It’s A Surprise There Isn’t More Awkwardness Between Them Considering How Little The Two Have Interacted

CYNTHIA ERIVO as Elphaba and JONATHAN BAILEY as Fiyero in Wicked: Part One (2024)

SUCCESSION (4.10) | WITH OPEN EYES

redcreek was a small town, which meant running into him was practically inevitable, she just didn’t expect it to happen like this. inside the grim little police station, with elliot wearing a uniform they never once envisioned him in. "sorry." they dip their head with a small laugh, realizing they were hovering by the door for a moment too long, "i didn't expect to see you here. wow. deputy mayers, huh? you always were...full of surprises." the words spill out before they could stop them, a poor attempt to defuse the tension, to break the awkwardness that had already started building.

fuck, they knew they should have prepared for this. done their due diligence of unblocking him on social media to check up on his life the moment they made it back to town. now they're they were, blindsided by the sight of him. stuck between two worlds— getting down to business or slipping into memory lane. their gaze flickers to his left hand, instinctively searching for the answer to their most pressing question... had he found someone to give him what kennedy couldn't? he isn't wearing a ring, but that's not enough to give a solid answer. they quickly shift to his badge, needing something professional to anchor themselves to.

kennedy finally sits down, their back straight, a practiced composure taking over as they pull the journal from their bag. "right. alaina price." they pause. the room felt smaller now. they want to think ahead, to push past the unease in the room, but their thoughts keep drifting back to the past. to elliot. "look," kennedy sighs, allowing themselves the momentary lapse in focus. "i’m not here for… anything personal. i just need information on alaina." they aren't sure why they're even telling him this. "i know you can’t share everything right now, but anything would help. the town’s already asking questions, elliot. starting rumors. they need something to hold them over." her words hung in the air, heavy and pointed, as she searched his face for any crack that might offer a clue, a sign of what he was willing—or able—to say. it wasn’t just about the case anymore. she knew that. but right now, it had to be.

IT'S REALLY NO SURPRISE that the moment elliot comes back from his coffee break, he's nearly accosted by the office secretary barreling through his door. there's someone from the press here, and the sheriff is out, she tells him. can i bring her in ? elliot figured they both knew that demetrius probably didn't want anyone in the office speaking to press without him—least of all elliot—but he's been on the job long enough to know the answer to give : no comment at this time. " fine, " he sighs. he's sipping his coffee when there's a knock at his opened door, eyes glancing over the coffee cup as he finishes his sip—and chokes on his drink. " kennedy. " oh, fuck. he'd been doing so well not running into her, and now here she is, looking like this is the last place she expected him. at least right now, the feeling is mutual.

coffee on the table, he finds himself standing out of his chair, a jolt of adrenaline hitting him harder than the caffeine so far has. " um, take a seat, " he motions to the chair in front of his desk, suddenly unsure what to do with his hands. fuck, his uniform has never felt two sizes too big until now—not even when demetrius is giving him one of his deep sighs. " what can i do for you ? " he asks once she's sat, hesitantly sitting back down as well. maybe talking business is the way to get through this moment.

Imitation of Life (1959) dir. Douglas Sirk

location : redstone bar

time : evening

for: nadia(@hypnotiscd)

"you know, i was actually watching love is blind with june the other day." he has his designated spot on the couch of her apartment— the side with the missing leg, where he remains still as a rock until it's time for him to leave out of fear of it buckling under his movement. "she thinks it's a load of bull but... i don't know. there's something kind of sweet about it." did the experiment have it's flaws? sure. did he become embarrassingly invested in everyone's journey? of course. he glances over at nadia, an easy smile present as he speaks. with how heavy redcreek was feeling recently, the levity gained from grabbing a drink with her and talking mindlessly about something so silly was relieving. "maybe i should apply." it's only a half-joke, emphasized by the sheepish laugh that escapes him. he brings the bottle of beer to his lips for a swig before offering a shrug, "i don't know. beats whatever i've been doing." which has been sitting pretty at the funeral home, waiting for love to knock at his doorstep like some sort of hallmark movie.

"what if i said that i thought it was you?" he asks, nonchalantly folding freshly dried clothes into his basket. after a pause, he breathes out a chuckle. "i feel like you and the rest of your family would be the type to pay for some poor soul to kill in exchange for money. like those rich people in the purge." do the talbot's even have that type of money? salvador assumes they do and if he sees any of alaina's relatives running around town with a new set of wheels, he'll know exactly who to blame. "who do you think?" he asks, finally looking over her way.

open to : any where : silver coin laundry mat when : after the questionings

avery is sprawled out on a bench inside the laundry mat, newspaper covering her face. she's been quiet for a good five minutes when she finally rips the newspaper away from her face and turns to the innocent person doing their laundry. " who do you think did it? " her own clothes long forgotten, probably hogging a machine.

@mclodrma

quality advice from jeremy allen white

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.

YOU'RE  BIG.  LARGER  THAN  LIFE.  she’s  heard  that  before.  in  a  voice  that  sounded  like  rafaels,  but  wasn't his.  close—painfully  so—  but  not  quite  as  deep.  the  familiarity  is  bittersweet,  endearment  and  affliction  flickering  through  her  almost  as  quickly  as  the  lights  around  them.  kennedy  is  glad  his  back  is  to  hers  then,  grateful  for  the  bodies  he  has  to  navigate  through,  taking  advantage  of  those  extra  seconds  gained  to  compose  herself  before  they  reach  their  destination.  “used  to?”  an  eyebrow  quirks  at  that,  lips  parted  in  a  silent  scoff.  “don’t  give  up  on  me  yet!  i  still  have  time.”  that's  what  they  would  like  to  tell  themselves  anyways.  that  one’s  life  isn’t  over  if  they  don’t  achieve  all  their  goals  by  age thirty.  that  her  return  to  redcreek  didn’t  mean  she  failed.  it  was  only  temporary. 

now  settled  by  the  bar,  kennedy  is  suddenly  aware  of  how  much  they  have  had  to  drink.  the  room  was  still  swaying  even  though  they  no  longer  were.  they  blink,  slowly,  the  buzz  from  the  liquor  washing  over  them  like  a  blanket,  warm  and  heavy.  maybe  that’s  why  it’s  easy  to  make  promises  for  next  time.  to  get  caught  up  in  the  excitement  of  reconnecting  with  him.  as  if  she  hadn’t  spent  the  last  years  carefully  curating  a  distance  between  them.  “yeah?  are  you  saying  i  can  just  show  up  one  day  and  ask  for  that  dance?  i  know  where  you  work,  velazquez.”  she  flashes  him  a  pleased  grin  as  he  slides  the  drink  her  way,  quick  to  raise  the  glass  to  her  lips.  “it  suits  you,  by  the  way.  the  tattoo  shop.  you  always  were  the  creative  one.”

isn’t  that  right,  joaquin?

the  thought  arises,  a follow-up that feels as natural as breathing,  but  gets  lodged in  her  throat  when  she  turns  to  share  a  look  with…  NO  ONE.  picture  frames  of  tender  moments,  but  no  house  to  hold  them  anymore.  is  that  what  grief  is?  as  rafael  leans  into  her  initial  touch,  her  hand  flattens  against  his  skin,  the  pads  of  her  fingers  pressing  weakly,  as  if  to  check  if he’s  really  here.  she only catches the tail end of his question, gaze flickering to meet his once more.  “no.”  she  breathes  out,  a  subtle  rasp  in  her  voice,  that  knot  tightening  over  her  chords.  dark  hues  scan  his  face,  committing  every  feature  to  memory.  as  if  he  too  was  going  to  disappear  the  moment  she  let  go.  “you  look  beautiful.”   once  again  taking  his  lead,  dropping  by  her  guard  to  reveal  an  unexpected  moment  of  sincerity  in  the  least  ideal  setting.  only  this  time,  she  doesn’t  have  the  time  to  think twice before another slip—  “i  really  missed  you,  you  know  that?”  

at  that,  rafael  laughs  -  a  small  shake  of  his  head  all  that's  needed  for  a  few  stray  stands  to  fall  over  his  eyes.  eyelashes  blinking  through  them  to  watch  her,  "i'd  love  to  see  what  you'd  do  with  that  power,  kennedy  -  you're,  big.  larger  than  life."  it's  something  joaquin  would  say;  the  memories  barely  skim  the  surface  of  his  thoughts  -  he  strikes  a  rainboot  through  them,  sinks  them  further.  "used  to  think  you'd  -  conquer  the  whole  world."  it's  genuine,  too  genuine  for  the  club  -  for  the  crowd  around  them,  for  the  buzz  at  the  back  of  his  head,  warming  where  spine  meets  skull.  "yeah,"  he  agrees,  easily;  a  passing  laugh,  "but  it's  still  true,  either  way."

his  forearms  meet  the  edge  of  the  bar,  still  close  to  kennedy  -  still  allowing  space  between  them.  it's  the  most  they've  spoken  since  -  since  then.  for  once;  rafael  doesn't  want  to  think  about  it.  "you  know  where  to  find  me,  ken  -  door's  always  welcome  for  a  good  -  waltz."  beer  left  on  the  counter,  rafael's  turned  towards  them,  sliding  the  tequila  sunrise  her  way.  he's  always  one  to  lean  into  touch,  subconscious  as  their  finger  hooks  onto  him.  another  laugh  escapes  him,  so  easy.  "you're  the  first  one  to  get  it,  i  think  -  yeah,  the  tall  guy.  dunno...  felt  easy,  at  the  time.  now  i'm  feeling  a  bit  like  a  -  misplaced  film  bro.  do  the  wings  make  me  look  pretentious,  ken?  you  can  -  be  honest,  with  me.  can  handle  the  truth."