chappcdlips
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Latest Posts by chappcdlips
he looks up, eyebrows lifting slightly at angela and the bag of rocks, "shopping spree?" though, he slips the bracelet onto his wrist without question and doesn't state the obvious - that he doesn't think any of this will protect him if the killer really wants him dead. "do i have to keep the stone in my pocket for it to protect me? or can it protect me from my desk at home?" he picks it up, running his fingers over the surface of the black rock, "i dunno anything about this crystal stuff." he admits. then, he gestures to the bag, "i hope you got some protective rocks for yourself in there too. otherwise, i'm going over there and buying more." and despite the recent loss of his cousin, all the victims thus far point to angela being a much more likely target then him, especially with daniela still gone. "and, y'know, maybe some pepper spray for good measure? a taser? how hard do you think it is to get a functional taser around here?"
𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲. deer lake, around 7:30pm. 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵. griffin talbot. @chappcdlips
〔 🦇 〕 … 𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗹𝗮 𝘀𝗲𝘁𝘀 𝗮 𝗯𝗮𝗴 𝗼𝗳 𝗰𝗿𝘆𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗹𝘀 𝗱𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲, having gone to the sisters of the moon popup for a reading, only to come away with much more despite her disdain for the fundraiser in general. why should she give the sheriff's department her money? she doubts that they'll make good use of it, her trust in them has been dwindling with every second that passes without any updates on daniela. “ here, ” she mutters, handing griffin a hematite bracelet and a black tourmaline stone. “ it's for protection. i wanted to get you a few more things, but i thought it'd be overkill. ” she'd never admit it, but there's a small part of her that's a little paranoid. her sister is missing, her former babysitter is dead, and now her best friend's cousin is, too. despite the pattern, the killer is still unpredictable in ways, and she didn't want to risk anything before it's too late.
"with the amount of glasses they've got here? at least 45% of them are bound to be a little broken." cyrus assured with a slight shake of his head, "not your fault." he'd heard about the memorial, about the extra names, though he hadn't gone himself too busy with chasing his kids around. and he knew zeynep's name was there. he wasn't going to bring it up, but when she volunteered a quip about it, he hummed, "they'll notice." a pause, "we'll notice." it felt easy to provide that assurance. it felt true. in a town like red creek, with a family like zeynep's? he was sure everyone would know, that everyone would worry. he let out a soft sigh, leaning back in his seat, "and it's not going to happen, okay? nothing is going to happen." of course, cyrus couldn't promise that, but it was no use harping on the worst possible outcome, it would get them all nowhere.
location: redstone bar
time & date: february 15 & 6:00pm
status: open to everyone !
“it was an accident, i swear!” the words rushed out in a furious whisper, she hadn't even noticed that she wasn't alone. zeynep pushed the empty glass she had been inspecting away from herself, before signaling the bartender for another around. “the glass was cracked when i picked it up, who knows how long it’s been defective...right?” she couldn't help but cringe at the sound of her voice, the brief crack felt foreign. no part of her wanted to admit that her name etched into the memorial had left her frightened. zeynep knew fear, it had plagued her nights. every red and blue flashing light had left her in a cold sweat for years. “anyways, apparently i'm on a hit list. they might not even notice before i become the next missing myth in town.” the words flowed so flippantly from her that zeynep could almost fool herself with the feigned nonchalance. “you don't think they'll notice, do you?”
besides being a lifelong part of the town, shreya's gone to the memorial to cover it for the paper. she expected it would mostly be a puff piece with some in memoriam type parts to balance it, make it a respectful piece. but as soon as the veil drops, there's a gasp, and suddenly the piece isn't an article commemorating the town's losses. it's replaced with something darker, something hard to read and something even harder to write. "what the hell?" she murmurs, wide eyes flicking over the extra names, the names of people she knows, some of people she cares deeply about. when alara grabs her hand, shreya glances over, the realization that alara's own family is represented on the new list washing over her. "fuck. i... do you want to get out of here?" is what she asks, empathy bowling over the journalist inside of her.
LOCATION : the candlelit memorial , sometime around 5pm . open to everyone .
there was something so surreal about the things that were happening in red creek , for the first time the thoughts touching her in more than just a passing way . when she was younger , she had been so idealistic , protected by her parents and looking forwards to life . she thought now that maybe her eyes were opening little by little to what was really going on and how those losses must feel , empathetic heart bleeding more and more for those left behind . she isn't there for personal mourning but to think about the lives that have been lost , to consider the hole they left in the world and all their lives . then , the veil is pulled back and there's more writing than she remembers , a second for her brain to catch up to the foreign thing that is taking place ... she doesn't make a noise as others seem to have some kind of reaction . blink once . instinctually , she reaches out and grabs onto the hand of the person standing beside her , having came alone , separated initially from anyone . it is almost a knee jerk reaction but she doesn't let go , least of all trying to comprehend the presence of her sisters name . not a word spoken . fight , flight ... freeze .
"just respect me? damn. can't even throw a love in there?" cyrus teased, leaning against the kitchen counter and folding his arms across his chest, "you could have just put a few movies on, i wouldn't tell the missus they're going over their screentime for the day." he chuckled. he didn't particularly care about the screentime thing as long they were both still signed up for at least one extracurricular or sport. though, too much time on the ipad seemed like it would rot their brains. "you know i appreciate you watching them." he nodded at tori, "i'd like to think they're less of a handful than our little siblings were." and he was at times too, but cyrus had a knack for rewriting history and any of his own troubles no longer existed in his personal retelling. "they'll eat vegetables, don't you worry. they aren't allowed to get up from the table until they do." he grinned, "zeke sat there until almost nine once when we had brussel sprouts." then he sighed, nodding his head toward her mug, "do you have any decaf?"
LOCATION : cromwell house . TIME : six o'clock , dinner time . STATUS : closed for @chappcdlips !
ducking into the kitchen , tori let out the deep breath she had been holding since her niece and nephew had arrived that afternoon . time heals all wounds and apparently also rids you of the stamina it takes to handle two kids under the age of ten . her maternal instincts would probably never fade , honed to near perfection from before she could do basic algebra , but cy's kids were … well, cy's kids . which meant they were just like not him , not just in appearance . he used to get on her every nerve , probably more than their other siblings , and while the kids weren't quite at that level of aggravating yet , they were certainly climbing the ranks . a healthy dinner of her making , with all the necessary food groups accounted for sat before them in the dining room and she checked on the decidely unhealthy desert : cinnamon rolls absolutely smothered in icing . at the sound of the kitchen door swinging open , she turned to look at her brother , taking a sip of her jack - spiked cola in a mug . “ you're very lucky i respect you or else i would've sat them in front of some very colorful disney movies and that would've been the extent of my babysitting duties . ”
an unfortunate situation. griffin thinks that's a bit of an understatement, but he can tell from the look on his dad's face that he isn't necessarily in the greatest headspace. neither is griffin, to be fair. neither is most of the town, probably. he lets out a breath, nodding at his dad, "it's... it doesn't really feel real, y'know?" and he knows it's still fresh and there aren't a lot of details, but it's so surreal.
he's a little bit terrified and a lot worried about his family and the people he cares about. he wants nathan to tell him that everything is going to be fine, but griffin knows he can't, he knows that's an impossible ask. with everything that's been going on? he can't see a future where things get better, just maybe less terrifying. because even if he survives this, if everyone he loves survives this, nothing will ever be the same. "i don't work today, so... yeah, yeah, i'll be home. i'll stay home." griffin nods. he swallows hard, tugging on the sleeves of his sweatshirt as he stares at his dad. "dad..." he hesitates a moment, feeling a little bit stupid at what he's considering asking, once again that same seven-year-old instinct washing over him, his cheeks go pink with embarrassment, "can i hug you?"
〔 🦂 〕 … 𝗶𝗻 𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗲𝗹 𝗵𝗶𝗺𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳, nathan looks griffin in the eyes, hopes the presence of his youngest son could help pull himself together but the forlorn look on his face is almost enough to break him. his heart is caught in his throat, trapped between the scream trying to claw its way out of him and all the secrets he cannot dare to say. the answer is so simple — she was murdered — and yet he can't bring himself to say it out loud. never in his life has he felt so powerless, drained of all the confidence that typically came to him like second nature. it used to be so easy answering all of griffin's questions, but not he doesn't even know what to say. “ an unfortunate situation, that's what. ” but it's more than that, and he knows it. it's an act of violence, it's a warning. kirby's death was likely not a stroke of bad luck if whoever killed her is trying to put the blame on him. the only thing nathan doesn't know is why. he heaves a heavy sigh. “ would it be be too much to ask you to stay home today? i can't — i — ” i can't risk losing you too. “ i don't think it's safe to be outside right now. ”
"Sorry... sorry, I didn't mean to freak you out." Griffin murmured, moving out of the doorway and into the room. He felt bad, terrible even, that he had accidentally stumbled upon his mom having a moment he was sure she didn't want him to witness. But he was glad, too, that she didn't have to be alone right now. "Mom..." He shook his head, "it's alright." It probably sounded stupid, since nothing really was 'alright,' but he wasn't completely sure what to do or say under these circumstances. "We'll get it cleaned up, Mom." He whispered, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around her for a hug, "It's gonna be fine, Dad won't see." Though, given the situation, he wasn't sure his dad would be worried about something so trivial in comparison to everything else. He let out a slightly shuddery breath as he hugged her, trying his best not to lose his composure. Griffin wasn't generally that composed, mostly a nervouse wreck, but he felt like he had to be now. He felt like he owed it to his family to be strong. His dad always seemed so strong, his mom too, maybe he just wanted to prove that he was a Talbot after all. Prove that he could handle the tough stuff and still keep his head up.
He pulled away after a moment, crouching down to deal with the clothes scattered across the floor, "Is there a... y'know, a system? A donate pile or anything?" He asked her, picking up a wrinkled blouse on the top of one of the piles. He figured Charlotte's meltdown wasn't just about the clothes, but he thought dealing with the mess was a good place to start.
closed starter with: charlotte and griffin (@chappcdlips) setting: "her" and nathan's bedroom, 6pm, the night before the funeral
Clothes were everywhere, piled haphazardly in no discernible pattern, and Charlotte sat in the middle of it like the eye of a hurricane. There was a wild, desperate look in her eyes as she picked through items, giving each a brief look before tossing it in one of her piles and moving on to the next. She’d been doing it for hours at this point, and was so lost in the process that she jumped when she saw Griffin in her peripheral vision. “Oh God, you scared me Griff!” She threw the shirt in her hand on top of a pile to her right, suddenly deeply self-conscious of the disaster zone she’d created, and a long line of explanation began to tumble haphazardly out of her mouth. “I needed a dress for tomorrow, and I didn’t have anything in the guest room closet, so I came up here to look for something, and I just kept finding all these old clothes that I never wear, and I started to think, why don’t I just donate all of these stupid things that are just collecting dust,” she rambled, her voice growing more strained as she spoke. “And now I’ve just created this huge mess in a room that’s not even mine anymore, and that’s not even mentioning the fact that I am apparently not capable of finding a single black dress that I can wear to your cousin’s funeral.” Charlotte choked on the last word, fighting the overwhelming urge to crumple in on herself. She mindlessly moved some clothes around, trying to keep her trembling hands busy, biting the inside of her cheek to maintain her faltering composure. “Can you help me get these clothes put away before your father gets home?” Her voice dripped with embarrassment. This mess was evidence of her unraveling- something Griffin shouldn’t have to see, and something Nathan couldn't see.
"yeah, if you're a masochist who wants to get your heart broken, a mess is alluring." and she had plenty experience with that sort of attraction unfortunately, but it always made for a good story and isn't that what really mattered at the end of the day? "alright, alright, relax, i'm just giving you shit. the article was fine, bash. not a lot you can fucking do in this sort of situation." shreya shrugged before taking a long drink of her dirty shirley. she stirred the straw around, tilting her head to the side and humming, "i mean, i'm glad i didn't have to write it." she'd rather stick to the not highly publicized stuff. she was, of course, a self-proclaimed personality hire.
THE SMOOTH BUZZ WAS a lazy attempt to rid of any frustrations vibrating within his body. the whole town felt on edge, ready to fall at the slightest drop of a pin. he shrugged at shreya's rebuttal nonchalantly. ❝ never mentioned beauty , some people would argue even messes can be alluring , ❞ he meant that truly, even if it wasn't relevant for the woman side him. what were humans if not all poetically broken? still, the dig at the headline caused his lighthearted mannerisms to tighten. it wasn't something he was particularly proud of, which was unfortunate considering he was rather protective over his work. but news came out, deadlines were due, the opportunity was painted in red that now stained his hands. ❝ right , like i had a fucking choice . ' hey bennett , can i take the day off to mourn this latest tragdy ? ' ' yeah , let's just shut down the register for the day . ' that sounds practical . ❞ he mused with irritation, rolling his eyes in irritability as he downed his drink in response.
the pinch grabs his attention and he glances over, eyes meeting piper's for just a split second before she heads off. without words he knows and he follows. just like he has since he was a kid, followed behind his older siblings. anywhere. off a cliff if that's what piper told him was cool. "you okay?" griffin asks as they get outside, pulling at the sleeves of his too-short jacket. it's a dumb question because he knows nothing is okay and he felt that same way she did in there, the grief and sadness weighing on everyone, making it hard to even think straight. "some of the flowers in there are dying already. they should've caught that. the bereavement committee people or whatever."
🗝️ dedicated to griffin talbot / @chappcdlips . 📍 redemption chappell ( kirby's funeral service ) .
the one place that should feel safe merely laces piper's very bones with discomfort. the emotions of funeral attendees loom over their heads; a cloud of gloom that is almost palpable, a fog so heavy that it suffocates— she stands suddenly. there are surely only minutes to spare before a sermon begins & being here feels impossible. fingers pinch at the fabric of griffin's shirt, then withdraw like she's been scorched. it's irresponsible to pull him away from their family mourning, but it's also a silent plea— walk out with me. don't make me leave alone. she blinks down at him, then spins on her heel.
he has a bagged chocolate croissant clutched in his hand, making his way toward a back table when there's suddenly coffee all over his sweatshirt and a woman practically yelling. it takes him a moment to get his wits about him before he's locking eyes with his aunt. she looks a little different than her facebook pictures, it's almost like seeing a ghost. his eyes go wide and he opens and closes his mouth like a goldfish as he stares at her. "rebec — aunt rebecca." his voice is quieter (quieter than usual) and he shakes his head, "um, it's not that bad. i'm fine, really." he glances over his shoulder as if his dad's going to be there watching this interaction that almost feels forbidden then back at the woman in front of him. "are... are you in town for the... for the service?" he trips over his words a bit and shakes his head, "no, sorry. sorry, i'm really sorry. really sorry about kirby." how many times are you gonna say sorry? he mentally kicks himself, grabbing for some more napkins from a nearby table, uttering another 'sorry' as he apologizes to the pair sitting at that table.
"i think i have another sweatshirt in my backpack anyway. it's okay." griffin insists, thanking a barista as they come over with a rag for the floor and the table rebecca spilled the other one all over. he's avoiding eye contact with his aunt, trying to pretend like he can even focus a little bit on cleaning up the mess and not the mess that is the talbot family and their dynamics. it's just his luck, of course, to run into her at random in a situation like this. he guesses it's a least a little bit better than seeing her at the funeral for the first time. though, the whole town has felt a bit like a wake lately.
⸻ 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘴 ﹐ closed for @chappcdlips / griffin talbot.
⸻ 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 ﹐ early rise bakery & cafe.
rebecca sat slouched in the corner of the cafe, oversized sunglasses hiding bloodshot eyes, nursing a lukewarm coffee that was doing very little to cut through the haze of a nasty hangover. the dull hum of chatter, clinking cups and that damn door that jingled every time someone walked through it was grating on her last nerve ; she thought it'd be better than sitting alone at the motel with just her misery, regret and a pounding headache to keep her company, but turns out she was wrong.
head spins as she stands up too quickly, not noticing the figure in her path until it was too late ; coffee drops to the floor, pooling around both of their feet. " what the f*** !? — ugh, watch where you're going, dude ! " totally her fault. she looks up, ready to take out her problems on the poor stranger, but instead her jaw drops at the sight of the young man staring back at her. the resemblance is uncanny — nathan's jawline, the talbot eyes ( though somewhat less scheming ). realization struck like a slap to the face, which is what she actually deserved. " griffin. " tone softens as guilt takes over from irritation, though a mix of horror and embarrassment was still present on her face. his name lingers in the air between them, the silence verging on awkward, before she snaps out of it. " oh, god, i'm sorry — here, let's get you cleaned up. " she reaches over a nearby table, aiming for the napkins but instead knocking over another cup of coffee, this time not her own. now would be a good time for the ground to swallow her whole.
attempting to get a cup of coffee before he headed home, cyrus was distracted by the voice beside him at the counter. he glanced over at soren, an eyebrow lifting, "it's because it's bad for you." he deadpanned, too irritated to actually put up any sort of act. his day had been too long and the statement too annoying. cyrus was practically pathological about how he treated his own body and so always thought that everyone else must hold themselves to the same standards, "your body is a temple. everything you put in it matters." cyrus explained, tone only really slightly pretentious, "you're too young to be messing up your body like that." he shook his head, "what is it? the aesthetic of cigarettes? not worth the smell or the diseases. trust me." he sighed, thanking the waitress as she set his coffee in front of him, "stick to caffeine or something. and don't start that damn vaping. we don't even know the long-term health consequences of that."
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.
cyrus ends up at the church due to his need to be involved, to be seen, and he knows that when tragedy strikes? there will always be people that take solace in the lord. and there are always people more willing to talk after a tragedy and cyrus is always willing to endear himself to new people for his own sake, for his own reputation. even in tragedy, perseverance is important, he thinks. he looks over at santi as he speaks, a sigh leaving his lips, "some people cane be your neighbor and still be a stranger. i'm sure she didn't hold it against you." or maybe she did. cyrus certainly didn't know kirby. "and i bet you never forgot after she told you, right? so i think you're settled up."
🗝️ open to all. 📍 redemption chapel, jan 24th.
the news breaks, as does half of red creek alongside it. there's an unfair lump lodged in santiago's throat. he wasn't close to kirby ; her death was not his to mourn, and yet ... he sits in the back pew of redemption chapel, hands wound in his hair. it was between here & the cemetery— the weather chose for him. he breathes in, has a hard time breathing out. halloween night plays through his mind. ❝ i asked about her name. ❞ he wants to laugh at the memory, but doesn't have the heart. a puff of frustration leaves him instead, ❝ grow up in a box like red creek & i still had to ask for her name. jesus– ❞
"i'm a mess?" shreya scoffed at her coworker/friend?/whatever the fuck that one summer was, dirty shirley clutched in her hand as she advanced toward him, "look in the mirror, dude. even on my worst day, i'm beautiful. ask anyone." she flashed a smile. she was teasing (mostly). "i don't even know how to play poker and i don't plan on ever learning, so we're safe." she was fine with knowing go fish and a number of drinking games — seemed more necessary. "plus, you shouldn't call me a mess after your headline this morning," she joked, poking bash in the ribs playfully as she deadpanned, "you're lucky i spent the morning processing and reflecting on the tragic events our town has been plunged into and not stationed at my desk, typing away like that cat who plays piano."
LOCATION: REDSTONE BAR TIME: LATE NIGHT STATUS: OPEN STARTER
WORDS PAINTED ON THE HEADLINE always tended to be main goal at the register. bash; however, prided himself on an immersive story that held facts. unfortunately, the only facts seemed to be everyone knew fucking nothing. still, the entire day had escaped sebastian as vision went blurry once hues grazed upon the same words over, over, and over again . . . there was nothing to be proud of with the article and quite frankly, he planned to erase any association to the scattered theories by having one, two, five drinks. it didn't help that since the notice of another local dead, pressure only skyrocketed for the next leak. after all, you're only as good as your next story.
attention whipped to another as they somehow caught his attention enough to lower the glass from his cracked lips. it would have been difficult to hold back the smirk peering on his lips if he gave a fuck enough to try to hide it. ❝ well aren't you a fuckin' mess , ❞ he blurted out the honesty as he took in the other's appearance. ❝ what ? you can't actually be trying to hide it . if so , definitely don't part-take in poker any time soon , ❞
She shuffled into the kitchen, running a hand through her messy hair as she took in the sight before her, "So glad it's you and not the goddamn Boogeyman." The timing of the joke is, admittedly, horrible, but she's never been subtle. "What time did you get here?" Shreya thought she might have heard something in the middle of the night, but she figured it was either her brother or her cat. If it was anything else? She was willing to face the consequences and die honorably. "Now, if I bought even a single piece of asparagus, I think the world might end. The Boogeyman, who is obviously surveilling me as one of the town's top journalists, could notice my change in pattern and suspect me of knowing something and BAM dead." She sat at the small table by the window, sighing dramatically, "And you wouldn't want that, right?"
Then, Shreya sobered slightly, resting her elbows on the table, "I'm surprised you don't have to work right now. Is it not all hands on deck?" She asked, already thinking about what she may have to write about the incident this coming week. "It's really fucking awful." And there's no way to get through it but to joke about her own mortality, obviously. "What's the sheriff saying? Anything?" She added, "This is all off the record, by the way, I'll save my scheming journalist bit for at least noon."
closed starter with: darshan and shreya (@chappcdlips) setting: shreya's home, 9am, the day after the incident
His eyes fluttered open, and a strangled gasp forced its way out of his painfully dry throat as he struggled to recognize his surroundings, but the panic settled as the comfort of familiarity took hold. It was Shreya’s couch, in Shreya’s living room, in Shreya’s home, where he’d let himself in at 3am after finding sleep impossible at his own home. Darshan wiped the trail of drool off his cheek, sitting up and stretching his aching back before wandering to her kitchen, opening the fridge- only to see a truly meager selection of food between the tupperware containers of his own leftovers. A stray carton of eggs saved the day, and he’d set off to make breakfast when he heard the shuffle of feet. “Hey, lazy bones. Did I wake you?” His voice was casual, but there was an unmistakable horror laced in every syllable. How could he shake the guilt? How could he cope with the relief he felt when he confirmed that the young girl found dead in town hall was not his family member? As if that made it better- that the loss was not his own. “You should really get some vegetables in your fridge, or something, you know. Even an apple, or a single piece of broccoli. Give your poor microwave a break, before it unionizes against you.”
a lot of ghosts seem to loom over the talbot family — whether dead like jacob thorne and his uncle or alive but dead to the family like rebecca. it's something griffin could feel since the moment he could conceptualize the family he came from. it's even heavier, now, with the loss of kirby, a thick layer of fog over the talbot family. when he sees his dad, griffin takes note that he looks different somehow. not the powerful, figuratively towering man he's known his whole life, there's an air of something he can't quite identify and it's a little bit terrifying. he locks eyes with nathan, chewing at his lower lip, "i... i don't really know." he admits, shoulders tense and brow furrowed, "i don't get it." he shakes his head and pauses a moment, shifting from foot to foot anxiously, "what happened, dad?" he asks, feeling like he's seven again and asking why the sky is blue or why gophers live in the ground or any other question he's asked nathan or charlotte. they're supposed to know all the answers, right? even now when griffin knows better, he still wants an answer even if it's not possible.
𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲. the talbot residence. 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻. 10am. 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵. griffin talbot. @chappcdlips
〔 🦂 〕 ... 𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘁 𝗴𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗳 𝗼𝗿 𝗴𝘂𝗶𝗹𝘁 𝘄𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗱𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗿? despite his familial ties to kirby, she was more colleague than kin, the only string connecting them being his sister — her mother — with whom they both were too estranged with to ever consider a genuine bond together. the age old cliche, i should've done more, sits in the back of his head, but would he have really? or is he only thinking it because he no longer has the choice? his breath hitches when he hears griffin's footsteps padding down the staircase, not yet quite ready to face the situation with his youngest son. not after what he's seen and been through. “ i'm sure you've already seen the news. ” it was inescapable. like driving past alaina's house, or seeing the missing posters with daniela's face plastered all over town. “ how are you feeling? ” he asks, voice dropping to a gentle whisper.
there was something about fresh grief that was numbing, a sort of autopilot that griffin's body just immediately clicked into. he remembered when his uncle died, he was young but he could remember how heavy it felt, like a set of football shoulder pads that he couldn't just shrug off like he had when he was five and tried peewee football for all of six minutes. this felt different. he hadn't been particularly close to his cousin, but still, it felt awful, he felt sick to his stomach. since hearing the news, his body felt like it was in a permanent dry heave while his head was empty, too overwhelmed to form a single thought. but he had to get out of the house, which led to wandering, which led to here standing in front of collette with a vacant expression on his face. he cleared his throat, shrugging, "i don't really know what i said either. not important. probably just, like, hey, what's up?" griffin shrugged, taking his gloves off and shoving them in his coat pockets, "got anything interesting for sale today?" not that he was planning on buying anything, but he could use the distraction.
LOCATION : red creek fish market. TIME OF DAY : mid - morning, just a bit before noon. STATUS : open starter, accepting replies.
the cognitive limbo felt more physical than usual — a headiness, floaty & almost dreamlike, forcing collette's attention in multiple directions as on one hand, the influx of news that came from a radio behind the counter - though interrupted with pulsing static, still loud enough for them to hear all the unsightly details of this morning's findings, versus the smile, unsubstantial but still there, etched onto their face with a serrated blade. it was nothing out of sorts, coming from towns whose fibre was woven with tragedy, yet each news alert doesn't get more palatable with time. this was an ache one couldn't easily soothe over with a few licks to the wound, and it stunted collette, one whose gaze bounced between others whose mouths equally as upturned as their own, though she could almost see the scars of theirs, too. sic vita est, life goes on, but this ear worm remained persistent. they hated it, the insistence to just keep going, life as usual when someone no longer has that opportunity. but through the fog, a voice boomed, syllables growing clearer, a “ huh, sorry, ” spoken under the vendor's breath. “ can you — can you say that again ? sorry. i didn't hear you correctly, i don't think … ”
( geraldine viswanathan . cis woman . she / her ) . ⸻ shreya howe , a twenty - seven year old , has survived another day in red creek where they have lived for their whole life ( besides college ) . the gossip is known for being curious and overbearing and is often associated with talking so fast the words run together , naps taken anywhere , music blaring in headphones . in a small town where they work as a journalist at the register word travels fast . it’s hard to keep a secret , and it looks like the boogeyman knows that redacted .
STATS
full name: shreya naomi howe hometown: red creek, mi sexuality: queer (really just... into anyone who will give her an abundance of attention) birthday: august 1 zodiac: leo sun, cancer moon, aries rising height: 5’6” languages spoken: english, na'vi (language from avatar (2009)) marital status: single children: none traits: curious, outgoing, assertive, impatient, overbearing, nosy
BACKGROUND tw parental death
shreya has no memories of her dad, she used to pretend when she was in kindergarten that she remembered saying her first word and saying it to him, but that was a lie she crafted to make herself feel even remotely better of only knowing him from pictures and stories
she was always an outgoing, loud child, could make friends with anyone and was always the first to reach out to new kids in class or in town; half of this was out of the kindness of her heart and the other half her nagging curiosity to know Everything about everyone
despite chandra's religious preoccupation, she took solace in her mom, going to church with her, following her around to try and keep close, make sure nothing ever happened to her like it did to her dad
she, of course, spent plenty of time bothering her older brother, playing the usual annoying little sister role and always ALWAYS looked up to darshan, he's the closest thing to a father figure she ever had
when she was 11, chandra died after a brief, horrible illness, and shreya wasn't sure if she herself would survive it, but darshan came home and he took care of her and she's not sure if she'll ever be able to repay him for that sacrifice
she covered up her grief with humor and her big personality, always putting on a smile and keeping an appearance of everything being chill and cool
when she graduated high school, she shipped off to ohio university to study journalism, but she knew her path would always lead her back to red creek
she returned and got a job at the register where she is allowed to gossip for a LIVING, which she loves <33
she knew daniela growing up and her disappearance has kinds fucked w her, plus now kirby dying??? she's like what the HELL is going on? beautiful young women are under fire... shreya said EYE could be next??? anyway, she's never been good at handling her grief, so all this violence and sadness in town is definitely not helping!
PERSONALITY AND FUN FACTS
she's friendly! sometimes almost TOO friendly and sometimes it's only because she wants a quote or some scoop for her latest article, but she does have a big heart! lover girl core underneath all the jokes and all the grief
was absolutely the first one to text the group chat when queen elizabeth died and then shot off a series of tweets that probably could get her fired... her henry kissinger death tweets? even more unhinged
curious, just loves to Know things, wants to know everything down to the tiniest detail
probably shouldn't tell her secrets but she loves to be told secrets
she IS a loyal friend though, will not be breaking codes of friendship unless she thinks it could really benefit her career
pretty anti-religion; religion didn't save her mom so now she's kinda like... what the hell @ god? u canNOT be real if all this shit happened to me
big flirt, loves dating and loves The Chase (loves to be chased), but has not had many serious relationships bc that would require emotional vulnerability that she is not equipped for; she LOVES when people are vulnerable to her but cannot reciprocate it
probably a little annoying but in an endearing way
does NOT play about the people she loves, will fight you if you're mean to the people she cares about, fiercely protective
lives with a lot of guilt, mostly in regard to darshan giving up so much to take care of her when their mom passed
has a lot of special interests (na'vi, fantasy novels aka fairy smut, writes fanfiction, lover of wes anderson movies)
sleeps with socks on
has a black cat named chip and he is her baby, her pride and joy
also has a garden in her yard, most of it is dead but neverthless... she persists! (someone come help)
character inspo: velma (scooby doo), liz (shrinking), lois lane (superman), betty (riverdale), lilly (the princess diaries)
DRIVE-AWAY DOLLS (2024) dir. Ethan Coen
Virginia Woolf, from a diary entry written in October 1920, featured in The Diary of Virginia Woolf: Vol.2, 1920-1924
