#chappcdlips

[worstpart]

[     CLOSED     ]     shreya howe, @chappcdlips [     LOCATION     ]     red creek hospital

          "i was starting to think i wouldn't be seeing you at all this week."     as if you could go more than a couple days without seeing every single person in this goddamn town,  although the boogeyman is definitely trying to prove this long-standing theory wrong.  disappear one,  kill another.  maybe she should care,  but she can't be mad about the sudden influx of patients in the past couple weeks.     "glad you could make it."    a smile to kick away the slightly morbid turn her thoughts were taking as she gestures for shreya to take a seat across from her.  there's a beat of silence that jaya quickly cuts in to before it kills the entire session.     "do you want to discuss current events,  or would you rather start elsewhere?"  

[repentulant]

🗝️ dedicated to griffin talbot / @chappcdlips . 📍 redemption chappell ( kirby's funeral service ) .

the   one   place   that   should   feel   safe   merely   laces   piper's   very   bones   with   discomfort.   the   emotions   of   funeral   attendees   loom   over   their   heads;   a   cloud   of   gloom   that   is   almost   palpable,   a   fog   so   heavy   that   it   suffocates—   she   stands   suddenly.   there   are   surely   only   minutes   to   spare   before   a   sermon   begins   &   being   here   feels   impossible.   fingers   pinch   at   the   fabric   of   griffin's   shirt,   then   withdraw   like   she's   been   scorched.   it's   irresponsible   to   pull   him   away   from   their   family   mourning,   but   it's   also   a   silent   plea—   walk   out   with   me.   don't   make   me   leave   alone.   she   blinks   down   at   him,   then   spins   on   her   heel.

[horrorphase]

ꜜ ﹙ ⚰️  ﹚ ﹕ sometimes,  looking  at  his  brother  felt  like  looking  at  himself⸻    a  reflection  of  his  own  timid  set  of  shoulders,  the  way  anxiety  and  fear  clung  to  him  like  cigarette  smoke.  and  it  was  a  terrifying  thought,  that  griffin  could  be  carrying  all  the  same  emotions  he  did  when  he  was  at  that  age.  those  feelings  of  being  small  and  inconsequential,  so  insidious  with  how  it  could  compel  him  to  fold  himself  up  in  so  many  ways  as  to  not  take  too  much  space  and  draw  attention  in  such  a  big  terrible  world  that  devoured  people  like  them.  and  there  was  nothing  he  wouldn't  do,  not  a  sharp  knife  he  wouldn't  jump  in  front  of,  just  to  make  sure  his  brother  never  think,  even  for  a  second,  that  he  didn't  matter—  that  his  softness  wouldn't  be  enough  to  keep  him  whole.  but  kieran  also  knew  that  he  wouldn't  always  be  able  to  protect  griffin  ﹕  not  that  kid  who  used  to  follow  him  and  his  friends  around  anymore,  couldn't  just  put  his  hands  over  griffin's  eyes  whenever  something  abhorrent  happened,  like  taylan  beating  someone  up  or  finch  pissing  in  the  middle  of  street  like  a  bad  dog. though,  maybe  this  could  be  a  helpful⸻    objects  solemnly  laid  out  like  artifacts  on  display,  every  item  looking  incredibly  barbaric  on  top  of  their  father's  sleek�� choice  for  a  countertop.  a  bear  spray,  bright  orange,  its  purpose  blaring  like  a  hazard  light  ;  the  hello  kitty  taser  he  got  on  sale  from  amazon,  as  though  violence  could  be  sanitized  by  design  ;  and  the  knuckle  dusters,  inherently  brutish,  something  primal  made  manifest.  and  kieran  stared  at  them  for  a  long  time,  as  he  wondered  if  his  brother  could  stomach  it  ...  how  protection,  if  it  came  down  to  it,  would  demand  more  than  tools.  it  called  for  instinct,  resolve,  the  kind  of  hard  calculus  that  turned  you  into  something  you  might  not  recognize. then,  he  thought  about  the  memory  of  alaina  price,  not  just  the  soft  recollection  of  laughter  or  late  night  babysitting  when  they  were  kids,  but  the  raw  unflinching  truth  of  the  morgue.  he'd  been  there  when  thierry  gore  unzipped  the  bag  and  made  the  first  incision  in  that  sterile  and  cold  room.  he  was  the  one  who  weighed  and  cataloged  her  organs  like  they  belonged  to  a  stranger,  not  the  girl  who  taught  him  how  to  braid  piper's  hair  or  told  them  monsters  weren't  real.  and kieran  had  held  her  heart  in  his  gloved  hands,  felt  the  emptiness  in  it,  and  wondered  if  she  had  known—  really  known—  how  brutal  the  world  could  be.  how  wrong  she  was  about  the  monsters.  and  it  was  the  kind  of  knowledge  he  couldn't  risk  griffin  learning  the  same  way.  ❝  hey,  c'mere  for  a  second, ❞  kieran  beckoned  to  the  kitchen  once  griffin  finally  came  downstairs,  his  expression  quiet  but  deliberate,  hand  brushing  briefly  over  the  taser's  smooth  surface  before  retreating,  as  though  unwilling  to  impose  the  weight  of  his  fears  too  heavily  on  his  brother.  despite  how  raw  the  memory  of  seeing  alaina's  corpse  was,  the  lacerations  in  her  flesh,  the  way  memories  of  her  effortless  smile  had  been  replaced  with  seeing  her  lips  purple  and  slack.  ❝  just  humor  me,  alright  ?  i  want  you  to  carry  this  stuff,  please. ❞  no  sharpness  in  his  tone,  no  explicit  urgency—  only  the  quiet  unyielding  care  of  someone  who  had  seen  too  much  and  refused  to  let  it  happen  again.  ❝  it  gets  dark  so  early  now,  i  don't  want  you  walking  'round  without  anything  to  protect  yourself. ❞  @chappcdlips

[horrorphase]

ꜜ   ﹙   📹    ﹚   ﹕   𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻  𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘁  𝗵𝗶𝘀  𝘂𝘀𝘂𝗮𝗹  𝗰𝗮𝗺𝗲𝗿𝗮  𝗼𝗻  𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗱,   foster  just  had  this  curious  &  disarming  intensity  in  how  his  gaze  lingered  on  someone⸻     as  if  trying  to  see  through  you  or  past  you,   or  maybe  just  trying  to  figure  out  if  you  were  worth  seeing  at  all.   but  while  many  would  easily  write  off  such  a  bashful  creature  like  griffin  talbot  as  a  waste  of  time,   foster  couldn't  deny  being  a  little  charmed  by  the  shyness.   not  because  he  found  it  cute,   but  it  also  probably  made  the  younger  man  easier  to  push  and  pull  until  he  could  have  him  exactly  where  he  wanted.   completely  malleable,   waiting  to  shaped  by  the  first  hands  that  would  dare  to  do  so.   and  what  a  tempting  idea  that  was.      ❝      yup,   she's  brilliant  at  that,      ❞      he  said,   voice  softer  now,   even  a  little  distant,   as  if  deliberately  trying  to  lead  griffin's  gaze  toward  him.      ❝      but  it's  not  just  suspense  for  me.   𝗶𝘁'𝘀  𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁  𝗱𝗮𝗺𝗻  𝗰𝗹𝗮𝘂𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗽𝗵𝗼𝗯𝗶𝗮.   suffocating  you  like  a  fat  ass  sitting  on  your  face,   y'know   ?      ❞      his  fingers  tapped  idly  on  the  counter,   gaze  flickering  briefly  on  hangsaman  once  more.      ❝      it's  the  way  she  makes  you  feel  the  walls  are  closing  in—   'cept  it's  not  really  walls,   but  people.   pressing  down  on  her  heroines  like  stones  on  their  chests.   friends,   family,   strangers,   it's  all  the  same  weight.   and  they  are  all  choking  on  their  expectations,   or  their  judgments,   or  even  just  their  presence,   and  they  don't  even  realize  it  until  it's  too  late  to  push  back.      ❞      a  pause,   letting  the  silence  stretch  out  for  a  couple  of  seconds,   then  breaking  it  with  a  low  chuckle  as  he  turned  his  attention  back  to  griffin.      ❝      she  even  kind  of  inspired  one  of  the  shorts  i  made  in  high  school—   ultraviolet  vomit.   maybe  you've  seen  it.   a  dinner  party,   but  it's  not  the  food  that  makes  you  wanna  throw  up  your  guts.   it's  all  the  fucking  smothering  conversations  that  make  you  feel  like  an  exposed  nerve.      ❞    he  could  probably  go  on  and  on  about  shirley  jackson,   even  shelley  and  du  maurier,   or  even  taylan  yalçınkaya,   all  of  his  work's  inspirations,   but  foster  didn't  want  to  yap  griffin's  ears  off.   because  once  really  started,   he  might  never  stop.      ❝      guess  you  could  say  it's  for   ...   documentation  purposes,      ❞      foster   answered  before  he  walked  toward  aisle  six,   a  wolfish  grin  on  his  lips  and  a  teasing  lilt  in  his  voice,   as  if  he  was  weighing  how  much  to  say—  or  how  much  to  let  griffin  squirm  with  a  non-answer.      ❝      𝗶  𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲  𝘁𝗼  𝗸𝗲𝗲𝗽  𝗮  𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗿𝗱  𝗼𝗳  𝗽𝗲𝗼𝗽𝗹𝗲.   the  little  moments,  y'know   ?   those  fleeting  kind  you  forget  otherwise.   snapshots  of   …   connection.      ❞      and  he  left  the  youngest  talbot  with  that  vagueness,   let  his  imagination  run  wild  while  he  disappeared  from  his  line  of  sight,   scouring  the  shelves  for  the  polaroid  films  he  needed.   a  minute  or  so  passed,   then  finally,       ❝      𝗴𝗼𝘁  𝗶𝘁   !!!      ❞      he  exclaimed,   returning  to  the  register  with  the  instant  camera  films,   a  low  thud  as  he  dropped  them  on  the  counter,   leaning   closer   as   his   smile   curved   slowly,   eyes   narrowing   just   slightly   as   he   looked   at   griffin,   sweet   and   expectant   in   a   way   that   suggested   a   deeper   familiarity   than   they   actually   had.      ❝      so,   do  i  get  your  family  discount  or⸻      ?      ❞      

he looked up, eyes landing on none other than foster. naturally anxious already, he could feel his anxiety ratchet up a notch, his mouth suddenly feeling drier, pulse racing. griffin looked at him with slightly wide eyes, shrugging, "i don't study, um, marketing." he didn't know what possessed him to try a business school joke, but it was too late to backtrack, so he just plowed on. he much preferred to talk about his book anyway, "relate? um.. not particularly," though, the loneliness... sometimes, "i just think shirley jackson is so masterful at building suspense, in... in storytelling, really. anyway... yeah, i could write a thesis on her." he ducked his head a bit sheepishly, not used to being put on the spot — and by put on the spot, he meant literally just being asked a question by someone outside of his family and close friends. if he were braver even a little bit, he would ask foster if jackson's work had ever influenced his, but then that would make it known that griffin had seen pretty much everything the other had made and that would be very embarrassing probably. griffin nodded then, humming, "i, um... stuff related to tech is over in aisle six. i can't promise there's polaroid film, but i know there's disposable cameras and that sort of stuff so... there's a chance?" he told him, "would hate to see you flee town, but i can't make any promises." in griffin's own head, it sounded like he was practically begging foster to not leave town. though, that didn't stop him from the follow-up question that required incredible bravery on his part, "what do you need it for?" maybe he'd even get the scoop on what foster was working on now, which was an exciting enough prospect to keep him from avoiding eye contact completely.

[enternights]

𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲.　the talbot residence. 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻.　10am. 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵.　griffin talbot. @chappcdlips

〔　🦂　〕　　...　　𝗶𝘀  𝗶𝘁  𝗴𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗳  𝗼𝗿  𝗴𝘂𝗶𝗹𝘁  𝘄𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴  𝗵𝗶𝘀  𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁  𝗱𝗼𝘄𝗻  𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲  𝗮𝗻  𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗿?  despite  his  familial  ties  to  kirby,  she  was  more  colleague  than  kin,  the  only  string  connecting  them  being  his  sister  —  her  mother  —  with  whom  they  both  were  too  estranged  with  to  ever  consider  a  genuine  bond  together.  the  age  old  cliche,  i  should've  done  more,  sits  in  the  back  of  his  head,  but  would  he  have  really?  or  is  he  only  thinking  it  because  he  no  longer  has  the  choice?  his  breath  hitches  when  he  hears  griffin's  footsteps  padding  down  the  staircase,  not  yet  quite  ready  to  face  the  situation  with  his  youngest  son. not after what he's seen and been through.  “  i'm  sure  you've  already  seen  the  news.  ”   it  was  inescapable.  like  driving  past  alaina's  house,  or  seeing  the  missing  posters  with  daniela's  face  plastered  all  over  town.  “  how  are  you  feeling?  ”  he  asks,  voice  dropping  to  a  gentle  whisper.

[ins1ders]

○    NOW DELIVERING TO . . .    ⏤ @chappcdlips !

kingsley squints at the familiar figure walking on the other side of the street . that slumping of shoulders is par to his own , although kingsley leans back more as he walks ( like something out of ed , edd and eddy ) . people walk in very distinct ways , and kingsley has always enjoyed seeing the tiny mannerisms that make up a person . for fawn , she walks leaning forward , hair curtaining off everyone , quick steps that slow down every now and then as if she's remembering she's not in a race . his lips quirk up and he crosses the street easily , picking up his pace to try and catch up with fawn . even though he's tall , fawn is FAST . it takes him a few moments to realise that a grown man following a woman right now is probably not something that is very ASSURING . he clears his throat . " i'm not the boogeyman . i have a feeling that guy's white . 82% of american serial killers were white , so that's just statistics, you know ? " kingsley states as way of introduction . " then again , gender isn't real . i guess it could be a hot girl killing everyone . or some cute NB . " he shrugs , thoughts spinning in his mind . " also , should we even be calling him boogeyman ? isn't that SERIAL KILLER 101 ? don't call them by their name cause it gives them more power ? " kingsley has a lot of thoughts on the entirety of the situation , but he mainly keeps them to himself . well . to himself, and to fawn .

[clandestone]

closed starter with: charlotte and griffin (@chappcdlips) setting: "her" and nathan's bedroom, 6pm, the night before the funeral

Clothes were everywhere, piled haphazardly in no discernible pattern, and Charlotte sat in the middle of it like the eye of a hurricane. There was a wild, desperate look in her eyes as she picked through items, giving each a brief look before tossing it in one of her piles and moving on to the next. She’d been doing it for hours at this point, and was so lost in the process that she jumped when she saw Griffin in her peripheral vision. “Oh God, you scared me Griff!” She threw the shirt in her hand on top of a pile to her right, suddenly deeply self-conscious of the disaster zone she’d created, and a long line of explanation began to tumble haphazardly out of her mouth. “I needed a dress for tomorrow, and I didn’t have anything in the guest room closet, so I came up here to look for something, and I just kept finding all these old clothes that I never wear, and I started to think, why don’t I just donate all of these stupid things that are just collecting dust,” she rambled, her voice growing more strained as she spoke. “And now I’ve just created this huge mess in a room that’s not even mine anymore, and that’s not even mentioning the fact that I am apparently not capable of finding a single black dress that I can wear to your cousin’s funeral.” Charlotte choked on the last word, fighting the overwhelming urge to crumple in on herself. She mindlessly moved some clothes around, trying to keep her trembling hands busy, biting the inside of her cheek to maintain her faltering composure. “Can you help me get these clothes put away before your father gets home?” Her voice dripped with embarrassment. This mess was evidence of her unraveling- something Griffin shouldn’t have to see, and something Nathan couldn't see. 

[tresp4ssing]

the  air  hung  thick  between  them  —  rather  than  the  usual  bustling  energy  of  the  fish  market,  bodies  alone  providing  enough  humidity,  it  morphed  into  something  different,  now.  something  teetering  on  nefariousness,  but  much  too  early  for  the  real  dread  to  sink  in  just  yet,  at  least  on  cole's  part.  it  was  something  akin  to  the  stillness  of  a  forrest  following  the  sound  of  a  gunshot,  eerie,  toeing  the  line  between  grief  and  anger,  but  dissonance  ringing  at  the  forefront.  “  everything  you  say  is  important,  griff.  ”  some  lightness,  a  truth  between  friends,  offering  something  like  a  meek  smile  instead  of  approaching  the  elephant  in  the  room  head  on.  it's  not  what  she  would  want  right  now,  had  they  been  in  his  position.  “  bluegill's  a  hit  right  now,  i  think.  they're  everywhere  in  michigan  during  the  winter  —  migration  patterns  or  something.  still  getting  used  to  the  different  catches  here  versus  the  east  coast.  ———  you  ever  gone  ice  fishing  ?  i  went  like  -  something  like  a  few  days  ago,  i  think,  all  the  days  blend  together  now,  but  that's  not  the  point.  um,  it's  cool.  i'd  recommend  it,  if  that's  your  thing.  ”

there was something about fresh grief that was numbing, a sort of autopilot that griffin's body just immediately clicked into. he remembered when his uncle died, he was young but he could remember how heavy it felt, like a set of football shoulder pads that he couldn't just shrug off like he had when he was five and tried peewee football for all of six minutes. this felt different. he hadn't been particularly close to his cousin, but still, it felt awful, he felt sick to his stomach. since hearing the news, his body felt like it was in a permanent dry heave while his head was empty, too overwhelmed to form a single thought. but he had to get out of the house, which led to wandering, which led to here standing in front of collette with a vacant expression on his face. he cleared his throat, shrugging, "i don't really know what i said either. not important. probably just, like, hey, what's up?" griffin shrugged, taking his gloves off and shoving them in his coat pockets, "got anything interesting for sale today?" not that he was planning on buying anything, but he could use the distraction.

[changelingz]

@chappcdlips / fawn

from  childhood  ,  alara  had  been  boisterous  .  she  had  been  filled  with  a  confidence  that  had  been  mirrored  throughout  her  life  and  made  her  quite  challenging  to  parent  despite  her  deep  sense  of  affection  and  care  .  there  were  few  people  she  had  met  in  her  life  that  had  ever  made  her  feel  a  sense  of  nervousness  or  anxiety  ,  any  kind  of  underlying  whisper  of  being  a  little  bit  on  edge  .  she  was  used  to  leading  a  dynamic  or  at  least  being  on  equal  footing  ...  and  yet  with  fawn  ,  she  always  felt  slightly  on  the  outside  of  herself  .  it  wasn't  that  any  particular  thing  had  happened  during  their  shared  lives  but  al's  childhood  infatuation  had  never  quite  came  to  pass  -  her  wistful  nature  never  allowing  her  to  quite  see  what  was  really  there  ,  a  sense  of  awe  and  adoration  filling  her  every  glance  when  it  came  to  the  other  woman  .  she  supported  womens  rights  and  wrongs  .  true  feminist  to  the  core  .   "  hey  stranger  ,  "  not  that  they  ever  really  were  .  not  that  there  was  any  part  of  her  that  ever  wanted  to  be  .  not  that  she  didn't  sometimes  imagine  on  those  lonelier  nights  in  her  childhood  bedroom  what  fawn  might  eat  for  breakfast  in  bed  (  such  was  the  nature  of  a  childhood  crush  ,  you  had  to  be  careful  not  to  take  it  too  far  ,  even  in  your  imagination  )  .  "  i  feel  like  i  haven't  seen  you  in  forever  ,  "  maybe  she  should  have  said  spoken  to  ...  she  had  definitely  seen  fawn  ...  here  and  there  .  around  town  .  looking  very  ...  fawn  .

[capitclkarma]

"i'm buying food to drop off at finch and june's apartment. is that what you're doing too?" he was never good at being mean, being the bad guy, provoking someone. he preferred to sit and watch, bide his time until they confessed to him. but he couldn't resist himself, add a little quip as he ran into fawn at amrak.

@chappcdlips

[clandestone]

closed starter with: darshan and shreya (@chappcdlips) setting: shreya's home, 9am, the day after the incident

His eyes fluttered open, and a strangled gasp forced its way out of his painfully dry throat as he struggled to recognize his surroundings, but the panic settled as the comfort of familiarity took hold. It was Shreya’s couch, in Shreya’s living room, in Shreya’s home, where he’d let himself in at 3am after finding sleep impossible at his own home. Darshan wiped the trail of drool off his cheek, sitting up and stretching his aching back before wandering to her kitchen, opening the fridge- only to see a truly meager selection of food between the tupperware containers of his own leftovers. A stray carton of eggs saved the day, and he’d set off to make breakfast when he heard the shuffle of feet. “Hey, lazy bones. Did I wake you?” His voice was casual, but there was an unmistakable horror laced in every syllable. How could he shake the guilt? How could he cope with the relief he felt when he confirmed that the young girl found dead in town hall was not his family member? As if that made it better- that the loss was not his own. “You should really get some vegetables in your fridge, or something, you know. Even an apple, or a single piece of broccoli. Give your poor microwave a break, before it unionizes against you.” 

[horrorphase]

ꜜ   ﹙   📹    ﹚   ﹕    INTRODUCING   A   BEGRUDGING   GARGOYLE   HUNCHED   OVER   A   BOOK   !   couldn't   even   be   bothered   to   look   up   when   the   bell   above   the   door   clanged   its   weary   tune,   foster   entering   the   pharmacy   and   stamping   snow   off   his   boots   onto   the   welcome   mat.   and   he   couldn't   help   but   snort   at   halfhearted   sales   pitch   tossed   his   way,   funny   how   griffin's   father   probably   had   the   charm   to   sell   used   condoms   at   the   motel   while   the   kid   couldn't   even   look   a   customer   in   the   eyes.      ❛     you're   really   selling   it   there,   champ.     ❜     foster   laughed,   more   tease   than   bite,   as   he   stepped   closer   to   the   counter,   boots   squeaking   faintly   on   the   worn   tiles.   and   he   planted   his   palms   on   the   counter,   leaning   just   enough   to   catch   sight   of   the   book   that   must   be   so   engrossing.   a   flicker   of   recognition   crossed   his   features,   eyebrows   lifting   lightly   as   he   drew   his   gaze   toward   the   younger   man.      ❛    hangsaman,   huh   ?   you   relate   to   it   ?     ❜    he   asked,   nodding   toward   the   book,   his   voice   dipping   lower,   gentler—   not   quite   mocking   now   but   probing,   his   curiosity   piqued.      ❛    the   loneliness   ?   the   descent   to   ...   madness   ?     ❜ but   foster   was   just   half-joking   with   the   inquiry,   a   small   chuckle   slipping   past   his   lips   as   he   fished   his   wallet   out   of   his   back   pocket.      ❛     i'm   just   here   for   some   polaroid   films,   by   the   way.   please   tell   me   you've   got   some,   or   i   swear   i'm   driving   straight   outta   this   town   and   never   coming   back.   well,   no.   but   i'm   definitely   not   gonna   be   happy   about   it.     ❜

for? OPEN where? the pharmacy

he doesn't look up as the door swings open with another customer, keeping his gaze trained on the open book in front of him – it's shirley jackson's hangsaman. he does, though, call out (less of a call and more of something about a decibel louder than a mumble), "we're, uh... there's a two-for-one deal on gauze and band-aids right now." and the only reason he says anything at all is because it's allegedly his job to upsell. today's bogo deal seems a little too on the nose, though, considering the town's latest events, but griffin didn't come up with the sale. he just rings it up. he makes a quick, barely legible note in the margin with his fading black pen and flips the page, hoping whoever just came in doesn't need to know where anything is. or worse, want to exchange small talk with him.

[yoonmiina]

" ⸻ no greeting? does your manager know you're not following etiquette, hm? " it was her BEST attempt at sounding like a disgruntled customer, but the way she breaks into an easy - going grin soon after makes it more than clear that she was just kidding. of course, she didn't actually care. he could be trashing the place to his heart content and mina would still mind her own business. " don't worry your secret is safe with me... " she says as she stands in front of the counter then carefully places her prescription down on it and slides it towards him as she looks around. it was mainly a formality to make both of their lives easier, she couldn't be bothered to remember the FULL NAME of whatever pills she has to take in order to not feel like her stomach is dissolving itself. but she DID take them religiously. " just the usual for today... and, uh, a pack of cigarettes if you still keep them behind the counter. "

for? OPEN where? the pharmacy

he doesn't look up as the door swings open with another customer, keeping his gaze trained on the open book in front of him – it's shirley jackson's hangsaman. he does, though, call out (less of a call and more of something about a decibel louder than a mumble), "we're, uh... there's a two-for-one deal on gauze and band-aids right now." and the only reason he says anything at all is because it's allegedly his job to upsell. today's bogo deal seems a little too on the nose, though, considering the town's latest events, but griffin didn't come up with the sale. he just rings it up. he makes a quick, barely legible note in the margin with his fading black pen and flips the page, hoping whoever just came in doesn't need to know where anything is. or worse, want to exchange small talk with him.