: Hey, you could have a worse job. Like you could be my divorce attorney.

Mason: Talk about a depressing job!