#cusastart

[pilarhamilton]

who: open

what: complaining

where: potluck time babey

Pilar frowned as she scanned the table, manicured nail idly tapping her commemorative plate. She flicked open another box of pizza and rolled her eyes at it as someone came to stand beside her. “Why are literally all the pizzas I’m finding covered in anchovies?” she complained, half to herself and half to the lucky person who was now here to listen. “Like, there’s no way these are popular enough to be put out first.”

[ozzyokala]

who: ozzy and open!  what: blending in? where: the drive-in

There were certain places on the Southside Ozzy had sworn never to step foot in again... and that was most places. He didn’t come to the Southside to have fun anymore, not that he’d ever had that much fun over here to begin with. No, his trips were reserved strictly for volunteer purposes, and the occasional sweep by his old haunts to make sure his ex was still alive check up on things. He probably could have skipped this whole thing, no one would have second guessed it, but he wasn’t about to let the integration of the Southside scare him away from attending town events. After all, he had as much of a right to be here as everyone else, right? 

That doesn’t take away any of his nervous energy, and he peeks over his shoulder before turning back to the person across from him, “Do you think it’ll be much longer before this thing ends?” 

[cristianova]

where: by rory’s memorial photobooth what: cristiano is pedaling art. sssssshhh don’t tell the archers! open!

Cristiano had a bad habit of doing everything except partying at these town events. But could you blame him? The Candy Girl was gone…but Cris didn’t know if his public source of income and childhood safe space both burning down in one fail swoop was a fair trade off. So he was coping by doing what he did best: making art out of chaos. Well...making money out of art out of chaos. He didn’t exactly ask Audrina or the Archers if he could vend at the event...but since his mother owned one of the businesses affected by the fires...he figured they might let it slide. In reality, Cris didn’t need the money. But he sure as hell needed an alibi for the things he could afford with his secret Hargrove cash stash now that he didn’t have Cherie’s as a cover. Near Rory’s memorial photobooth sat Cris, a caricature easel, an authentic old can as a tip jar, and a fuckton of art supplies that he didn’t exactly sneak in. He had just handed another couple their picture when a familiar face stepped up to him. “Golly. You look amazing tonight. I don’t know if that photobooth can truly do you justice. But by george, I think I sure can. Your choice beautiful, man or machine.” He teased, reciting his script sarcastically. 

[caseyfm]

𝗢𝗣𝗘𝗡 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗘𝗥!​​ 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧: wait is this fucking play about us but make it the fact that rebel without a cause may have been major inspo for me writing casey dfdfdgd  𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘: the drive-in bby 

The last thing Casey had been expecting that night was to have a meltdown over a movie. A meltdown over Lux... maybe. Possibly on the cards. A meltdown over Zahra’s birthday gift tucked in his back pocket... yeah. Probably. A meltdown over James Dean? No. He looks at the other man’s face on the poster with the same kind of scrutiny afforded to when he’s deeply engaged in a book. There’s no doubt that what Casey’s wearing is far more modern - he wouldn’t be caught dead in those shoes, thank you - but there is something eerie about looking at it. Same pop of red in the jacket. Same cuffed jeans in a different colour. The only reassuring thing is the tagline. He certainly didn’t come from a good family - ha. “Is this like one of those who wore it better things?” He asks with a gestured finger point to the poster, finally tearing his gaze away from the poster to look at the person who had come to stand near him. “‘Cause I’d... win, right?”

[zahrajackson]

who: open

what: complaining. a Classic(tm)

where: the Teen Zone (aka where the parents aren’t)

Zahra had done her due diligence - she’d spent time circling the room amongst H.A.H colleagues (if they counted as such when you were only an intern), endured small talk and photos of people’s ugly babies and Elaine being that special kind of Elaine she got at events like this, and avoided her dad spotting her at the bar. With any luck, the important people would remember her as a smart, confident young woman with a bright future and the unimportant people would be too intimidated to approach her again. But right now, she needed a break from all that in the living room.

“The only thing saving this hot chocolate is the Amaretto I stole -  like, I swear they made this shit with water and powder which is fucking embarrassing, honestly,” Zahra says as she kicks a chair out to sit down, one drink set down on the table for the other person and the other held in her hand. “Holly’s’ve gotta step their game up if they're gonna host this kinda thing in their damn mansion.”

[roryjackson-archived]

who: open what: stress <3 where: back behind the equipment shed

Homecoming always looked fun in the movies. It was a quintessential college experience, and here Rory was, a complete nervous wreck hiding behind the equipment shed just to get some air. But she hadn’t really expected anyone else to come wandering back there. “Oh my god- sorry-” she blurted out. “I was just, trying not to hurl! Don’t mind me!” It was meant to sound like a joke (even though it was totally true), but nothing about her wavering voice sounded convincing, even to her. Her chest felt too tight, like her ribs were collapsing inwards under the pressure. “Sorry, I won’t puke if you want to hide out here too.” Her stomach turned again and she paled unconvincingly. “Probably.” 

[macwalsh]

who: open starter!  what: ma(c)gician where: the game room 

Mackenzie always felt out of place at this sort of thing, despite being surrounded by his closest friends. The Hollys were the sort of people who would certainly turn up their noses at him on a regular day, particularly Danny and David, but played nice when everyone was watching. He’d never understood the upper crusters of Cherry, and somehow understood them even less now that he was involved with Harvey. How they could have all the resources in the world at their fingertips, and still deprive their children of like... decent parenting was a mystery to him. Especially when Leo had done everything he could to make Mac’s childhood a happy one, despite how hard he had to work, despite how little they had for most of it. 

It’s all this that has led Mac to pouring something a little stronger in his drinks every year since he was fifteen, not too much, but just enough to get through the evening. This year he was particularly heavy handed, needing something to relax him enough to keep his mouth shut around Harvard II. Otherwise, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold back the rage that bubbled in his stomach every time he saw the man lately. 

“Is this your card?” he asks, cursing under his breath when the person across from him indicates that it isn’t, “Okay, okay- wait. Let me search my brain... Jedi shit... eight of clubs?” 

[runvway]

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: THE BEACH, BITCH. 𝐂𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑: all of y’all <3 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: savvy’s hoooooome!!

Cherry. 

There’s a lot of places that Savannah would have hoped to have seen before she ever set eyes back on the little hometown she’d left in her bitter dust: the French Riviera, New York, somewhere unsuspecting like fuckin’ Tulsa, Cannes, even a prison cell. But instead, she’s found herself here. Back. Cherry, California, USA, the small town hell she could only ever smudge from her record with a dingy, piss-poor, unforgiving eraser that did not erase, but rather, reminded. Every day. 

The coast in California’s consistent, so if she tried hard enough, she could convince herself that her feet were buried in the sand at home — San Francisco, because San Francisco was home now (and anywhere would be more of a home than Cherry had been) — as she idly strolled along the shorelines. She could’ve done with some weed to dull the mind fuck she was currently giving herself, ruminating on where to begin, where to avoid and where to run to with only slightly open arms, but she’d have to do without until she could learn the ropes all over again. As she shuffled along, she could see the silhouettes outlined just barely in the dark, illuminated by the little bit of light coming from the streetlights up near the roads. 

Getting a read on who it was felt rather futile. Instead, Sav let the tides carry her in closer, fingers twitching in her pockets as she fidgeted with her lighter until she was a few feet out. Close enough to call, far enough that she felt somewhat secure in the shadows of the night. Now or never, Savvy. Except never is not an option on the table. Lips pursed up into the shittiest excuse of a smile, Sav took another step closer. “Any chance I could convince you to part with a joint? Cigarette? ‘m not choosy.”

[emersonlogan]

who: sonny & [OPEN] ! what: reworking his game plan after spending all of orientation doing guerrilla marketing for margot rowe’s living bard’s society presidential campaign instead of formally reuniting with his friends and/or working on the relationships he’s supposed to be forging if he wants to do what he came to cherry to do ! where: the ccu cafeteria !

Sonny worked on the docks for a few years, back in San Francisco. 

The other workers used to tease a group of old sailors-turned-fishermen, who were always driveling on about their neurotic superstitions. The fishermen wouldn’t set sail against a red sunrise, because that meant a storm is coming. They all had gold hoops piercing their ears, not because they were hip, but because it was supposedly good luck to have some gold in you. They said redheads weren’t allowed on their ships, because they were usually soulless Pagans. Women were dangerous to have on board, because they’d distract the crew; but statues of women on the outside of the ship were good luck, because nothing calmed the sea gods like the sight of a topless lady on the bow. Whistling was bad luck, because it took a fool’s hubris to challenge the wind. You couldn’t set sail on a Friday, because that was the day of the week that Jesus died, nor the first Monday in April, which is the day that Cain killed his brother Abel, nor the second Monday in August, which is the day that Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed, nor December 31, which is the day that Judas Iscariot committed suicide. Tattoos were lucky, and the fact that they looked badass was just an incidental bonus. Albatrosses were unlucky, because of some arbitrary poem a guy wrote in the 1700′s. And, god, bananas? Total shit-sucking catastrophes, the devil’s final yellow omens; keep them as far away from the ship as possible, and don’t you dare ask why; the simple act of mentioning them could compromise the whole voyage. 

It made sense, though, the more Sonny thought about it while watching the freaky geezers pour wine all over their decks for good luck. He figured that the sea was such a powerful, scary, deadly, unpredictable frontier, with no one around to save them if something went wrong on the ship. They were completely at the mercy of something greater than themselves. Of course they would do anything to keep themselves from getting psyched out. They were challenging something too mighty to wrap their heads around, venturing into an infinite expanse filled with unspeakable evil.

Sitting down at an empty table in the CCU cafeteria, he rubs one of his ear lobes between his thumb and pointer finger and wonders if Clarissa Teller would know anybody who could give him a little gold hoop piercing.

Sonny drops his stuff on the seat beside him and glances down at the last few flyers he had to terrorize the campus with — ♡ Vote Margot! ♡  

When the eyes of this woman he’s never met before today stare back at him, he has to ask himself how he jumped headfirst into this mission without stopping to ask if Ted Lewis was running for the same spot. Remember Ted, Sonny? That’s the guy who you’re actually supposed to be building a relationship with. He never even stopped to consider it, not consciously. Just committed himself to a chipper stranger he had no baggage or tension with. It was always in his nature to throw his heart and soul into random ventures completely on a whim, but he knew he wasn’t doing this in the name of impulsive philanthropy. It would be nice to see a sweetie like Margot win— he’s never found an underdog he wouldn’t root for— but he knew he was doing this to procrastinate the real mission that brought him back to Cherry. 

In the most charitable explanation, he was doing this to get his mojo up to snuff before he got down to business with his old friends. He couldn’t function like a good little detective with the way his heart sunk like an anchor every time he saw a familiar dimple of someone he left in the dust, or heard about any more ways the gangs’ lives changed for the worse since he betrayed and abandoned them. He’s hiding ulterior motives from them all over again, he’s still lying to them about what he did to the Freeses, and some of them — including sweet, hopeless Mac, of all people — he’s completely using, building up their trust with the endgame of taking advantage of them the same way he did Scott. It’s hard to keep his head in the game when he’s so busy feeling like a nasty little devil. He has to psyche himself up and get to work before the incomprehensible evil that lurks in Cherry decides to reveal something he doesn’t need people to know. He needs to ease his conscience, feel like he’s boosted his karma, and remind himself of who he is despite his dirty, dirty deeds. 

He can’t just focus on karma or luck, though. He only has a chance to save Libby for as long as he’s safe and trusted around town, and he can’t waste time on random crusades for outside parties. He’s at the mercy of some treacherous greater power that could expose him at any second, and he needs to move faster than the tides. Spiritually, he did some good work today, but he needs to do something that matters in a tangible way. Compromising with himself, he decides to do something that will get his investigation moving even if he isn’t ready to talk to the gang yet: he should do some work for Ted’s campaign now.

He folds up the last few Margot Rowe flyers and moves to shove them into his bag, but his boney elbow accidentally knocks over a salt shaker in the process. Before he even registers it, his hands are raking up the spilled salt and tossing it over his shoulder without taking a split second to see if anybody was behind him. He goes back to sticking the flyers in his bag and pulls out a spiral notebook and ballpoint pen, blissfully unaware that he just threw a handful of teeny-tiny white rocks into some poor schmuck’s face. He bites the cap off of the pen and starts drafting his first groundbreaking slogan idea: TED 4 BIG BARD.

[winnifredwu]

who: open! what: winnie? annoyed? shocking! where: band club request line

In a break between songs, Winnie took a moment to stand and stretch out her back. Keeping good posture at her piano exhausted her after a while and she needed to feel like she was cracking her vertebrae. What she really wanted was a cigarette (damn past Winnie for picking up the habit while trying to look cool) but she didn’t have any. As she leaned forward to try to touch her toes (and hopefully crack her back) she didn’t notice someone approaching her until their shoes entered her field of vision. “If you’re here to request Free Bird,” she spoke, strained from her leaned over position. “I’ll tell you what I told th-the last guy,” as she spoke she straightened back up, looking the other person in the eye. “It’s not on th-the list, and it’s not even a good song. Stop asking.”

[ofjaspars]

𝗢𝗣𝗘𝗡 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗘𝗥!​​ 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧: have a little buzzfeed unsolved quote starter in honour of spooky season with a little stompin’ grapes spin thrown in x  𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘: wherever grape merch can be purchased 

“He looks really happy, actually.” Jaspar says to the person who appears alongside him at what must be the smallest table in the parking lot, as a hand reaches out to gesture at hat he can only assume must be a figurine of the Stompin Grapes’ mascot. “Look at that little face. He looks like he’s eatin’ grapes.”

[shakingpompoms]

𝐖𝐇𝐎: Margot Rowe & OPEN

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓: Miss Margot has places to be and elections to win!

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄: CCU Quad

Okay, you got her! Margaret Grace Rowe was a certified theater kid. It wasn’t a secret, by any means. After all, theatrics were so much cooler than they were in high school and she had practically been primmed to be the next leading lady of the drama club after that poor Blaire girl’s murder. When one blonde leaves, another takes her place! Or... something like that! Becoming president of the Living Bards Society was just her first step in segmenting herself as a force to be reckoned with at Cherry Coastal.

It was almost primal, Margot’s desire to be a winner. To be a part of a winning team, the best of the best, the cream of the crop. While her number one love would always be for cheer, drama came at a close second. And while she didn’t have the balls to go against the likes of Elaine Archer or Zahra Jackson, she did have the balls (and triple threat talent!) to go against the dweebs of the Living Bards Society. 

She spent the entire night before making posters, practically begging her parents to let her use the color in the printer. By the next afternoon, Margot had about forty little flyers adorned with her face with red and pink doodles telling you to vote for her. She stood on her tip toes, attempting to hang one of her flyers on a pole, but it seemed like plenty of others had the same idea as her, and there was only room in places she couldn’t reach. Margot turned her head, looking over her shoulder at someone who was a mere few feet behind her.

“When you’re done staring, do you think you could help me out?”

[caseyfm]

𝗢𝗣𝗘𝗡 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗘𝗥!​​ 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧: i haven’t written a damn thing in about a week and a half so do i know what this is? no. am i also on day 2 of a hangover so feel like this may be rough? yes. is it written with love regardless? yes. yes it is.  𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘: the pit stand 

There’s been a scowl on his face ever since he received class schedule. Meditation... really? What would that do? Help him breathe through his problems? Come to some kind of acceptance that life may indeed be shit but at least he’s got tranquility and positive thoughts to get him through? There’s no amount of breathing that would help with the existential dread he’s been feeling over the past few weeks. But he’s not about to go kick up a fuss about it. That’d just be embarrassing. So, instead, he’s leaning into the old tried and tested - looking like he’d rather be anywhere else than standing behind The Pit’s stand while stealing occasional glances at the piece of paper that’s sat on the edge of the table just waiting for liquid to be poured on it. Wouldn’t that be wonderful. 

“Sorry, i was busy counting down to one and thinking of fluffy kittens and rainbows,” he deadpans as he finally breaks from his reverie for long enough to realise that shockingly(!) some people want to be served at a bar. “Can I get you the non-alcoholic beverage of your dreams? And by that I mean we have a very limited menu so choose wisely.” 

[jamiecromwell]

who: jamie and literally anyone who will talk to him​ what: he was in his dorm room and started feeling existential so now he’s looking for a distraction and saying, like, anything to find it  where: out and about in the quad

It’s not like Jamie had very many belongings to move in from his Van, but somehow trudging them up toward his dorm room - paid for fully with students loans that would surely come back to bite him in the ass -  still felt like sort of a big deal. His first place that was all his own! (Even if it technically was split down the middle with Ted Lewis... and CCU property, but whatever!) It was good enough for Jamie as he shoved his backpack full of clothes into a drawer, and set his guitar in the corner - it was good enough for Jamie as he sat on his bed and bounced just a little. Huh. When was the last time he had slept on an actual mattress and not just the mat that was laid out in his van? 

When was it all going to fall apart, like it always did? 

The thought was a whirlwind. It was a trigger, and it’s fire left him spinning out toward the buzz of the quad and the flurry of people. He needed to find a familiar face - he needed to find a moment of peace. He just needed something. 

“You ever think about how lucky we are to live at the same time as CCU cheerleaders?” Jamie said out loud to no one in particular as he waved a group of girls - out of Uniform, but wholly recognizable! Who wouldn’t know a Fighting Cherry by sight in this little town? - past. “I’d never lay down and invite God to let me suffer, but for one of them...?” 

He smirked. “I’d suffer.” 

At least it’d probably get a reaction out of someone - he was craving it. 

[sxbrinalogan]

who: open starter where: the diner

Odessa had wanted to stay home with Sabrina that night. She was exhausted from a long shift at the diner and she wanted nothing more than to rest in front of the TV with her daughter. For once, her parents had urged her to go out, insisting that if she stayed home with the baby too much it would start to look suspicious. She was supposedly her parent’s responsibility anyway, not that Odessa cared all that much about saving face. If it was up to her she never would have left in the first place, never would have denied her relation to Sabrina, never would have hid the pregnancy from the father. But there was no point in looking back now, not when a girl was dead and Odessa was sneaking whiskey into her coffee cup in the middle of the day. 

“Save the lecture,” she said to the person across from her, “It’s five o’clock somewhere, right?” 

[roryjackson-archived]

who: opeennnnn what: babe is losing her gd mind & thats very valid of her tbh where: the beach bc why not

The way the weekend at the Hargrove lakehouse soured felt like a personal betrayal. Like being taunted, you can’t even have this, as flames and terror corroded memories of summers past. Spoiling them in hindsight. She felt like a glass that’s been dropped, in the split second when you can see the cracks spiderwebbing across the surface, but it’s still being held together by centrifugal force. Because they might be back home, but Rory was the only one who remembered it all. Everyone else remembered something a little hazy, a little different, but Rory the time warp. She remembered being hunted by a monster, and then watching her friends hunt it back; their eyes sliding right over her despite her standing right in front of them; and the searing heat of the lakehouse burning as she threw her box of matches into the mouth of the beast. And she couldn’t even try to tell them, if Jaspar was to be believed, because they’d forget it all. Not to mention, they’d probably think she was losing her mind, even if she was telling the truth. Jesus, was this how Kamilla Yang felt all the time?

Talking to any of them felt like navigating a minefield, so it was easier... well, not to. There was at least one upside to their traumatic weekend getaway; after facing the horrors of the monster and the monster-but-with-her-dad’s-face, her beach-related-fears seemed majorly inconsequential! For the first time in months, Rory was standing alone on the sand, staring out at the waves crashing down on the beach. It was sort of hypnotizing. Enough that she didn’t notice anyone approaching until they touched her shoulder. She jolted and gave an audible yelp when the motion jarred the wound across her chest. “Oh my god, you scared me,” she exhaled harshly, trying to calm her rabbit-like pulse. “Don’t do that! What if I’d like, sucker punched you or something?!”