#{threads;}

[relentlessgrief]

@rubistella sent:

"Connor, I can tell when you're staring. What do you want?"

"..."

"...I just wanted to talk."

[therealricksanchezpleasestandup]

@tilldeaths

"Let me guess--you're either one of my daughter's friends OR one of my grandkid's friends."

"Then again, you look a little lost."

[voyeuriistic]

[continued from here]

Fucking Dwight. The fan favorite. The fearless leader. There's (mostly) unexplored territory in the overlap between the final girl of horror and the everyman protagonist of other genres. Dwight is generic enough- yet, steps up under pressure.

Danny would be lying if he claimed Dwight wasn't his favorite, too.

But, sometimes, he doesn't play along. Sometimes it feels like Danny is doing all the work in their relationship- like today. The chase had gone on an impressively long time; Dwight's reflexes were sharp. But, Danny's were sharper. The leader made the mistake of looking over his shoulder as he launched himself through an open window and colliding chest first into Danny's knife.

He was proud of that one. The speed, the stealth, the quick thinking was unmatched- and all it really got was Dwight flopping down on the ground like a dead fish. What a bullshit reaction. He could at least have the decency to beg for his life. He downs the others. Hooks them, easy. Comes back to his favorite now that hatch is an option. But, still… nothing.

So, he calls him out- and at first, it seems like Dwight isn't going to give him what he wants. He stammers, and he hesitates, and his pouty bottom lip quivers, and then, finally, he goes for the Oscar and lets Danny have it.

It takes everything he has not to start laughing; at least the mask hides his grin.

“You hate going against me?” He crouches in front of Dwight, brings the tip of his knife just under Dwight’s chin to keep his head tipped back and eye contact made.

“Isn't that a little dramatic? Come on. It could be worse. Could be Freddy. Could be Chucky! I mean, come on, when's the last time Chucky let you get hatch? You should really count your blessings here.”

[thetcrmented]

location: the pond, the woodrow estate

date: saturday 2 september, 2005

@woodrowhub

carmen knew she was avoiding everyone. as more of the wards had descended upon woodrow house, she had retreated. this was not her usual way. in the past when they had come to visit the house - when she had still called it home - she had always made an effort to spend time with her fellow wards, since those moments were few and far between. but there was not an energy of reunion hanging over the house. there was a spectre of death and an unshakeable air of grief that had started to feel suffocating.

so she had escaped outside, hoping for a moment of peace, before she had to field more questions she didn't have answers to. but she got the sense she wasn't alone before she heard the footsteps behind her, approaching the edge of the pond where she was sitting, feet dangling in the water, her shoes abandoned beside her.

"sorry i was just getting some fresh air," she said, raising her hand to shield her eyes from the sun, unsure why she was apologising. but saying sorry felt like the only thing that felt natural at the moment.

"i'll come inside soon."

[coryphcus]

@prophetries sent:

❛  you're wrong.  ❜

"Yet here you stand before me, almost as if under the pretense that I am to have any such care for whatever preconceived notion you carry."

"You hold an awful habit of showing up where it is you aren't wanted. Unfortunate that your condition all those years ago had not been the end of you."

[c4llofbrine]

@luckybl4de , continued

She hates it here. She's beginning to understand the rules after several trials, but she hates it more with each one. This isn't how her revenge was meant to be enacted, four at a time, cold, clinical, organized by a higher power. Her rage is an ocean; here, it's held back by a dam, steered towards a certain direction. She feels restrained, controlled, worse than in life.

She misses home. She doesn't know what she misses about it. She misses not being here. She misses solid walls she could claw at like an animal desperately trying to escape, instead of an infinite landscape of fog. There's nothing for her to claw at here but her own mind, no obvious route to get out.

She's in a panic. She's been in a panic, broken only briefly by the sight of something familiar. Yoichi. She killed him. She didn't hesitate, overwhelmed and frantic. The only thing tying her to the world she came from. She stole his watch, clawed it off his wrist. A reminder.

She wondered for awhile if she made a mistake. If he was her only way out of here and, in her panic, she had trapped herself. But, the rules of the trials became clearer over time. It isn't permanent. They come back. Yoichi is somewhere. So, she finds him, despite intuitively knowing that she isn't meant to stray so far.

She sits across from him and he tells her as much. ‘You're not supposed to be here.’ It echoes in her head. She's not supposed to be here. Neither of them are. Where are they? Why are they here? Why do some of them get a campsite while others are left to wander unfriendly realms? Does he have answers? She tilts her head just slightly.

“Why?” It's a simple word, but they've always held a psychic connection. Yoichi knows the meaning behind it. Not why isn't she allowed at the campfire, that much is obvious, but a question prefaced by an agreement. She understands that she isn't supposed to be here, at this campfire or in this realm. But, then, if they aren't supposed to be here, why are they here?

[companywrath]

@companypride

Jack stares into the bathroom mirror, rubbing lavender scented moisturizer into his face with quick, circular, motions. He spends extra time along the edges of the scar emblazoned across his face, though the scar itself is a lost cause. The skin along the edges is rough and raised, the vault symbol itself burned deep into his flesh and solidified into a metallic silver crust. It's not skin anymore; part of why it can't be repaired. His face belongs in a fucking museum- as far as his doctors can tell, nothing else like it exists.

Rhys is still in his bed, presumably. The front door won't unlock without his biometrics. It's the first time Rhys has been in his bed, though not the first time they've had sex. Usually it's in an office, either Rhys's or his own. Usually it's quick, informal. But, eating a home cooked meal alone under a enormous elaborate chandelier at an enormous expensive dinner table was feeling particularly pathetic now that the adrenaline rush of having a real flesh and blood body again was beginning to grow old. He'd bet Rhys's life on the assumption that Rhys hadn't eaten anything in days that hadn't come out of an Atlas vending machine. So, he called him up. One thing led to another.

And now he has a decision to make; leave the mask off, or put it back on. It's really not much of a decision. Sleeping with it on would be worse. Discomfort aside, refusing to be seen with it off in his own turbomansion would only highlight the fact that he's insecure. It's better to own it. He never wore the mask in the evenings with Nisha. But, Nisha was there. Nisha knew what had happened and knew to never say a word about it. Rhys is different.

When he enters the bedroom, he has only a plush, dark grey, towel around his waist. His hair is only wet around the edges; he didn't wash it, but he wasn't able to fully avoid it while washing his face in the shower. 

He strips the towel off in front of his closet, making sure Rhys gets a good view of his perfectly sculpted ass. Any excuse to show off. He pulls on a pair of super soft boxer briefs, black with yellow details, and hangs the towel on a nearby hook. Then he flops down on the bed beside Rhys, giving him a grin and a flirty inflection of his voice. "Hey."

[unclejackworthing]

[continued from here]

@illsuiteddowner

Arthur’s in a hurry. Jack, less so, but he's prepared. He'd already packed his bag full of absolute necessities; what small amounts of food he's been saving and a few personal belongings. Anything else can stay in the pneumatic tubes.

Though he doesn't know which hatch they might end up in next, he's sure they will end up in a hatch soon enough. He's not going to allow Arthur to sleep in mines or alleyways the way he's done in the past- beds are a necessity now.

When Arthur heads for the ladder, Jack grabs his bag and swiftly follows. (It's understandable, he reasons, to admire Arthur's long legs and nicely fitting trousers the entire way up the ladder. It's not like he has anything else to look at.)

Once they've reached the surface, he nearly links arms with Arthur- mostly, but not entirely, to keep him from taking off. He thinks better of it and keeps his hands to himself.

“To Apple Holm! Off we go! It's… this way, I think.” On second thought, maybe he'd better let Arthur lead the way.

[mothergooseberry]

❛ actually , i think i better get going … it’s late and … ❜ (for outlast trials verse from human! Borna!)

“Oh, but the doctor is almost ready for you, dear!” She's been reassured that Dr. Futterman will handle it, though he isn't handling it yet. He's finicky like that. Always busy. The goose puppet is still on her hand, of course, but the deadly drill at the center of it is retracted and the goose remains silent.

Regardless, Borna is cornered. No way out other than to fight or wait for Gooseberry to get bored of chit chatting. “You don't have anything to worry about. You're not a nasty little thief like those other awful children. Are you?”

[captainharknxss]

❛ you? kill me? that's funny. ❜

@dosminius

“I mean, I'd prefer not to!” Jack isn't one to pull a gun on someone if he's not willing to use it; he's definitely willing. But, anything that can be solved without needless death is, of course, preferable. Hell, he doesn't even know if a gun will do anything to this guy- he's obviously not human. Unfortunately, that's the entire scope of Jack's knowledge of the man. 

He probably shouldn't have checked out this particular report without backup. But, how often does ‘guy with crazy eyes making threats’ actually pan out to be anything more alien than drugs or mental illness?

“Just answer the question and no one has to kill anyone. What do you want? Why are you here?” 

[eliaskahtri]

Oh God Not You Again || Elias & Gael

TIMING: Late September

LOCATION: Downtown Wicked’s Rest

PARTIES: Elias (@eliaskahtri) & Gael (@lithium-argon-wo-l-f)

SUMMARY: Elias arrives back in town, only to run into the one face he dreaded the most. 

CONTENT WARNINGS: None

It had been a few months, but Elias finally felt like he had his head back on his shoulders. Sure, there was nothing like a brief respite and throwing oneself head-first back into work to do the trick. He had gone home, sought a therapist, and returned to work. After the incident with, well… faeries. He had been reassured that everything was in his head, and the medication would help him feel right as rain again. Still, the dread bubbled in his chest as he drove into town, the sunny day throwing off what ELias felt should have been a dreary, awful day.

Finally, they had made it to Wicked’s Rest. After an agonizingly long car ride from Santa Barbara, California, to Wicked’s Rest, Maine, Elias got out of his car outside of what was now his apartment. Smack in the middle of the heart of downtown, thanks to his assistant, Naya. Naya exited her car behind him, her excitement visible on her face. “I haven’t been home in so long!” She exclaimed as she clapped her hands together, then threw her arms around him and into a hug. 

Elias went rigid at the contact. He didn’t do hugs, not anymore. Ever since he first told Naya that he had accepted the position in Wicked’s Rest, he felt nothing but dread. There were people he had left behind, people he’d rather not see. Awkwardly returning the hug briefly, Elias pulled away and looked above the shop to see where his apartment was. “Fully furnished, so you don’t have to worry about moving in and buying anything,” Naya spoke as she handed over his key. “And I’m across the hall, so if you ever need anything, you know where to find me.” She shot him a smile before taking a step back toward her car. “And if you don’t mind, I will say hi to my family.” She grinned, unable to contain her excitement, as she let out a giddy scream before hopping back into her car. 

As Naya drove off, Elias felt all of the remaining energy he had to leave his body. He didn’t want to be here. But he also couldn’t tell his assistant no to the possibility of being able to move home and be with her family. A people pleaser until the end, that’s what he was. Staring down at the key in his hand, he screwed up his face before turning to look down the street. He wasn’t ready to go inside yet. 

Still, if he waited around in the heart of downtown, he was bound to run into someone he didn’t want to see– and that’s when he saw him. Gael walked right toward him. Elias glanced around and suddenly found that he was desperate to see how quickly he could open the door to the stairs that would bring him to his apartment. Taking advantage of not being recognized, he desperately wiggled the handle to the stairwell.

Then, he heard that familiar voice. Shit. How was he going to explain himself? Hey man! I know we had this brief thing or whatever, but then I had a complete mental breakdown that left me feeling like I was one move away from a permanent hotel California situation, so I fled in the middle of the night. Never mind, I just left a note that said, “I’m not safe here anymore,” and left. Haha! Funny, right? Elias glared at the door handle that had betrayed him and slowly turned himself around, every movement of his feet like it physically pained him to do so. “Hello.” He said in a clipped, awkward tone. “Funny seeing you here.” He pointed at the door. “Door sticks,” he said flatly, the normally chipper man completely devoid of emotion.

There was a lot on the professor’s mind nowadays, between the last set of full moons, his subsequent conversations with select people, the nagging ideas in his brain that woke him up more frequently than usual and now, most recently and suddenly, a familiar scent that filled his distracted senses as he left the apartment of one of his acquaintances he had gotten to know recently. Gael, briefly standing in the hall like a weirdo, turned his head slowly as he inhaled slowly, deeply. That smelled like…

No, it wasn’t. It couldn’t have been. Elias was on the other side of the country again or… so Gael presumed. He’d been absently keeping up with the engineer’s endeavors after that cryptic letter left on his kitchen counter months ago, about how he had been making groundbreaking steps in the bioengineering and prosthetics world. Naturally, he was happy for the man but at the same time, he kept thinking about that letter. It was one sentence, only five words, but Gael was having trouble not being able to understand its meaning. But despite feeling like he understood the meaning, Elias was gone and Gael had accepted that. It didn’t make him feel less guilty, though, thinking about how one day he moved in and they– Gael had made mistakes, he knew that. He made mistakes and Elias was suddenly gone and the professor felt as though that might’ve been for the best, especially considering the things he himself had learned since then. About… He wondered how much of it really mattered as Gael’s tired, dark eyes found the tall man struggling to… open a door. Seemed about right. Wordlessly at first, Gael approached the familiar man where he didn’t stare up at him with a furrowed brow for very long before he glanced at the door Elias seemed to be having trouble with. “Yeah, that one in particular is really bad about it.” He motioned to it, not entirely untruthful but it wasn’t that difficult. “Need… any help?”

—

Everything in Elias screamed to run away, to do anything to escape the uncomfortable experience that was standing near Gael. He and Regan were the two people he was hoping to avoid, but something told him that that wouldn’t happen in this town. He shook his head at the shorter man’s offer to help, deciding to slam his shoulder into the door, which did absolutely nothing. And great, now his shoulder screamed in pain. He made a face as he let a hiss escape through his lips. “That… was supposed to work.” He muttered, finally giving up on the stuck door to look at Gael. He looked tired, but that much wasn’t all that new.

“Uh.” He said rather eloquently, crossing his arms over his chest as he schooled his anxiety to appear calm and collected. “Surprise? I… moved back.” He jabbed his thumb in the direction of the stuck door. “Apartment’s upstairs. Should have kept my assistant around to open it.” He nodded his head slowly, gaze drifting anywhere but at Gael. It helped that he was short and Elias could just look straight ahead. 

The energy between the two was uncomfortable. There was no denying it. Elias turned to the door that had betrayed him, now forcing him to conversate with the man he once considered a very close friend. And, well… maybe not anymore. He had kind of burned many bridges on his way out of town. “I, well.” He scratched at the back of his head, his nervous tick reappearing. “I was offered a research position at the local hospital.” He finally explained, kicking at a pebble near his foot. “My assistant is from here, and I would have felt bad telling her no, so… here I am.” He raised his hands in the air as he shrugged, still avoiding looking Gael in the eyes.

All those months later and he was still as easy to read as before. Then again, since he was just as easy to read as before - and especially since Gael had since grown accustomed to the little nuances in a voice and especially hearing the heartbeat of whoever he was talking to, the professor figured that this was going to be an awkward reunion, to say the least. He wasn’t a stranger to people drifting away over the years; his old college friends, the ones he grew up with, work buddies and lab partners, it was simply impossible to keep up with every single one of them, not to mention some of them likely decided to either start entirely over with a new set of friends, but some of them might not’ve done that but just opted to cut out the negative influences in their life. Gael knew that he had been that way to a few people, as aspects of his past could never quite leave him weren’t healthy to anyone. He had worked to move past those and he certainly didn’t fault anyone for thinking that he could serve as a negative influence. He tended to treat old faces the same, though, for better or for worse; it was awkward, but Gael wasn’t mean, or at least he certainly tried not to be. He didn’t fault Elias for leaving for whatever reason, just like he didn’t fault him for coming back once he had an opportunity to do so. “Well, that’s good!” He said with a small smile. “I mean, good that you got a good position.” He paused, easily noticing that Elias was purposefully avoiding eye contact with him so he motioned to the door again. “You should try shouldering into it again, that really worked the first time.” He joked lightly, trying to gauge a reaction before ultimately deciding that Elias probably wanted nothing to do with him anymore and to just… exist in the same town. Gael could do that.

—

Elias wanted to melt into the cracks of the sidewalk and slide away. He wanted to be anywhere else, but there he was, running into the one person he had been hoping to avoid. Despite himself, he still found him letting out a bark of laughter as Gael insisted he fling himself into the door again. He turned to look at Gael, sizing him up playfully. “Well, if you’re so keen on making fun of me, why don’t you try?” He stepped to the side of the door, gesturing towards the door in a dramatic flourish. As much as he wanted to be uncomfortable, Gael just found a way of making him feel at ease. Still, there was a hint of discomfort that Elias was actively trying to combat.

“I started seeing things after the murder happened.” Elias began to explain, eyes dropping to his feet. “And when I started seeing these things, I thought faeries were real.” He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “And that’s when I decided to seek help from a professional.” He gave a flat smile. Lips pressed together in a thin line. “So now I’m… better. Better enough to be here without screaming, anyway.” Elias paused, face turning thoughtful. “Well, maybe a good scream now and again,” he decided.

“I was in such a bad state that I thought I was in danger and that people would come after me.” He rubbed a hand over his face, letting out a terse sigh. He remembered the state he was in, the fear that coursed through his body as he shakily wrote that note to Gael before running out the door that night. He felt bad about it but knew he would do it again if things went down the same course. “I’m sorry for running away instead of saying something.” He finally said, able to look up and meet Gael’s eyes. The smile that had graced Gael’s angled face when Elias had momentarily shifted back into that sense of familiarity between the two of them softened, then slightly faltered as the taller man started to explain what had happened and why he left so abruptly in further detail. And as he spoke, about how he started experiencing hallucinations and how fairies were real, Gael understood where the man was coming from. He’d been there, once, himself. Some days, he argued he was still there, on the edge, just waiting for someone to just… push him off of it entirely.

Ever since he moved, around the start of the summer, things had escalated far quicker than they should’ve, in multiple ways. He met so many people, became privy to so much knowledge about things that he had spent 40 years of his life believing were firmly fictional. He’d seen things that he couldn’t even dream about, had learned with Regan that his own hearing and smell, the things he himself thought were auditory and phantosmia hallucinations, weren’t just him making things up and hearing what he thought wasn’t there. Gael never struggled to find an identity for himself in the feeling of being special or unique like that.

“You don’t have to apologize.” Gael replied with a small shrug of one of his shoulders. “I’m… I know I didn’t help as much as I should’ve and I’m… sorry for how I acted before.” The confidence in his tone faltered and his body language reflected some of the guilt that he’d long since compartmentalized and processed appropriately though it, like, many things, tended to linger when their memory came up. “I don’t blame you for what you did; this town is… weird.” That was putting it lightly.

“And I don’t mean to, like, know that you’re back and insert myself into your life.” The professor continued, now reaching for the door and resting a calloused hand on the handle. “I get that things are… well, y’know, different now but I just wanted to drop by, say ‘hi’ and that…” Gael cleared his throat and he effortlessly pulled the door open for the taller man. He knew it had to be pulled the whole time. “If you ever need or want any help, I’m still your guy.”

[relentlessgrief]

@rubistella from here:

Had it not been for his roguish balance, Astarion might have tripped over his own feet, drunk on a beverage thicker than wine. An atypical moment for the vampire, all loose-limbed swagger and an air that flirted dangerously close to genuine joy. This, perhaps, was the first time Connor had seen him so... unmoored. “Oh, it was a beast… savage as they come,” Astarion recounted with a brand new light to those deep set crimsons, a wicked gleam of triumph pulling at his mouth. “Just don’t tell the druid, mind you,” he added, tenor dipped in conspiratorial murmurs, soft as silk spun with shadow weave. He raised a hand to mimic the creature's swipe, a dramatic flourish slicing through the air. “It came at me with claws like scythes, aiming for my throat. Nearly had me, the damn thing. But I danced out of its path… barely, of course, and when it tried to crush me with one of those enormous paws, I slipped under its guard and climbed on its back.” A pause. Pride sharpened into a half-feral look as Astarion reached up to tap one sharp fang with his nail. “Used these to hold on. Sunk them deep. Naturally, the beast thrashed, tried to throw me off, but once I’d latched on...” …It was already too late for the creature.

Drunken vampire.

Now Connor can say he's seen it all.

"I see." Connor remarks, listening as intently as he can in the moment. But it's hard. It's hard to right now, given the fact that this is not the usual Astarion that he's used to. The vampire that he knew was never this loose. Not to this extent.

The aberration is just a smidge at a loss for words. If a vampire's state of intoxication is anything like a human's, then he'll contently take on a role that oversees Astarion's wellbeing until he can think with better clarity.

"Would you like to sit down, perhaps?"

Not that Connor's going to give the vampire much of a chance to respond--the undead is already taking the other undead's hand in his and leading him back to his tent.

"You can tell me more about it at your space."

[therealricksanchezpleasestandup]

Sorry About Your Window - starter for @xluciifer

Roughly a week and a half ago, Rick Sanchez's beach day vacation was ruined. All he wanted to do was GO out, relax, maybe fuck around with some of the locals in a totally different dimension, on a completely different planet.

Only to get the dimension number wrong and end up in the wrong place, at the wrong time--with that dimension being Hell, specifically. And to also get held up there against his will like a stupid hostage for like what, 10, 15 minutes? All to answer some stupid questions like an interview by the proclaimed 'King' of Hell himself.

Goddamn Lucifer--who, by THE way, was NOTHING like his own dimension's Devil, but STILL managed to similarly be a thorn in his side all the same.

He was pleasant enough. Didn't try to hurt him. And if the King of Hell wasn't so bad... SURELY the rest of the inhabitants wouldn't be, right? Perhaps there would be something worth plundering and pilfering for the interplanetary trading posts throughout the dimensions he hits up.

Big fucking mistake, he found out, as when he pretty much landed in the Pride Ring, specifically Pentagram City, all eyes were on him. They could smell him a mile away. Which wouldn't have been an issue if there weren't so many of them, and they weren't so fucking... rabid. The crowd of eight turned to maybe roughly twenty to twenty-five strong.

In the midst of portaling out and trying to bail on this mission, he'd been socked in the face by a demon four times his size, easily knocking him on the ground. He remembers ringing in his ears, but most of all, he remembers the CRUNCH of the portal device underneath the feet of the lawless mob all surrounding him.

A quick press of a button on his person creates a shockwave blasting everyone back to stun them works like a charm, giving him the time he needs to gather the scraps of his gun and book it.

Rick could hold his own decently well, and does, killing a handful of Sinners that just didn't know how the FUCK to keep their goddamn hands to themselves by the use of his gadgets and weapons while simultaneously being on the run, with no other option looking to be somewhere OUTSIDE of the city.

About maybe roughly thirty minutes of being chased by some of the flying types of demons (and a generous number of non-fliers on foot), through various methods of extended arms and legs, go-go gadget rocket ski shoes, and his own cybernetically enhanced limbs carrying him across this clearly godforsaken city, he catches glimpse of an unmistakable structure--A mansion. It's absolutely nothing like what he's seen throughout this Circle of Hell thus far.

Call it intuition, call it instincts, call it thinking on his feet, call it whatever you want, but the scientist makes the absolute executive decision that he's going to jump through one of those nice pretty stained glass windows on the first floor.

And he does.

When he gets within a few feet, he immediately covers the gap, taking to the air and covering himself protectively in such a way that only a FEW fragments of the glass stick in him when he makes contact with a loud, unmistakable

CRASH!

and finally, a

THUD!

of his body hitting the floor.

Rick can only groan as he winces, face twisting in pain. It fucking hurts.

He's going to for SURE feel that on his back tomorrow. He has yet to open his eyes. And a part of him doesn't want to, under the potential premise that he's not entirely free yet of the mob chasing him.

But he knows he has to. So he does.

Hopefully the person owning this place isn't here. But if he has to deal with them too, then so fucking be it.

[voyeuriistic]

@evilstalks

[continued from here]

He's half joking. Some little part of him, though, was already thinking about how cool it would be if he was the first person Michael fucking Myers opened up to. “Yeah, okay, didn't think that was gonna work. Worth a shot, though, right?”

A bigger part of him was pretty sure he'd be stabbed for the audacity, so, all in all, this is going better than expected.

“You should write a book. Like, a memoir. Autobiography. Is it a ‘no talking, verbally’ thing, or a mystery thing?” Danny's probably talking enough for the both of them.

“Like, do you do yes/no questions?” He nods, then shakes, his head to illustrate.

[thetcrmented]

location: wine cellar

date & time: sunday 3 september, 2005, 10pm

@woodrowhub

carmen let her hands drift across the rows of dusty bottles and tried to remind herself that this was not actually stealing. richard had no use for his extensive collection of wine anymore, and if she selected one of the more common vintages then it would hardly make a dent in the inheritance. that was assuming that it was even hers to inherit, maybe there had been some last minute changes to his will. still, the guilt lingered. it was a feeling she was growing all too familiar with these days.

but it had been one of the longest days of her life. after the dreaded eulogies, there had been endless mingling, endless small talk and meaningless condolences. carmen's cheeks hurt from all the smiling she'd been forcing herself to do, and her head pounded from all the niceties she'd endured. it was all so well meaning, and it all made her feel sick with shame. as per mrs tristan's arrangements, it had been a dry wake, so carmen felt she'd earned a drink. she deserved a chance to numb her senses.

she had just selected herself a bottle from the shelf when she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps. it was not unthinkable that someone would have had the same idea as her, and there was no point pretending she hadn't been caught red handed.

"we can share?" she said, turning and holding up the bottle in her right hand.