#s0leinis.

[saintcrment]

odette just needed a fucking drink. it felt like a never-ending loop of frustration and disdain, another agonizing day spent battling the urge to take her stencil — a tool meant for creation — and plunge it into her own eye, followed by the thought of hurling it at the inconsiderate customers at the boardwalk. it was another day steeped in the bitter taste of regret, one spent loathing the path her life had taken, and with each sunset came the gnawing uncertainty of what to do next, as if she were trapped in a maze without an exit.

as she trudged into the dimly lit bar, she found solace in the fact that it was surprisingly quiet. the usual raucous laughter and loud chatter were absent, leaving just the soft hum of the bar's ambient music. thankful for the moment of peace, she made her way to the counter, and slid onto one of the worn wooden stools that had seen better days. however, her brief moment of relief was quickly disrupted as she was met with the unfriendly gaze of the bartender. ❛ you couldn't at least pretend to be happy to see me. what's a girl gotta do to feel loved around here? ❜ it was clear that she wasn't in the mood for chatter, and that suited odette just fine; all she wanted was to drown her frustrations in a drink that would momentarily erase her sense of inadequacy and the heavy weight of her unfulfilled ambitions.

❛ i don't even like tequila, so the joke's on you. gin with a splash of water. ❜

open starter! capping at 5 replies! @kilmerstarters

location: the drunken poet

the bar had dwindled down to a handful of regulars and a few solitary patrons nursing their last drinks. the drunken laughter from a group of men in the corner only served to sharpen the dull ache in her head. with just a half hour until closing, stevie’s mind was already on autopilot, her face resting in its usual scowl. she had worked enough late shifts to know that the final stretch always dragged. stevie shot a glance at the clock, watching the seconds tick by slower. thirty minutes. thirty agonizing minutes. the bell above the door chimed, signaling yet another late arrival, and stevie’s shoulders slumped. “of course,” she muttered under her breath, tossing the rag over her shoulder as she turned to face the new patron. “make it quick,” she called, her tone cautionary. “i ran out of tequila and patience an hour ago.”

[kilmerhq]

due to mun's decision, please unfollow @s0leinis ! brianne tju + bartender position, nick sagar are now open.

[s0leinis]

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

@s0leinis ──── closed & dependent blog created for kilmerhq, loved by sophie (24. SHE/HER. GMT -8)

stevie liu (26, she/her) ♡ introduction ♡ pinterest ♡ threads gabriel andries (36, he/him) ♡ introduction ♡ pinterest ♡ threads

[injaws]

briar  does  not  fuck  with  cops.  in  the  same  way  that  he  doesn't  particularly  like  horses,  briar  makes  it  a  habit  to  avoid  being  around  them  at  most  times.  in  the  same  vein,  they  can  always  spot  a  cop,  too  —  they  do  weird  shit,  like  brood  in  a  corner  and  scan  the  room  while  drinking  coffee.  or  talking  to  themselves  while  writing  something  down.  briar  refuses  to  acknowledge  that  maybe  his  copdar  isn't  that  good,  and  instead  he's  just  met  a  lot  of  cops.  this  one  included,  unfortunately,  "  are  you  talkin'  to  me  ?  man,  i  hope  not,  'cause  i'll  have  you  know,  i  haven't  done  anything  since  the  last  time  i  got  out  —  "  a  motormouth  at  heart  and  a  chronic  sufferer  of  foot  in  mouth  disease,  briar  can't  help  but  continue,  "  —  and  you  gotta  stop  acting  weird,  man.  like,  you're  being  real  weird  right  now  —  "  you'll  have  to  stop  him.

open starter! capping at 5 replies! @kilmerstarters location: hawthorne inn

gabriel couldn’t help sticking his nose where it didn’t belong – it was part of his job description. as he leaned his body against the splintered, timeworn counter of the hawthorne inn, he studied the flow of guests with the scrutiny of a man who never truly clocked out. his coffee had long since cooled in his grasp, forgotten as he cataloged the familiar and unfamiliar faces streaming through the lobby’s doors. even though he was off duty, he couldn’t help but make mental note of the faces he’d recognized and those he hadn’t. if one of the latter happened to be attractive, he’d discreetly mark the thought for potential exploration, perhaps an invitation for drinks when professionalism wasn’t breathing down his neck. just as he lifted the coffee lid to his lips, someone out of the ordinary catches his attention. gabriel set his coffee down and slid a small, leather-bound notebook from his coat pocket and began jotting down observations. “interesting...” he mumbled, his voice carrying a bit louder intended.

[injaws]

"  you  are  so  deeply  unpleasant,  did  you  know  that  ?  "  said  as  she  sits  down  directly  in  front  of  the  other  anyway.  esme's  relationship  with  stevie  can  be  seen  as  complicated  but  fond;  stevie  reminds  her  of  herself,  terribly  so.  but  she's  fun  to  be  around  (  to  an  extent,  as  everything  else  is  with  esme  ),  and  she  makes  a  mean  fucking  cosmo.  speaking  of,  "  and  i  don't  drink  tequila,  you  know  that.  don't  be  mean.  "  a  soft  huff,  though  she  relaxes  as  soon  as  she  gets  it  out.  like  a  cat  with  it's  hair  all  stuck  up,  "  how  do  you  keep  your  job  if  you're  always  like  this ?  "

open starter! capping at 5 replies! @kilmerstarters

location: the drunken poet

the bar had dwindled down to a handful of regulars and a few solitary patrons nursing their last drinks. the drunken laughter from a group of men in the corner only served to sharpen the dull ache in her head. with just a half hour until closing, stevie’s mind was already on autopilot, her face resting in its usual scowl. she had worked enough late shifts to know that the final stretch always dragged. stevie shot a glance at the clock, watching the seconds tick by slower. thirty minutes. thirty agonizing minutes. the bell above the door chimed, signaling yet another late arrival, and stevie’s shoulders slumped. “of course,” she muttered under her breath, tossing the rag over her shoulder as she turned to face the new patron. “make it quick,” she called, her tone cautionary. “i ran out of tequila and patience an hour ago.”