"overall, I Think I Might Be More Of A Beer Guy." Vikram Admits With A Small Smile, Taking One Of The

“obsession?” she can’t help but laugh as that, though it lacks humor. "that is so dramatic, ricardo. i was just asking you a question." the silence that now envelopes them is not as comfortable. there's no solidarity no mutual understanding of how to navigate a story. what little patience they had for ricardo's antics is quickly depleting the more he speaks. "jesus, we get it. you're in a different tax bracket! do you really have to remind everyone of that every chance you get?" they are suddenly regretting the decision to accept the blazer. if he is intent on treating them like a child about it then they would rather freeze to death. kennedy meets ricardo's gaze as he scoffs at their plan, brows twitching into a frown. then they sigh, as if truly disappointed. “i must have mistaken you for someone with initiative,” they respond, fixing her gaze ahead of them once more, a newfound determination finding it's way to their bones. “fine — don’t help me gather intel. ill do it myself.” they don’t need him. they don’t need anybody. it was foolish of her to think the common goal or whipping up some notoriety was enough for them to work together. kennedy does remember him vaguely saying something like that to them and at the time, they bit their tongue. figured it was just him adding some good old corporate fear to the work culture. besides, what the hell could they possibly uncover in red creek? but now, their journalistic instinct tells them that there might just be a story to be told tonight and they aren’t interested in letting anyone’s ego get in the way of that.

they pick up their pace slightly, enough to step in front of him and put both of their strides to a pause. “i’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding between us, sir.” their voice shifts into a more professional tone but make no mistake — there is a definite bite in there. “i am sorry if i gave you the impression that i'm some lackey who's value rests on writing fluff stories for the piece of shit station you decided to burrow yourself into." it’s clear he doesn't know anything about them. the articles they’ve written, the stories they’ve uncovered, the damn book they wrote. and it's even clearer now that he simply doesn't care . "so let's re-evaluate each other's professional expectations, should we? how about you stop acting like i'm some inconvenience to have at your side and i'll stop mistaking your interest in the news as a willingness to help?" as per my last email, fuck you. 

HE SCOWLS AT THE LINE OF QUESTIONING . what may be harmless to others , royally pisses ricardo off . he doesn't like small talk . he doesn't like incessant questioning . this is the worst thing that reporters do and something he now only has HIMSELF to thank for picking the register to buy . inadvertently he's surrounded himself with nosy freaks . " what's the obsession with whether i watch movies or not ? are you planning an exposé on ricardo garcia's watching habits ? " it's not a snap , but it's close . his eyebrows set and his expression shutters off . he allows silence to wash over them as they continue walking , but he notes the way kennedy hugs the blazer slightly closer to their body . " don't spill anything on that . it's worth more than a year of your pay check . " he can't help add .

he silently agrees that the killer may be one for dramatics . a part of him wants to drive deeper and ask kennedy about their thoughts on what it means . why halloween . why that street . why that time . did they know people would be out ? was it accidental or planned ? but ricardo doesn't quite enjoy inciting conversation and a stronger part of him is worried that kennedy will take it as an invite to pester him with more questions in return . instead, he hums in agreement at their sentiment . ricardo glances at kennedy , with a scoff . " divide and conquer ? no thanks . i'm not your coworker . you ought to remember that . " he shakes his head . " i don't divide and conquer and i definitely don't take orders from my own staff . " he lifts a hand up , waving it . " what did i say on my first day here again ? something about ' you get me something interesting and you get to keep your jobs , otherwise , don't bother me ? ' tonight's hardly a call for us to sing kumbaya and collaborate . " ricardo feels restless then . itchy . he remembers why he doesn't like talking to people and especially shouldn't talk to his own workers . he doesn't need friends . he doesn't need anyone . he is uncomfortable because he knows , deep down , that's exactly what he needs . but a man raised a wolf will always only bare his teeth . it is in his nature . " no . " ricardo says flatly . " go find some sad loser to drink with you . " he's sure there's more than plenty still wandering around .

salvador  emerges  from  the  heavy  back  doors,  both  hands  clutching  oversized  black  trash  bags  that  reek  of  grease  and  kitchen  waste.  the  shift  from  the  suffocating  heat  of  the  kitchen  to  the  sharp  chill  of  the  night  air  sends  a  shiver  up  his  spine,  making  him  painfully  aware  of  the  sweat  clinging  onto  his  brow.  he  exhales  sharply,  annoyed  that  his  hands  are  too  occupied  to  swipe  it  away.  then  his  gaze  lifts—and  locks  on  her.  henrietta  nivan.  the  woman  of  the  goddamn  hour.  salvador  had  clocked  the  moment  she  walked  into  the  diner,  could  hear  the  commotion  of  surprised  patrons  through  the  sizzling  of  the  stove  and  the  blaring  baseline  of  his  coworker's  shitty  playlist.  even  he  couldn't  resist  peering  through  the  ticket  window  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  as  she  left  the  diner.  she’s  back.  he  doesn't  expect  to  see  her  out  here  though.

her  greeting  is  quick  to  fill  the  silence  between  them  and  a  laugh  from  him  shortly  follows.  "please."  he  scoffs,  the  corner  of  his  lip  twitching  upwards  as  he  turns  away  from  her  to  finish  his  task  of  hauling  trash  over  a  grimey  commercial  garbage  can.  "nah,  hen.  no  kids."  none  that  he  knows  of  anyway.  he  shoots  a  sideways  glance  her  way,  full  of  feigned  expectancy.  "⏤  unless  you  have  news  for  me?"  the  last  bag  is  tossed  over  and  the  lid  is  closed  with  an  echoing  thud  against  the  metal.  he  wipes  his  hands  on  his  apron,  uses  his  forearm  to  finally  clear  his  forehead  before  stepping  back  towards  her.  “i’d  give  you  a  hug  but  i’d  hate  to  ruin  that  fancy  blouse  you  got  on.”  an  outfit  he  never  once  saw  her  wearing  if  he's  honest.  prim  and  proper  and  so  unlike  the  girl  he  remembers  fooling  around  with.  it  wasn't  a  bad  look.  just...  different.  “are  the  city  cops  after  you  for  raiding  hilary  clinton’s  closet  or  something?  that  why  you’re  back  in  town?”

ꜜ ﹙ 🪞  ﹚ ﹕ homecoming was its own specific kind of hell⸻ sat on the corner booth of dolly's, the cracked leather of the seat pinching at the back of her thigh with every shift. the clatter of forks & plates punctuated the low hum of conversation that seemed to crescendo with each passing minute, whispers and glances sliding off the walls and settling right on her shoulders as they finally recognized her. church friends of her parents, high school classmates who had never left town, people well-aware of the nivans name, all of them orbiting, pausing at her table with bright smiles and the mind-numbing idle chit-chat. do you remember me ? you've grown so tall now ! is that a wedding ring on your finger ? didn't think we'd see the day, hen ! fingers drummed against the chipped tabletop until the small talk finally clogged her throat, jaw finally hurting from her everlasting polite smile, appetite shriveling beneath all the tedium of smalltown reunions. henry excused herself to attend some imaginary business, throwing down enough money to cover the pancakes, lukewarm fires and watery cola ﹕ the door's bell shrilling her departure. but henry didn't get anywhere too far, the alley behind dolly's was cooler, quiet, gravel crunching underfoot as she leaned into the rough brick wall and reached for her lighter. that silence didn't really last very long however, smoke curling from her lips as she noticed the backdoor swing open ﹕ and there he was, salvador, an apron splattered with grease tied around his waist. “ so, ” hard stare pressing against him, lips slowly tugging into a smile, almost as if trying to formulate a theory on salvador's life during the last eight years she had been away. “ did you ever manage to knock someone up ? got all sorts of welcome, only thing that's really missing is someone telling me i'm the godmother of a child i haven't met. ” @brntout

My dad, he’s like, a financial planner. And I think he’s in trouble.

THE OC (2003-2007) 1.02 | The Model House

"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.

vikram’s mind hasn't stopped racing since the news of alaina price's body. there was too much to do. preparation to make, unwanted visitors to turn away, worried townspeople to ease. it wasn't just a death. it was a murder. a horrendously obvious act of violence that vikram somehow had cover up for the wake. but how do you make tragedy look presentable? a familiar voice echos down the hallway, pulling vikram from his pacing around the office to look up and meet pleading eyes. “oh! of course.” he’s quick to take the cup of coffee from greers hand, frantically looking around for a safe place to place it as if he didn't own the place and settling for an empty coffin left on its side that he has yet to bring to the main room storage room. it was next on his to-dos he swears! “wait— let me help.” he reaches for the smaller hand, fingers carefully prying open the clamped grip that threatens to tear dark locks out of greer's head. new target acquired, vikram can feel blair’s sticky fingers grab hold of his index and middle, keeping him locked by greer’s side. a chuckle escapes him then, as he leans slightly towards blair. “hi.” a whispered greeting, paired with a nervous smile as he playfully waves their tiny first. he turns to greer next, meeting the younger man's warm brown with tired, sleep-deprived black. “good morning, greer. it's really good to see you.” and he means it. "would you like some breakfast? i was about to whip myself up something." vikram doesn't have the stomach to eat yet but if greer and blair joined him then he would be more inclined to try.

𝗳𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗱      :   greer    &    vikram    (  @brntout ) !

𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗿:   6:43am.

𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻:  funeral home.

* ❪ ⛓️ ❫ ﹕ 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲'𝘀   𝗻𝗼   𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴   𝗴𝘂𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗯𝗼𝗼𝗸   𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁   𝗱𝗶𝗰𝘁𝗮𝘁𝗲𝘀   which   of   the   rare   locations   the   world   has   to   offer   is   classified   as   inappropriate   for   children,   especially   those   in   redcreek   that   stay   stagnant.   save   for   the   trickle   of   new   industries   that   try   to   make   a   mark   in   the   rural   town.   unfortunately   for   the   one   of   them   today's   plus   one   isn't   nour,   despite   her   still   persistent   &   blunt   nature.  this morning's    guest   is   his   ten   month   old   niece.   chubby   hands   are   reaching   out   toward   greer's   face   as   they   walk   through   heavy   doors,   splintered   wood   creaking   underneath   them   as   he   tries   to   avoid   getting   his   eyes   poked   out.    ❛  i   know   baby. ❜     blair's   got   one   of   his   curls   now as she bounces in her chest carrier,   tugging   with   the   strength   that   most   toddlers   acquire:  the   brute   force   of   a   hundred  fucking  lions.   greer's   stifling   the   cuss   word   that   threatens   to   cross   his   tongue   by   simply   biting   it   &   letting   out   a   wince.    ❛  vik,   you   mind   takin'    this  while i get mauled for a sec ?  ❜    he   calls   out,   hoping   the   man   will   save   the   boiling   coffee   that   threatens   to   overspill   with   blair's   movements   &   singe   his   hand   to   bone.  an   added   bonus  ?   it   serves   as   this   morning's   gift   for  the   absolute   hell   he's   undoubtedly already   enduring   with   the   news.   greer   can   only   guess   the   diversity   of   company   that'll   be   searching   the   home   &   cemetery   an   equal   opportunity   to   sniff   out   the   investigation;   journalists,   wannabe   crime   sleuths,   police,   even   spunky   tourists   who   take   murder   scenes   as   fun   museum   tours.

the sisters of the moon was the only place salvador ever felt remotely out of place in redcreek. the ambiance, the talk of spirituality and divination, crystal balls and fancy tarot cards... it all felt like bullshit to him. there was one thing that did pique his interest however, and it was the babes. nadia, hana, even vicente could get it if salvador ever managed to get a room alone with him. so if pretending to believe in whatever 'witchy' nonsense they represented was the best way to make a pass at any of them, salvador was willing to play along. he sees hana before he notices the card making it's way to him. "hmm totally." he hums back, the corner of his lip twitching in amusement. she was cute when she got excited like that—eyes sparkling with some sort of passion he couldn't quite understand. not anymore. he bends down for the card as well, or at the very least, to help her up. "is the message that you're finally gonna let me take you out sometime?"

📍 sisters of the moon, just before closing. 🗝️ open to five replies.

☾ the small reading room has become something of a second home to hana. the spot was easy to reclaim even after three years away, almost like the universe saved her a seat. at the end of it all, maybe it was exactly where she was meant to fall— a solo stage to hold her audience's attention, tucked into the back corner of sisters of the moon. she cares for the space like her own home, neatly packing every item into its slot at the end of every shift. as she works through the mental chores list today, a card slips from the deck & flutters from the back room. it lands by a familiar silhouette, to which she trails after; moth to a flame. ❝ totally a sign that you needed to be in here today. looks like you just got a message. ❞ she hums, kneeling down to collect the card. there's a cheery glint in her eyes, ❝ wanna know what it says ? ❞

Miller's Girl (2024)

Imitation of Life (1959) dir. Douglas Sirk

“i’m sure they are fine.” if she’s with taylan then kennedy feels a little better about selin's safety. what were brothers for if not to have some muscle when needed? or to provide a place to crash when the town decides to mandate a curfew all of a sudden? their smile only widens when santiago offers his laptop. "really? yeah, where is it?" it would be a good idea for them to check it out sooner rather than later. to this day, kennedy can’t fathom why he would leave his nursing job to work at a dingy little motel. it felt like such a waste and it was no secret that their parents felt the same way… but they don’t need to remind santiago of that—not tonight, at least. “maybe we should collab sometime. you hand me the fresh gossip and i see if there’s any story to be gained. did you have to sign an nda or anything like that? like, would you be allowed to tell me if someone was having an affair or something?” probably it wouldn't be newsworthy unless it was the mayor or the sheriff but still— “are you happier there?” kennedy can’t help but ask, perhaps against their better judgment.

santiago's question about how they’re doing at the register reminds kennedy of the interaction they had with ricardo earlier that evening. their expression shifts into something more sour. “my boss is about as narcissistic as it gets, which is… interesting, i suppose.” that’s one way to put it. you'd think they'd be used to dealing with them by now. "aside from that, it’s not bad. a little boring, honestly. tonight is probably the most newsworthy thing to happen in... well, 25 years." are they a monster for thinking that? maybe. "the parties in new york are obviously better. you would know if you visited me some time."

⁑ ❝ man versus chair, more like it. ❞ santi huffs, recalling the impossibly fast play - through of events. in all honestly, he may have acted with instinct over intellect, trying to pry the two apart and getting knocked back instead. ❝ don't even really know how that happened— one minute i'm chasin' after taylan & selin, the next i'm knocked flat on my ass. i'm sure she got home safe but it was so— . . . ❞ he puffs air into his cheeks, frustrated he slipped up on his one goal of seeing her get home safe. he tells himself he'll call first thing in the morning. at least kennedy doesn't push back on his offer to stay over; that's one less person he has to worry about falling into the hands of a knife - wielding boogeyman. even if they've never gotten along well, she's still his sister in all the ways that matter.

at the mention of her deadline, he feels a familiar twist of envy in his stomach — his step - sister, the best selling author, their parents are probably so proud. he tries not to dwell tonight. ❝ do you need a laptop ? i've barely touched mine since i graduated but– it probably still works. ❞ ( she might need to leave it plugged in, but still. ) there's the mention of his own work— the clerical position that he finally secured after leaving nursing. extremely dull in comparison. ❝ it's okay. i get to see what all the people in red creek are sneakin' to the motel for, which is fun. no shift tomorrow 'cos i covered the day shift today. ❞ he shrugs it off. ❝ how's workin' in red creek after leaving new york ? y'know . . . repeat of the boogeyman aside. ❞