“tonight? Whatever The Hell You Want!” Kennedy Replies To Nadia's Quip With An Easy Grin. In A Town

Anyways🤔

"WELL SHIT ─  i  don't  know.  let  me  get  a  good  look  at  you."  it's  not  the  smartest  move  to  remove  her  sunglasses  with  the  hangover  she  was  currently  battling,  but  joey  will  do  anything  for  a  bit.  a  bloodshot  and  squinted  gaze  lands  on  carlos,  taking  a  moment  to  analyze  him  before  offering  a  slow  nod.  "oh  yeah.  you're  fucked,  kid.  got  a  big  ol'  target  on  that  pretty  forehead  of  yours.  you  better  watch  yourself  out  there  .  .  .   would  hate  to  be  down  an  act."  with  that,  she  places  her  sunglasses  over  matted  curls,  now  fixing  her  eyes  on  the  lake  before  them.  “you  know  what?  i  think  you  might  be  on  to  something.  whoever  is  responsible  for  this  has  got  to  be  a  real  nasty  son  of  a  bitch.”  and  ugly.  down  to  their  very  fuckin'  core.  “ so . . . is  this  everything  you  hoped  for  when  moving  to  this  shitty  little  town?"

𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲.　deer lake, late afternoon on the day of kirby's death. 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵.　anyone! ( capping at five replies. )

〔　🐿️　〕　　...　　“  𝗱𝗮𝗺𝗻,  𝘄𝗵𝘆  𝗶𝘀  𝗶𝘁  𝗮𝗹𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘀  𝘁𝗵𝗲  𝗵𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗶𝗲𝘀  𝘄𝗵𝗼  𝗱𝗶𝗲?  ”  carlos  remarks,  a  plume  of  smoke  from  their  cigarette  and  the  cold  air  escaping  their  lips  with  every  word.  he didn't know the girl well, if at all, really, but it's all anyone could talk about today and if he didn't bring it up, it would be a little weird. it  isn't  that  he  doesn't  care  —  of  course,  the  whole  situation  is  unsettling  and  there's  a  inkling  perturbation  that  swirls  within  them  at  the  notion  of  a  killer  on  the  loose in such a small town,  but  it  seems  easier  to  pretend  that  this  is  all  one  big  joke  than  have  to  face  the  reality  of  it. it's all he can do.  “  is  this  guy  fucking  ugly  or  something?  are  they  trying  to  reverse  pretty  privilege?  should  i  have  to  watch  out?  ”

location : santiago's apartment

time : sometime after 3:00am.

for : santiago @atonehart

“it’s borderline fascinating…” they had been going on a while now, from the moment they walked through the door. “...how you can’t seem to listen to save your life! i said go home and what do you do? you go to the fucking bar! seriously santi, it’s like you— no, leave the peas on for a couple minutes more. it’ll help with the swelling.” kennedy shouldn’t even be here. they should be out there. gathering intel,  securing interviews, writing that damn story for the register. tending to the wounds of the prodigal ‘brother’ should be at the bottom of their priorities right now. yet there they were, walking over with a glass of water, a dose of painkillers, and an awfully sour expression. there's a pause the transaction ensues and after a beat, they finally ask, "are you okay?"

"already? i'm not done smelling the candles." he's been at it for fifteen minutes now, moving from one jar to the next like he was shopping for a new scent at a home goods store, not browsing the shelves of a psychic shop. "you know," he says, "i used to see this girl a couple years ago that was seriously obsessed with this shit? had a rock collection and everything. kept saying she was going to curse me if she ever found me cheating." clearly in no rush to leave, he looks up from the displayed candles to flash nadia a grin, amused by her accusation. "you're still here aren't you?" there it was again, that playful challenge in his voice, the same air of flirtation he always slipped in, whether or not she acknowledged it. "locking me up isn't the only way to have fun with me, nadia." his grin lingers. always hinting, always offering. he has yet to make a move to leave. instead, he resumes the task of sniff testing every candle the sisters of the moon has to offer "hurry up and close up then. i'll give you a ride home." his tone gives little room to argue but he'd never turn down an opportunity to. "unless you have plans after this?"

○    NOW DELIVERING TO . . .    ⏤ @brntout !

" we're closing up . " nadia announces to salvador , looking him up and down as she flips the sign on the door . if anyone should know sisters ' moon hours , it'd be HIM . nadia rests a hand on her hip , jutting it out as she turns to face him properly . " and there's nobody here left for you to hit on , which i know is the real reason you're here . " her voice is drier than ever . she knows salvador , because he is everywhere , all the time . with a smile , a glint in his eye . HE'S A FLIRT and not even a good one . the amount of times nadia rolls her eyes while hearing him try his way with hana could make her eyes permanently stick . " chop , chop , salvador . locking you inside here does sound fun but i need this job , and something tells me holding you hostage inside would get me fired . "

if yasmine shows discomfort, kennedy does not catch it. too preoccupied with reacting to their comment about the watered-down drinks with a gasp. "do you think so? ugh, of course, they would! think they might be willing to do a better pour if i offer to buy them a drink? with this crowd, they might actually need it."

"always. " gaze drifted to the glass in their hand, nothing more than melted ice. it took everything not to flinch at the touch, but didn't pull back, didn't want to be perceived as strange. "i think they're watering the drinks down for halloween. cheapskates. really i'll hold it against them."

“—and so my master plan to get you to buy me a drink tonight finally comes to fruition. about time you caught on.” they scrunch their nose in jest, playfully satisfied with his offer. “i mean, i don’t hate it…” they say, referring to the song. “i just— i don't know. between you and me, i don’t think i know how to dance to it very well.” the admission comes with a small laugh, a thin layer of sheepishness underneath. it's a reminder that this was never really their scene growing up. new york may have changed some of that, but the truth remains that they’re still no good with this kind of music. the beats were too amped for their usual swaying and with no lyrics to sing along to, kennedy was beginning to feel at a loss. confidence can only carry you so far. “that's why you have to get me out of here, rafael— before i resort to making us start ballroom dancing.”

truthfully  -  rafael's  been  nursing  the  same  beer  since  he's  gotten  to  the  warehouse;  no  liquor  needed  when  there's  the  remnants  of  a  traumatic  brain  injury  that  keeps  him  six  feet  off  the  ground.  still  -  there's  something  about  kennedy  (  her  smile,  maybe;  so  bright  he  has  to  squint  in  the  already  -  dim  lights  of  the  club  )  that  he  can't  quite  say  no  to  -  at  least  not  completely.  "no  -"  a  lopsided  smile  as  he  leans  in,  "-  but  i  can  buy  you  a  drink,  yeah?  unless  you  like  this  -"  a  vague  gesture  to  the  air  around  them,  "-  song?"

SUCCESSION — 1.02 Shit Show at the Fuck Factory

the silence between is heavy and the house seems to settle within it, wind whistling through the room as if to cut the tension. a shiver runs through them once more, the chill more physical than mental this time. kennedy is hyper-aware of their surroundings. of the dust particles floating in the air, the stray moonlight peeking into the room from poorly boarded-up windows, and kieran talbot. standing as the centerpiece.  illuminated by a warm light, lips parted slightly, a small twitch in his brow, dark eyes trained on them with a reflected caution. he almost looks like a painting. like something they would see in some museum, drawn by an unknown tragic artist, toeing the line between beautiful and unsettling. so kennedy does flinch when kieran moves closer, all instinct, eyes narrowing into daggers— a silent warning.

the mention of their book is unexpected and the wary glare softens into something kennedy can’t quite place, somewhere between amusement and surprise. they were sure that their parents did their best to spread the word about kennedy's achievement around town but they didn’t actually expect anyone care enough to pick up their book. they haven't spoken to anyone about it, not even santiago. so under kieran's mention of it, they suddenly find themselves thinking back on their time in italy.

a small church yet beautifully ornate with stained glass windows depicting idolized saints and dutiful angels. their eyes meeting his— the priest in their story. father caruso. the last murderer they were in a room with as far as they know .  the man who had the whole town wrapped around his finger. kennedy remembers looking around the cathedral, catching glimpses of the people in the pews looking up at him with teary reverence, clinging to his every word.

kieran’s voice pulls them back to the present, directing their attention to the battered bed nearby. sybil thorne’s bed. kennedy’s flashlight follows instinctively, skimming over the surface before snapping back to kieran, unwilling to lose sight of him. they feel disoriented, trapped between two worlds—the cathedral in their memory and the decaying thorne house.

kieran’s words settle in the room like the dust swirling in the faint light. more lamb than butcher. the phrase plays over in their mind, the weight of it heavier than they expect. "yeah?" they finally speak up, canting their head slightly, a slow-growing smile making its way to their features. "so what's a sweet little lamb like you doing out here then? hoping to find a purpose to bleed yourself into?" kennedy wasn’t fully convinced, they would be foolish to be, but they’ve never been the type to look to god or the universe for guidance. their gut was their bible and right now, it’s telling them that the kid who spent years buried in old articles and cold cases might be better used as an asset than dismissed as a suspect. they lower their flashlight some, and perhaps their guard as well. for now at least. "'cus i might just be on the same boat as you. " there's another pause then, only this time it doesn't feel so daunting. "do you think this place is actually haunted?" a sudden ask. they just can't help but shake the feeling that they were being watched. was it paranoia? god?

ꜜ ﹙ ⚰️  ﹚ ﹕ the questions hung heavy in the air for a few moments, met with kieran's silence as the thorne house creaked and groaned with every cold autumn breeze, almost as if the very walls were an audience reacting to this confrontation. he held his stance even against the blinding light of kennedy's flashlight, expression caught somewhere between surprise and something more akin to indignance against the returned accusation. it should be expected ﹕ he probably checked off multiple boxes in some litmus test for serial killers, but allegations felt like smoke sometimes ⸻ it could be suffocating if left unchallenged. he let the silence stretch out between them just for a few more beats, the weight of it pressing down on him like the dust that covered this old rotten place, before finally taking a small step forward. just to see if it would rattle them, just to see if they would flinch, just to see how much kennedy actually believed him to be red creek's newest murderer. then, a smile as he shook his head. “ i read your book, y'know ? great work you did there. but people look at it like it was an exposé on that priest, the oh so terrible things he did to maintain people's faith ... but the way i see it, it's more a revelation of the lies people tell themselves. ” kieran shrugged nonchalantly, casting his light on the bedside table, where sibyl thorne's weathered bible remained after all these years. and he wondered if she believed god would save her son from the misplaced wrath of this town. “ they need something to believe in, something bigger than their own insignificance. faith healing, prayers to some god, a big dose of hope and dopamine from the bible— because to live in a world without that, without the illusion of purpose, of salvation, would be too much. it's easier to believe in that whole weird apocalyptic scifi literature than accept we're just specks of dust drifting in a universe that doesn't really give a damn. ” and finally another step forward, hands raised in feigned surrender. he didn't always say much, sometimes not even enough, but kieran felt an affinity for kennedy ﹕ both of them only trying to make sense of what was happening in their town. “ guess what i'm tryin' to say is, i may not look like it, but i give too much of a damn to be an indifferent killer like this goddamn universe. i'm really just like all those people, ken. more a lamb than a butcher. ” a mess of belief, fighting too hard for meaning to ever be an empty murderer.

Yeo-reum & Ahn Dae-beom 1.08 |  Summer Strike

High School Musical 2 2007 | dir. Kenny Ortega