#* & reinaldo 'robin' castillo rivas ━━ ❮ dialogue ❯

[tewwor]

open — mutuals only

“Partner, I reckon that I ain’t been feeling very yeehaw lately.”

[tewwor-moving]

* & anotha one — @cigarettesandcoffee

Where had the night gone wrong? Such a question echoes endlessly in his head. Overlaps with whatever his blind date's yapping on and on about. Reinaldo tried to keep up at first. Really, he did. But certain morals didn't line up and things kept snowballing. Now he's stuck under an avalanche of being too polite and mortified.

He laughs in a painfully polite way — fake as fake can be. Makes his skin crawl and sweat at the same time. His eyes, ever wandering, happens to latch onto another person within the area. Big, bold neon words of HELP ME practically flash above his head.

Another open ended question-joke spouts from across the table.

Another fake-uncomfortable chuckle is pried out of him.

Help. Please.

[tewwor]

To his surprise, it works, if but for a moment. Then that smirk appears and he gulps, knowing that the tables were about to somersault his way. Reinaldo takes half a step back and feels the counter press against his lower back. Nowhere else to go, so he stands there, intensely aware of how much space decreased between them with each second.

Mierda, he wants to mutter. Say anything, actually. Yet his lips stay frozen while the cheeks continue to be kept ablaze. "Mhm." A hum of agreement. That's all he can muster up without prying his mouth open to say something stupid. So he reaches for Atlas' hand instead, and lowers it while clasping it between his own. Not quite sure if the goal's to give a firm handshake or to simply hold, but he's too preoccupied with saying something in return.

"It'd be, yeah. The, ah, reciprocatin'. Not the lovin' alone part."

When on a job, he generally didn't have time to stop and make himself a home cooked meal. Even less so when he was away from where he called home. He didn't speak it, but Reinaldo inviting him over and offering to cook for him felt quite intimate. It touched a spot in his heart that most people these days didn't appreciate.

Going out was nice, but it wasn't the same as someone inviting you into their world, if only for a small amount of time.

Whatever the other man was boiling, smelt divine, and had Atlas' mouth watering already. Now very much aware of how hungry he actually was.

The comment he'd made was in passing, flirtatious, a bit teasing, if only because he knew how flustered the other got when he hit on him. When Reinaldo turned around to face him and surprisingly played into his little suggestion, he looked visibly taken aback for a moment, but that didn't last long before that trademark smirk was playing on his lips.

"I would argue it's the best possible outcome." He admitted with a shrug of his shoulders before getting up from where he was sat at the counter, moving to approach the other man, "I supposed it depends on whether it is reciprocated or not? It would be rather bad if I loved alone, yes?" He hummed, tapping Reinaldo under the chin with his knuckle, chuckling.

[tewwor]

closed — @storyofwhoiam

"Sorry for makin' you come all the way out here." Sure, he's paying an arm and leg for an on site visit, but Reinaldo's all too aware of how out of the way his plot is. "Can I get you something to drink? Water? Sweet tea? Just made some mote con huesillos this morning."

[tewwor-moving]

* & reinaldo's interaction call ( accepting ) — @spaces0ngs

Not a single day passes by dull and uninterrupted. That much can be observed by even the least aware amongst his smattering of livestock. Something’s always awry, and if it wasn’t already — then something’s bound to be before the waxing moon can take its rest. So to say Reinaldo goes day to day with a certain threshold of expectation to be disturbed ( or interrupted or pardoned ) is deadly accurate.

His hands steadied moments before an uproar was to be had. The sensation of something amiss rippled throughout the land once protection runes were breached. And if that wasn't enough alarm, the stomping of hooves and low rise of hackles certainly was.

Very rarely does anything good arrive under the guise of night.

Takes all but a handful of minutes to suss out the disturbance under the guidance of fleet-footed hounds. They pinpoint the direction, start to disperse into formation once close enough to the source. Reinaldo, himself, shows up alone at the site. There, nestled deeply in the rows of spring crops, is a crash landing; something far stranger than what usually traverses these quiet lands.

Though gripped with caution, he doesn't hesitate to surge forth. Silent apologies cascade his inner thoughts as roots and greens and buds are trampled in his hurried wake. For as much as he treasures the fruits of his earthen labor, the concern of if someone else is hurt takes precedence without hesitation.

"Hello?" He calls out, trying not to err on frantic once smoke reaches him. The hounds circle at a distance, pacing, waiting for any harm to fall unto their owner in turn. Still, he pushes forth. Past the disrupted soil, skidding down to nearest side of the.. spaceship? "Anyone there? Anyone hurt?"

[tewwor-moving]

* & interaction call ( accepting ) — @inexorcble

Sweltering as it is, he swears the bright rays and humidity brought forth even more energy. Pleased is he to go about another day amongst the sprawling acres since the crack of dawn. Livestock to be fed and showered in attention, land to be tilled and sowed for the upcoming season, the bees to be checked on and their honey harvested, and the crops to be relieved of their bountiful growth. 

Reinaldo sings as he trims and plucks and waters; always being followed by a company of his beloved flock of chickens near the low swaying trees. Basket nearly full, he tosses a handful of ripened fruit for them to taste. Quick and attentive as ever, the rooster shoots forth to let out a croak and alert the hens of a delectable treat — for the ladies first, of course. 

A word of praise nearly tumbles out, but is held fast at the teeth when a sudden zap zings through him. One of the wards have been crossed ( the one more like a glorified doorbell than anything else ). It was close too. Curious eyes scan the near horizon and a friendly smile soon blossoms. “Not lost, are you?” He calls out, "wasn't expectin' any visitors today— 'less you're the new mailman.”

[tewwor-moving]

@chateautangerine

This place reminds him of something. Rather, someone that used to regale hauntings only under the influence of strong liquor and a heavy moon. The smattering of illusory presences, ever changing interior and décor, the feeling of being known by something that shouldn't be cognizant to begin with.. a place that hungers to keep those it lures.

Reinaldo doesn't think twice to regard everything under the same impression. While the tall tales were experienced by a lone man ( just human — though broken ), he took to the superstitions whole-heartedly. Every whisper or patter of foot catalogues through the ear. Perhaps all for naught, but it's a chance at staying sane. Of keeping track in a senseless maze.

"Yeah, uh— the pantry. Just got done feedin' my dogs." Worry strikes through the heart then. How would they fare without him being there? Their loyalty often wrestles with instinct, but they look after one another well enough. Chowing down supper only occupies them for so long. Soon enough they'll be looking to heap on the bed with everyone ( yes, including him ) accounted for—

The sudden halt of scenery momentarily punts the forming anxiety. He's never been anywhere this fancy. Strange as the situation continues to be, a bit of gawking feels.. reasonable. "Feelin' like I left my stove on at home." He didn't, thankfully, but that slow panic bubbles like a lit kettle.

How much longer can he go before boiling over?

Again, he's fearful of what might be found under the cover. Predictably, that bag of kibble crinkles under pressure. He doesn't dare to sit. Barely dares to breathe, but he does. And with it comes that alluring aroma that almost folds him on the spot. A hand slowly pries itself from the lifeline of feed, finger by uncertain finger. Then the lid's eventually off to confirm that his nose had been correct.

"Cazuela?" Breathless, practically winded with equal parts confusion and wonder. "How—" But he stops himself. Instead, he gingerly places the kibble on the table. "You don't know, do you?"

There’s a curious sound coming from their left. Footsteps. Now, from behind. No one is there. "Robin it is," Cliff nods, a bedtime whisper.  

Something bubbles in his head; soap in an overflowing sink. Robin had come here unexpectantly like they all do, eyes wide and feet plastered to the floor. What would he see on the TV screen? Maybe a fuzzy picture, one where Robin's four feet high, fingers sticky with popsicle and mom still alive. Is she dead? A boy and a girl with his eyes and mussy, dark hair. Someone to say 'I do.'

"Well. If you walked through a door—" Cliff begins, fixing the jacket over his shoulders. He goes hush. "Yes, I did."

Now, a hallway to the right, but it wasn't always there. Cliff turns into it and doesn't seem aware. Not of the never-ending, repeating hallway. Not of the vinyl starting over. Not of the vast emptiness of the hotel or the twinkling, back-of-the-head whispers. The restaurant suddenly before them, bright-yellow-garish.

Cliff takes the cigarette out of his mouth, and he walks closer.

"I was on the cusp of running a bath at the time," he imparts, looking off, then. Distant. "...After reading the reviews they left me." He said it to no one, low, rueful, and airy. Cliff snubs his cigarette out in a waiting ashtray, seemingly unaffected. He looks back. "I'm curious what you're feeling, Robin."

Yearning? Scared? Confused?

The restaurant is empty.

Everywhere: the smell of grilled steak, red and bloody. Butter melting on croissants. An imperceptible tremor has begun to yawn and spill over the tiles at their feet—the bowels of the hotel milk-churning behind every door. Two cloches are waiting for them on the nearest table, their names printed on two shining cards.

A clock ticks, the hands never moving.

Cliff pulls the lid to a bloody filet mignon just like he wanted, and he wonders, trailing off. “No one knows me like they do..."

[tewwor-moving]

✧･ﾟ interaction call ( accepting ) | @astremourante​ ･ﾟ✧

It’s been two days since the last date that originated from some dating app. Another date gone terribly wrong. As per his unlucky streak, his date left out some crucial details. Things such as how the man was a vampire, and the fact that he was one greedy sonofabitch. Well, the latter hadn’t been established until he lost a good amount of blood.

“I’m gonna be single for the rest of my life.” A heavy sigh leaves him as Robin cradles his face in both hands. There’s no other way to put it. He felt fucking pathetic and all sorts of wrong. Probably from the blood loss that’d been pulled from a nasty bite near his collarbone. At least there hadn’t been the threat of losing his soul this time around. Just thinking about that sent chills through him.

[tewwor-moving]

you know, if you treated me like that on the regular, i might actually start falling in love with you. - Atlas

Something starts to clatter in the near distance. An erratic, roil that shakes the lid of a pot, signaling that the soup's past halfway. "Hm?" There's no thought put into the inquiring hum back. Reinaldo's too preoccupied with setting the glass lid aside without burning his hand. Then onto stirring the contents, smelling the hearty aromas, tasting the broth, and putting the lid back on to simmer for another few minutes.

It's not until he looks over his shoulder, hands idly wiping on a dishcloth, does it click. "Huh? Who? Me?" He asks with owl-wide eyes and a frantic look around the room. As if there's anyone else in his home besides Atlas and the hounds. "Treat you like w—" He does want to ask what, but something flickers to light in his head. This could be a chance to shoot his shot and not miss by a damn mile. "Well, ah.. Is that so bad? Falling in love with me?"

@cigarettesandcoffee

[tewwor-moving]

✧･ﾟ open | mutuals & non-mutuals ･ﾟ✧

"There's a creature that returns every century or so. Tries to devour us half the time. Won't be long til' it comes again."

[tewwor-moving]

The barest strain of hope crumbles right then and there. Although this wasn’t exactly a request that impacts him directly, Reinaldo still gave his word that he’d try. And try he did, albeit a bit.. Late.

A frown hangs heavy after the interjection. “Well that’s…” Disappointing, but he lets the word turn to ash in his mouth instead. “Sorry, um, for wastin’ your time then.” Reinaldo runs a hand along the back of his hair, seemingly at a loss. Guess the trek here led to nothing, but at least he had enough supplies to last him the trip back. “Could you point me in the direction to the nearest inn then?”

Open: Quinn has sacrificed his ability to use magic for the greater good but the news apparently didn't travel far and people are still approaching him thinking he's still his old spellslinging warlock self Looking for: any muse that fits a supernatural setting; someone in need or an enemy??; m 40+ if romantic Muse: Quinlan Lennox; warlock | fc: Ethan Hawke

"Wait, wait, wait. Let me stop you right there," the warlock threw up his hands in defence, "If you're looking for someone to conduct some magic tricks for you, you're at the wrong address." No more magic potential to tap into here. He's used up all his arcane power for locking up a Hellish threat months ago. Now he was as ordinary as a door post, and admitting to it was still scary...and rather shameful. "Believe me, if I could, I would help you."

[tewwor-moving]

* & reinaldo's interaction call ( accepting ) — @sovietperil

There’s someone new amidst their town, their homes, their lives.

Plentiful are the whispers of aimless assumptions. From ground to rooftop, concrete to greenery, but only heard by those who know where to listen.

He just so happened to be one of them, in a way.

The scuff of wettened glass against polished countertop sounds just as the newcomer speaks. Perhaps not to him directly, but one’s affairs were basically everyone’s within these lines. An air of silence blankets the scattered patrons. Unsettling, surely, to say something and be greeted with an immediate hush. That thought alone was what had him decide to address the stranger head-on. 

“Small town,” Reinaldo offers in the stead of the steely-faced barkeep, warmly but still rather polite. “And I mean that in a very textbook stereotypical way— but don’t mind 'em, we don’t bite here. Much.” A slight twitch of lips to slot a decent smile and he nods to the empty seat to his right. An open invitation to sit and have a drink or two; maybe even have a few things answered or gossip before the warm welcome expires.

[tewwor-moving]

* & reinaldo's interaction call ( accepting ) — @frombloodandink

Honk.

“Hello.”

A standard greeting from a goose to man it seems.

Unsurprising to any that knows him, Reinaldo lounges comfortably between the back of his home and humble pastures. Upper half sprawling across a sun warmed cow, he lets an arm plop onto half grazed grass. A few fingers are nipped at — gentle in familiarity. Another two quacks and he gives a lazy huff. “Yeah, yeah— I got some snacks here.” Blindly, he pats down his pockets to pull out a sack of cracked corn ( there’s always one on his person out of habit ). A handful’s tossed beside him and the waterfowl hurries to peck at each kernel in earnest.

Both of them would’ve stayed as such if someone hadn’t gotten too close. Rather, close enough for the goose to stop and bob her head up and down. Still unfazed, Reinaldo yawns as he spares the new presence a glance. “Oh, you’re back.” Though each word rolls slower than fresh sap, there’s a certain warmth to be found in every note. “Wanna feed her?” Best to say yes if an aversion to a needle tooth bite is to be avoided in the near future.

[tewwor-moving]

* & reinaldo's interaction call ( accepting ) — @bluedprints

Field work's hardly anyone's favorite pastime — except for his, that is. It's the ceaseless gaze of sun while being out in the open. Having to tend the tilled earth and budding crops. Help deter insect life from decimating future harvests. It's the calculation, the early sown habits, the reward that feels the most fulfilling.

All done on his family's land.

The sweat that breaks from his brow is wiped away with a sleeve. "Henry! Oi! Don't worry 'bout waterin' the rest. Rain'll get them soon! Lunch's callin'— c'mon lets take a break!" He hollers across the plot with little to no effort. A beaming smile stretches wide across his face to match the bright blue sky. "Even made some lemonade this mornin'!"

[tewwor-moving]

Some word of gratitude starts to form at the tip of his tongue. Then he promptly chokes on it — almost literally — before a shocked laugh rattles loose. “More than your fingers n’ toes? Sheesh— I’d say that’s impressive if it weren’t so..” Reinaldo takes that moment to sip at the refilled glass. Busy his yapping mouth while that brain of his plays catch up. “Nah, I get it— sorta. Farmer myself n’ folks can get real… Creative with them innuendos.”

@tewwor wanted colton from this starter call

"Do you know how many times I've been made uncomofortable by people asking me if I'd tie them up?" He asked, putting the clean glass in it's holder before turning around and pouring them another shot. "Trust me, it's more times than I can count on my fingers and toes. Please tell me you're not going to be thinking like that too. Just because I'm a ranchhand doesn't mean I'm into that lifestyle."

[tewwor-moving]

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