" Ooohh, Ricardo, Have You Been Drinking? This Isn't Like You. " It's A Jest Coupled With A Puff Of Laughter

" you know what ... after the evening i've had ? why not. " she matches the volume over the music, smoothing down the front of her daphne dress. a small tear, poorly put together with a safety-pin at her side, proving to be the source of her frustration. the spin takes her off guard, makes her sputter off something close to a laugh. a squeeze is given to the fingers interlacing hers, but a brow promptly arches upward. " have you already started drinking, kennedy? "

location : the dance floor @ the warehouse

time : approximately 10:30pm.

open : to anyone!

“are you thirsty? wanna grab a drink?” kennedy half yells into the other’s ear, yet her voice is barely audible over the music pumping around them. fingers flutter down the other's arm, ready to grab hold of their wrist to lead them out of the dance floor or loosely interlace her digits with theirs to twirl them around. depends on their answer!

effie knows damn well ricardo wouldn't be anywhere on the suspect list. unless there's a fat chunk of cash and they're hiring someone else ... there's absolutely no way. she's laughing at her own thoughts while adjusting her bag to her shoulder. this walk isn't going to be dreadful, at least not for her. tons of people would probably take the nearest turn left and avoid being stuck with ricardo garcia ... but she's a woman of pride. though she'd never speak it, and would like to think he knows it, ricardo doesn't have skin in the game. to write was to pull at heartstrings, instill intrigue and captivate whoever reads it. money, in the end, was simply the bonus. so, that's what she's leading with.

another laugh sounds at his stop, feet carrying her to step in front of him and pause the little walk. effie looks up at him with a tilted head, smile resting against her face as if she's already won this mock - debate. " i'll take the good person comment as a compliment ... but seriously? let me rephrase. " she takes a drag off of her cigarette, turning away to blow the smoke away from his face. in an instant her gaze travels back to his face. determined in expression and soon in voice. " it is cruel, but cruelty doesn't sell. the register writes a false column only to be discredited by shitty police ... sure it'll sell. however, our reputation will also tank. and when that tanks, you know what else does? profit. " she spins the hand with the smolder around in a circle. " what i'm suggesting is, yes, have some tact, but mainly if we wait for a statement and then fill in the plot holes with our own what ifs and could bes ... we'll drive suspense. " there's a snort, " nonetheless won't become the fucking tmz of red creek only profiting off old ladies who can't use a smart phone. see what i mean, ric? "

HE ROLLS HIS EYES and feels a small almost - smile move his mouth . ricardo has worked hard to be known in certain ways . sometimes he forgets the feeling you can get from surprising people . from being remembered DIFFERENTLY . ricardo has never been a smoker , but he takes interest in the way the smoke billows around effie , effortlessly . his eyes linger for a second too long before he pulls them away . " well , who knows ? maybe i'm the murderer looking for a second kill tonight . " he says , tone with less bite than normal .

he waits for her as she collects her items , eyes scanning their surroundings . ricardo didn't know what to expect for his first halloween in this town . it's both surpassed and disappointed every expectation . back home , he'd be in a limousine by now , snorting white substances with random victoria secret models . REDCREEK IS LIKE A WHOLE DIFFERENT WORLD . he hums at effie's description of kennedy . it's an understatement . kennedy may be one of the smartest people that ricardo's ever met , but FAT CHANCE of revealing that . he falls into step with effie , hands tucking neatly into his dress - pant pockets . he looks over in surprise as she mentions holding off reporting in the register . if it was anyone else , he'd tell them to keep their shit opinions to themselves . he feels himself slowly break into a grin the more she talks . this is where effie and kennedy differ greatly . effie has a conscience . ricardo can't even remember what having one feels like . " breeding hysteria is in our job description . " he replies back , languidly . he turns to face effie properly , pausing in their footsteps. " i don't know if you realised yet , eff , but cruel and me kind of go hand in hand . " he resumes walking , with a small shrug of his shoulders . " i appreciate your opinion . " he always does , which is a DANGEROUS thing . " but i'm sure you can appreciate why i won't be taking it . " ricardo squints up ahead , trying to determine where they are . " hysteria , shitty police , bungling media ? that's how cases bring infamy . infamy brings money . we don't have to be good people , but we can at least be rich ones . "

oscar had a way of saying things even more outlandish than damon could ever think of. speaking of god, the use of ghastly. a stunted expression crosses their face ; oscar perplexing them as clear as the glasses behind the bar. widened eyes remain fixed against their jawline, mouth ever so slightly parted. as stalwart as it is, their expression shifts with a bang, " well ! " the bang a loud clap of his palms together. " color me fucking flabbergasted! cat catching my tongue. " a bark of laughter as the clapped palms slap against the wood. they knock back their drink with haste, letting the warmth fizzle against their tongue for a moment. " alright, alright. c'mon, spooky ... get to readin' me or whatever. i'm surprised you took me seriously. i was not on this planet. "

óscar  glances  up  from  the  edge  of  their  arnold  palmer,  the  thus  -  far  untouched  three  -  car  spread  that  damon  asked  for  three  days  ago  awaiting  to  reveal  his  fate.  but  what  they  can't  anticipate  is  what  óscar  will  say  to  him;  in  fact,  óscar  themself  can't  predict  a  diddly  -  dang  thing  that  comes  out  their  mouth.  “damon.  we've  both  lived  here  a  long  time.” sage.  serious.  “y'know  i'm  the  only  one  who's  gonna  tell  you:  not  even  god  herself can  save  your  face.” gestures  on  his  own  jawline,  smears  where  a  missed  strip  of  five  o'clock  shadow  seemed  to  stand  on  -  edge,  little  toy  soldiers  of  hair  follicles.  “en  el  nombre  del  padre.”  leaves  the  creed  unfinished,  but  crosses  the  little  area  over  damon's  person.  “now  quit  stalling  and  ask  me  your  question  again.  this  music?  it's  ghastly.  i  can't  remember  a  thing.”

maksym is far from a frequent flier at redstone ; embodies a distant fly on the wall. present, aware, but perched unmoving against the drywall out of sight. this the opposite of their other half. he, present on the stage with bloodied fingers from the strings, rhythm piercing the already buzzed atmosphere. mak is the oddity here, but who the fuck wasn't an oddity in this town anymore? still it lingers in the corner of their mind just how strange they feel in a bar. unwilling to make eye contact with other patrons as if it'd burn. disinterested in musical commodities such as the band ( or, maybe, just because it welcomed finch ). yet they linger. fly, shadow. anything except a person.

they sit with one whiskey neat and eyes glued to the yellow-tint of their phone screen. it's just something for them to do, bade their time as they drown a misplaced discomfort blooming beneath ribs. it doesn't have a name — mak isn't trying to find it either. they don't notice the this time real shadow looming over them. the figure cast by the low light against the counter ignored. just some other resident. someone looking to burn what lurks beneath murky waters with something stronger.

as the old story goes — it wasn't just some fucking resident.

taylan speaks into their space on purpose, he must. mixes in his volatile presence with their still water. it doesn't startle mak, not necessarily, but it births a new gnawing. their tongue clicks in wordless response, fingers tapping against the drained glass. bored? " bored. " it's a scoff, cousin of a mean laugh. mak doesn't grace taylan with the generosity of a full acknowledgement. tilts their head in a similar way, just barely, encroaching into his space like a quiet challenge. eyes obscured by the hike of their shoulder. the problem with being a nurse in red creek, and red creek in general, was being known. even if their brother wasn't a frequent body with taylan they're sure they'd be noticed still. small town. only hospital. they need out of this fucking place, but they haven't found the open window. " was me not fixing your dumbass up at the hospital enough? " caustic in its own way ; biting without the connection of teeth. fuck, they need another drink. two finger wave towards the bartender and they receive another liquid pacifier. it'd never be liquid courage, they aren't in need of that shit. " i'll bite, taylan. what kind of entertainment you offering? besides the threat of a headache. "

where : redstone bar status : closed for @c0nnectdots

redstone bar thrums with its usual chaos - laughter curling into the sharp notes of a jukebox tune , the slap of cards against table , the steady thud of boots against the floorboards . the air is thick with the tang of spilled whiskey , and a haze of distractions that fails to reach him . taylan stands just inside the doorway , the noise washing over him in waves , but doing nothing to sate the gnawing ache in his chest . it’s an insatiable hunger - the kind no drink or idle conversation can dull . his muscle plead for stillness , but his sinews stretch taut , coiled with restless energy that drives him forward . his chest burns hot - a bitterness festering , like old gear abandoned in the shadows of a rink , forgotten and rusting away . the ache lives too deep , a rot he can’t scrape out , a void that won't be satisfied by anything less than destruction . his eyes flick to the far end of the bar , landing on mak . wrong twin . finch would’ve been a guarantee of chaos , a devil perched on his shoulders , whispering bad ideas into his ear . mak , though , is all stiff-backed judgement , more locked door than partner in crime . taylan moves toward him anyway , his shadow dragging heavy across the floorboards . when he reaches the bar , he doesn’t sit . he looms , shadow pooling over mak's sharp shoulders . for a moment , he says nothing , doesn't even look at them , just signals for a drink . the sharp clink of glass against the counter cuts through the noise . then , with the barest tilt of his head , taylan leans in close enough to crowd their space . “ you look bored . ” he murmurs , low and sardonic , curling between them like smoke . “ let me fix that . ”

restless energy exists under his skin. constant need to get his hands on something— it's kept him out of most trouble last few years. quelled the electricity making his hair stand on edges ; the pins and needles at bay. couldn't stumble into bad habits, lose the plot if they had something to do. ironically, had considered looking into mechanics before the tattooing gig. only problem with cars were the lifeless shells. couldn't tell what the hell was wrong with an expressionless husk. it lacked a form of art ; detailing couldn't even compete. if damon's fixed his absolute joke of a ninety's era honda, surely he could do something. " well, if you don't know and i don't know what the hell is wrong with it ... who's to say it isn't an easy fix? " its genuine in the way it's stressed, fingers fiddling with an edge silver ring circling his finger. palms itch at the thought. " least i could do, yeah? gives me shit to do, you somethin' less to worry about. hopefully. i ain't a mechanic, but ... i like to keep my knowledge expanding. " snorts at that. " you know me. can't stop keeping myself busy. just keep it in mind, yeah? " a clap of their hands. " now, with the damon business spiel out the way ... what you want? i'll cover it. no, nope nothin' about handouts or any of that shit. i asked you if you were free to chill. "

the    air    in    places    like    redcreek    carried    a    sweetness    that    clung    to    her    skin    like    sap,    tacky    with    memories    she'd    rather    forget    —-   memories    of    a    town    smaller    than    this    one,    trapped    between    cornfields    and    steeples,    drenched    in    kindness    so    artificial    you    felt    like    you    were    suffocating. it’s    why    she    tries    to    stay    in    the    margins,    on    the    side ;    here,    but    not    really,    easily    forgettable.    a    person    you    jot    down    in    the    crevices    of    your    memory    and    then    discard.    but    now    she needs    help.    fucking    can’t    stand    that    she    does,    but    requires    it    nonetheless.    without    a    means    of     transportation    she’s     truly stuck,    one    purgatory    traded for    another. it's that fact that forces her to act    like    words    have    threaded    through    her    suspicion,    like    saccharinity    in    eyes    and    a charm she almost wants to fall for    doesn’t    remind    her how    she's learned generosity doesn't always mean goodness    —-    instead how one usually meant the absence of the other.    " wish    i    knew.    every    time    i    try    to    gain    any    type    of    speed    the    check    engine    light    comes    on    and    he    quits. " fingers drum over the rusted metal, gaze catching theirs. " you sure you want another project? "

" clearly those melodramatic fucking monologues still get your attention. " words are accompanied by a laugh. sure, they'd noticed the guitarist doing what he does best up on the bar's stage. strumming like there's something to lose in the strings vibrations. hard not to, given history. given damon's insistence on knowing who he was in the room with. the expression on his face shows he doesn't mind finch's appearance, but the scrunch of his nose shows he minds their tab. the snagged bottle didn't even receive that much attention. " and you're still getting me to pay for your drinks. shit just don't change. " and it never seems to. if one day the sky dusted in technicolor, letting off sparks ... maybe they'd view red creek in a different light. the corner of their mouth twitches in a smirk towards the roaming gaze— their own sharp gaze fliting towards a covered hipbone. acknowledgement. a ' F ' and a ' D '. always some sort of reminder they both were here. " well, finny, ain't that the question? what haven't i fucking done? " two fingers tap against the wood of the bar. they mimic the rhythm strummed on the bass just moments ago ; the thing that countered the slight tension in the atmosphere. maybe that was just damon's, though. anxiety they'd briefly exposed with that dramatic fucking monologue. they'll stick to biting their tongue again. damon doesn't offer a toast, but their newly opened bottle clinks against finch's with a satisfying noise. they take a moment to continue, swallowing down a long drink. just for those melodramatics finch loved to point out.

" got into a fight right where we're sitting and you'll never guess when ... fucking murder night. halloween homicide. " tattooed hand with the bottle lifts to slice a finger across their own neck, " talk about bad timing, but looks like i've skeeved my way past the consequences of my actions. " their body leans just slightly closer. it isn't enough to breach personal space, but enough to prove attention is zeroed in on the younger man. beer released and rested on a coaster in favor of leaning against their own arms. " what kinda shit you been into lately, huh? "

*    ❪   🦇   ❫    ﹕ 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲'𝘀 𝗮   𝗰𝗹𝗮𝗽   𝗼𝗳   𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗱𝘀   𝗼𝗻   𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻   𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱𝗲𝗿   𝗯𝗹𝗮𝗱𝗲𝘀   in a job well done as   he worms  his way  through   the   crowd,   guitar   strapped   against   his   back   in   an   embellished   shield   for   the   A/C   that   threatens   to   dry   him   up   like   an   orange   peel.   metal   strings   are   splattered   with   the   blood   that   seeps   through   the   bandages   pasted   erratically   on   each   slim,   boney   digit.  ❛ what   the  fuck   are   you  even  chatting about ? ❜  he interjects, icy hues glancing over at the older man. a   familiar   face   that   usually   serves   to   spark   an   irritable   flame,   but   the   stench   of   violent   forthcomings   demands  attention from someone who relishes it,   letting   the   conversation   further   rather   than   die   out.   ❛ still   haven't   let   go of those   melodramatic   fucking   monologues. ❜    their   temper included.   it's what had kept the two tethered to one another. that and, other things.  finch's   gaze   roams   their physique,   seeking   out the   assumably   faded   ' F ' initial   that   marks   his   territory.  ❛ what'd   you   do,   d ? ❜    straight canines bare a lazy smile,   snatching   the   bottle   and   downing   it   in   one   parched   swig   before   tapping   it   against   the   island.  ❛ two more rox,   put   it   on   their   tab. ❜ 

Just do what I say, Atwood.

THE O.C. | 4x01: “The Avengers”

FOR : bronte ! @lifekisses. LOCATION : bronte's residence.

to say the turbulence of red creek wasn't getting to abel would be an understatement. since resurfacing in the town after a month's absence ... it seems like it's different shit new day. though, maybe, it'd be same shit, different day in abel's case. a man around for the original disturbances of the town now witnessing the potential recreation of them. the same fear, same unease, same anxiety. no, he he isn't immune to it ; finds himself scanning the open spaces of the bar more closely, bartending more often with it. his own version of paranoia, capturing regulars and noting flight risks. however, it seemed he didn't have to scan the bar for a new fucking disturbance. the register thrust forth for him. an unsavory picture and he couldn't hide his shock behind the counter. his course of action is immediate, thoughtless.

he doesn't call bronte. doesn't ask if he could check in on her — does what he's done for a handful of years and walks over there. knocks against her door in quiet fours. once she answers, he gives a sigh. " hey, ronnie. hope i ain't interrupting, but ... figured a friendly face might do you some good. "

" bourbon. " and with her outburst, effie tries her damndest to reign it in. end of the day : the register wasn't under her thumb and name. frankly, she wasn't sure if was something she'd ever thought of. sure, it would run better that way. thinks a paper boy off the street might have more tact than ricardo, but at the end of the day ... she'd probably reject it. pass it off to kennedy who, frankly, could benefit more than it. maybe they'd be able to communicate better together, too.

she does almost stomp to the kitchen, anger simmering from her voice and presenting only in her body. " look. your register, your choice. however ... " hands raise to run down her cheeks and rest against her own chin. " playing games doesn't get you anything but tangled into a nasty little web, ricardo. so, you don't even know who sent those to you? somebody and you. those are great fucking sources. forget about wikipedia. " and maybe that's what is bringing in the sting of betrayal. trusting an anonymous source with a pretty little photo than his own employees. she waits until she has her drink to continue and damn near downs it in one go.

" you couldn't even tell me? kennedy? dammit, think a little! it's nice to see you running your mouth on paper instead of just air, but ... the hell am i suppose to do with this? " vaguely gestures out into the air, leaning her elbows against the counter. maybe she's ... worried, in her own way. if ricardo believes this, real or not, what else is going to believe? will he go down a wild goosechase and not come back? trip over his own feet, post the wrong sort of hot gossip? " look. i'm just asking for a bit of trust, ricardo. i know damn well i won't get any more of your respect, but at least your trust. games aren't meant to be played alone. "

" oh for fucks sake - " he cuts himself off because this is really getting ridiculous now . is there anywhere he won't be accosted ? silently , he reminds himself to get himself a maid or something , so they can get yelled at in his place perhaps . as soon as ricardo sees effie , he knows its game over . kennedy and effie were two of the main people he was vaguely concerned about . he almost cares . he almost wishes he was better . ricardo is a puzzle filled with almosts .

EFFIE MOVES WITH MORE ANIMATION THAN HE'S SEEN BEFORE . she's usually calm and collected . the ice to kennedy's fire . it's a testament to how clearly she thinks he's fucked up . " the photo isn't fake . " he says . " as for sources . well . they're mainly me at the moment , and i trust me . " he shrugs , a purposeful picture of BLASÉ . " everyone's so fucking interested in the story . nobody seems to give a shit about the more important thing : somebody gave this to me . right on my desk . they WANTED it on the register , effie . you of all people should be seeing the bigger picture here . this is a game , and i'm playing the part handed to me . someone knows something and wants to let everyone else know it, too . ABOUT DANIELA . ABOUT BRONTE . " he folds his arms over his chest , eyeing her . he can't lie : she looks really hot . " do you want a wine or bourbon while you yell at me ? you can continue in the kitchen . "

" see, was that so hard to ask for an opinion? trust me? it didn't kill you after all. " this, spoken like a knife aimed towards ricardo's side. cool, level, exact. effie wouldn't admit it surprised her, however. there was a certain understanding that ricardo had to respect her ( and kennedy ) otherwise he'd carelessly toss them to the side and hire whoever the hell could entertain him and lick his boots. both kennedy and herself are irreplaceable, this she knows. fingers clasp over her now emptied glass, sigh escaping into the tension filled air. " alright. sure, what would i do? " what would effie do? make it into a fucking acronym. she takes in the entirety of his statement like this was an interview, elbows to the counter and eyes towards the ceiling. the more he explained the more ... idiotic it seemed. anonymous letter, unknown person in his office, a lack of honesty. constant red flags and reminders ricardo will do anything for attention. money. attention. ways to a man's heart ricardo's she's certain at least, aside from a bright red lip and tight black dress.

" for one i'd be trying to figure out who the hell was in my desert of an office. cameras, i know we have them. disturbances on my desk. missing papers, records. computer security. i know we aren't the goddamn pentagon, but we have some private information that shouldn't freely be given. " two fingers push the glass towards ricardo and that ridiculously expensive bottle. a silent request for another pour, eyes finally leveling on him. and when it comes down to it she doesn't like the rumors stirring. effie and what she knew of bronte ... doesn't seem to have the heart of a killer. a mastermind. she thinks bronte would sooner run than kill someone.

the bruises. she notices them. of course she does and her brows furrow. a fight? well, well, well. effie isn't going to ask, but like a postcard it gets filed away. " and then i'd hold off posting the photo. play their game. are they going to badger me? offer me money? threaten me? sure, we get anonymous tips at the register, but not on our fucking desks, ricardo. and if my gut said to post it i'd talk to bronte, get a proper interview on hand. tease for another tidbit that's even juicier to try the anon's hand. prove i'm not a walking fucking mouthpiece. " god this is so ... ridiculous. maybe if effie was a different person, she'd have put the bruises to ricardo's jaw. " give an inch, people take a fucking mile. you of all people should know that. with how far you take things. " she sighs. " with the way things are going right now ... a missing person, a murder. it's best to play chess and not checkers. i'm not saying we tuck our tails and hide, but we should be thinking: will they send more? preservation, ricardo. " a twinge of concern. maybe effie is concerned, just maybe, but she doesn't expand.

" so if you trust me and kennedy treat us like we're your damn team and not some pretty little assets. like expensive decorations. " this, with a twinge of anger. it isn't a maybe.

ricardo deflates slightly . he hates when people make sense - especially when it's effie , who famously ALWAYS makes sense and has the best way of delivering it to him . he leads the way to his larger-than-necessary kitchen , all marble and white tops , unused pans , plates . he looks like he lives in a model house from architectural digest , and that's because he does . he bought it as is , then hired the first person he could find with a good resume and the ability to work well with an EMPTY CHEQUE BOOK . he reaches for the bourbon in a tall diamond glass bottle . the liquid sloshes softly into a short glass , which he slides to effie . he pauses . " on the rocks or neat ? " there is something within him that will always try to impress effie . he can't quite define it . can't even explain it to himself . kennedy is fire : smart and vicious . but effie is smooth marble : cool , level , EXACT .

" okay . okay . " he relents , with another sigh . he pours himself two fingers of the bourbon then leans against his kitchen island , half turned to her . " maybe . . MAYBE . . posting it without consulting you was a mistake . " ricardo allows . he sweeps a look at her from the corner of his eye . then , he takes a large gulp of his expensive bourbon . it burns in a way that only money allows . " fine . what would you have done ? if you were in my position ? and i'm not saying it to be an asshole , i really mean it effie . you get an anonymous letter on your desk , signed to you and only you . nobody should know how to get into the register , let alone into my office . nobody even knows i'm IN my office half the time . not even me . so they leave it there , with the photos . yeah . fine . maybe they played me . maybe i fell right into their hands . " he shrugs , pulls his gaze away so he can stare ahead at his curtains billowing in the night air , from a small crack in one of his living room windows .

the air is quiet yet loaded between them . ricardo works his jaw for a moment , feeling the bruising and aching still there from his tussle with taylan . " i trust you . " he says , and wonders if he'll grow to regret that . liking people is impossible . but trust ? trust is a currency . and he's willing to hedge his bets on effie . " . . . i wanted to tell you . both of you . i really did . " ricardo admits . he stretches his legs out before him , then takes another sip of his drink . why did he do what he did ? he doesn't know . he doesn't know why he does ANYTHING , really .