The Plant

Bruce Lee! "Hey, there you go," he said excitedly, slapping the other's arm with the back of his hand while he was glancing up at the ceiling. Monty wore a grin that said he knew Ambrose was just gonna hate what was about to come out of his mouth. "We are in the same movie. You're Bruce Lee and I'm Cliff Booth. Tarantino." Having an encyclopedic knowledge of every guy who'd ever worn a Hawaiian shirt in a Tarantino film didn't usually come in handy, but it had tonight, shrugging and nodding alone with every frat bro who'd guessed someone adjacent to his costume. Oddly enough, he'd gotten quite a few Shaggy's from Scooby-Doo, too. "Uh, I dunno," Monty started to answer, a confused but curious wrinkle working between his brows even as he continued to smile. "I could use a new pair of sunglasses, I guess… Is this your way of trying to bribe me?" he wondered aloud, giving a bit of a snort, finding it funny. Admittedly, just paying him in a timely manner would've been a step above some of the 'customers' that Monty continued to entertain, but he'd gotten the impression that Ambrose wasn't the type to let debts hang over his head, anyway. Everything about the way he'd approached him had been very perfunctory, mechanical. It was likely that if there were ever issues between them, Monty would be the cause.

"No," Ambrose said simply in response to the idea that they were dressed up as characters from the same movie. They were not. Though he didn't see the need to expand more than that. He didn't like Tarantino movies and it was simple as that. He nodded his head slowly, and pulled his phone out to make a note that sunglasses were a viable option to get Monty, ignoring the fact that he could absolutely see a future where he would only gift Monty sunglasses because he once said that he needed them. That wasn't Ambrose's problem. "Why on earth would I be trying to bribe you?" He asked, looking up and shaking his head. He couldn't figure out a single reason why that would make sense. He was already getting him drugs. "I'm trying to foster a positive business relationship between supplier," he motioned towards Monty, "and consumer," and to himself. "You may want to put in a bit of effort as well, honestly. Because your customer service sucks."

Ambrose's compliance with the decision about Greer's case was kind of a shock to her. Why wasn't he angry? She asked herself. Everyone dealt with things differently but in this instance she thought anyone who cared about Greer should be furious that her case was now deemed a cold one. She didn't want to question him but her expression was one of confusion if only for a moment. "I did, but my parents were against it. They thought the police were doing everything they could. Maybe now it won't take much convincing to ask for money to hire one. Now that G has actually done some harm to their precious daughter they may be more inclined to help figure out who this monster is." There was a pause and she pressed her lips together as she quickly debating on speaking her next words. "I'm a little surprised Greer's parents didn't hire one when this all started."

"I told Edward we should just hire one ourselves, but he turned the idea down." Which was simultaneously disappointing, but also made sense. Beyond the possible legal trouble there was also but the family fallout that would probably be worse. "But if you do manage to convince your parents I will chip in as well. But… perhaps on the down low…" Social pressures ran deep, and he'd never been the type of person to step out of line in the first place. Not so openly, anyway. A dubious sort of look crossed his face at Reina's statement, but he had to give a deep sigh. He agreed, he knew -- or at least he hoped -- his own parents would do anything in their power to find him if he went missing. But once again he wasn't certain if he should say that out loud. "Having the FBI on the case certainly isn't nothing," he said carefully, as he frowned, "I guess they wanted to make sure everything was above board."

"And how do you tackle it?" She's relating it back to her own experiences again (the only way she knows how), remembering how she used to stare at a spot just above the judges to avoid making eye contact. Let her gaze glaze over the tiniest bit, the blur the edges of the crowd. Pretend it wasn't there. She'd never scored high on stage presence. "Oh, all the time. But I wouldn't know what to do instead. You can't exactly just be cute for a living." It was the one thing she knew she had - she was pretty. But she was too short to model, too sensitive to criticism to put herself out in the influencer space, too one-dimensional to ever make a decent actor. "You know, in high school, my career counsellor genuinely suggested I consider marrying rich."

"Did you tell them 'mom I am a rich man'?" Ambrose asked, grinning a little bit. He had to give a heavy sigh at the question though, shrugging his shoulders. "I've been here for a month, I guess. It's hard to say. But it's unnecessary." He didn't have to go to school. He didn't have to study music. He didn't have to do any of this, and it was that thought that made it feel like this wasn't so important. "I want to be well rounded though," Ambrose added, with something of a grimace because he didn't like the idea of just … Being only one thing. "Anyone will tell you going to college is mostly for the connections and social experience, anyway. Not the education."

"I think the 'spilling drinks on people' thing is an unrelated, Ogden-specific affliction. Happens at least once at every party. It's basically a conversation starter at this point." She'd been smiling, but it slipped away at the mention of murder. It would have been funny if it wasn't entirely possible. God, when had her life become a literal horror movie?

"Is that true?" He asked, raising his eyebrows. He had never heard about that before, but it seemed like an interesting idea. "So, you're supposed to take your suitcase out to see the world to encourage yourself to go out to see the world?" That's what it sounded like. "You'll have to go the whole nine yards this year," he said, though Ambrose had traveled the entire world since he was a child and he'd never walked his suitcases outside. Granted even he was self aware enough to know that was more about money than anything else. "My mom won't gift people clocks," he said, adding onto the family inherited superstitions. "It's a common superstition in China, it's seen as like giving someone a final farewell, like this is the time you have left. Even watches, she always tells me never to gift watches even though business men love them."

"c'mon," he urges, laughing a little more at ambrose's clear distaste in everything about him, "you love it." neither were in an environment that particularly suited them, but freddie craved for a slice of normalcy in his life. the college experience, as greer suggested, after having felt like his childhood was stolen from him. having ambrose by his side, passing judgement as easily as he breathed, was a nice root of familiarity he could lean on. "just wait. the goat decmccue has changed lives." the question on dj'ing makes him retreat a bit. "nah, man, i'm good. i've just managed to crawl out from living under someone's thumb and i'm not really looking to go back." freddie has seen what it's been like for ambrose. "besides, you're crushing it with your new album."

"Thanks," Ambrose said, his -- somewhat -- sour mood mollified for a moment, genuinely grateful and pleased by the compliment. But Freddie had always been charming, despite also being … very Freddie. Maybe that was part of his charm. "But it's not like that. I'm hardly under the thumb of my label. I'm just… doing what I have to." It was hardly a secret to anybody that knew him that whatever image he was presenting the public was completely fabricated. It was likely hardly a secret that he wasn't creating his own music. But it wasn't as if he was here trapped in something he didn't want. Ambrose wasn't sure he'd know at all what he'd want to do if he was given any creative freedom. Though before he could say this at all whatever it was Freddie had wanted him to hear came on, and Ambrose pointed up towards the speaker. "Really?" He said over the … noise. "In the nicest way possible I might have to stop speaking to you."

Edward didn’t feel comfortable talking about Samantha Jimenez to his family. Cara and his parents had no idea he had reached out to her grandparents over the summer to connect them with the pro-bono legal assistance contact he had in the Financial District. And when Ambrose mentioned her, he couldn’t help but feel like he was sitting on top of a fence and he was about to fall, so he had to pick a side. Ambrose was, above all, a Morrison. All it took for him to reach Eddie’s sister and parents was a few strokes on the touch screen of his phone. And everything would blow up and burn down like wildfire… On the other hand, Ambrose was someone he trusted blindly. His closest relative. Someone he loved more like a brother than a cousin… And with this consideration, the choice was made. “Sam doesn’t know anything.” He shrugged, head shaking for emphasis. “The general consensus is that someone is trying to frame her…”

Ambrose frowned, nearly wilting when Edward pointed out the Jimenez girl likely didn't know anything. It seemed to be the same thing he had heard among a lot of the people who were dealing with this last year, so he didn't question what his cousin had to say about it. Still it was frustrating to hear. "But she's still in jail," he said, like that would bring about any more answers. Maybe she was hiding something. Yes, she was probably only in jail for the fire, but that implicated her in something, right?

Gen chuckled "Sounds about right for parents, I think sometimes I narrowly avoided a family fight with what I wanted to major in," Her mother's eternal disappointment that she had not turned into a mini me nonwithstanding. Still if Gen was right about anything, she was always right about angles and lighting and she shot Ambrose a smile "You know I always love to make the suits scream, cry and throw up," She laughed as she made her way over to get in on the selfie.

A subtle chin lift greeted Ambrose, glancing over with a bit of a smile when he was addressed. "Indeed it was," Monty confirmed. "On the tenth. Very anticlimactic." Depressing, really, but he didn't think he could be mad about it. Twenty-two wasn't exactly a milestone birthday for anyone, was it? He should count himself lucky just for avoiding a DUI. It seemed a little funny to think that he should've (or would've) gone out of his way to let Ambrose know his birthday was around the corner -- and funnier still to be accused of being a sneakerhead. Monty snorted, something akin to alarm in the way that he shook his head and looked towards the other again, mouth open and ready to refute such an egregious assumption. But then Ambrose steamrolled onward in the conversation and his jaw clicked shut. "Is that what you're dressed as?" Monty nearly cooed once his brain had reset, swaying back where he stood to give Ambrose a head-to-toe once-over. Standing together like this, they had to look like the most boring dudes in all of KKG right now. It made Monty grin. "Are we just a couple fun-loving guys on vacation together?" he asked, jester-light on his feet as he leaned in again and latched onto the sleeve of Ambrose's sweatsuit, pinching the red fabric between his thumb and forefinger just to be a nuisance. "What is this, polyester?"

He swatted Monty's hand away from his clothes, and gave a scoff, "I wouldn't know, I'm not pretentious enough to care if I'm wearing a blended fabric." No offense, Edward. "Are you?" Ambrose asked, his tone accusatory. Clearly he was not going to let Monty get away with mocking him like that, instead implying that the drug dealer in front of him was the pretentious one. As funny as the idea was, he moved on to the previous question. "I am thankful every day I'm not white enough to not recognize one of Bruce Lee's iconic looks," Ambrose said, looking up at the ceiling above him like he was thanking God or something. He heaved a sigh, eyes rolling back towards Monty. "So is that a no on the shoes? What do you like?" Perhaps he would have settled for a fruit basket, or something. He was trying to be cordial. His father was always sending his business contacts gifts.

"You don't get stage fright?" Lola asks, eyes widening slightly with a genuine sense of amazement. She couldn't relate to the idea of getting up on a stage to sing (for one, she couldn't hold a tune), but she had been a pageant girl. A very reluctant one at that. There was something about the bright lights and intense scrutiny that made her freeze up. Paradoxical, truly, when you considered her inherent drive for attention. But she'd want it to be natural. Organic. It wasn't so much about the attention itself as it was about being liked. "Does it ever feel like those science classes where they'd put on a VHS about glaciers and leave?"

"I get nervous, but not stage fright," he said, "everyone says you have to be nervous though, or you probably shouldn't be up on stage." It was easy for him, easier than more personal social interactions. He didn't have to really talk to anybody up on stage, he didn't have to really look at people, he could just be up there do his thing, and go. Easy. He laughed, nodding his head, "some of my gen eds are pointless. I don't think I could pick my history professor out of a lineup if they asked me to." He'd prefer to just focus on music, but if he wanted that he probably shouldn't have even gone to university in the first place. "Do you ever wonder if maybe … school just isn't for you?"

"Nonsense?" Reina said with a raised brow, "Are you talking about Greer's case turning cold? Nonsense is a polite way to say it, I call it bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit." She let out a defeated sigh, her shoulders sinking a bit. A part of her wanted to bring up the texts but she wasn't sure if Ambrose had been graced with G's presence yet and if he hadn't she didn't want him to get all worked up over nothing. "Do you think if we started a petition they'd make Greer's case active again, like really focus on it. All this just makes me wish I actually went through hiring a private detective."

He pressed his lips into a straight line, and nodded his head at Reina's words, giving a small huff. "Listen, I'm hardly the sort of person who is going to bad mouth authority," Ambrose said, to be completely honest usually he was probably the opposite. "But this? I really don't know if a petition would make them change their minds, or reaching out to people to make this viral on tiktok, or getting the true crime girlies in on this would really do much. It feels like they've made their decision. I thought cases could go on for years before going cold…" Had Greer's parents had a say in this? Was it just the police? It was all so confusing. "You thought about hiring a private detective?"

Sassa blinked at Ambrose Morrison for a few seconds, wondering if he had any idea who she was. If any of his cousins had shared about her - to be honest, she didn't know what would be worse. If they had, even as bad as it was likely to have been...or if they hadn't. The possibility that at the end of the day, Greer had most likely seen Sassa as insignificant, had tormented her just because she could, and not out of any true malice...it would be enough to drive anyone insane. But without knowing if they had, and even though she was overwhelmingly aware of who the freshman standing beside her was, it was safer for Sassa to play dumb. And friendly. Letting a smile curl over her face, she glanced towards him, a quiet, musical laugh falling from lips.. "You must be a freshman if you're surprised by that," she said, a small shake of her head. "Trust me - it's the norm at parties like this."

"I am indeed a Freshman," Ambrose said, with a laugh. "I'm sad to have my wide-eyed idealism that we would have passed the sippy cup stage of our lives by the time we could drink alcohol destroyed." College truly gave you invaluable life lessons, didn't it? So much world experience. "I'll have to invest in alcoholic bottles, or party rain ponchos, I guess." Give the idea to someone innovative and well liked enough and it would take on like wild fire. Nobody would have to deal with being a sticky mess in the middle of a party again -- well, not because they had a drink spilled on them. "I'm glad to see we've managed to stay dry at least. I'm Ambrose," he said turning back to the girl with a smile.

The weight of the violin resting on her reminded Rhia of her long neglected purpose. She was made to perform and although her current audience was one person, Rhia couldn't help but add a flourish here and there for theatricality's sake. She performed for Ambrose, for herself, and for the imaginary fanbase she would accumulate one day. For now, it was enough for Rhia to play solely for their ears. Her bow glided and skid across the strings, concentrating on perfecting her runs and relaxing her eyelids upon reaching familiar notes.

"Yeah, of course, I'd love that," Ambrose smiled, and took Rhia's phone putting his number in as she put her instrument away. He wasn't always the greatest at making friends, or putting himself out there -- despite how much he really tried. He was a bit dour at times, one may say. He was also a little awkward which he liked to believe he hid well but whether that was true or not was the question. So, he appreciated when someone was better at taking the reigns in getting the ball rolling, otherwise he probably would have just sat their and said goodbye and that was it. But instead he was handing Rhia her phone back, and feeling like something was really accomplished here. A totally normal thing to think about possibly making a friend.

who: @ambroselm where: halloween party when: halloween weekend

Ambrose raised his eyebrows at Parker's jovial suggestion, "I'm a little offended," he said in a deadpan way, "that you would believe I'd forget something as important as a megaphone if I were dressed up as Sue Sylvester." He laughed and shook his head. "It's Bruce Lee," he supplied, "I know it's not the iconic yellow jumpsuit but I figured I'd be getting suggestions I was dressed up as the Bride from Kill Bill." He shuddered at the thought that anybody would think he'd watch anything by Tarantino. He'd take Sue Sylvester over that if he had to. "What about you?" He asked, reaching up and fiddling a bit with the lace along Parker's shoulder, "it must be something fairy tale-y, right?" He guessed.

"You're not getting all philosophy major on me now are you Ambrose?" Gen answered with a grin, "I'd feel safer with the chainsaw around the corner, at least they're upfront about their intentions," Sure their intention might be murder or feigned murder in an actor's case but Gen would take that over anything snide. "I assume so but I haven't got that far and the lighting's better here," The woes of a social media obsessed girl in a Barbie world, speaking of, she chuckled and said "Yeah I know," Barbie was probably a cliche costume for this year but Gen could hardly be responsible for a movie that had so many looks and she deserved to be in looks.

"My parents would kill me if I had become a philosophy major," Ambrose snorted. He couldn't imagine. His father had been pushing the boundaries by getting into the music industry -- even if it was on the business side of things. If he went as soft as philosophy the Morrison line would be appalled. "Hm…" He pulled his phone out of his pocket holding it up to check the area, deciding that Gen was right. The lighting was nice, and snapping a selfie of himself. "Want to get in on this?" He asked, looking over at Gen as he held his phone up, with a light smile, "The suits back home will be screaming, crying, throwing up about it."

the comment makes freddie laugh, and he throws a friendly arm around ambrose. "oh, brosey. never change." he'd turned his nose up so much that freddie could practically see his nostrils, and freddie couldn't help but be endeared. it appears you could take a guy out of la but not la out of a guy. with a drink in one hand, diluted with a bit of water because hydration is key, he leans in as if to let ambrose in on a little secret. "anything, if you have the right attitude, can be dance-able." he starts shifting side to side in time with the beat, moving ambrose with him. "i've queued a shrek trap remix so you've even got that to look forward to."

He let his eyes roll towards the ceiling as Freddie rocked the two of them back and forth. "Doesn't mean it's good," he stated. Maybe he just didn't want to be here - that was very likely the case - but Freddie wasn't exactly helping the situation. "I don't even know what a shrek trap remix is supposed to even mean," he laughed. He was amused at the idea, but the sort of amused you got when you were also a little bit annoyed. "Is it something you made yourself, at least? Please tell me you've taken up DJing, I can get you in touch with my father. He might be looking for new musical talent to produce. You can expand your résumé."

The thing about Cara was that as soon as she was told the way she was acting was irrational, that there was no need for it, that she should calm down, it only made her want to act out even more. She was always told her reactions were too much, and she had never truly managed the proper way to button them up. At least according to her parents, to her brother, her sister...to her cousin. Ambrose telling her that she was stubborn, that she had no reason to be upset was a betrayal, a punch in the gut from someone who had used to be her friend, proving, once again, how far apart they were now. "So you want me there for appearances. Not because you actually want me there," Cara said stiffly, not bothering to hide the hurt in her tone as she straightened up. "Who else did you invite?"

Ambrose rolled his eyes, he knew it was pointless to argue because no matter what he said Cara wouldn't be happy. Yet here he was. "I didn't say that. But guess what? It also doesn't feel great for everyone to believe that my cousin doesn't care enough about me to even show up to my party on top of me actually wanting you there. Those aren't two mutually exclusive things." As if Cara was running around not caring what everyone thought about her. It took as much investment in peoples opinions to be 'rebellious' as it did to want approval. He went back to brushing his horse and shrugged. "Not many people. You and Edward, obviously. Parker. Heath. My roommate, Link. A few other people, but not many. My mom is in New York this week so she said she would also be coming as well." That last one was, perhaps, a fair warning. He doubted Cara and his mom had any beef, but she was so touchy sometimes he figured he should let her know rather than it be some surprise.