#southbound:closed

[agicidas]

kimimela & shep, @sheparson​

“you don’t really strike me as a meringue type.” kim told him thoughtfully, pouring a cup of coffee as she eyed the selection of pies in the rotating glass display case. “the meringues are all good, but you seem more like more of a pecan or a cranberry apple to me--am i wrong?” it wasn’t like she knew him well enough to really make the determination, but she’d seen him in the restaurant a time or two now and she liked to guess people’s pie orders before they made them. most people stuck to the traditional favorites: cherry, apple, or chocolate cream. sometimes there were the adventurous types that liked their peach pie with a slice of cheddar on top or the summer pie lovers who wanted rhubarb year round. “although, if you did want a meringue, the sweet potato pie has a meringue topping and it literally tastes like christmas morning.”

[justchristhanks]

@tonydimitriu​

The new tattoo wasn’t as spur of the moment as she’d led Tony to believe. She’d been toying with the idea for months now. She’d been replaying her relationship and only now, with months and distance between them did Chris start to wonder just how much she’d given up for Meghan. Meghan had made Chris a better person, or so she’d thought. But now Chris wasn’t sure she even knew who she was anymore. The ultimatum came over the one thing Chris refused to give up. The only thing, other than Meghan, she’d ever fought for. The anger and rage had fueled her ever since. Inking that rage onto her body had felt like an escape. 

Chris walked into the studio. It was nice. The artwork on the walls was quite impressive, making her wish she was getting something more than just script. But if her friendship with Tony continued to grow, she’s sure she’ll end up back again. Hopefully next time for something that showed off more of his skill. “Hey, Sorry I’m early.”

[amxrc]

{  S A L }

@antiquatus​

Tick. The fan on his roof rattles, clocking its rotation. Tick. He measures his breaths with it, sweat clinging to his back and soaking the sheets beneath him. A sheen cools his forehead under the imitation breeze the fan allows, it moves the musty air through the room. He tells himself it was the heat that woke him, but he knew that to be a lie. It would be the darkness that moved through his dreams- the thing out of the corner of his eye that darted in the shadows. The thing with teeth bared, and eyes inhuman. Tick. Amaro thought after these years he’d grow to live with it. And perhaps he has.

The moon hangs low in the sky as he steps from his confined apartment, but he likes that. The safety of claustrophobia. He drives the streets, headlights catching refections of animals in the bushes. Coyotes probably, but as the thoughts creep up he thinks of the ticking of his fan. Counts it. The seconds, the moments that were real. He was here, two hands on a leather wheel as he drove. And it keeps his thoughts at bay- long enough that is for him to make it to the familiar front step.

His engine rumbling to a halt, along with it so did his thoughts as his eyes lie on what had began to feel like safety. Taking a spare shirt he had strewn in the back seat he changes, a thought he’d failed to have before he’d gotten in the car. He never really was thinking after he first woke up. Stepping from his car he hears the gravel beneath his shoes, and makes his way to the front door. He knew Sal would be awake, he always was in these moments. Nothing’s changed in the ten years he’s known him. Yet he still knocks gently. Incase. And he counts.

[visitedupon]

( @kittybriar​ )

kitty briar promised. that’s all sonny can think as he leaves the bucking horse, the short little trek down the street giving him enough time to clearly think this over. it rattles in his mind, over and over, kitty promised. kitty promised. she promised to treat him better, promised to prove that she wanted him in his life. that she wanted him. he’s not her little chew toy, but he feels like he’s made of rubber as he passes may’s—ignoring the inclination to look in and see if kim is still working, it may have propelled him further or brought him to his senses—and he can hear so many voices underneath kitty promised. his sister, begging him to forget kitty, stop going back to her, stop letting her do this. his mother, in her fleeting moments of clarity, asking him when he’s going to find a nice girl, settle down with someone, give her even more grandchildren. and finally, perhaps most clear, his brother’s voice, the drunken, gruff tone that sonny was sure gavin was putting on to sound more dangerous: girl ain’t even got any tits, why’re you so hung up on her?

it’s easy to ignore the voices when kitty promised is practically a siren. it floods his brain, occurring to him then that it’s not an excited repetition, a little chant to keep his rubber legs walking, it’s a promise to himself. this is it, this is the final chance, the last time sonny will willingly let kitty into his life. he will allow her one more chance, and only this one chance, to prove to him that she wants him. definition of insanity and all that. does he enjoy doing this to himself? does he enjoy giving his heart to her on a silver platter, letting her eat it with a knife and fork just to discard the remnants? if alison macclean is a glutton for punishment, no one doles it out better than kitty. if he looked in the window of may’s, if he saw his reflection, he’d only be disgusted and it would have nothing to do with red hair and freckles.

cheri’s dairi paradise is always busy. ever since he was a child, and long before it too, there had been a line from the window to the end of the parking lot. kitty’s nowhere in sight, the line would’ve been to talk to her instead of to order, so he sits on one of the picnic tables and massages the knuckle joints of his right hand with the other as he waits. god, it would be so like kitty to make such a big show of earning his forgiveness, just to blow him off when they’re supposed to meet up. she promised, she promised. it’s still repeating, hammering at his brain like woodpecker, as he finally sees the long, brown hair that he spent so much time staring at in high school. “hey,” sonny greets breathlessly, sitting up from the table. he smiles nervously and then gestures towards the ice cream cone-shaped building. “i know, this is very junior year.” of course, he wasn’t in school for kitty’s junior year, but the meaning is clear. he’s returned to his old habits, his heart is glittering on that shiny silver platter once more.

[sororiitas]

joey & hector, @hedonest​.

having left her car overnight at the diner, joey was surprised to find someone sleeping in it when she came to collect it in the morning. the driver’s side door had never really locked properly and if she didn’t turn the key just so it wouldn’t lock at all. better than having a window knocked out, since she couldn’t afford to pay the bill she already had at chuy’s. 

the interloper looked innocent enough-- a slight build and halo of curls framing his sleeping face in the morning arizona sun. joey was never fond of calling on law enforcement, no matter what the trouble, for fear that any attention on the ryan family would surely lead to questions about who was raising all those ryan kids and her mother hadn’t spoken a word in weeks. she was no sight to anyone looking to do a welfare check. 

determined to solve the problem herself, she opened the door and leaned over the guy, doing her best to sound mean and tall. “RISE AND SHINE!” she called, the same words she used to wake up isabelle and gabe on school mornings. “you’re in my car, asshole.” slamming her hand repeatedly against the hood of her car, she felt a bit sheepish making such a scene, but there was no one else who was going to kick out her unwanted guest but joey herself.

[hedonest2]

( @cianmacclean​ )

the first thing hector does in any new place is find out where the score is. hector, despite his lifestyle, never actually has drugs on him. he had been dry of money, weed, and pretty much any personal effects at all when he came to boot hill, but that’s not entirely odd for hector, never had much regard for personal property. despite all the work mrs. robinson put into him getting his license, he lost it nearly immediately; generally the things he did have on him were never his in the first place. so, when he felt the urge, it only took asking one person at some bar about where to get weed: “talk to the macclean kid at tiny al’s.” a helpful answer for anyone else, hector had no idea where tiny al’s was and just what the fuck is a macclean? though it took him a few hours to even remember the advice he was given, so very easily distracted, he eventually figured out that tiny al’s is a gas station. entering the store, it looks almost abandoned save for the guy at the counter. incredibly uncouth, hector walks straight to the counter and announces his presence by nearly falling on top of it, slamming down in the most attention-grabbing way possible. “hey,” he greets with a strong amount of eye contact, balancing on his forearms, “you the macclean kid?”

[charlottetabott]

@kittybriar​ / lotte + kitty !

the  painted  sky  boutique  was  a  unique  little  store  in  that  it  was  pretty  much  the  only  one  that  sold  clothing  in  boot  hill.  with  lotte  at  the  helm,  it  had  been  a  well  oiled  little  machine.  sure,  every  store  had  its  kinks  but  they  weren’t  anything  truly  insurmountable.  hell,  lotte  might  have  even  found  a  workaround  for  kitty’s  attendance.  as  kitty  walked  into  the  store  at  a  prompt  1:05,  lotte  raised  a  brow.  

❛  y’know  you  were  scheduled  to  be  here  at  eleven,  right  ?  ❜  lotte  asked  in  that  way  kitty  knew,  in  that  way  that  implied  she  wanted  an  answer  but  wasn’t  going  to  press  the  issue  further.  she  kept  her  spot,  leant  over  the  counter  next  to  the  register.  ❛  and  you  also  know  that  you  don’t  get  paid  for  the  time  that  you’re  not  here.  ❜  

that  was  less  a  question  and  more  of  an  assertive  reminder.  not  one  that  totally  mattered,  of  course.  the  painted  boutique  paid  more  an  hour  than  anywhere  other  retail  location  in  boot  hill  and  kitty  was  one  of  the  only  employees  other  than  lotte.  the  beautiful  thing,  however,  is  that  in  the  grand  scheme  of  things,  kitty  was  only  five  minutes  late.  though  lotte  had  given  her  a  schedule  that  said  eleven,  the  master  copy  said  one.

[kittybriar]

@blythelandry​ !! ♡

She can’t help but feel like Sonny in this moment; clueless and without her phone. She’s always on him about forgetting his phone at home, but in the back of her mind, she knows how easy it is to do. She sees how all of these newcomers are so attached to their phones, never going a single moment without checking it and constantly having them in their hands. It’s only from watching them on their phones that Kitty even remembers she has one herself. Everyone in Boot Hill is just so predictable that It’s always just been easier to go and look for them than it is to call or send a text. Still, right now she wishes that she had her phone with her instead of having to use what little change she has in her pockets to call her mom for a ride home from work. It’s not that she’s afraid of the eerie happenings in Boot Hill after dark, she doesn’t even notice things like that anymore. She just doesn’t feel like walking all the way home and it’s much easier to disturb Lorelai Edwards from her perfect little eden. 

Kitty only laughs when the answering machine picks up. Fuck you. Of course her mother wouldn’t answer, why should she when she’s already at home with her family? Husband, wife, son, that’s all the Edwards need. There’s no room Kitty there, and every day her mother finds a way to remind her of that. She’s so close to getting the hell out of that house, only a few paychecks away from being free. Soon there’ll be no more dirty looks whenever she walks through the door or anymore snide comments from a loser step father and a useless mother who has long since lost Kitty’s respect. All Kitty can think about as she slams the receiver down on the base is the quarters she just wasted trying to call her. 

Now she’s on the prowl, an alley cat looking for its next meal, or in her case, a ride. There’s just too many victims to use, but there’s only one that she’s interested in testing. In her line of sight is a flash of dark brown hair and a pair cheekbones she’s always dreamt of having for herself that could only belong to Blythe Landry.  She smiles warmly now, shedding her previous annoyance and stepping into the role of a helpless citizen. “Blythe!” She calls out to the girl from the other side, all kindness and charm as she makes her way across the street to meet the girl. She figures it might do her some good to try and be nice to Blythe so she can get what she wants. Hopefully she can make this quick since her feet are killing her in these shoes. “How’ve you been, angel face?” 

[rcnford]

just before sunset, ren’s apartment, with @blythelandry​

ren does not startle when he unlocks the door to his apartment after a shift at the garage and finds someone already inside--it isn't exactly like he’s drowning in friends, so there’s a finite number of people that would both know where he lives, and have enough of a desire to see him that they would go through the trouble of letting themselves in. he’s even less surprised when he sees that it’s blythe who’s laying there, sprawled across his shitty couch like she owns it, disinterestedly scrolling through her phone without even sparing him a glance--this is how they function. they show up in each other’s lives without really asking permission, never once having to speak any kind of reason--he’d actually be more worried if he heard her say that she needed to be around someone, or that she just felt lonely. 

the steps of this particular song and dance are familiar after a year and a half, familiar in a way that he resolutely doesn’t think about. he just throws his keys down on the kitchen table, washes the remaining grease from his hands, and grabs two beers out of his fridge. individual actions devoid of real meaning, or maybe its all just a necessity--a way to keep his thoughts from eating him alive while he’s stuck here. either way, he nudges her legs in an effort to make her move them, and he wordlessly hands her the second beer. it isn’t until a few long minutes pass that he decides to speak, that he rests a hand on her ankle and raises an eyebrow. 

“something happen?” 

[southboundhq]

I’m gonna take a nap because I’m wiped out but I’ll be back in a bit to get to my plotting messages and do some writing. But I want to take this moment to remind you guys to use the #southbound:closed for your closed starters instead of the open starter tag, please!

[agicidas]

kim & kitty, @kittybriar​

despite having worked at dispatch all evening, kim wasn’t ready to go home. friday night out wasn’t her normal cup of tea, but she was feeling a little more adventurous than normal. it had been a week since anyone had made her feel like the freak whose parents killed her family. time may not have completely erased the scarlet letter she wore as a sole survivor, but with a little time and enough newcomers in town, she was starting to feel like she could be a part of boot hill again. 

walking past the painted sky boutique, she was surprised to see kitty briar closing up. they weren’t friends exactly--the never really had been, but kim held a fondness for her in having had her back when sonny was primed to make her the carrie white of boot hill high. sure, it seemed kitty had continued to pursue him occasionally since then, but the politics of popular kids were elusive to girls like kim and she kept her grudge honed on the offender himself.

“hey, kitty !” with a rare gentleness to her smile, she picked up her pace and waved. she didn’t really have any plans, but she wasn’t desperate enough to glom onto someone else’s--it didn’t mean she wouldn’t stop by to say hello and catch up real quick before having an old fashioned and too many onion rings. “it’s been awhile. doing anything fun tonight?”

[justchristhanks]

@stoleninnocences​

Chris was just about finished with her full 24 hour shift. So close she could almost taste it. Her replacement had just made it to the station barely out of his car when the call came in for an accident down in midtown. She looked at the half drunk redbull still open. She sighed and downed the redbull before dashing to the truck.

When she pulled up it was pretty clear to see that the redbull hadn’t been needed. The car itself didn’t seem to have too much damage, the mailbox however looked to be totaled. It’s late enough that Chris would guess the girl fell asleep at the wheel but then again car problems were just as likely.

The girl looked young, and the panic on her seemed to make her seem younger still. If the damage on the car was anything to go by, injuries seemed unlikely. But Chris wasn’t new to the rodeo and she’d seen stranger.

“Miss?” She called trying to check the girl was responding, “Are you alright?”

[visitedupon]

( @islamacclean​ )

the sound of people and things moving around in another room when he’s sleeping isn’t an uncommon thing. he does have roommates, and the odd hours he keeps to tend bar are definitely odd, so he can’t realistically expect them to adhere to his schedule. still, it’s fucking annoying when he’s so sleepy, the muffled conversation seeping through the walls when all he wants is rest. the long shifts, combined with the long shift of collecting his drunken father. ewan macclean gets drunk alone often, but when he has company, he makes them into an audience. he was still working when he got the call to pick up his father from the other bar and having to take off to drive your drunk, ranting father home? incredibly embarrassing, though he should be used to it. it’s been like this for years and he refuses to let cian take his turn as their mother’s errand boy.

the sounds of conversation are growing closer to the door and it’s only seconds before the door is thrown open, signaling the arrival of perky cinderella, practically twirling about in his room. his baby sister isla may be his most favorite person in the world (shared equally with cian, of course) but right about now, he wishes he installed a lock on his door. knowing she’s not going to let him sleep, he peeks at her from one open eye, grabbing the sheets closer to his chin. “isla,” he nearly whines, voice groggy, “i just dealt with pater all night. i need to sleep for about... fifteen hours.”

[hedonest2]

( @ofcromwell​ )

boot hill has treated hector kindly. the citizens of the cities he used to roam, they saw only a street kid with sticky fingers and a chattering jaw, they saw something in him that projected trouble. in boot hill, they’ve all smiled at him, made him feel welcome, taken care of him when his wallet has been light (metaphorically, as hector doesn’t own a wallet) and his luck has been down. the receptionist at the motel, she’s even let him stay an extra night since he can’t pay his bill at the moment—he’ll find a way, he always does, but for now, he’s been coasting on charm. the aisles of the calhoun general store aren’t exactly bare, but they’re not filled up like he imagines they might’ve been in previous years. he overheard the cashier mumble something about bj’s up the street—a name that caused hector to snort, muffling it with his hoodie sleeve as he was eavesdropping—stealing their customers away but the store looks like something out of a western movie set, doesn’t really project bustling business. so, with the bare selection of items and old-timey appearance, hector thinks there’s no harm in stealing, there’s barely anything in there anyways!

swiping the packet of gummy bears (stealing dictates availability, not necessity) off of the shelf, hector moves quietly and casually, acting as if he’s just perusing the aisles for a snack—which he is, but he has to look like a paying customer. it’s when he has his fingers on a rice krispies treat, clearly intending to stuff it into his pocket, that he realizes there are eyes on him. he looks back at him, brows raising. “what? i’m gonna pay for it. just in there for safe keeping.” he claims, referencing the products bulging from his pockets.

[agicidas]

kim & sonny, @visitedupon​

it was rare for may’s to be slow, but it wasn’t entirely unheard of. there was sometimes a nice lull between weekday breakfast and lunch or, otherwise, after lunch. right before closing, generally, only the bartenders and late night workers of various professions would pop in. usually alone and ready for a late breakfast and a cup of coffee from a coffee maker so old, kim theorized that it was like a cast iron pan; it added to the flavor.

time seemed to move at a faster pace, despite may’s being so slow, and soon it was afternoon. not a soul in the place, kim was grateful for the opportunity to refill the ketchup bottles and stock the napkin holders before turning off the open sign at three. hell, maybe she’d even get out early for a change. the reverie of planning the rest of her rare empty afternoon was soon broken by the jingling of christmas bells hung at the front door. turning from behind the counter, where she was pouring herself another cup of coffee, kim’s mood immediately sank. sonny maclean.

“we’re closed.” she called over her shoulder, hoping that he wasn’t feeling brave today and would just leave. beverly had actually complained the last time kim had refused to serve sonny. not due to any altruism, if anything bev was more unkind about the macleans than anyone--just not to their faces. no, beverly just hated work. so now kim had to be on her best behavior and that meant she had to play ball. “i’m sure you can get a strawberry milkshake from the turquoise star instead.”

[visitedupon]

( @sororiitas​ )

there’s no better place to be on a saturday night than the lanes—besides the bucking horse, where he’s practically at every saturday of his adult life, but it’s nice to get a night off once in awhile after trading shifts. the smell of polishing wax and peanut oil is something he thinks might be unique to the bowling alley, no other place in boot hill is quite like it, it relaxes him in a way it might an older man in his sixties. sometimes, sonny felt like he’d already lived for sixty years. the weight of the bowling ball in his hands centers him, clears his mind, the look on his face is one of learned concentration. alison, a man in a bowling alley filled with little kids, looks far too serious about this. his feet move, arms flexing and straightening as they scrunch up against his chest, then pull out, then pull back. the ball flies down the lane in seconds, leaving his fingertips at the last possible moment, watching as it rolls straight into the pins. a self-satisfied smirk, he watches as it knocks down every pin, a strike is as common as a cloud-clear night sky. mr. carter, an actual man in his sixties, groans from the seats behind him; their competition is friendly, and mr. carter is just as good as sonny, if not better—more years of experience, but doesn’t lend as much gravitas as sonny does.

“i’m gettin’ a refill,” alison announces to mr. carter as he turns away from his strike, letting the pins automatically recollect without acknowledgement, grabbing the near-empty pitcher off of the table and chuckling lowly as mr. carter curses sonny’s beginners luck, as if they haven’t been doing this frequently for five or six years now. the walk to the concessions counter is filled with barely avoiding bumping into children in his path, as it is every saturday night, he’s used to it but god damn, did kids not have any spacial awareness like this when he was a kid? finally at the concessions stand, he doesn’t need much more than holding the pitcher out for the girl behind the counter to understand. the problem with small towns, you can never escape those you know. even so, even in a town as small as boot hill, it can be easy to not run into people when your schedules are different or if you live in separate parts of town. such as the case of joey ryan, waitress at the turquoise star diner and somewhat-sorta friend in high school. he notices katie ryan first, out of the corner of his eye. he’s known the ryan kids all his life, their families are tinged with the disappearances of a family member; missing family club, more members in boot hill than sonny thinks to notice. where there’s katie ryan, there’s her older sister joey. sure enough, there she is, and sonny finds himself pleasantly smiling. “well if it isn’t joey ryan and her kid sister katie!”