ophaeliacs

[ophaeliacs]

"yeah, you heard him. it's an irish pub and he can't do it." chance spoke up from his place down on the barstool, setting the froth of his own drink back down on the counter. the customer, who seemed to be borderline intoxicated anyways, shot a glare down towards him, and he grinned, shit-eating and derisive. look, whether he liked people sometimes or not, he wouldn't ever put up with this shit. "get one of the gins if you're hankering for something fancy or whatever." with the protesting to follow: but that's not fancy enough! well, then that's where you go somewhere else. he didn't even have a chance to mutter that aloud; the customer decided that on their own, gathering up bag and pushing back their hair. "aaaand good riddance."

he had little beer left in the glass. "i'll take the gin and tonic, just to give you something to do." outside of the short ruckus, it'd been one of those quiet nights. chance's blood ran hot with the need to start something. or finish it. "and if you got the crispy bits left from the last order of fries ... those too."

who: open! @bluestarters where: o'shea's (irish pub extraordinaire)

leon tried hard not to let his face reveal the growing annoyance as he was rattled off to ingredients for some overly complicated cocktail. it was supposed to be a quiet night—just him, his regulars, maybe a chance to go over last month’s sales in peace. o’shea’s wasn’t the place for sugary, twelve-ingredient monstrosities. aurora down the road thrived on that sort of thing, but here? no. o’shea’s was a pub, not a cocktail bar. the only sweet liquor they had was that weird hornet thing for st. patrick’s day, and that was a stretch. otherwise, this place was about beer, whiskey, and the occasional gin mixer. “we're an irish pub. i can’t do that,” leon said flatly, shooting down the request with a shrug. “you can have a lager, guinness, or an amber,” he offered, tapping the taps as he spoke. “i’ve got cider if you want it sweet. and i can make you a gin and tonic—that’s about as fancy as we get.”

[ophaeliacs]

oh, god, this shouldn't feel like so much pressure. but they soon after got to work, the aromatic strength of vanilla foam and cinnamon rising from the station. a frothing milk settled atop the glass as ruby focused, tuning out the running of their nerves for the sake of their favourite; it would be iced, once they were through. as the black tea settled in the bottom of the chilled glass, they pulled out one of their baked goods from the glass display. "okay, this is a caramel apple cupcake. and the drink's gonna be in the same vein, a brown sugar milk tea. this covers five different season in one." even though there were technically only four, when it came to the business, ruby split them even further. "have you been up to whatever your heart desires lately?"

Oliver hums slightly, leaning his arms down to the surface of the counter as he lifts his gaze up to look at the menu for a second. He's unsure if he wants a hot or cold drink but if he thinks about the weather a hot drink and a baked good would probably be the way to go. "Why don't you make me whatever your hearts desires? I'm not very picky on whether the drink should be hot or cold but I'll always take a baked good with them," to hell with the weather, let creativity fly.

@ophaeliacs

[ophaeliacs]

"what! that's super wicked. you're a mortician?" he knew what it meant by osmosis, and watching random youtube videos, but he didn't know too much when it came to the grittier details. he supposed, from what she said, as she delved into the clearance bin, that the trope of morticians not having colour was true. honestly? it was kinda epic. "y'know, kinda takes a special person to do that. like, i could try it out, and i know i'd just either get really sad, or, not know what to do." nate was firm in believing this. he overheard his uncle once, saying it took a special person to be in the medical field; this wasn't any different, in his opinion. whereas from what he witnessed, almost anybody could be a lawyer, including a skeeze. nate didn't like skeezes; their attitude was not tubular for the times. "ooh, man. you'd think a black dress like that would be avant garde or whatever, but i guess it just isn't here. but i mean, you could try to find a polo, or something. tuck that into the shorts. get a sparkly belt. that's, like, idol-chic." these things all pivot from nate watching little videos on youtube, scrolling through and his mind cherry-picking details to recall.

“i wish!” she almost howled. it came out as more of an excitable squawk. elspeth righted herself, shook her head, puffed air into their cheeks. “i’m a mortician, so it’s … the exact opposite, really. a lot of plastic and protective equipment.” which, historically, wasn’t too sexy at all. they were already counting down the days leading up to their halloween festivities, an opportunity to really pull out all the stops and show that they weren’t always all greasy hair and alcohol gel. “it’s hard to move away from something so classic when you know it works for you, right? that’s like me and all the black. it’s a comfort.” elspeth pivoted and her hands — no longer claws — delved into the clearance bin. a strange smell rose from the collection of discarded rags and old, unloved garments. “so, nothing is speaking to your spirit so far? honestly, i feel the same way. i thought i'd walk in here and find a sexy black wedding gown or something. instead it's just old lady shoes and some oversized basketball shorts. i'm destined to exist in scrubs forever.”

[ophaeliacs]

"i mean! but you are rocking it! with the bloody drip and everything. you've got it down pat." she swirled her straw around in her drink, sipping until the ice was revealed and the liquid sank down. "hang on, don't give up yet. you're jennifer, right? did you bring a lighter with you to fake one of those pictures of that iconic scene in the booth?" she plunged right in; she had seen jennifer's body three times, always with friends and never around halloween.

who: @ophaeliacs (giselle)

where: phantom mansion

"Please," she turns her head to look over at the person standing next to her. "If you are here to tell me that I'm rocking this cheerleading outfit I might have to go lay in the middle of the street for the rest of the night." She could not be the only person who has ever seen the iconic Jennifer's Body.

[ophaeliacs]

she took in the spin, nodding to herself, pulling what her sibling might and on the verge of being truthful if she saw any other oversights. she might have eased the whole thing previously, but giselle knew if it was her, she would want to know right away if another malfunction was about to happen. "you're spick and span to me. it's your first full year here? oh, man, i remember mine like it was yesterday." it was odd; usually, you could tell when someone was new to town, but she seemed to fit right in, as though she had always been here. "i don't think it'll fall down again unless you throw your hands in the air like you don't care." giselle went ahead and did the gesture. the ties of her corset remained tightly laced, though her arm caught on the ribbons and tossed them both into the air. "mine's the 7th! with my twin."

giselle could never introduce their birthday without involving jasper. they were too intrinsically tied to not be mentioned. if she ever didn't, it was because she'd gotten angry at him, and even so, she later would correct it and include him. "we just got ourselves on the twenty-six train. it's left the station." having to shout over the rave music was her natural element. "wait, hang on, you've got actual halloween as your birthday? oh, my god. you're literally unstoppable. your aura is powerful." it was no tarot reading which made giselle proclaim this, but their favouritism towards it as a holiday. "yes! okay, i scoured the fabric and crafts store. it's not, like, vintage boning or anything, but i shaped it to my own waist and i recycled old boot ties for the laces." giselle willingly stepped into her space, giving permission for her to touch the corset if she liked. "the skirt, i sewed and pinned from a discount find. it took me ages, honestly!"

Scarlett felt the blush creeping up onto her skin at the comment, her drunken smile growing in size as she looked over the other woman. Scarlett had probably gotten a nice amount of compliments throughout the night but she was too busy trying to dance and have fun to notice. Here, in her face, it made her feel about ten times m,ore confdent in her costume choice, regardless of the potential wardrobe malfunctions. Fuzzy vision saw the pin being offered to her and her green eyes dropped to look around her top to see if there was a way it would help. "I dunno...what do you think?" she did a small spin, slowly, so that the other girl could assess anything she couldn't see.

"I know right? This will be my first full year here and if we have something like this every year...I'm definitely staying!" Scarlett knew she wasn't leaving anytime soon regardless, but at this point she was just too excited to be precise. "Oh no, no," she shook her head as she faced the woman. "Like, Halloween is my birthday! Wait...when is yours?" she asked, hoping to find someone with a birthday the same as hers if not close. "You made that?" her mouth dropped open, moving to touch at the corset the other woman wore. "Wait, wait, tell me all about it."

[ophaeliacs]

listen, he also laughed. he shook his head, and rolled his eyes, but he laughed all the same. "that's gotta be one of the worst damn puns i've ever heard." however, even in jest, he would never decline being referred to as the goat. he was far too dependent on remarks like that to get him through a casual day. "y'know? i'm not sure. i ain't one to believe in all that, but i definitely think there's gotta be some weird reason. otherwise, why leave perfectly good houses empty?" maybe there's something wrong with the foundation or the various construction, but chance would not pretend to know a thing about that. it was way beyond his league.

"watching the damn videos is how it starts. coming from me, though? i do plastic for meat, wood for veg. but i'm extra as hell, so don't listen to me." him being extra, and not being an actual professional chef, was his reason for dismissal. the mention of the kitchenette had him nodding though, and he suddenly realised — damn, he was like, invested in this with valley. "oh, listen, they shit on chef mike, but that's because we got plenty of stoves. at home? work with what you got. you can fiddle with your microwave, turn your dish in it to make it cook even. and a kettle means you basically got free boiling hot water whenever you want. you can make curry, mac and cheese, brownies, salmon, in the microwave." there was one thing he did have passion about: bringing cooking home, and not having to settle for shit that tasted horrible, no matter the budget. "you want a real demonstration? i can also text you some recipes."

"I'm gonna name him Chance. Get it? 'Cause you're the GOAT?" she laughed at her own stupid joke. "Ooh, why do you think they were abandoned? Do you think they're haunted?" Valley didn't really believe in ghosts - at least, she didn't think she did. They'd certainly left her alone her entire life if they were real. There were a few she'd be happy to see, actually... but she tended to be more haunted by people still alive.

"I did see a TikTok about how much plastic gets into your food from plastic cutting boards. But I also saw one about how much harder it is to disinfect wooden ones. ...I watch a lot of cooking videos for someone who can't cook, huh?" she smiled. "You know what they don't tell you though, is how to cook in your shitty little hotel kitchenette. I've got a microwave and a kettle and that's it. Is there anything good I can make with just that?"

[ophaeliacs]

a full, heaping pause follows through nate's body when their contribution was george of the jungle. wow! that was the first time he'd gotten that all night. he should've gone with that honestly. "ugh. god, i wish. you're way smarter than me, as usual. i was trying to go for tarzan! like, the classic! phil collins and all in my boombox! that i left at home." he offers a sheepish grin, though his eyes widened as they yanked up their skirt and pulled cigarettes out of the tulle. whoa; that's a move he didn't anticipate. they always moved like they were the rootin', tootin' kind of cowboy villain in one of those old western films. it impresses him. "and you're way the opposite of exposed. makes us kinda sexy." nate observes this like it's the way the clouds roll through the sunny sky. oh, look! a rabbit! "sure, i won't pass on a menthol. are you telling me you're gonna offer them to the next ghost that hops on by? oh, shit, i don't wanna miss it!"

FOR:   nate! ( @ophaeliacs ). DETAILS:   halloween rave!

"you're very exposed, nathaniel," it's an observation at the very most; like stating the sky is blue, or the weather is nice. their eyes do not linger away from his face; it's unnerving, almost, really - with how little philly blinks. "are you george of the jungle? i was very fond of the film. i admire anyone who climbs trees." as if it were the purpose of the movie; but it's philly's interests that matter most, that draw them in. their eyes are cast away, if only to look at the mass of people surrounding them. philly's on the edge, if only to grab their bearings. the dress they wear is heavy; they expected as much, but it's a hassle to gather their skirts and reach their garter, a pack of cigarettes emerging from the tulle. "would you like a cigarette? i've brought extra, as tonight is the only night that the spirits may enjoy our earthly hobbies, and i believe everyone should experience menthols at least once in our terribly short lives."

[ophaeliacs]

too many people. part of the reason nate had come was to people-watch. his wandering around here-and-there almost guaranteed him to be pulled into situations he didn't ask for — and that included being yoinked into the middle of a scuffle. with his hair askew from its pulled-back bun, he winced, but then realised that she was leaning into him on purpose, and he let his arm — tentatively? shyly? — press to her shoulders. old pals, old friends meeting up, or something. "ooh. yeah, this scene is like, getting super wild. everybody's still really into the halloween spirit. did you know they're trying out themed drinks? i tried one, but." he grimaced, tongue in-between his teeth. "not great. what kinda scene do you like? i just got in a fight, but like. i totally swear, solemnly, that it wasn't my fight." he pressed his palm to his chest, just in case she needed an extra dose of sincerity.

LATE NIGHT, at STVTIC nightclub.

Dark hues scanned her surroundings and instantaneously lit up when the night provided a means of escape for her. “Merhaba,” she spoke in unison with the remnants of a small laugh trickling behind her words. “I'm having an interesting time, are you? There might be too many people here for me, though,” Esra commented with a fall of her shoulders while her body angled itself so she could hear the other above the heavy music, leaning into them slightly. Heavily crowded places got to her after a while. The older she got the more she cherish quiet spaces. “If you're leaving... please take me with you. Apart from the drinks I don't think this is my scene anymore tonight.” 

open starter — assume connections if you'd like!

@bluestarters

[ophaeliacs]

"now, wait a second. you know how weird i am about dates. what kinda charity gala? shay, i swear on god, if i gotta wear a suit." he wouldn't even be giving partial thought to the idea if he wasn't of the personality who enjoyed causing a bit of trouble. "besides, what if i don't make the gorgeous cut? like, if she's that hot, we gotta be triple levels. triple ... fire sign, i dunno, whatever that stuff is." he waved his hand to dismiss it. "i mean you ain't gonna hear me deny a whole time out of town." though he would have to take the time off from the restaurant, which might cause some problems, but surely not if he did it with enough time in advance, right? nah, this was fine. going along with this kind of impulse was fine! "c'mon, i want the details before i say yes. woo me." it didn't take much, hilariously enough, for chance to be wooed in any sense of the word, but he liked to make it difficult.

AFTERNOON, at anywhere that would make sense.

“There’s this charity gala I have to attend out of town in a couple of weeks and the latest news is that my ex is going to be there with his gorgeous girlfriend.” Shay let out a sigh, shamefully admitting without directly saying that she was a little bitter as well as jealous. “I can’t show up alone. I know it’s ridiculous of me, I just can’t do it. So, I have a favor to ask...” A hopeful smile curved her lips, though she was ready to make her offer strong right out of the gate. “Would you come with me, be my date for the night? There’s drinks and food served, and I will pay for a room for you for the night since we wouldn’t chance driving back that late. What do you say? Also, let me add, please...”

open starter — assume connections if you'd like!

@bluestarters

[ophaeliacs]

"that sounds way beyond wicked, that thing you heard. i think it being wicked kinda fits the vibe, though, like it least it's not cramping somebody's style. sometimes, i gotta ask why we all think we gotta brawl. is that how we bond with each other?" nate had never been one to fling his hands around and make contact in that way. he was positive he wouldn't know what to do when faced with a fight scene except pretend to be superman, until someone found his kryptonite. did he have the actual muscles to sustain this? eh, it depended on who looked at him. though many could, considering he was dressed like tarzan. "why don't i hear sexy rumours like this? man, i'm kinda jealous of your ears. they're like bats for real!"

someone who knew nate might be able to tell he wasn't completely wasted, for this was how his normal train of thought liked to parade out of his mouth. but otherwise he sounded completely gone. part of him was aware of this. but then, the other had a ghost story about a thief, and nate's dark-brown eyes widened. "what! that's so not tubular of that ghost! straight outta your wallet, like? picked it up like roasted chicken? they so could've just made a ghostly date outta it. that sounds like they planned it, man, i gotta watch my arby's coupons for next week." talk about some kind of all-spirits day. they were all wanting to go out to eat! "one time, a ghost did knock over my baseball lamp. with a ball autographed by sidney crosby!"

Would it be morally wrong — a term that CJ had recently learned — to pin the blame on Jason’s injury on Freddy Krueger? That dude did have, like gnarly fingers. Never trust someone with digits like those. “Uhhhh, maybe dude. Iunno. Just like, heard a thing.” CJ decided it was best to keep the conversation short and sweet, because he was a terrible liar. His grandma always told him lying made the angels cry. And sad angels were like, a total bummer of an image to have in his head. 

“Yeah the rave is always like, wicked crazy, but Iunno, didn’t like having to go through Phantom Manor. People like…punch people up there.”Or wildly fling their hands: potato, tomato. “Oh shit, you think? I don’t really fuck with ghosts. I mean, like, one stole $15 from me and a coupon to McDonalds. Like, I get they probably never tried the McRib before but it was just rude to not ask.” 

[ophaeliacs]

the only shadow chance was facing down was the echo of his own. at times, it wore his brother's face. there was often that comparison that you couldn't tell the two of them apart from certain angles. they had been one of those sibling pairs that clearly could've gone up against the world together. and then shit has to get too real to handle. he doesn't try to bury those things — except, at the same time, he does. if he lets them out, what the fuck's going to happen? what kind of control is he going to lose? acting like it isn't out of control as it is. he knows rabid need when he sees it. he's drawn to it, fortunately, unfortunately. damien's wobbling grin is met with one that chance returns. nothing like living and forgetting, living to forget.

"alright, i solemnly swear i'll cause some trouble, just to make your week. can't have you out here with a boring time 'cause i won't get my hands dirty." the truth of the matter is that chance would willingly cause trouble. even with his job on the line, the risk-running entices him. something about this resonates as a risk, although he isn't privy as to what yet. could be something. could be nothing. "ahh, sure you ain't all that interested in hearing about my stress, right? we come here to blow off steam or whatever. i got some special smokes in my pocket too." special wielded the implication of it not just being nicotine. a recent purchase, perfectly legal.

sometimes, there are too many edges to try and take off with one coping mechanism. "though seeing you out and about like this is kinda different." chance lets that be the hint. like, he could talk about his stress, and he could draw damien's out of him. if not, then they could pretend like everything was hot, heavy, and fine. "life gotta lot of skills tryna hit us over the head, that's all i'm saying. feel like i'm about to drag myself out the deep water and the water never ends." and causing a fight with a skillet, honestly, may be the highlight of chance's week too.

Damian laughs, the sound rough and loud, like he hasn’t done it in ages. “Foamed up and ready for no good — yeah, you nailed it,” he says, smirking as he picks up his glass. He lets the whiskey swirl around before taking a slow, deliberate sip. The burn feels good, grounding, keeps the buzzing in his head at bay just enough to feel here for once, like he’s slipping out from under Jason’s shadow. It’s reckless, but that’s the point. Every sip feels like defiance.

When Chance mentions the skillet, Damian’s laughter flares up again, sloshing his drink a little. “What a fucking sight that would be, buddy,” he slurs, leaning in a bit, half-grinning as he imagines the ridiculousness of it. “Imagine the headlines: ‘Local Chef Arrested for Bar Skillet Debacle.’ Honestly, would be the highlight of my week.” 

Chance’s presence is almost magnetic, pulling Damian out of the quiet, smothering misery he’s been hiding under. Jason would hate this, would absolutely blow up if he knew Damian was even talking to anyone else, let alone laughing with them. But Damian brushes the thought aside, shoving it deep where he doesn’t have to deal with it. Not tonight. He leans back on his stool, tilting his head with a lazy smile. “So, Chef Chance,” he drawls, eyes warm with the whiskey’s glow, “What’s got you all worked up? Skillets can’t be that bad, can they?” He raises an eyebrow, looking at him with open curiosity.

[ophaeliacs]

this was definitely one of those far and few in-between things for ruby. truth be told? they wouldn't have come out tonight if not for the costume. because they had put this thing together and it took so fucking long, and they decided, no, all the people of blue harbor would get to see it. not to mention the music was blasting. they didn't have any of the themed drinks yet — so they had nothing to blame their erratic, pulsating arm movements and hip shimmies except on themself. and for once? it was fine! until their shimmies almost bumped them right into dylan, whose bright-yellow get-up should've been spotted even in this half-dark. "oh! holy shit, dylan? what are you supposed to be? you are fluorescent to me!" they had to shout to be heard over the sudden bass-drop of the rave track. though once that compliment registered, they smiled. "you think so? you sure i didn't pull a mean girls and go over the top?" their hands reached for their hair, jumping a little when they brushed against the column, certain it'd take out someone's eye. "at least i left the fake monster teeth at home." they bared their natural teeth in a fake smile.

character: Ruby Morrisey @ophaeliacs

location: Phantom Manor Haunted Rave

The longer she was here, the more out of her element she felt in the environment. Even when she was a younger woman, she never was the type to just have the urge to go to the club or let alone a rave. She knew that she was still young at 34 however she always had the sensibility of an elderly woman. At heart she was an introverted homebody and when she chose to go out it was to markets and cozy things. That is, with a few exceptions, this being included. Dylan was pretty much hitting her limit however and was thinking of finding Theo to let him know she thought it was time to relieve his parents from babysitting when she walked almost right into Ruby. They looked absolutely amazing. "Oh my gosh! I almost didn't recognize ya Ruby! What an amazin' costume!" She exclaimed as she took in their Bride of Frankenstein costume.

[ophaeliacs]

"none of us can escape the concept of a good deal. they always know just how to get us too. it's not even the holidays. sometimes, they do those two for one or five for one, and i'm like. look, i don't even need half of this, but i'm going home with twice as much!" giselle, the proverbial accumulator of things. this had struck them ever since they were a child. even their things were strewn around their twin's room, acting as additional decor to a habit that, they believed, extended to him. now, neither of them could escape it. she had seen jasper's place recently, in its necessary clutter glory. hers didn't look much that different. "oh, god. yeah, the closet is so real. we want to keep it organised, but it always gets a mess first."

the most dramatic thing which had happened in their closet was the random stack of mary-jane shoes. they hadn't the slightest clue where the obsession came from; only that every time they went to goodwill, it was like the pack rat awakened in them. some of the shoes weren't in their size. that didn't matter, they could always be gifted or donated again. just the style, the velveteen straps, some of the decorations of flowers and crosses on the patent-leather. one would think giselle had been starved of the shoe. they hadn't. in fact, they had three perfectly fine pairs long before accumulating more. such was the way of things. throwing herself into this instead of the worse things that might drag her down instead.

"well, maybe your subconscious goal or whatever is collecting more classic rock?" she eyed the aerosmith vinyl in his hand. "some kind of gap in your music listening? that's what i'm trying to do, even though i keep getting distracted. expand my genre horizons or something. i'm stuck in indie." she peeled a rabbit rabbit vinyl up and away from the shelf and grimaced, halfway posing over its lip. "life isn't all about tiny listening and cross the river, know what i'm saying?"

Elijah laughed. Even though he never necessarily needed the discounted price — a full life in Los Angeles behind him that led to an even fuller bank account — he couldn’t ever deny the prospect of a deal, especially on something as dear to him as a good vinyl. Most of his current collection could be attributed to the clearance bin, more so due to the fact that he couldn’t imagine what’d happen to the records had nobody decided to take them home, and now his rather spacious studio was filled with them. That’s how they got you, indeed. “Tell me about it,” he agreed, slender fingers dancing across the titles as he lazily sorted through them. “We’re in the same boat, I’m afraid. Sometimes they’ve got good steals here and I —” he breathed another chuckle, then, “— pick up more than I should, I’ll just say that.”

Their conversation helped the edge evaporate from his body, hopeful that their presence beside him would discourage his former bandmate from initiating a repeat of the ‘La Galleria bathroom incident’ — his anger-filled face still fresh in the forefront of his mind. Would Roman cause that big of a scene in his own establishment, with a small handful of others eyeing his every move at that? Elijah doubted it, but if his time against the bathroom wall made him realize anything, it was that his doubt really meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. So, if anything, he was glad to not be browsing entirely alone anymore. He was glad to have a redirection of his nervous energy.

“Sounds like my girlfriend, she’s the same way. Our closet at home is a mess,” he shared mindlessly, plucking an Aerosmith record from the pile and inspecting it between his hands as he spoke, “I’d suggest she could get rid of some things, but, uh — I’d be a bit hypocritical. It’s timeless, but it still takes up space, sometimes.” 

At the question, he shrugged, “Nothing in particular, to be honest. I never really tend to have a goal when I come here, I just — look. Maybe I should, though …” If he had a goal, then perhaps he could stop himself from nabbing more than he needed, but alas. “What about you?”

[ophaeliacs]

the pang settled through them. though he didn't seem to be upset. there were times that being more honest, in that vein, wasn't the best idea. ruby always sustained a lingering fear that something they would say would be far too much. it'd happened a lot; it wouldn't surprise them. but rather, disappoint them. they gave a half-hearted smile. "listen, debates are overrated anyways. turns into arguing. and i guess it's that weird ... thing, too, of not wanting to ask for roommates?" they almost wanted to ask if he had other family who could come live with him. when someone was lost in their tribe, other families and members would gather for weeks until the bereaved were ready to move on — and even then, lingering after.

there was something to be said about combating the loneliness. "i gotcha. i did the same thing, kinda. but it was in new york. the thing is, i just kept taking me with me. y'know? thought i left a bit of myself behind in each place, but that's just not how it works. it can be good to root down, which i never thought i'd say. being here was the last thing i ever wanted." this could be seen as a confession for another — for ruby had only told their mothers this, and otherwise hinted around at it, even with their closest friends. something relieving, really, about letting it release.

"it's a great, fucking house," liam admitted. "it's way too big for me alone, but if i maybe had someone living there with me," like my parents, "it would feel better. all my memories of my parents are tied to that house." ruby's blunt words about the founding families was somewhat shocking, but he also appreciated the honesty. "remind me to never go against you in a debate." a short chuckle, and liam considered his next words carefully. "i don't ... think that i've felt at home for a long time." the confession was one he hadn't said out loud before, too scared to voice it because that made it real. "i did a lot of weird shit back in europe and then when the accident happened i just never stopped moving." truth be told, his life the past few years had been a blur of clubs, alcohol, bodies and different countries that all somehow felt the same. somehow the monotony of blue harbor felt comforting after never resting for so long. "i think i might stick around ... for a little longer."

[ophaeliacs]

one toilet-paper cape was enough, but the fact that he had a spare? giselle watched him yank it out with flourish as a replacement. good grief, each element of their own costume was so specific, if something happened to anything, it would be over. spell of hydromancy also had her wondering: was he a reader of fantasy? that wasn't something someone simply pulled out of their back pocket. "you'd better not be making fun of me, count! a wooden wand can double as a stake!" she danced it through the air, the tail-end of his old toilet seat cover catching on her skirt. and she made sure to flick it with just as much flourish. it floated up and above their heads. "i think if we'd decorated, we'd have done better. imagine some toilet-paper mummy things like that. anyways, no one wanted to do the costume with me." she gave a pout. she also hadn't asked anybody. "too much effort. well, i basically dress like a witch anyways, so, not for me! will you use pyromancy back on me?"

every costume had graham floored tonight. it had only taken him ten minutes, and less than ten dollars, to get ready, but the effort that everyone else had put in blew him out of the water. the sarah sanderson get-up warranted an impressed nod from mr. toilet paper dracula himself. "why the bloody hell not!" he repeated, putting on his own transylvanian accent, swapping his 'w' for a 'v' and 'th' sound for more of a 'd.' emphasis on the 'bloody.' "i think you used a spell of hydromancy just then," he looked down at the toilet cover slowly deteriorating as the wetness set in. "it's been happening all night, so, i've got back-ups," graham reached into his jean's back pocket and pulled out another toilet seat cover, ripping the old one off his neck and placing the new one over his head. "where are the other two sanderson sisters? did they find a delicious child to munch on?"

[ophaeliacs]

ruby: 3 ... ok this is hopeful ruby: if it makes your nose water ... no it doesn't ruby: nice tho sounds good ruby: should be done with this tea set by then ruby: they ... uhh really like the digestives! ruby: aaaand now he just tried to steal one

ash: for apple pie chai ... ash: i guess i'll be a healthy 3 ash: sounds very autumn-y ash: i'll be by in ... 30 minutes maybe ?

[ophaeliacs]

although one might not be able to tell in looking at them, considering they had often kept to themself or not shown up to planned dates ( not their best moment in time ), they had been on a lot. the nervousness for them never got any better, even if it did vary to different degrees depending on the other person. though in that soft secret way, ruby did appreciate the lack of intensity towards eye contact. and it resulted in the domino effect, their glance growing a bit more relaxed, and towards phoebe's face instead of anywhere else in the restaurant. "the one heater is so ... out of wack. i'm like, can we at least invest in two? or make it an actual space heater? i think it only throws hot air on two or three seats, and then the rest of us gotta deal with our ankles and legs being stuck out in the wind." on the hotter days, that was welcomed, of course, but with wintertime approaching, ruby knew that they'd be taking those damn pierogis to go.

"oh, yeah? has all your time been taken up by work? or people's attention?" there were times in ruby's life where they felt as though they'd look up from dealing with a situation and fourty-five minutes had passed. sag aloo. they flipped open the menu themself and read the description. "sag aloo sounds tasty as hell. have you ever had korma? i haven't had it here, but it's like. a super thick stew you put on the naan. it's epic if you want a lot of flavours." if phoebe wanted to try something new, then maybe that could also mean bold? "i own honey bee tea." they didn't announce this, though they had at least gotten better about being shy about it. "holidays are a rush with a lot of food places, i think, but since i do both tea parties and let any tea you like get bought separately, it comes from both sides."

Phoebe couldn’t help but find the nervousness Ruby was projecting as endearing. There had been many dates — many occasions — where she was more anxious than anything else and couldn’t seem to recall what she had said or done. Which, in hindsight, maybe was for the best. Still, she offered them what she hoped was a reassuring smile, reaching out for the menu as something to do, more than anything. Keep her hands busy, try to make Ruby not feel too uncomfortable with direct eye contact. “Oh I love a pierogi!” She announced, “It’s a bit shitty when the weather gets colder, they have like one heater for the whole seating area, but like, definitely a staple in my diet.”

When asked about her usual order, Phoebe shrugged. “It depends, I try to branch out of my usual favorites, try new things.” Like dating again, despite her assuredness that she and Foster would find their way back to each other, “I really like their Sag Aloo though, if you need any recommendations. And hey, it’s okay!” She looked over her menu at Ruby’s apology, shaking her head, “Um, I get it. I…got out of something, a little while back. So getting out the house has been harder than I thought it’d be. What do you do for work? Must keep you busy!”