Vikram’s Mind Hasn't Stopped Racing Since The News Of Alaina Price's Body. There Was Too Much To Do.

Dmitry: Thanks for agreeing to see me.

Dowager Empress: I didn't. You just walked in here and started talking.

Dmitry: I don't have time for a history lesson.

@mclodrma

their eyebrow twitches at his ‘no’. how absolute it is. he leaves little room for debate and while it’s not hard to understand ricardo’s side of why he would push against their idea, kennedy has always been sure of themselves and their ability to sell a story so any time they are met with opposition, they can't help but wonder — 'who the hell does he think he is?' they're certain he can see it, too. the look of defiance that washes over their black eyes. they open their mouth to speak, then quickly close it. before turning away. "fine." they leave it at that because it seems that they still see eye to eye with the 'spread fear' plan. kennedy can work with that. they've spun gold with less.

“wow, how fortunate” they reply, fully monotone to properly display just how little they care about their boss’ sex life. as they walk, kennedy keeps their eyes set ahead as well, deviating only when they think they catch something moving from their peripherals. no doubt the darkness playing tricks on them. or maybe the prospect of a murderer in their hometown has shaken them up more than they're willing to realize. they chose not to examine that, instead shifting focus to ricardo’s dry reply to their mundane question. “is it cus you’re too busy having sex?” they stifle a snort at their own joke, hand rising to cover their mouth as they do so, lowering it only once they've regained composure. “i…" they clear their throat, "i might have had a little too much to drink, tonight.” they admit, and that's the best they can muster up as an apology. “what’s wrong with halloween?”  kennedy had already guessed ricardo wasn’t the biggest fan of the holiday based on the little, or rather, lack of effort he put in his ‘costume’, so there's no surprise or offense found in the question. just pure curiosity. anything to pass the time and make this walk as painless as possible. as they walk, they find themselves wrapping their hands around their bare arms to warm them up some. if they had known they were going to be skulking the streets around this hour they might have thought ahead and brought something warmer to wear. “how well do you think you can talk up a bartender?”

RICARDO IS ALL TOO AWARE of the missing estrada woman . it's been playing on his mind ever since he got the news . the coincidence of it all . the timing . it can't be ignored , least of all by him . his stomach feels like it's dropping and he has to remind himself that this is just a job . just a town . there is nothing here and nobody here . nobody that matters , anyways . he reattunes his attention to kennedy , like an instrument that may need TUNING . " no . " he says , voice firm . " until we know it's daniela , we don't say anything . intrigue sells more than fake claims do. " A FIRST FOR HIM . he doesn't dwell on it . ricardo doesn't care for being reputable , but there's a difference between being a gossip mag and spreading false news . " or simply say : could it be daniela ? are we next ? ask questions , spread fear . " he begins to nod now , his brain working alongside kennedy's , as if in sync .

the sickly over-saccharine way they say YES SIR has ricardo's lips twitch up for a second time . fine. kennedy amuses him at times , but that's it . " fortunately i've had too much sex to count as an incel . " he brushes the sentiment off , with another shrug . ricardo doesn't even notice he's walking in line with kennedy . he's distantly aware that they're moving into conversation that ISN'T work related . rather than think about that , he focuses on their question . he keeps his gaze ahead , eyes adjusting to the dark - the interruptions of people milling past every now and then . ricardo still can't fathom that redcreek exists . that it's a real place . even less that HE'S HERE in it . " i don't have time for movies . " he says easily . he's always been more of a reader , honestly . back in foster homes , it was rare to find a television , let alone one that was AVAILABLE and didn't come with high stakes . books were free and everywhere . it carried with him after being adopted , into adulthood . he's never really gotten on the train of movies or television or even POP CULTURE really - besides the bits and pieces he overhears at overly expensive LA parties . " i'll never understand the obsession with halloween . " ricardo says instead , distaste abundant on his tongue .

“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.

#me

"UH,  HARD  DISARGEE."  kennedy  is  quick  to  refute.  they  always  found  smoking  to  be  a  nasty  habit,  convinced  it was something  only  a  masochist  would  enjoy.  they  tried  once  in  college,  shortly  after  starting  their  internship because they figured  it  would  make  them  look  and  feel   more  grown  up  in  the  room  full  of  journalistic  big-shots.  men  who  took  their  jobs  and  themselves  WAY  too  seriously.  smoking  might  not  have  stuck  with  kennedy  but  the  underlying  pretentiousness  that  came  from  it?  that  was  still  up  for  debate.   "chicken  and  waffles  with  a  side  of  lung  infection  does  not  sound  like  an  appetizing  combo  to  me."  now settled in the stool, they  turn  their  head  to  witness  the  full  display  of  soren's  theatrics,  elbows  propped  on  the  bar  in  front  of  them.  they  observe  him  carefully,  making  no  move  to  interrupt  his  performance.  a  respectful  audience,  one  that  makes  sure  to  wait  the customary  extra  beat  to  ensure  the  show  is  over  before  offering  their  reaction.  “wow."  there's  a  hint  of  a  smile  there,  perhaps  the  closest  they  have  come  since  the  news  of  the  recently  departed  –  or  rather  – recently  SNATCHED.  they  lean  ever  so  slightly  in  his  direction,  nose  scrunching  up  as if they are about to deliver some harsh news. "sounds  to  me  like  you  might just have a  little bit of an addiction there.”

location: dolly's diner time: late afternoon status: open!

something about diners. greasy leather seats. overheard secrets tangled up with the clatter of forks. bitter, often stale coffee -- unless you got lucky enough to walk in when the place was mostly empty. unlikely. the kind of place where time hangs heavy, like it got tired and sat down to rest in the corner booth. red creek felt the same, like it had long surrendered to time’s weight instead of running alongside it. no reinvention, no salvation -- just a stubborn place clinging to people like mud after rain, or maybe quicksand, tugging until they sank without a fight. soren didn't have to imagine dark things haunting its bones when its effect where already laying there, sprawled out for anyone willing to see. maybe ancient spirits seeking revenge after having their forever homes suffocated with asphalt and cement. maybe nothing at all, just the weight of a town folding in on itself, vanishing into a fog you didn’t know you’d entered until it was too late. soren wouldn't flinch if someone shattered the silence with a lynchian scream -- sinister close-ups, faces trembling under the pressure of things better left unsaid -- right there in the diner, right as he staed at his gone stale coffee. and perhaps it was his obsession with intricate stories that blurred the line with reality, but twin peaks really didn't feel like fiction anymore; it was a blueprint, a warning for places like this, where the mundane teetered on the edge of surreal, where time sagged, like peeling wallpaper in a room sealed off for too long, and good people stumbled into band endings. even diners -- those greasy churches of familiarity -- could warp into confessional booths. soren let his face fall into his hands, elbows propped at the sides of the cup of coffee. if it had been steaming, it would've made a perfect shot. “ you know what's bullshit, ” he spoke as soon as he felt a presence next to him finally glad to push his inner monologue onto someone else, anyone unlucky enough to hear. he continued as his hands dropped to his lap, revealing a face worn thin by restless nights. “ the fact that they made it illegal to smoke in public places. especially diners. ” though it wasn't just diners. it was also cinemas, trains, pubs.... a beat. then two fingers lifted to his lips, mimicking the pitch of a cigarette between index and thumb. soren inhaled theatrically, face tilting upward as though savoring the hit. then, just as theatrically, he ground the phantom amber into an imaginary glass ashtray, the kind with ornate edges. clock. sound design coming from his tongue against his palate and he swat the phantom ashtray away, still dipped in his interactive daydream.

SUCCESSION — 1.02 Shit Show at the Fuck Factory

"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?  ”

Czeslaw Milosz, New and Collected Poems: 1931-2001

“am i?” vikram asks, taking a beat too long to process the playfulness in natha's voice. once it does, he offers a breathless chuckle “yeah, i suppose i am. i um, actually stopped by to see if you wanted some extra candy to hand out. i… overindulged.” especially for the number of visitors vikram tends to get. it should be no surprise to anyone that the mayors house would be more popular to bring your kids to than the funeral director's.  “oh —this?” he looks down at his costume, which isn’t all too different from his usual attire — a black suit. “one sec,” he frees a hand from the pumpkin shaped bucket of candy bars he’s holding to dig into the pocket of his suit jacket. some shuffling later, he pulls out the only real indicator that this would be a costume — a white half masquerade mask. he quickly puts it on before facing nathan once more. “i’m the phantom… from phantom of the opera? are you a fan of musicals, mayor?” vikram is certain he should know the answer to this but alas, his memory falls short.

𝖫𝖮𝖢𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭　:　nathan's front door,  around  7pm 𝖲𝖳𝖠𝖳𝖴𝖲　:　open  for  anyone

“  aren't  you  a  bit  too  old  to  be  trick  or  treating?  ”  nathan  asks,  cradling  a  bowl  of  candy  on  his  hip  as  he  leans  against  his  cobweb-decorated  door.  there's  no  malice  in  his  tone,  if  anything  he's  amused,  chuckling  as  he  hands  them  over  a  few  fun-sized  chocolate  bars.  “  and  you're  supposed  to  be  …  ahh?  …  ”  he  wonders with  a  raised  brow,  gesturing  towards  their  costume.