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"I DO NOT THINK IT IS A SCAM. It sounds impressive!" Her opinion was sorely biased, as the council fully supporting something meant Simone fully supported it as well, if only as a way of pledging her complete loyalty to her newfound siblings, whether they wanted it or not. And besides, as naive of a perspective as it was, she did think it had to do everything the numerous commercials she had heard play through her car radio had to have some accuracy, why else would those in charge cosign it? "Are all drugs not discutable in some way? Even if they do exactly what they are meant to, there are still side effects to come after all." The basket that was perched on her arm over the sleeve of her Burberry peacoat swung a bit, as the blonde was incapable of not speaking with her entire body. One could say it was a side effect of playing the violin, another task that had her whole body thrown into it. "Are you asking because you have an interest in using it? You should try, what is the worst that could happen?" Maroon tinted lips pursed as she threw a box of tampons into the basket, the reason she had walked down the aisle in the first place, before taking advantage of the conversation by asking, "Since we are already talking, do you know of a place that sells actual fresh bread in this town? The bakery section of this store..." A disappointed breath exited her lips, no more necessary to say of that review.

giant superstore, 2nd february / @anchoragestarters

"What's the deal with this Zydrate stuff?" It was an abrupt question, probably not what you'd expect to hear from a random passerby in the toiletry aisle. He'd been looking for hair dye, the need to agressively bleach his hair and force it into some bright, garish colour having finally taken over him after a few months of letting his dark roots grow in and eat away at the previously well-maintained blonde. "There was an ad for it on TV. Some miracle happy drug?" he said, with a bitter laugh. The way he'd been feeling lately, Ash was sure he could use that but even he had his limits. There wasn't much he felt like trusting these days. But, God, did he feel like SHIT. He'd barely been keeping up with the news of this murder, his head still swimming with his own grief. There wasn't much room for anything else. His head was crammed fulled but his world was so, so fucking empty. Oof. "You think it even works? Or is it just some weird pharmaceutical scam?"

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Sophie Thatcher for Teen Vogue (2025)

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THE CORNER OF HER MOUTH TWITCHED, unable to control the inherent reaction to the aforementioned treats the holiday was known for. The blonde had nothing against using a bit of chocolate for some stress relief, especially as she was known to do the same with a glass of wine after a particularly stressful paper finally went to publishing, but the likes of Hershey's and other store brands weren't what she would personally consider the kind to savor--and Samantha was well aware of just how uppity it made her sound, which was she didn't voice the opinion. "I think there's plenty enjoying s'mores who would argue against you on that," was instead the nonpartisan response she landed on, even if she didn't necessarily agree. "Copy editor, quite the opposite. Lawyers and I don't entirely get along." How many cease and desists had the Anchorage Daily Diem received just since her career there had started? It was quite laughable how many were either unaware of what was considered defamation or how scare tactics as such rarely worked. There was a moment of consideration as she studied his face, hardly given a reason to extend any trust, but considering the stakes were a Halloween celebration she had waited until the last minute to even decide to attend, she gave a curt nod. "Fair enough. We'll see just how much you overestimate yourself." Her hand swung in front of herself to gesture him forward. "Lead the way, just don't appear to know what you're doing too well."

Whether he was built the same as all the rest who enjoyed the thrill, or this somehow made him different, he grinned at the idea of being thrown under the bus. Shin, intrinsically searching for places to prove himself, to make sure he always came out on top ( or close to it ), viewed even something so small as this as a game. Or as a blank canvas upon which he could paint his choices. "Unfortunately? Yeah. Looks like everybody wants to chocolate their cares away. Won't work all that well, but who am I to tamper down on the good time?" A lithe shrug followed. "It's why we gotta make our own good time where we can get it." It was easy to adapt her into the we involved in this plan. "You a lawyer or something? Nobody around here throws abet into casual talk." It wouldn't be dissimilar to him devolving into some kind of Shakespearean-adjacent monologue whenever he became too frustrated. Oh, he's a starving artist, alright! "Tell you what. If I'm unsuccessful, we never saw each other. I'll take all the heat." This was how confident he was that he wouldn't get caught — and if he did, that he could wrangle his way out of it, and somehow make a good show from the whole thing.

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SAMANTHA PREFERRED TO STAY WITHIN THE STRICT BOUNDARIES of her professional life, never venturing too far out to gain a grasp on a notable social life, as if the distance she put between herself and the rest of the world would somehow aid in her desire to distance herself from her past. "My favorite would probably be the game with the big hammer, where you swing and try to hit the lever hard enough to ring the bell?" Blue eyes casted over to Pixie for a look of understanding before she continued. "When I was a kid, I was always too small to actually do so, but my brother would try every time for me, because he knew I wanted to hear the success of dinging that bell. We'd spend way too much of our allowances on it." Uncharacteristically, her walls had dropped enough that she felt free to let the memory bring a smile to her face, never getting much of an opportunity to reflect back on the good moments before his untimely departure from the world. "He did actually win it for me a few times. It wasn't even really about the oversized teddy bear, either, just really that we finally beat the game. I guess you could say it would be similar to finally beating a video game round that had previously been giving you a hell of a time." The blonde hadn't even noticed just how much information she had divulged, lost herself in recounting the memory of her lost brother before she awkwardly coughed and rubbed the back of her neck. "Since you didn't get to them while younger, were there any that caught your eye? We can stop at each one if you really want the full carnival experience," she jested, ignoring her early alarm for the next morning in that moment.

"I'd like that. Would you like to go there next, or should does that depend on if we lose here and need to redeem ourselves at another game?" The last part was meant as a joke, but the genuine appreciation that Pixie had even noticed her eyeing the cotton candy was still evident on her face, warmth tinting her pale skin as it betrayed her blush. It was hard to do so when Pixie's appearance under the harsh lights, highlighting each aspect that left her breathless before knowing her name, her stupid crush encroaching on her ability to think straight. Her usual diet was uninteresting, mostly consisting of the meal preps she would spend her Sunday mornings putting together to save herself the time later in the week when she knew she would be more consumed with work than actually nourishing her body. The frivolous treat that was mostly sugar wasn't something she could recently recall having--again, probably not since being a child. A blonde eyebrow quirked at the question, not expecting Pixie to take enough interest in her passing mention of the sport to ask about the topic. "I was always more interested in the school's newspaper, the entirely honest. Picking up a softball was more for my father's sake." In an attempt to turn the theme of the conversation back to more jovial, she asked teasingly, "Do you not think journalism is high road?" Gracefully taking the last ball offered for their shot at a prize, it was tossed just an inch above her hands in an attempt to get a good grasp on its weight. As much as she wasn't into sports, Samantha was a perfectionist through and through, which meant even if in her interest in softball didn't stem from her own liking, she had still been determined to excel at the hobby at the time. Her aim was set for one of the bottom bottles, ball colliding with it enough to upset the one atop as well and taking down both. The blonde didn't want to display too much pride, but the way her shoulders sat after watching them fall gave it away. Always one who wanted to be a winner, in a constant competition even if it was only with herself. "Hopefully two out of three is enough to get that one." Expectant blue eyes turned back to the employee working the station to ask exactly that. Fixing the strap of her crossbody purse that had been jostled with the throw, she turned back towards Pixie, eyes unable to stray far from them for long. "The term workaholic is one that no one would like to ascribe to, but it may be accurate. My career did bring me here, after all. I think I'd like to have a reason to get out and enjoy other aspects of Anchorage, though." Her applied blush wasn't the only thing highlighting her cheeks as she made the comment, unable to ignore how, whether knowingly or not, Pixie was doing just that for the night.

It wasn't a date.

That much was for sure.

Pixie didn't do dating, in any shape or form, since they had been a hostage of someone else's elaborate design. To give a part of themselves was like tacking yarn back to the board of a colossal network so unfathomably beyond them, it was wrenching to think about. At times, the thoughts were capable of being tucked away, allowed to invade their life in subconscious means — others, it was every waking moment and consumed the breaths they took. It was an outing as exhorted by their roommate, that they should formulate and string together connections that would be sincere, or consider covering up any messes that would trail behind them. Fight-or-flight instincts ran to an overbearing degree, atop the hardly maneuverable mechanism of manipulating their surroundings to attain their goals — to survive, primarily, as they didn't think racking up scams counted as goals. However, there were no machinated steps in their mind now as they surveyed the flickering lights. They had been enamored enough by accompanying Ash that they desired to retrace, and the blonde's expression was considerably more relaxed than the last elongated interaction they'd spent, cooped in the copy editor's home. "Do you remember what your favorite was? I didn't really get to do stuff like this as a kid — you could say I had restrictive parents."

I can't think of another person I'd want to be here with.

To cover up their surprise, they focused on the lure of Samantha's words, rather than her sentiments. People were bound to alter their feelings when there was adrenaline from their surroundings pumping through their veins. "I think that could be arranged. The cotton candy, I mean. We could share one — I don't think I can handle all that sugar by myself," she suggested, snorting. Their sister, Bambi, may have been capable of gobbling down finger foods and fried stuff like that, were she anything like the memories that Pixie had spent years replaying on a broken record. The mention of teenage softball didn't go ignored, pink permed locks swinging against her face as she looked over her shoulder, laughing as she tried to imagine the business casual editor playing the sport. It wasn't mean-spirited — they didn't think they could knock anything with a cochlear and a glass eye. If it weren't for the ball in their hand, they would have signed it as they requested for an all-access pass to the blonde's life, "Why'd you quit for journalism? Sports players usually go for something a little more... high road, if you get me. Not that 'future boss bitch' doesn't fit you perfectly."

The distraction from Samantha's former comment had melted away, and the ball pelted in the direction of another of the glass bottles. When they missed their shot, an unflattering image of a monster popped up in one of the empty spaces. Pixie was a sore loser internally, but that was the good thing about living in close quarters: they had a decent poker face about it, their shoe scuffing against the pavement. As she took a step back to permit the blonde better vantage for their third and final shot, her own eyes scoured over the prizes, a finger pressing against their device as they tried to tune out the raucous sounds in their vicinity. Who knew it was a popular weekend for the carnival with all the mud on the ground? They thought kids would be less inclined when they were practically stepping in metaphorical shit everywhere they walked. "That one's cute, too, don't you think?" she asked as she pointed out a pastel pink spider wearing a sunflower hat. Not a recognized branding, but cute. Turning back to her companion, the roseate hues offsetting the other's pallid skin had her breath restricted, and she cleared her throat noisily. "So you're one of those minimalists that spends more time at the office than at home. I guess I should've picked up on that the last time I was there." Had they not been persuading the erratic beats to deescalate in their chest, recounting their mad dash away from someone claiming to recognize them — know their name, even the one they'd pretended to despise and abandon.

[viclinstrings]

ANYA TAYLOR-JOY.

VIA GEORGIE EISDELL'S INSTAGRAM HANDLE. | 24TH SEPTEMBER 2024.

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SAMANTHA WASN'T CONFIDENT IN HER OWN pumpkin carving abilities but found herself at the station regardless, as it sounded less risky than getting lost in a corn maze with her lack of navigational skills, ruining her silk dress on an adult slide, or, the most horrifying, being called upon as a volunteer during a magician's show. Having to get her hands dirty with some pumpkin innards was the least hazardous, even if the copy editor would have much preferred to be judging rather than participating herself. With as many napkins laid across her lap to protect the white fabric of her costume, she had given up on scooping every last bit of seeds out to instead stare at the front of her misshaped pumpkin while waiting for inspiration to strike. "A shovel feels as if it would be appropriate for that part," she agreed, looking over with before snatching one of the dozen naps up and offering it. "You can have some of mine. I had grabbed a ton from the Witch's Brew before coming over here. This seemed like a...messy activity, to say the least." And Samantha hated to enter any scenario without the utmost preparation. "The lighting I unfortunately cannot offer any help with. I believe they were going for a certain...ambiance." Which matched Halloween but didn't go well with sharp tools, in her opinion. "Do you already have a plan for yours? I'm afraid I may not be creative enough for this, but I've already gone through the hassle of emptying it out." At least, mostly.

when: about 7:00 pm with: @anchoragestarters (cap: 4!) where: pumpkin carving station

Elbow-length red gloves had been deposited on the table, in favor of getting down and dirty in pumpkin guts with a selection of instruments brought from home; after all, there wasn't anything in the rules against using your own tools, and Lexi was determined to create the most beautiful jack o'lantern for the contest, even if she wasn't an artist by trade. "Good thing my job doesn't let me have long nails, or else this shit would be all up under there." She hung her tongue out in disgust: although she was up to her literal elbows in slime and goop, she was very much not enjoying the sensation. "Did you see anywhere I could wipe all this gunk off'a me? Wipes, paper towels, a hose, anything." She held up her pumpkin to inspect it, "And did you see anywhere with better lighting? I feel like my grandmomma having to turn on all the lights in the house because she can't see anything."

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ONE HAND FULL OF THE SATIN FABRIC of her dress as the idea of getting the expressive article of clothing soiled was one Samantha would prefer to avoid, the other held one of the provided prongs, a thick marshmallow already stuck on the end of it. While campfire-cooked marshmallows weren't uncommon in Australia, the idea of making them into s'mores was, and the copy editor was never one for outdoors regardless, which had her already questioning just how close she should plan to hold the treat from the fire. Even concerning something as simplistic as this had her overthinking, a compulsion to be without error even with a s'more. "Is the bonfire that crowded already? I'm not surprised; the weather isn't exactly ideal for an outdoor event this time of year." It was partially why she had made her way over there after arriving, it seemed the warmest. Head tilting as her interest had been grasped, possibly because she couldn't view the entire face of the one she was speaking to as that same curiosity getting her into journalism in the first place, Sam responded with a nod that showed she understood the plan being suggested. "I haven't yet used my one free drink, but as a warning, I will throw you under the bus instead of catching any charges for aiding and abetting two timing the drink passes."

TIME: October 31st, 5:15pm.

LOCATION: near the start of the s'mores bonfire.

CURRENTLY ACCEPTING REPLIES: 0/5.

@anchoragestarters .

With the tassels of the black hat, covering the purple of his mask, he looked to be more like a cabaret performer than he did Darkwing, but listen, he didn't say he was going towards accuracy, he wanted the combination of flamboyance and silent treads on the soles of his boots. He's on the lookout. He's not going to continue to be a fucking failure. Of course, this rattled around in his head where no one else can see, and he grinned, phantom-opera-lookalike in a different hue, as he forewent the temptation of another lolly for the sake of finishing off the drink he'd obtained at the Witch's Brew. "You just walk in? Ooh, you're in for it." He loved to keep things just as vague as they could be. Whatever you choose to read into it, that was yours to handle! Shin cleared his throat, nearly choking on the sudden pungent cherry flavour wafting from the syrup pooling at the bottom of the cup. "I can pretend like I just walked in too, and we can get another free zombie's bite, all on me."

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THE TWITCH OF HER LIPS PROVED THE BLONDE was reconsidering her statement, chin still held high even as she tilted her head to the side to offer the illusion of agreement. "I suppose you're correct. I guess I just assumed if there was enough rain it would just...have enough flush it all out enough to just rid the rest of this-" This, wasn't spoken aloud, but the way her hand adorned with french tips gestured into the air could give away her thought process that being an editor didn't mean she held an amazing understanding of the sewage system that she was only now realizing she took for granted each and every day that the rotting smell of flesh wasn't leaking out into the open air from. What she did think would happen was at least someone from the county would come out to investigate and fix the problem, as the blonde found it hard to believe only the two of them had taken notice of the horrid stench, and yet, it already seemed like they had taken more of an interest than those who were actually paid to do so. Or held a prestige position such as one on the city council. It wasn't lost on her that this would make an very thought-provoking topic for an article, but getting is approved when so many of those wealthier in the town donated to the local paper's funding (and thus, had a say over exactly what was published). Her hit pieces would have to be reserved for another medium. "Either I don't want to know what you're regularly smelling or you have a much better resilience than I do." She paused, nose still once again twitching in consideration as before she refused to think about either option any further. Really, her biggest desire was for it not to be an animal as the causation behind off of this; she wasn't exactly a huge pet lover, never affording herself the time to care for one herself as her career ruled over all of her hours. But that didn't mean her care for animals was non-existent, as she could still remember the first time she hit an echidna head on back in Australia, never relying on her father for anything but desperately calling him in that moment so that he could calm her down. As much as could be said about Matthew Alcott, he had been there for that singular occasion, even if there was a laundry list of other times he had only let his children down. "What exactly do you consider worse than that?" Samantha wasn't entirely sure what she was expecting as an answer to that, but her curiosity, the exact trait that had gotten her into the journalism field in the first place, was stronger than any other aspect of her. "Honestly? Not a minuscule chance." Even if the blonde was granted the best of spacesuits, she could still imagine herself feeling dirty climbing out any enclosed space that had such a smell emanating from it. "That's why I'm still trying to figure out why you're so interested instead of disgusted."

"If the sewers are as blocked up as everyone is saying, there'll be nowhere for the rain to carry it all," said Karam, making a motion with one hand like a wave, up and down and along, as if to imitate flowing water. "There's nowhere for the stench to go but up and out, into the world and into our noses." He continued to speak with the same lighthearted tone but never edged into obvious excitement; even without the simple reality that this was a potentially nasty subject and one that Karam did not feel like celebrating, he'd never been one for grand displays of emotion. Perhaps, if he had ever cared about being understood, he might have forced himself but he saw no reason to wear himself out for someone else's shortlived benefit. When he was still a child, the overseers had mistaken this for good emotional control but the reality was that Karam had barely any grasp on his emotions at all; his handler had learned that much the hard way.

His odd childhood also played its role in Karam's reaction to this awful stench. Although it was true that he'd always had a sensitive nose and, quite frankly, the fumes were turning his stomach in all sorts of nasty directions, it was most certainly not his first encounter with the odor of decay. Cursed with a memory so much more keener than would ever be useful, Karam could still recall the first time he'd happened upon a rotting animal carcass. He'd been only about seven years of age, living in the forest with his handler, when he'd stumbled off the beaten path. Trying his best to retrace his steps, he pushed his way through the overgrowth, parting the leaves and branches of neglected shrubs and bushed to reveal that awful sight. Perfectly unprepared for every element of it, every individual attack on his senses, he'd promptly emptied his stomach right then and there. Since then, he'd diligently taught himself how best to breath so that he inhaled as little stench as possible. It didn't work all that well but it was good enough. There was some comfort to be found in the fact he hadn't lost that skill.

"I've smelled worse," said Karam, matter-of-factly. The remark about disease was harder to rebuke. Although he knew his way around a hundred poisons and medicines and chemicals, that did not grant him the supernatural ability to sniff out disease; even if it was said that there were animals capable of this, there was a limit to the human body that he could not surpass. But, then, her next question was enough to catch him by total surprise and, for the first time since he'd first spoken to her, his attention left the grate. "I'm not planning on anything" he said, with a curious glint in his eye. He was not lying but the idea intrigued him all the same. "There might be something much worse down there than some old rotten thing. It could well be a suicide mission." Just this year, he'd already happened upon a pair of skulls in some underground tunnel, although he'd been too delerious with pain from an arrow wound to take much from it all. There was something peculiar lying deep beneath this town, or so Karam had begun to suspect. Lowering his voice, he added, "Would you go down there with protection? If you really wanted to know, that is."

[viclinstrings]

samantha alcott as holli would from cool world (1992)

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SAMANTHA PULLED HER COLLARED PEACOAT TIGHTER around her body, as if the tan colored wool being staunch around her body could somehow protect it against the stench that was hanging in the air so thickly it could be sliced right through. If only. The blonde resisted the urge to squeeze her nostrils together, choosing against the childish action even if she had to resist the urge to gag when passing the grate. Walking around Anchorage had never been fun, the low temperature and penchant for precipitation made sure of that, but the smell made it even more of a torturous task. She already had an issue with deflecting allegations of sleeping in her office at work. (And really, that had only happened a couple times when deadlines left her editing and reviewing so late into the night that it would practically be a waste of time not to just take a nap on the decorative couch in her office instead.) But the unavoidable smell almost made it worth it if it meant not being forced to encounter it twice a day when walking to and from the public parking lot. "That may be an understatement. One would hope the rain would've helped washing it away a bit, but it seems to have only worsen it." Head of platinum hair tilted to the side, curiosity regarding it even if she made the move to take three more steps back from the grate. (It didn't seem to help much.) "Aren't you concerned about getting that close? If it is something rotten, it has to have been decaying for some time now. Plus, who knows what diseases it could've been carrying." Or maybe that's what took it out in the first place. "Are you planning to get it out yourself? Without any proper protection?"

outside single carrot theatre, early evening on 28th september / @anchoragestarters

"It really stinks, doesn't it?" mused Karam, his voice taking on the light, airy quality that usually accompanied wonder. There was nothing wonderful about this, of course, because the very thing he was addressing was a large, rusting sewer grate and the stench that rose up from below. The person he'd addressed was someone who'd happened to be passing by the grate at that moment and had seemingly recoiled in disgust. Karam was not one for sparking up conversation with strangers but he'd taken their reaction as enough of an invitation not to worry they'd find him odd for speaking up.

Although Karam did not have many friends and spend much of his life keeping to himself (because he'd never learned to do much else), years of hiding away and listening out for signs of danger had ensured he was something of an expert eavesdropper, willing or not. Some days at the Flower Basket, he'd hear something unusual and today's big story had been that something had gone down -- nobody seemed to agree upon what it was -- outside the theatre last night, during the opening show of their new play. The second showing was set to go ahead tonight but here Karam was, crouched down over the grate and not even bothering to cover his mouth lest he miss out of something important. (Yes, the stench was turning his stomach and no, he wasn't simply powering through; he was just that focused on the task at hand.)

"Not even the rats around here want anything to do with it," he went on, still speaking as though he'd come upon some fascinating discovery. "It must be something really quite rotten." A pause, he lifted his head to face his company properly, the starting traces of a smile on his face. "Something rotting, maybe?"

[viclinstrings]

SAMANTHA COULD PROBABLY COUNT ON ONE HAND the amount of times she had been to carnival local to the town of Anchorage, and the fact that she hadn't been in the Alaskan town for very long, at least not compared to her Australian hometown, wasn't entirely the reason. Dumping herself so deep into her work that it was hard for her to climb out even when she knew she needed to was the biggest culprit, with possibly a side attribute that the blonde believed the atmosphere to be a bit too kitschy for her. (Or, maybe it was the undeniable fact that she would stick out like a sore thumb in closet of neutrals and collared button down shirts, as even the array of her attire that was more relaxed still fell into the category of business casual.) However, all previously held opinions on the carnival were swiftly thrown out the window when it was Mei-xie who she would be meeting there, and Samantha would say she even felt an unfamiliar giddiness when entering. "I can't recall the last time I tried my hand at one of these types of games, probably not since I was a child. So, you're probably much better than me at least." Logistically, the journalist knew the game was set up to be against them and even the best of throwing arms. It was impossible to ignore one of the deep dive documentaries she had previously watched that explored the behind of the scenes of traveling carnivals from a producer she favored. But there was something nice about the idea of, for once, not thinking too deeply or overanalyzing her surroundings, even if the trained habit was hard to turn off. "That sounds like a well-thought out plan if I ever heard one. I was shocked to see how large the cones of cotton candy are, bigger than my head, even. I know it essentially melts away as you eat it, but it's still impressive." One eyebrow arched, before returning to its place. "And I wouldn't say you are anywhere close to the town party pooper. Far from it, as I can't think of another person I'd want to be here with." Gesturing for the other to take their spot in front of the game, she promised, "Go for it. I'll be your cheerleader. And try to remember anything I learned from a couple years of teen softball until we get to the last ball." Unfortunately for her, she had blocked out majority of those years from the forefront of her mind. "The Pikachu? He is quite cute. That of the Hello Kitty. Although, if I'm entirely honest, I don't believe I have any stuffed animals in my apartment, so any would be a nice addition." That was mostly true, as Samantha didn't have any stuffed animals on display. There was one stuffed bunny, stuffed in a box so deeply in her closet that she wasn't sure she would even be able to locate it in a timely manner should she try, as it was a childhood gift from her father. Despite not wanting to see it for all the negative memories now attached to it, nostalgia had its grips too tightly on her to fully get rid of the thing. "Pick whichever one you like. I know I'll like that one, too." A hint of pink crossed the tops of her porcelain cheeks, hoping it was hidden by the colored lights of the carnival.

@stcrmyeyes at the carnival of time, early september

"I'm not really great at all of these games, but my friend showed me how to play them a while back. Maybe if we're lucky, I can win you a prize or something." Oh, god, that sounded fucking lame as soon as it left their mouth — embarrassing. They might as well design their own exequy before they considered flirting again. ( Being held at metaphorical gunpoint to perform like a circus animal didn't develop a charisma they could tap into outside of fight-or-flight situations. Plus, it was different with girls... they used their logical brains a little more, and Mei-xie wouldn't call themselves a poet. ) Unscrambling their brain from the redundancy of their own thoughts, they picked up a ball and eyed the stack of bottles that was laid out across the counter, and glanced to the row of stuffed animals hugging onto the rafters above their heads. "So, one game, I'll try to win you one of these and we can, like... go have cotton candy? I saw you eyeing the stands on the way here. Or whatever you want. I mean, I should make it worth your while if you're dragging the town party pooper along with."

Actually, now that they thought about it, it was lost on them who had suggested the outing first. Mei-xie's stipulations were the same as always: home and in bed by ten PM, no alcohol, and no weirdos. Neither of them fit the cookie-cutter definition of extroversion, though Pixie wore those colors in loud vernacular working the games at Peppy Parrot's Emporium — you'd think that would have blessed them with an eye for rigged carnival games like these, and you'd be sorely mistaken. At least they knew it couldn't go worse than Ash chucking the ball, and the ball doing a one-hundred-eighty back around and smacking him in the middle of the forehead. If that happened to them, they better be knocked the fuck out.

Inexplicably, she was impelled to reach for Samantha's hand. "Do you want to try with my last shot? I'll score the points and you can try to hit a home runner," she said, as she reeled her arm back and threw the first one. It knocked over one of the bottles with green tape around the neck, sending it smashing to the floor. She didn't envy the attending to this game, like her own station at the kids' funhouse for greasy, revolting pizza. "Little prize in the bag! What did I tell you?" she exhorted with a fist pump in the air before she snatched up the second ball, tossing it up and down in her hand, veiling her nerves with an air of confidence that one must to endure the wrath of krakens and pirates. "What am I going for — that Pikachu up there? What's your taste?"

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WHILE SAMANTHA WAS WELL-AWARE OF MANY in the town that chose to believe the main newspaper of the town was corrupt or not a trustworthy source of information, the blonde did everything in her power to follow each rule of ethical reporting that she learned in her higher education. Certain...situations around town didn't make that easy, nor did it when those she knew managed to get involved or involuntarily wrapped up in things, but she refused to mix work with her personal life, as that hadn't seem to work out well for her father. Her attention was so undivided at the moment out of genuine curiosity, and Emmeline seemed to be a more reliable source of information than others in the town. (Now, that was unethical journalism, to judge an eyewitness based on personal opinions, but again, this wasn't a story, which was a good enough excuse, wasn't it?) "It may not be helpful to try and think on it too hard--could quickly nosedive into second-guessing yourself." Which wasn't her intention. "Oh, this may be one of the tamer stories I've heard come out of those woods, I can assure you." Her smile dwindled from the shared amusement for a moment after the words not right. Samantha unfortunately knew that feeling, most often when she was walking home alone through the darkened town after staying at the office for much longer than the needed eight hours. "I think that's why I only choose to work with facts, mostly. Trying to attribute reason to.." This town? That sounded so absolute, and yet she, as a writer, couldn't think of better phrasing. "...many things around us is just too difficult."

it was the questioning phase when emmeline found herself flustered - definitely a vision in her head but the questions opened it up to her imagination building upon it. "i'm not sure." that was better than diving into it - the woman was aware of her unreliable story telling and didn't want to phrase something that could be taken in multiple ways. she'd seen something, no one was denying that but there was seemingly always an explanation for everything. here in anchorage, it felt like explanations hardly followed - perhaps that was a warning to get out whilst she still could. however, for the first time, emmeline was feeling comfortable with herself, her reason for being here to begin with fast fleeting for a variety of factors and she really didn't want to move again with no direction on where she was going. her eyes widened when the other's face lit with amusement, it taking emmeline a few moments to chuckle and shake her head. "my goodness, what do i sound like?" another chuckle escaped her. "you know, i understand what you're saying, i do. perhaps there's reasoning in it but with everything happening, it feels less like reason and something that's just... not right." that was the best way that she could describe it.

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Anya Taylor-Joy Cannes Film Festiva (2024)

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WHEN THERE WAS A COUPLE BEATS of silence between them, Sam immediately knew that she had said the wrong thing, which she already should have been expecting of herself based off experience. But where the blonde normally couldn't give any care to how she was perceived, Pixie was a blaring exception, as the feeling of wanting to impress them was just unfamiliar enough that she couldn't ignore it. Her dark blue eyes couldn't help but scan the area around them, as if searching for the danger that inspired such fear in her friend but unable to locate it. "Of course we can get out of here." Little convincing was needed even as their hand wrapped around her wrist, following dutifully behind before catching up to walk alongside them. Samantha hadn't brought a coat with a hood, instead further questioning in her head what had spooked Pixie but chose not to look around again, instead continuing with her chin held up. "Should I not ask about...?" Instead of finishing her question, she chose to instead clear her throat and change to another topic. "Did you have fun at the event? At least--earlier in the day." It was her poor attempt at turning the topic to something more positive as her ankle boot clad feet lead the two of them towards her apartment building.

We can go to my apartment. On instinct, Mei-xie hesitated, as if they had the time to mull it over. In a split second, it was shoved out of their mind; they had no time to lament over their suspicions of every person's ulterior motive in the spawning probability of their tracks being picked out through the fog seeping in from the harbor. "Deal," they said before they could change their mind, "Which way are we going? Let's get out of here, like, now." Reaching out, they wrapped their fingers around Samantha's wrist and tugged her for the quickest escape out the back of the alley, bunching their free hand into their hood and pulling the strings to covertly disguise their pink hair in a veil of black. Was this supposed to be the first adventure of many? Well, adventure was not the word they would use to describe it in the moment. Maybe there was an adrenaline junkie borne of that fallen angel, after all. "I'm with you," she exhorted as she took stride beside her, letting the blonde lead a few steps ahead.

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THERE WAS A BEAT OF SILENCE as Samantha tried to think of what to say next, at this point in her life already used to the lack of quick back and forth. If conversations were like a ping pong match, she was often missing on her swings. As she watched the other look it over, the blonde assured, "I didn't open it. I don't get much mail, so it was pretty obviously not actually for me." There may have been a time when her father sent letters, but he seemed have caught the hint after they were never given a response. "You're welcome. And you have nothing to apologize for, trust me. It's difficult not to feel on edge with all the chaos that is currently happening. It would possibly be weird to be entirely unaffected."

Nari hesitantly accepts the envelope and examines it. She sighs in relief, realizing it's just a letter from her brother. That must be why she hasn't heard from him in a while, sending his letters to the wrong addresses. She must remember to tell him the right one when she writes back. "Thank you, sorry for being weird," she says with a small smile, "it has been a stressful couple of days for me.."

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IT WOULD HAVE BEEN SHOCKING TO SEE SAMANTHA outside of the office when there was so much going on in the town with more coming out seemingly around the clock, but if there were one other place the copy editor would be, it was the scene of the main crime, and she wasn't there to try to the wines that fermented there. What she would have previously described as a peaceful sight in Anchorage certainly lost some sense of that, as the singed trees gave off a more haunting vibe than that of one where a joyful picnic would be held. "Maybe if it were a bit closer to Halloween, it wouldn't feel so out-of-place; it could have saved some money on decorating. As for the summer months...not so much." She took a small sip from the glass in her hand, nose twitching just slightly as the taste was a bit dryer than she would have preferred. "You would think some more brewing companies would have popped up here by now, if anything just to save on shipping costs for how much is probably sent here." Her voice was almost as dry as the wine, but there was still a thread of friendliness woven into her words. "Hopefully, I can corral Atticus and Micah into allowing my photographer to take some pictures--for those who are morbidly curious but did show up to see it for themselves."

it’s not that she had a yearning for wine, but the woman could be lying to herself. she always had a little bit of alcohol in the evening... however, it was still daylight, but it still counted no matter the time of day. she was indeed attempting to STOP herself from consuming the wine too quickly. the woman didn’t want to seem too barbaric in that sense. ( she didn’t want anyone seeing her as an alcoholic nor did she really care. ) at her age, heejin was too old ( nearing her fifties ) to be dealing with that kind of mindset. including an existential crisis, of course. in the open air, there wasn’t much to see anymore except for the trees almost burnt to a crisp. it was absurd to precisely think about. “you’re right, samantha; it really does give an entirely different atmosphere—and i don’t know if i like that.” heejin identified her step-niece’s voice quicker than she could ever admit. “considering all the shit we go through as residents of anchorage, i couldn’t agree more. something much stronger would suffice.”