Lets Get One Thing Straight: Damon Hasn't Been In A Fight Since The Yesteryears. Younger, Freshly Out

FOR : kieran ! @gorebound . LOCATION : THE WAREHOUSE ; HALLOWEEN PARTY . TIMESTAMP : 9:25pm .

if there's one thing damon won't pass up it's a party. and when it comes to the red creek annual halloween party? of fucking course they're going to be there. a common face at a common place, two plus two equals four after all. it wasn't in their plan to drink this heavily, but the atmosphere always seemed to get to them. adrenaline, good music, good times ... for a guy that's always on the move and filling up their plate it was nice to truly let loose every once in awhile. which, damon notices, is exactly what kieran isn't doing. they spot him immediately at the make-shift table bar. no drink in hand, though they didn't expect one to be, and scanning the crowd like they're birdwatching. it prompts damon to laugh to himself. it's only natural that they stride over with half empty red cup in their hand.

" well, well. " eyes scan him over for a moment. cowboy, classic. has seen about three of those, but this one ... " out here all dressed up like a cowboy and you're not even visiting the saloon? that's just shameful, kt. " they enter kieran's space, but only just enough to give a tap to their elbow. " come on, for fuck's sake, loosen up a little. y'know, for a guy that goes crawling around abandoned houses you're so ... " twirls their free hand in a circle and glances elsewhere before they smack their lips. " demure. "

FOR : ricardo! @inadeqcies . LOCATION : ricardo's rich boy home . TIMESTAMP : 7:35pm .

as if the register wasn't already its own personal shitshow, this might just be its final downfall. questions, questions, questions. plagued with questions. effie on the streets, her business line, her email. it didn't matter if the owner's email was listed anybody who was curious enough would bombard any reporter related to the post. maybe it wasn't the release of the information that pissed effie off, maybe it was just ricardo. no, no, more accurately it was the fact she was cut from the information. woke up the next morning to a post surrounding bronte and daniela and not a single inkling of ricardo's intentions. the release was haphazard at best, a clear indication of a rushed dump. if effie weren't so distressed, she might even be impressed with its half assed effort. it's better than anything she'd imagine ricardo capable of.

instead of the office effie tracks down his personal abode. wasn't hard to look at the records and figure out the address. this is personal, so she's going to make it personal in his own home. three continuous knocks against the door until it's opened. there's a complaint on ricardo's lips as he opens the door. it goes in one ear and right out the other as she shoves in, hands thrown up.

" i didn't know you had it in you! really, i didn't. " a certain passion ignites in her voice, " but what never fails to show is your absolute arrogance, ricardo. you know how many people are trying to get an insiders scoop from me? some extra juicy bits? giving me some bogus gossip column shit? i can't even say a word because ... oh, i don't know anything! care to lift the veil for me? such as where the hell this daytime drama incident came from? and if you even crosscheck your source? "

FOR : open ! LOCATION : bench, not far from red creek hospital.

the emergency room was always something of a toss-up. either there's whining children or elders, or a catastrophic case. one or the other, never the middle. most ruckus of the day has been a check - in for a broken leg potential ; skin angry with the pressure of a bruise. nothing out of the ordinary. though, if mak can remember, they'd had a few intakes surrounding the ... anxiety surrounding red creek. red creek. dead creek. whining elders like they'd thought — distraught and heart racing high enough to turn over a horse. well, maybe not a horse, but close enough. they've mostly detached themselves from the news, the rambling of the town, but of course its brought to their fucking doorstep. like everything in their life. tossed in, locked and keyed. learn to live with it, maksym! grin and bear it! they want out of this fucking graveyard. it's moments like this in their lonesome it weighs on their chest ; anvil, stack of bricks. a concrete object instead of a desire. the same sort of weight is what keeps them here, too.

they aren't necessarily aware when someone sits next to them. in fact, at first they don't acknowledge them at all. when they do, it's out of their peripherals and then entirely all at once. " what, looking for company or just couldn't walk ten steps down? " a grating tone to their voice ; unnecessary, but if they'd wanted a little party they'd have trekked it down to redstone. the cafe. a heavy sigh escapes. " couldn't even offer a hello either, huh? "

" well, lets think the lucky stars for that. " effie comments towards the final girl material. it's probably best to not take too many nods from a screenplay. though, at least, it seems savannah's self-aware of the type of person she is. effie's sure she probably isn't either, but she isn't going to imagine herself in that situation. unnecessary anxiety— and the night sure has had enough of that for everyone. " yeah, lets take a minute. you look a bit frazzled. how about a quick chat and then we can go on about our way, yeah? i know getting out the door was a disaster. "

she takes a brief puff, turning her head to the side to blow it out. " what'd you think of the party, you know, before it all came crashing down? " effie wasn't the best at small talk, but thinks savannah might need it. looked a bit like a deflated balloon ... like everyone else that was enjoying their night off. " definitely could've had better music this year, i think. "

Savannah was a little bummed over the party having to be cut short so out of the blue, only being able to mingle for a little bit. While everyone was being told to evacuate, the young woman finds herself feeling shoved out from the main doors, stumbling slightly, being elbowed by the rest of the crowd.

Fumbling for her phone in her bag, she raises a brow to the other who was nearby. "Uh yeah, this does kind of blow," she admitted with a sigh. Having spent so much time on her hair and makeup, she didn't want the night to end quite yet. "I'm not really sure what's going on, but might be better to use the buddy system? Not sure if I'm final girl material....", she confesses.

right, kieran worked at the hospital in the confines of the mortuary. fitting. a worn in boot. but to paint this conversation into scenery it'd be something of its own autopsy. steady hand of a scalpel, careful examination, but something is just ... missing. a rib, maybe a vital organ. something is missing. its in the kieran answers clear and decisively paired with little twitches of his mouth. subtleties, but constructive. the art filing causations and inconsistencies into the report. ( see, damon is also watching them ; honoring that felinic look of theirs but they're not to point it out unlike kieran. ) corner of his lips twitches, the corner of theirs rise in a smirk. " and you hang at cemeteries when you're drunk. yeah, i'll keep that tidbit in mind. c'mon you seemed like you had some fun, maybe i should've stuck around for the hangover. " it's a jest, but he wonders vaguely what plot of dirt if any kieran sunk at.

space doesn't grow, but remains the same with damon leaning into kieran's atmosphere. they wouldn't mark it up as feeling melancholic, but something is dreary about it. comparable to walking into a locked room where you're not suppose to be — the drift of your fingers over a dusted old journal. kieran speaks of how mysterious damon is as if he's a book. maybe they are the book in that locked room. kieran the seeker, the fingers knocking off dust. yeah, that's more accurate. eyes scan his face noticeably only flickering in a break to a scuttling piece of newspaper. they settle right back on him after that second. " knowing people. knowing what they're feeling. and are you an open book, kieran talbot? it's only fair to be. if you're trying to read any of my text. " another deflection, but it comes with an air of honesty. heavy, damn near suffocating. if this was some sort of game, another pin in his corkboard ... maybe damon would start caring about the trials and tribulations coming into good ol' dead creek.

what's terrifying more than any potential knife in kieran's or damon's, they do carry a butterfly knife pocket is that— he's right. getting to know damon was a maze of his own design ; dead ends at nearly every corner, multiple forks and circles. calculated in a way that, yeah, they can understand the suspicion towards them. they could have just answered 'no' and left it, but they ushered kieran to take a left turn instead of towards the maze's exit. hums when he leans closer, head canting slightly up to make up for the difference in height. would never admit it put him on some sort of edge how he could leer over them. what sort of edge, too, would remain unspoken. " you know. i'd almost love to see you try, kier. opening me up like those lil' cadavers. " challenges because that is what's natural. nonfictitious. " gives me something to look over my shoulder for. " it's a smooth drawl, a low whisper of upping whatever ante. " cause, hey, maybe you're the one whose really holding the knife. yeah ... yeah, that'd be a twist, right? get to know me in a way that's satisfying enough to all your little questions and whatever else, fucking theories, and then. " lifts two fingers and juts them forward. almost jabs them into kieran's side. almost. they hang in the air just like whatever tension is building. " sink! goes the butcher's knife. "

arm falls from the buildings bricks and opts to cross both of them over his chest. they couldn't keep the serious tone up for long, finding it a bit ... stifling. therefore, it breaks. smile split across their lip and gaze cast towards the ground as their head shakes. shoulders shake, laughter bubbling from the chest. " jesus, kieran. you're really something fucking else, hah? " slow trail of their eyes to that face, laze of the split smile still there. " could've just said i'm spooky. save the melodramatics. lighten up, talbot boy. asking that type of question to all your contacts ... that damn question might be the last. and that's just sad for your type. "

ꜜ ﹙ ⚰️  ﹚ ﹕ there   was   always   a   weight   to   the   questions   kieran   asked⸻   settling   thick   in   the   air   between   him   and   damon,   distorting   everything   around   them.   it   wasn't   really   just   about   the   words   themselves,   but   the   intent   behind   them.   a   curiosity.   a   peculiar   interest   he   wasn't   exactly   sure   what   to   do   with.   maybe   it   had   something   to   do   with   that   bold   letter   tattooed   on   damon's   collarbone.   or   maybe   it   was   the   way   kieran   could   just   stare   into   those   cat   eyes   and   let   the   seconds   go   by.   but   asking   someone   if   they   had   killed   another   person   wasn't   something   he   could   ever   take   back   ﹕   it   lingered,   like   filth.   truth,   however,   never   arrived   without   a   cost.   it   dragged   things   up   from   the   depths,   debris   and   wreckage   tangled   in   its   nets.   you   could   never   find   it   clean,   and   you   surely   could   never   pursue   it   without   getting   dirty.   kieran   didn’t   believe   damon   killed   alaina   price—   not   really.   but   he   still   wanted   to   get   to   know   him.   and   there   were   many   truths   you   could   learn   about   someone   from   the   way   they   answered   a   question   they   didn't   have   time   to   prepare   for.

“   i   already   know   what   she   was   killed   with.   thierry   gore   and   i   conducted   her   autopsy.   ” said   matter-of-fact,   head   canted   slightly   as   he   studied   damon,   listening   to   their   words,   tracking   the   subtle   shifts   in   his   expression   and   posture,   gaze   piercing   but   not   exactly   cruel.   and   there   he   heard   the   first   truth⸻    damon   del   valle   was   facetious,   deflected   with   mockery,   dodging   what   should   be   an   easy   (   albeit   a   little   insulting   )   yes-or-no   question   with   inquiries   of   his   own.   it   almost   made   kieran   smile,   could   see   why   finch   would   get   along   with   damon   in   this   very   moment     ﹕     both   cut   from   the   same   flippant   cloth.   but   he   kept   a   straight   face,   low   sigh   slipping   past   his   lips.    “    you   got   me   wasted   ...   and   next   thing   i   know,   i   was   walking   down   the   road   to   the   cemetery   with   the   worst   headache   i've   ever   had.   don't   think   i'll   be   the   guy   to   clear   your   name   if   anyone   else   accuses   you,   damon.   ”    a   quiet   chuckle,   pondering   about   the   question   and   the   criteria,   all   whilst   he   realized   the   second   truth   about   damon   del   valle from this exchange⸻    they   liked   to   muddy   the   water,   to   keeps   people   guessing,   to   keep   themself   feeling   untouchable.   and   kieran   had   done   the   same,   and   it   was   fine   for   most   things,   but   not   this.   not   in   a   murder   investigation.   and   certainly   not   against   kieran's   stubborn   interest in wayward minds.    “    i   like   knowing   people,   damon.   i   want   to   know   what   they're   thinking   about.   how   they're   feeling.   their   deepest   darkest   secrets.   and   you'll   be   surprised   to   know   just   how   transparent   most   people   are.   all   the   ways   they   give   themselves   away.   in   the   way   they   speak,   in   how   they   carry   themselves.   and   seeing   those   things   is   how   i   take   people   off   my   suspect   list.    ”    his   words   came   slow   and   deliberate,   a   faint   curl   tugging   at   the   corner   of   his   mouth,   not   quite   a   smile,   more   like   a   reflex   he   hadn't   decided   to   suppress.   “   but   not   you.   you're   real   good   at   makin'   people   feel   close   to   you   while   giving   nothing.   talking   and   talking   and   talking   and   still   say   nothing   at   all.   and   that's   a   little   terrifying   when   you're   trying   to   find   a   killer.    ”     he   let   the   silence   stretch,   but   only   for   a   moment,   didn't   want   to   give   damon   too   much   room   to   deflect,   to   sidestep   the   weight   of   what   was   hanging   between   them.   and   kieran   leaned   his   body   toward   damon   slightly as he   whispered     ﹕      “   but   i   pay   close   attention.   don't   worry,   i'll   figure   you   out.   ”     

FOR : open, come on in ! LOCATION : redstone bathroom ( or just coming out of it for accessibility ) TIMESTAMP : 2:43am

" great fucking job, damon. hilarious, really ! why not start a fight on the night someone's fucking murdered. genius ! " loud nonsense from a split - opened mouth. they're not speaking to anyone in particular, but their own reflection in the dirty mirror. they're not sure how bad they look, but they're definitely going to feel it in the morning. head, swimming. knuckles, aching. " gonna have a blackeye ... christ. " they smack their own face just to feel the sting. spring themselves from the disorientation of adrenaline and mixture of alcohol.

this is their cue to stop mulling and find a place to sit until the crowd settles down. slip away with an opening. otherwise, who could say they wouldn't start another fight? with their unsteady movements ... a threat of this already appears. shoulders knock into someone and they're immediately scrambling back like a wild animal. " shit — " their hands move in a sporadic manner of surrender. palms up, moving around in a circle in front of them. " sorry. i'm sorry — not trying to start anything else. swear it. "

FOR : vicente ! @newwayin. LOCATION : sister's of the moon.

" trust me, vic, i'm good on all ... that. " abel quirks his head towards the side at the sign reminding customers about tarot cards and all things mystic. really, has never felt the draw to this side of the town, but friendships lead you to some strange fucking places. " sounded like you were gonna go on a mile long run when you called me. shit, need to take a jog? said you were off in a bit. " vicente, vicente, he was always the type to get wrapped up in his head. a sensitive soul left in the world. had a bit of a soft spot for him — his natural fucking opposite, or so abel thinks. " can't guarantee i can clear your head, but misery loves company or something like that. "

eyes flicker from their phone, brows furrowing a bit. " scary and spooky makes me think of xenomorph or the freak from 'it'. if you were ghost face, i'll be devastated i didn't get to reenact the ... " the hand grasping their phone and the free one rise to their cheeks, voice pitched a bit. " NO, don't kill me mr. ghostface! i wanna be in the sequel ... " laughs almost instantly at themselves, batting the air in savannah's direction with his phone. maybe that's a bit too on the nose, crude and basic with the small town gossip stereotype. oh well, not like it didn't go through everyone elses mind. its easier to talk about this than their fucking embarrassment. wound buried beneath its mountain of salt. sugar poured into on top. a little salty, a little sweet. no, it's something bitter— " i'm yammering. lay it on me. maybe i'll spout some ideas for you next year. long as a meteor doesn't hit, add some extraterrestrial spooky shit to this creek. "

Savannah needed some time to kill before the band's set and thankfully, her initiating the conversation wasn't totally shut off. She wasn't always good at starting them, liquid courage helping her open up a bit more though.

"Yeah, I heard about it all. Small town, gossip tends to spread like wildfire," she spoke. Not trying to pour any salts in potential wounds by bringing up the events of Halloween, she tries her best at pivoting the topic a bit. "No, I wasn't really going as basic this year," she joked with Damon. "You're too cold on the guess. Think something more scary and spooky. Do I strike you as the princess type?"

there were many more exciting things to do than smoking outside of a nightclub, yes. effie hasn't thought of going in, but rather found it to be a nice hidey-hole to pause her walk. the thrum of the music good white noise, almost calming from the outside. but, no, she won't go in she's taking a pause from a new nightly routine walk. restless, unable to sleep. after awhile tossing and turning surpassed annoying and became boring. she isn't sure where it stems from, but maybe it's everything. the register's latest post, the missing person's, the wanted poster, the buzzing ... everything and anything all at once. it has her buzzing and wanting to type away on her laptop. however, she feels ricardo might have a tighter grip on her words. look over her shoulder too much. it grates her more than she'd let on — but she'll cross that bridge when she gets to it.

she sees him before she hears him, eyes glancing over to the fellow smoker. when he speaks effie's head tilts, engaged with the topic. ding, ding, ding ... it's one of the things keeping her eyes open. " hmm. interesting thought. " the cigarette is raised to her lips as her shoulder blades roll, turning her to a lean against the wall with just one shoulder pressed. smoke tumbles from her lips towards him, glancing over just to acknowledge the picture. " asking for a third ... that's pushing it, though. that get you far on any dating apps? " there's a smirk. it isn't meanspirited, but he could take it however he wanted. she follows the slicing gesture and responds with a laugh. " who knows ... go with your story of them being a cute couple together, they could've ran away. maybe hauled off somewhere together after some atrocities. " it's ridiculous and effie knows it, but she's willing to live in the hypothetical for a moment.

another drag off of the cig and she's looking up at the sky. " honestly the real question is ... will the guy turn himself in, come clean or is he on the run and hiding something like anybody and everybody does. " looks back towards francis. " tell me, which would you do— run or tuck your tail? "

ꜜ ﹙ 💳  ﹚ ﹕ there were probably more exciting things to do on a friday night than smoking a cigarette outside of the town's lone nightclub⸻ a masochistic test of discipline, like the proverbial moth trying to deprive itself of the flame that burned and burned and burned. but attempts at restraint did not make the allure any less bright. instead, he focused on the faded scraps of paper that plastered on the building's facade, a messy collage of events posters and local business ads, fluttering in the breeze. but there were two posters that stood out— demanded attention, really. side by side, and newer than all the rest. francis took a slow drag as he stared at those two faces, smoke curling up from his mouth as he exhaled with a sigh ﹕ a sound that almost sounded profound. almost. and francis looked like he was chewing on something meaningful, maybe deep, when he beckoned a passerby closer with a sharp psst⸻ a feeling of urgency underling the noise, as if his thoughts could not wait any longer to be said out loud. “ do you see it ? ” gaze returned to the missing and wanted posters, a brief pause just to see if they would make the same discovery. and finally, “ missing girl and wanted guy. they'd make a cute couple, right ? like, opposites attract or whatever. she looks all bright-eyed and fun, and he's got that ... ” francis circled his cigarette vaguely in the air as he tried to find the words, then taking another drag. “ that i'll ruin your life but you'll love me for it thing going on. kind of hot. ” smoke billowing out as he spoke, coughing when he finished the thought with a small laugh. “ but, guess it's too late to ask if they want a third, huh ? girl's been two months missing, so she's probably⸻ ” cigarette dropped to the ground and hand raised to his neck, a slicing gesture across his throat with lazy precision before letting out a croak. @c0nnectdots

Just do what I say, Atwood.

THE O.C. | 4x01: “The Avengers”