Right, Kieran Worked At The Hospital In The Confines Of The Mortuary. Fitting. A Worn In Boot. But To

the laugh is instantaneous and coupled with the two of a kind slap against the bar. " man, of the text-book medical journal identity kind, what the absolute fuck are you talking about. " pied piper, heart and soul, ariana fucking grande. it all feels like shit pulled from the cat in the hat — as in pulled from the cat's hat. " shit, you might just be killing me from all of this. the fucker joker, but like actually ... not the freak from the comics. " now, if there was something damon could pull endlessly from it'd be comic series. get him talking about those and ... oh, you'd be sitting for hours. especially after a few beers, a few joints. probably the realest they'd be without a proverbial crowbar. " you know, i'll buy your next drink. got me forgetting all about halloween night. got anything else in that head of yours though, kings? heebies or jeebies."

kingsley holds up his hands , half sheepish , half entertained . " if it is you , are you gonna kill me ? " he checks . " cause can you really kill someone who might not even be alive ? we're in purgatory here . that's what redcreek really is . we're here to pay for our sins , but not to a god . no way . to something else . the pied piper maybe . " kingsley lifts a shoulder and shrugs . " i'd never spout meaningless shit . everything i say , i mean with my entire heart and soul , which i think really do exist , but could be made out of paper straw or something . maybe this is all a wizard of oz gimmick . but if i see ariana grande i'm outta here , y'know ? she gives me the heebies ."

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. "

a certain restlessness has taken root in damon's bones. insurmountable energy that just couldn't be placed. maybe it was because their hands were empty ( except for their take-out piece of toast ) and the day unfulfilling in every possible way. what the average citizen of redcreek doesn't expect out of damon was how money driven they were. likely, they'd pick up just about any job. taxi service, weekender at the diner, the bar, the warehouse ... anything to add weight to his pockets. well, maybe they do. they're everywhere. also nowhere. a hard little mouse to keep track of, but a mouse after cheese nonetheless.

they're chewing with a spacy eyes, looking towards the bustling customers headed towards the car or down the street. recalls some of the faces: tyler, from the gas station. dwayne, a mid shifter getting off work from the diner, priscilla or miss. priss from the tenth fucking grade. faces and faces they'd seen from their lifelong stay in the creek. what pulls them back down to earth is the loud, recognizable voice of none other than tobias northcott. a pause of their chewing, a squint of their eyes. " what, think i'm not suitable for the public, northcott? " northcott in return for short - streak.

" think your temperature is running a bit too high there. it's fucking nipply. " they return to their piece of toast, tongue chasing the grape jelly from the side of their mouth. tobias, a goddamn blunder of a newcomer. well, not really new anymore, but maybe they will be again. also everywhere and nowhere. must be why they keep rubbing shoulders. if damon were a different person, maybe like kieran, they'd be questioning what tobias got up to in the dead oof night. thumb to mouth, releases it with an obnoxious little ' pop! ' the silence is dragged on to be just as obnoxious, dramatic. " i got a better question for you. the hell you tryin' to trip into? good standings with the waitresses? "

closed starter: @c0nnectdots — damon del valle . located @ dolly's diner & in the surrounding circumference .

arriving  in  town  for  the quintessential  american  breakfast  means  that  his  taste  buds  are  open.  he  adapts.  he  blends.  (  actually,  this  just  means  that  dolly's  is  the  easiest  place  to  go  after  an  all  -  nighter.  )  but  who  pulls  that  kind  of  thing?  no  circles  under  his  eyes,  no  bedhead,  no  lackadaisical  jacket  —  surely  not  him.  (  it's  him.  )  tobias,  hands  stuffed  in  the  pockets  of  his  canary  -  yellow  letterman,  blisters  about  as  obnoxious  as  an  off  -  key  warbler  as  he  coaxes  his  way  across  the  diner  parking  lot.  hey,  hey,  how's  it  going?  felix,  right?  because  he  remembers  those  brazen  enough  to  knock  their  heads  getting  to  his  dj  booth  on  a  busy,  whirring  night.  he  remembers  them,  all  the  way  down  to  the  cut  of  their  jaw  —  and  the  distinct  upturned  curl  of  their  hair  —  and  the  way  ink  ribbons  follow  their  shoulders  —

fuck,  what  the  fuck  is  damon  doing  here?  disguised:  he  releases  felix's  shoulders  and  aims  both  guns,  they're  both  made  of  fingers,  in  damon's  direction.  “no  way!”  smile  already  curling  around  the  greeting.  “well,  well.  fancy  seeing  you  here,  short  -  streak.  what  kinda  meet  -  cute  bullshit  are  we  tripping  our  way  into?”  his  steps  were  quick  before;  they  quicken  further.  golden  retriever  bounding,  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing  grinning,  it's  all  the  same  after  the  eleventh  hour. "least you deserve, after all this not - so - radical heat burning the shit outta your neck."

FOR : kennedy ! @brntout . LOCATION : a booth in redstone .

it wasn't often kennedy and effie were found outside of the office together, but this happened to be a special occassion. no, it wasn't a warehouse party turned sour. it was their own shared space : the register and a common 'enemy' of sorts. perhaps a way of strengthening a coworkers bond was by mulling over a mutual anger for their boss. sharing a drink, effie offered to pay, putting the little tension and pinpricks aside just for ricardo. " believe me, kennedy, i already had a talk with him. " spoken with a rub to her temples, eyelashes falling to a close. ricardo, as of late, was beginning to spark a headache for effie. thwarting her plans, putting a literal fucking pin in what she herself intended to write. she then wonders, briefly, if kennedy has had the same roadblocks.

" believe it or not, " a harsh puff of laughter, " i stormed into his haughty little house. brought it right to his doorstep. " the drink has long gone untouched and isn't disturbed until this moment. effie seems to trail off in thought for a moment, staring at the neatly cubed ice and condensation of the glass. she watches it drip down the side with one singular point in her head: is ricardo ever going to stop running the register like its a reality tv show? when she returns to the present she's taking a long drink of the cinnamon whiskey, lets it burn her throat before continuing. a rare question gets asked: " so, what do you think, kennedy? lay it on me. "

" ooohh, ricardo, have you been drinking? this isn't like you. " it's a jest coupled with a puff of laughter filled with smoke. effie has worked beneath him long enough to know this wasn't up to status quo. known for his sharp tongue and blaise tenor, he'd never willingly offer that. and yet, here he is. offering. truthfully, effie has always been acutely aware of his slight shift with her. its never been drastic nor suspicious, but the sharp edge dulls just a bit. she hasn't questioned it before and wouldn't start now, but couldn't help but to tease it. " i'll take you up on that. "

effie goes to stand and reaches behind her for the bag. red strands of a wig stick out comically, the discarded piece to her costume. it'd started giving her a headache over an hour ago, but she'd just now decided to rip it off. effie floyd, committed to her own detriment. " kennedy ... she's always right on the mark, isn't she? " the cigarette returns to her mouth for another puff. the silence mingles with the dissipating smoke. she pretends to ponder with this, but she's already known how to handle her own work since the announcement. " if you want my honest opinion i think we should hold off on any columns. " she looks from the sidewalk up to ricardo, head tilting towards the side. " that includes kennedy. me. you. jump before the officials and it'll cause a mess. post too soon it could breed hysteria. nonetheless ... it'd be a bit cruel to give a tragedy a damn timestamp like six pm, don't you think? "

EFFIE INTRIGUED RICARDO , which was a rarity . she wasn't one to outrightly gossip , nor was she one to fall into the bitchiness and politics like the rest . she was a straight shooter and ricardo has always liked them straight and direct . " i'll walk with you , if you want . " he offers , even surprising himself . decency and ricardo's name don't usually belong in one sentence , but he supposes he can take an hour or two off from being the world's largest douche bag . plus , secretly he does think that if anyone should and could and had the RIGHT to own the register . . . . it was probably effie . unfortunately for her , his family , name and connections got HIM the job . " you've got your concentration face on . kennedy said they'd be writing up a piece - what's your angle ? you know print goes out at 6 . "

damon seems to lose some tension in their shoulders when they realize its hana. it emulates in the heavy sigh they give, hands dropping to their sides like a ton of bricks. " fuck ... hi, han. still got myself all worked up — you'd probably knock me on my ass anyway. " they're surprised they weren't knocked more on their ass, but luckily with the fight being broken up, well, wasn't a lot of time for that. one thing is for sure their head is pounding and the outside, loud chattering and whispers definitely isn't helping them.

at the offer, damon sounds a heavy groan. " god, yes, get me outta here. what i was trying to do in the first place. but, you know, you saw how that went. " shoulders deflate as they sink down the doorway of the bathroom. definitely isn't considering anyone else stuck behind them or trying to get in. centers in on hana for a moment, finding it the best way to keep grasp of their focus. " i think i've had enough law - breaks to steal the first aide kit. i think if you get me to the street that'd be more than enough. walk of shame myself home. unless you wanna make sure i don't jump anyone else. "

☾ one moment, she's downing waters at the bar in an attempt to not walk home plastered with an apparent killer on the loose. her eyes remain on the phone, texts becoming more legible but less frequent with every passing second. the next, an alarmingly bad fight breaks out in the middle of the bar crowd. nosy as ever, hana managed to clamber to a vantage point (kneeling on her barstool), only to spot damon breaking away from the fight. she gapes for a moment as her brain tries to catch up to the scene in front of her.

she tries to trail after the other, coming to a halt at the bathroom door — it would maybe cross a line to follow someone into the bathroom uninvited, even if they were friends. so hana waits. maybe a bit too close, because here comes damon directly into her shoulder. ❝ whoooa, calm down. ❞ she says, mirroring the way their hands go up in surrender.

❝ if you were trying to fight me, i'd take lots of offense. just so you know. ❞ she tries to joke, but she does pout a bit when she looks up at them. ❝ wow. talk about ouch. that must've been— intense. do ya want me to steal a first - aid kit from behind the bar ? or like, get you outta here. whichever. ❞

damon had purposely seated himself at the bar during its slow hours. typical hangout for the slower afternoons. the doordash notifications were dry as a fucking desert, even for the miles long drives. the phone sits just out of reach, their fingers tapping to the tune of the music without a second thought. savannah speaks and it has damon humming out of tune to the beat - music never their strong suit despite the creative heart. rhythms lost to their racing thoughts, but they could still enjoy it. cheek rests against his palm, lips pursing as he considers his reply.

" probably a good thing you weren't there. " briefly thinks back to the collateral damage. a bottle they'd had to pay for, selin in particular being in the middle of it ... fuuuuuuuck they wish they were drunk enough that night to wipe it from their memory. regardless of this, he laughs something low from the chest. " i won't judge you, thirty and flirty is still a thing who cares about trick or treating ... wait, no. scratch that. as long as you were dressed up as something cool i'll let it slide. lemme guess. " this, a good conversation to distract from the lingering weight on their chest. fingers drum a bit faster against his phone screen. " actually, this is just as basic. tinkerbell? no, no, princess daisy? "

Seated at the bar enjoying a round before the band was set to perform, the drummer can't help but overhear the individual whom was a few seats down from her. There wasn't much of a crowd at this point in the evening yet, other nights being busier in the past. Maybe people just weren't in the mood to drink or hear live music? It's not like there was anything worth celebrating as of late. Savannah wouldn't really blame it if there was more of a crappy turnout for tonight's gig. But, part of her secretly hoped the band wouldn't have to perform for less than their usual number of audience.

Taking a sip from her beer, she offered Damon a sympathetic glance. "If it makes you feel any better, I wasn't there to see the fight. I was too busy trying to score the good candy," she lets out a small giggle. "If you don't give me shit for being almost thirty trick or treating, I won't give you shit for being here."

(  laz alonso  .  cis male  .  he/him  )  .    ⸻  abel d'angelo  ,  a  fifty year old  ,  has  survived  another  day  in  red  creek  where  they  have lived  for thirty-four years  .  the  catalyst  is  known  for  being  passionate  and  argumentative  and  is  often  associated  with  old leather jackets stained with years of wear and grime ; an old motorcycle's association stitched into the back ; despite its age it looks well loved and never free from heavy shoulders / large hearts doesn't always mean soft ; something that beats so strongly has to have grit to it, it has to be able to bear burdens and that's exactly what you're known for / looking behind you is never going to get you anywhere, the only place to go is forward ; keep your eyes forward or lose them to the blinding lights of the past.  .  in  a  small  town  where  they  work  as  co-owner of redstone bar word  travels  fast  .  it’s  hard  to  keep  a  secret  ,  and  it  looks  like  the  boogeyman  knows  that [ LOUD SCREECH OF TIRES ]

full name: abel joseph d'angelo. nickname(s): angel, abe. age: fifty. zodiac sun sign: taurus. birth date: may 2nd. gender & orientation: cis man, he + him & demisexual. place of birth: detroit, michigan. occupation: co-owner of redstone bar, rider with the steel wings motorcycle gang club. familial ties: spouse of 28 years ( wc tba ), two children ( wcs tba ), younger sibling ( wc tba ). height: 6'0".

CHARACTER INSPOS : jax teller ( sons of anarchy ), luke cage ( marvel ), corvo attano ( dishonored ), herc hansen ( pacific rim ).

FAST FACTS ⸻

was born in detriot, michigan, but due to abel's uncle needing to retire from ownership of the redstone bar, the family moved into red creek when abel was 16 years old. it was a relatively easy adjustment for abel, since they found themselves drawn to adventuring. as a teen abel was a bit rowdy, getting into trouble for all of the right reasons. apart of wrestling in his high school years really made him the wrong kid to let you see shoving someone into a locker or determining someone as "lesser".

often hung around redstone prior to being 18, working under the table and helping his dad with random tasks. overall, they were pretty friendly growing up in a social setting. during his time working for his father and living in red creek, eventually he briefly dated choi dasom for a total of 2 months before breaking it off. it wasn't long after their breakup that dasom went missing, making abel and his new relationship with his current spouse a bit of a rumor factory. it eventually died out once he asserted himself as uninvolved, but the thought still may remain in old red creek's residents minds. it didn't help he was a known close friend of casimir's, the charismatic musician later murdered. abel seemed to take this extremely personal and almost shut himself off from getting that close to anyone else for the entirety of the string of disappearances and murders.

an active community member who tries his damndest to be involved despite his reclusive behavior. like his father before him, he's a man of community. such is why redstone is open place to be with comedy nights still upheld, the live band, and frequent pitstops for motorcycle gangs.

sometime in the last 10 years, abel's interest in motorcycles lead him to becoming a tertiary member of a motorcyclist group called the steel wings. occasionally he will ride with them and be gone for a span of 2 months, hence his decision to acquire a co-owner for redstone bar which became zakaria singh. nonetheless, there are times he can't stand to be within the walls he once stood beside long gone friends. however, there are times you'll catch him bartending and chatting in order to keep his face and stay involved with his patrons. he likes to know what is going on and remain his own bouncer in times where shit gets too messy.

a family man above all else. despite disagreements and roadbumps with his fast marriage to [TBA], all roads lead back to family. when it comes to decisions, there is always a thought about his spouse and children present. despite everything he is a warmhearted man and this extends to those who stick around him or become regulars.

hobbies include: mechanic tinkering, boxing, morning jogs, motorcycling, life-long standup comedy enjoyer.

POTENTIAL FOR MORE TBA.

" i'm pretty sure a fight makes the punching part pretty equal. otherwise it's just getting jumped. " this, not spoken with sarcasm. cut and dry, like some gin. their eyes glance down towards the beer bottle that the second owner of the bar glances to. wonders, briefly, if he thinks its tending to a habit. salt to the wound and the still slightly throb of a jaw. damon sighs, almost defeated as he all but sinks into the bar. arm folder, chin propped. " hey, c'mon, already went on my apology string — like a fucking gentleman — and paid for the bottle my skull broke. " reminds him, a bit, of when his mother would scold him. not that zak's comparable to his fucking mother, but its in similar vein. act like a gentleman, reeeeel it innnn. that type of shit. and he has, for the most part. impressive he'd just now broken the streak of no-punching after two years. " yeah, yeah. pip-pip cheerio all the way. " pause, point of a finger, " you seen that poster around? change subjects. since i already know i've been a bad little boy with a bad attitude ... lemme talk t' you like i'm just some guy. " they really are just some guy.

"no  shit,"  is  an  immediate  reply  back,  something  akin  to  a  glower  on  zak's  features  as  he  stretches  up  and  back,  almost  cat  -  like,  lazy  and  languid.  the  hem  of  his  shirt,  already  cropped  too  short,  rises  -  then  falls  again  as  he  leans  forearms  against  the  bar  top,  rag  tossed  over  hunched  shoulders.  "so,  were  you  the  one  who  got  the  shit  punched  out  of  him,  or  the  one  who  did  all  the  fucking  -  punching?"  his  eyes  fall  onto  the  beer  bottle;  gaze  lingering  for  a  moment  before  he  peels  them  away  to  stare  into  space  -  cramped  and  small.  it's  -  ironic.  a  (  former  )  alcoholic  owning  a  bar.  co  -  owning,  anyways.  more  like  -  watching.  babysitting  the  patrons.  making  sure  no  more  fights  break  out  when  abel's  attending  to  his  own  business.  "you  even  -  look  at  someone  the  wrong  way,  and  your  ass'll  be  out  the  door.  i'm  expecting  some  fucking  -  gentlemen  shit.  bowing  before  others,  tipping  your  fucking  -  hat.  i'm  expecting  a  fucking  -  pip  pip  cheerio,  when  you  leave."

Okay maybe mama did raise a fool