"eh, You're Not Missing About Much. Beer's Just... You Know, Cheap." It Fit His Nature Of Taking Things

santiago's attempt at levity makes her scoff, and it's only because she got most of her bitching out already that it manages to add a hint of amusement in there. "you're so annoying." and right. when has santiago ever listened to kennedy? how many friends has she warned him against? how many parties did she try to dissuade him from going? how many family dinners did she suggest he attend? kennedy knows that santiago has always been the type to march at the beat of his own drum. maybe she wouldn't get so worked up about it... if it didn't sometimes feel so personal. "i'm glad you didn't get into any trouble." she huffs, "- and that you're okay." she makes her way over to the other side of the couch and settles themselves down there. "i wonder what the fight was about... do you think it was just some drunk dudes pounding their chest at each other?" men are so unserious.

⁑ ❝ okay, but— when have i ever listened ? ❞ santi asks, trying to shift the mood to something lighter. he wants to roll his eyes, but she does have medicine in hand & his head is starting to pound. the wound on the side of his cheek stings, but nothing too bad. santiago huffs and adjusts the frozen bag of peas on his head, holding out his free hand. ❝ i'm alright. at least i didn't get in the fight, right ? ❞

♰  ⋅  ⋆  ───  #𝑩𝑹𝑵𝑻𝑶𝑼𝑻 .  .  .   is a  dependent,  multimuse blog  for  REDCREEKFM  brought  to  life  by  aime,  twenty7,  she/her,  mst.

Ⅰ . . . 𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝚂𝙷𝙴𝙿𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙳  —  vikram  shah.   thirty5.   he/him. funeral  director.

ⅠⅠ . . . 𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙳𝙸𝙶𝚈  —  kennedy  stuart.   twenty8. she/they.   journalist/author.

Ⅲ . . . 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙱𝚁𝙾𝙺𝙴𝙽 𝚁𝙴𝙲𝙾𝚁𝙳  —  joey harlow.   forty4. she/her.   owner of redstone bar.

VICKY CRISTINA BARCELONA (2008)

“if they do let me back there, don’t expect me to be able to pour anything other than a straight liquor. id be a shit bartender.” kennedy was very aware her strengths and bartending was simply not one of them. she follows the other with amusement awed by how yasmine walks through the room like they own the place. it was her idea to get a drink but they are more than happy to let yasmine take charge. with their encouragement, kennedy squeezes herself into an opening. she raises a hand to get the bartender's attention, then stops, and turns back to yasmine. "wait — what are you having?"

they nodded their head solemnly and hummed in agreement. "they might even let you behind the bar. it's doubtful they would care about the legalities of it tonight." they continued walking and shoving their way through the crowd, hardly acknowledging how many shoulders they bumped or toes they stomped. "time to test your theory," yasmine said as they pulled their hand kennedy and pointed toward the bar.

“you are bleeding." vikram is too stunned to offer anything other than the truth right now. getting very cleaned up is taking precedence over beside manner. "it's okay. it's not that bad." for now at least. it's too early to tell if she’s concussed or just in shock. he's got a hand hovering over her shoulder just in case, ready to catch her should she feel lightheaded. "don't move, okay?" he pats at the area, an occasional apology murmured under his breath at any sign of discomfort. the friction of his handkerchief against her wound is probably not the best feeling, but he’s trying to be gentle. “how are you uh, feeling?”

who : anyone where : outside the bar when : 2:05am

" oh my god , am i bleeding ? i think i'm bleeding. " avery winces as she touches her nose , the wound bleeding slightly. at least nothing was broken. avery was at the bar when a fight broke up and she was much too close to the action. was she trying to join the fight ? no one can say , avery would sue.

“—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?"

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.

even with the defensive action of raising his hands up, the silence that ricardo offers only serves to fuel the fire raging within kennedy. it brings them right back to that halloween night—the walk to redstone just hours after hearing the news. the body. the cold chill in the air. ricardo, glossing over the moment kennedy tried to stand up for themselves, brushing it off like it didn’t matter. like they didn’t matter. that memory claws at them now as he takes time to process. think. whatever the hell he does when he doesn't want to hear her nagging anymore. they stand there for a moment, dumbfounded, resisting the urge to snap their fingers at him to hurry it along. "respectfully? i don't have the time to watch you disassociate, right now."

ricardo's helpful reminder of where they stand in the register's hierarchy doesn't go unheard. they scoff at it, jaw clenching in useless defiance. “then act like it” they spit, stepping closer until they're right in front of his desk. they plant their hand flat onto his desk, pinning the article they brought in beneath their palm. “work with me.” the words teeter between a demand and a plea, frustration lacing each syllable. “you could have called me,” kennedy presses, their voice lowering, but no less tight. “i would’ve picked up. we could have pushed it. we could have worked together." that was the root of their issue with this. their biggest strife with ricardo.

harsh expectations? kennedy was used to those. thrived under them even. it was his dismissal of her ability that enraged her. made it difficult not to take his decision to run the story personally when it was paired with diminishing comments like 'wine and gossip' along with a refusal to relay where he got the intel. someone had to have given this information to ricardo. out of everyone in the register... why him? what the hell did he have that they didn't? "don't be petty with me, ricardo." they warn, the mention of their book striking a fresh new chord. "you have no right to tell me what this is bigger than. this isn't your town." they straighten then, squaring their shoulders. "you don't want to tell me where you got this intel? fine. i'll figure it out myself." if ricardo wants to keep secrets between them, kennedy will do what they do best. they will dig.

kennedy's words are true - that's the worst thing . kennedy is the smartest person in this shithole town and they don't even realise it . his eyes are careful as they watch her finger raise . he hasn't seen anyone this mad at him in a long time ( forgetting taylan , that was just for fun ) . ricardo holds up his hands , a long sigh leaving him . he opens his mouth , but finds it slide closed again . kennedy's words ring in his ears . FUCKED US . FUCKED ME . for a moment , he lets the silence wash over them . his breathing is out of tune with his heartbeat . why didn't he share it ? why didn't he text them or effie ? why does he make a bad situation worse ? he doesn't have answers for her . " may i remind you that i'm your BOSS ? " ricardo says instead , but his voice isn't as heated as he'd normally have it . he almost feels like a child scolded and can't help look down at the newspaper scrunched on his desk with some uncomfortableness now . " there was 15 minutes until print . i didn't have time to have a wine and gossip with you and effie . " he presses his mouth closed , eyes zeroiing back in on the image of bronte and daniela mid-argument . " i don't owe you an explanation . i did what was best for right now ." he tears his gaze from the newspaper , jaw locking . " daniela is missing . people are dying . this is bigger than just you wanting your next failed attempt at a new york times best seller . "

"overall, i think i might be more of a beer guy." vikram admits with a small smile, taking one of the glasses into his hand. "not the type to say no to a free drink, though." especially when its paired with such an amicable smile. "thank you, that's very nice of you. quinn, right?" he's seen her around the hospital during his visits to the mortuary. "do you, uh, want to do a cheer?"

the crowd at the bar was becoming a problem as quinn was hoping the person beside her was actually able to hear her words clearly . quinn's eyes shifted up towards the much taller male in front of her . " it's tequila . " she states , offering a friendly smile . " i know not everyone is a tequila drinker , so i'm hoping you're more of a tequila guy instead of vodka . " she responds .

SALVADOR  IS  NOT  SHY  about  the  look-over  he  gives  francis  the  moment  he  walks  in.  more  curious  than  anything.  with  how  slow  the  night  has  been,  salva  finds  himself  grateful  for  the  new  face,  even  one  sporting  a  hairstyle  that  simply  screams  daddy’s (or  mommy’s!) money.  a  look  around  the  room,  realizing  the  waitress  who  was  scheduled  to  be  with  him  was  nowhere  in  sight.  typical  for  this  time  of  shift.  salvador  himself  was  known  to  disappear  for  periods  at  a  time,  usually  to  take  an  unnecessarily  long  smoke  break  or  to  talk  someone  up.  anything  to  stop  the  night  from  dragging.  with  a  sigh,  he  makes  his  way  over,  grabbing  a  grease-stained  ticket  book  and  plucking  the  pen  he  had  tucked  behind  his  ear.  the  click  sounds  louder  than  it  should  in  the  empty  diner,  but  salva  pays  it  no  mind.  that,  and  an  expectant  look  are  the  closest  thing  to  a  greeting  he’s  going  to  give. 

  “what  i  recommend  might  depend  on  a  couple  of  things.  how  hungry  are  we  talking…  boss?”  a  pointed  pause  to  emphasize  the  disadvantage  the  stranger  has  found  him  in—  only  one  of  them  was  wearing  a  name  tag.  that’s  fine.  salvador  was  never  good  with  names  anyways.  much  better  at  remembering  faces.  particularly  when  they  were  as  nice  to  look  at  as  his.  or  the  one  he  was  tapping  at. bronte’s.  salvador  hasn’t  even  read  the  article.  doesn’t  feel  like  he  needs  to,  not  when  it’s  all  everyone  has  been  talking  about  recently.  even  now  as  he  takes  a  proper  look  at  the  article,  all  he  can  really  bring  himself  to  care  about  is  how  hot  the  brunette  looks.  all  pissed  off  and  indignant. 

“yeah,  i  guess.”  he  replies  with  a  shrug,  INDIFFERENT.  “i  just  think  it’s  kind  of  fucking  weird  that  some  prick  took  a  picture  of  the  whole  thing.”  is  nothing  sacred  anymore?  can  lovers  not  quarrel  in  peace?  the  quip  on  her  affinity  for  pegging  makes  salvador  grin,  amusement  slowly  blooming  under  relaxed  features.  “id  say  she  was  into  it  just  as  much  as  any  girl  should  be.” which  is  a  lot,  in  his  very  humble  opinion.  “i  can  give  you  her  number  -  if  you  want  it.  pretty  boy  like  you…   think  you  might  just  be  her  TYPE.”   the  corner  of  his  lip  twitches  upwards,   “might  come  at  the  price  of  your  life  but  hey—  with  a  face  like  that  she  would  be  entitled  to  it,  right?  hot  privilege  and  all  that.”  salvador  knows  a  thing  or  two  about  that.  “so  –  what’s  your  deal?  abercrombie  and  fitch  don’t  pay  enough,  so  you  had  to  take  up  trucking  as  a  side  gig?”  absolutely  nothing  about  him  screamed  trucker,  but  that  was  simply  what  salvador  was  used  to  seeing  at  this  time  of  night. 

ꜜ ﹙ 💳  ﹚ ﹕ there was no real reason to be here aside from the fact that it was only place open in the dead of night, when sleep was an impossible dream in a sprawling lakehouse that felt suffocating⸻ its emptiness pressing down on him and his loneliness. at least here at dolly's, the hum of the old lights buzzed louder than his more dreadful thoughts, place nearly empty, save for a trucker nursing a coffee and a line cook that looked like he should be a nude calendar model instead of flipping patties. he definitely looked like a march or april kind of guy, too pretty not to be a sleazy womanizer, and so people must be hiding their eggs from him like it's easter. practice safe sex and all. he seemed fun, at least. but those were just the intrusive thoughts that invaded francis' head as he stared at the cook instead of coming up with what he wanted to order. he leaned forward, arms resting on the counter, eyes tracing the other man's nametag before looking into his eyes. “ i'll just have whatever you recommend, salvador. ” he clicked his tongue and smiled, before attention drifted to the abandoned newspaper on the counter. the article on the front page wasn't exactly what he expected from the local press ﹕ but it sure was entertaining, albeit a little disappointing that the mystery might be over when he only just got here to see how he'd fare against a sharp knife. francis tapped the photo over and over and over until he got the line cook's attention again, a low chuckle echoing faintly in the empty diner. “ this girl— they think she has something to do with the other one going missing ? i mean, she's got a face that looks like she's a little too into pegging. but hell, with a face like that, she should be able to have whatever she goddamn wants. murder included. ” @brntout