hell's angel

Lana let out a gasp. “Ooooh, ouch! Branded a thing on main by Rebecca Stevens… Branded a beast, I say! A stinky little beast.” Hips swaying with the bass coursing through the villa’s terrain, it was a surprise all of the surrounding grapes hadn’t trembled off into the soil of the vineyard, squished underfoot by wobbly, inebriated steps. Inevitably, tomorrow, the visiting population of Yates would be waking to some form of noise complaint. Each night seemed to outdo the last. A crescendo they could never seem to reach. “You know, Becca,” Lana began, half in singsong, kicking up a spray of water with the tip of a red cowboy boot. There was a fluidity to her movements that almost made her ballet training obvious, yet Lana lacked the necessary control to master the craft, always far too free, too spontaneous. “You talk, like, a lotta shit about the fact I like to cum. Kinda makes you sound like you’re not doing enough of it,” earned a whoop from the man she’d been dancing with, hand moving to idly paw a tendril from her cheek, faintly damp from a wayward splash. A passing partygoer thumped into Becca, unsteady on their feet, somewhat closing her distance to the fountain, and like a lightbulb had blinked to life overhead, Lana sprang closer to the edge. Leaned into it, hands cupping stone to support her weight. “Okay, though, I’ll bite. I love the whole reborn in the water vision. Let’s have a baptism.” It barely felt plausible that enough time had passed for a single heartbeat, yet somehow, an entire row of dominos collapsed into place: Lana’s hand grabbing Becca’s, a corresponding lurch to pull her in, so hard and sure it could’ve easily popped something from a socket, should she have any real strength to her. She didn’t particularly estimate the landing well, because her legs buckled with it, sending them both flopping down, Lana briefly submerged. Soaked. Surfacing with a bewildered splutter, it quickly dissolved into a laugh, pushing Becca off her enough that she could blink in disarray. The roars of surrounding spectators almost drowned her voice out. It rose to compensate. “Ugh, you’re right! You’re so, so right! Just what I needed! I loved it!”

it was sad to see that even in a foreign country, becca found everyone just as annoying. the students of yates had a tendency to make any place their personal frat house, as if they were modern day colonizers invading a place just to make it as unbearable as the last. “maybe those gossip bitches were right and you really are obsessed with me. you’re not my type, jameson, so maybe you should stop crying on your instagram story every two months and we can all move forward.” even though becca had a resting bitch face and the eyes of dexter, there were still people dumb enough to come and speak to her, like they’d been friends all their life and becca was just waiting for next piece of hot gossip on lana jameson. frankly she felt that her life would be marginally better with lana out of it, which had become painstakingly obvious in every interaction they had. “yeah, you’re on ow—” just as becca has turned around, she was pulled back, startled by lana grabbing her. her guard had been down naturally, which was exactly how she found herself drenched in dirty fountain water, right next to lana. the loud splash had surely caused a crowd to form around the two, with people having nothing better to do than watch whatever would happen next. even as she was wet from head to toe, the outfit she’d so carefully picked out for her day utterly ruined, becca was still, almost too still. it wasn’t because she hadn’t had a reaction to it, it was because she was still processing that lana freakin’ jameson had really pulled her into a fountain. but the moment the inital shock had passed, becca was stuck between drowning lana or pounding her head against the pavement she’d only nearly missed. both were terrible, dangerous options, especially in front of the many spectators, so becca did the next best thing. she lifted her hand up, swiping it forcefully across lana’s cheek, both the sound and the action itself sending a gasp throughout the crowd behind them. “what were you saying before? me being the peanut butter to your jelly? because you’re more like the bug to fly swatter.” her words were filled with venom, resisting the urge to further assault lana in front of what felt like half of the yates student body. “are you an idiot? did your parents not like you enough and dropped you on your head thinking it’d fix your shitty personality?” 

For someone who was constantly on the move, Rosa never liked to rush anything. She was a firm believer that nothing was done properly if it wasn’t done with meticulous care, and yet there was the like organized part of her that was always remembering things at the last second. Now, rushing out of her room, she cursed that small piece of herself she hid like a shoebox underneath her bed, all but running Becca over as she turned the corner, “Fuck - I, uh… ‘scuse me,” she eventually came up with lamely, lips pursed together in an uncomfortable, tight line. Rosa wished she wasn’t so easy to read sometimes, but it was always obvious when she carried herself differently. Still, she stood tall, if anything adjusting herself so that her posture was pin straight, the illusion of careless but poised after the collision, “Should’ve been paying better attention. I’m late for something, for -,” she started, checking her watch to see the time, “Well, doesn’t matter. We don’t have to fake niceties, do we? Not really my cup of tea.” @byebecca​

she was angry, not that she would ever make it obvious. it wasn’t very often when becca let someone get close enough to her, close enough that she’d consider them a friend. perhaps it was because there a part deep inside of her that was actually terrified of losing people, not that she’d ever make that obvious either. it was where her and rosa differed. while rosa was easy to read, becca was a book with an unreadable cover. even when the two bumped into each other, becca’s demeanor hadn’t changed in the slighted, even if the same wasn’t happening in her mind. she was fuming, hating that every single time she was forced to have even the smallest interaction with rosa, it always led down a very different path than how it once used to. “yeah, you should’ve.” her voice wasn’t bitter like you’d expect from any person in her shoes. it was blank, void of any emotion, happy or mad, which is exactly what you would expect from becca. “you’re the one that started speaking, not me. i don’t do niceties, maybe that’s just your thing.”

Whirled beneath the tan arm of a local she’d brought back to the bustling villa, name of which she couldn’t place, Lana had been dancing in the water of a fountain she’d clambered into for the past three minutes. It was only during her next spin that she caught sight of Becca toting a glass, perhaps with her arms crossed, perhaps not – she couldn’t pay attention to details, not when she was a race car and the world was a blurring highway. Lana gasped like she’d just witnessed a particularly volatile fling of a meatball in the middle of a 3D movie. “Everyone, quick, you should, like – like, Botox the joy from your forehead, let’s – let’s go stiff as Dwayne Johnson’s pecs, this is serious. It’s serious! Becca’s always serious,” escaped her with a laugh, fists scrunching at the hem of her white dress as she pranced about the water, cowboy boots officially gone soggy. Inevitably, she’d have to lay them out to bake in the sun, dry off the following morning. “Becca, look. Look! It’s your living, waking nightmare,” came as she hiked her skirt a few inches north of her thigh, flashing far more skin. Reaching with her other hand, she mocked pressing a headset into place, brow furrowed like a first responder manning an emergency line. “Ma’am, I – ma’am, I don’t want to alarm you, but the whore… The whore is coming from inside the villa. Evacuate. Get out while you still can.” @byebecca​

becca had been having a grand time on this trip. she’d successfully ignored majority of her classmates, venturing out into the city at the wake of dawn, only to promptly pretend that she was deaf and blind anytime a local had even shot her a smile. it was like being in heaven, that was until she got to the hotel. she’d been having such a good day, yet even the sight of lana made her feel as if it was taking a turn for the worse. lana had become one of the few people that had severely managed to get under her skin, a difficult feat in itself. it was awful, and it only made becca dislike lana more. she didn’t care that lana thought she was serious. frankly, she didn’t care for a single thought in her head. it was lana splashing around in a fountain like a 4 year old that did it. “i don’t have nightmares about things i don’t care about. it’s odd that you’d find yourself so important.” she already felt too close to the other girl, even if there was still a few feet of distance between them. unlike most days, she liked her outfit, probably because it wasn’t sweatpants and a hoodie. she didn’t captain bimbo to ruin her clothes too while she was acting like a dog in the pool. “uh oh. looks like the whore is right in front of me. maybe you should drop dead in the water like a fly, make sure we’re all out of danger.”

“Oh no, my cum stained jorts! My beautiful cum stained jorts!” Lana gasped after noticing her swept away clothes, abandoning her search to clasp at both cheeks in an impromptu rendition of Edvard Munch’s ‘Scream’. They weren’t cum stained by any means and they definitely weren’t jorts. Her lower lash line tugged so that her eyes displayed far too much white until, like elastic, everything pinged back, arms dropped and grin wide. “Ugh, I love it when you call me Jameson. Ruthless! Give it to me so good. Next step? Slapping my ass with a fly swatter. Begone, vile bug! Make me feel like a nasty little wasp, Becca. So sexy. So fres–,” didn’t even manage to make it’s way out of her mouth properly before Becca was pushing her, prompting a startled prance that could only be comparable to a demented little hobgoblin celebrating their latest potion. “And fin!” came as she landed the last step, arms up in a pose similar to those she’d assume at the end of a long rehearsed ballet. She even went the extra mile, conducted a bow in which her hair swished, ends whipping Becca on the way back up. “I call that my mating ritual jig. Did it work?” Lana breezed on, ignoring her suggestion. “You know,” she began, hitching herself up to perch on the counter besides the fridge, a cat drawn in to bat at a ball of string. Apparently this entire exchange was hideously amusing to her, the perfect cure for a hangover. “I’m sensing something electric here, Becca. Something we can’t let pass us by. I’d, like, even go so far as to say… You can be the peanut butter to my jelly. You can be the butterflies I feel in my belly. And, like… Ugh. You know what else? You can be the captain and I can be the first mate. And guess what, Becca?” Pausing before she continued to quote one of the worst songs she’d ever heard, she leaned in a little more, bracing the counter’s edge with gently furled hands. “You can be the chills that I feel on our first date.”

as the sound of lana’s voice rang out all too loudly in the calloway kitchen, becca wanted to treat her like the barbie doll that she reminded becca of, by ripping her head off and chopping up her hair like she did as a child. but she was guessing her housemates wouldn’t like their prized house becoming a crime scene so early in the day, so she reached for a tylenol instead. it was fortunate enough that whatever jargon was spilling out of her mouth. "if you like being treated like shit so bad, why don’t you head on back up to whoever’s room you got kicked out of. calloway boys are notorious for either having no brain or a dick for one. your odds could be worse.” if any other person were to walk in on this lovely interaction, there was a large chance that they’d have many questions. the first one being as to why becca was intentionally ignoring lana’s odd dance. truthfully, she’d hoped that the girl would take a hint, which clearly wasn’t happening judging by the hair whipping. “are you mate calling monkeys? maybe a few gorillas? that seems about your target audience anyways. you should be careful though, it’d be awful for you to end up on a national geographic special.” she finally turned around, leaning against the now closed fridge with an apple in her hand. except her grip on this particular fruit would’ve had anyone thinking that becca was imagining it to be lana’s head, which was exactly what was happening. becca wasn’t sure if she was supposed to laugh or punch lana in the throat over whatever dreadful song she was quoting. even if her face was utterly void of emotion, becca felt nearly the opposite of that. “i’d rather be buried alive on top of an ant hill. trashy bimbos aren’t my type.”

Sitting in the Calloway common room, Darby was relieved she had made it home from the manor. It was a wonder she had escaped with all ten fingers and toes, especially since some people seemed to have fallen down some hole (??). She was still in her pajamas, which she had woken up in inside out. But once she had woken, she had put them on correctly, trudging to the kitchen in search of coffee. Now she sat with the tv urned on, and episode of bad girls club playing in front of her to indifferent eyes. She wrapped her fluffy blanket closer around her shoulders, spotting Becca making her way through the halls. “Hey,” she called out softly, voice weak from dehydration. “Did you like, fall down a hole or something last night? What the hell happened? Is this like baby Jessica in the well?” She questioned, sitting up, throwing her blanket off, matching silk pajama set ruffling. “Am I seeing your ghost? Did you die down there? Boo! I get your room.” @byebecca​

well that was a fucking disaster. turns out being a charitable human being for one hour out of the year really killed a buzz, and becca was not happy about it. she was pretty sure she’d taken an uber with jade back to calloway, but the time after the hole incident had faded from her memory the minute her head had hit the pillow. the matching black sweatshirt and pants matched her demeanour all too well, sipping down on a cup on hot coffee as she spotted darby. “no, i just helped save people. well technically like one person, but whatever. but if anyone else asks, i pushed them down the hole.” becca had to resist gagging at the thought of her doing a good deed. sure, she cared about a handful of people, but showing it, especially at public functions where her only goal was to black out was just too out of character for the brunette. “i’ve already decided how i’m going to die, and it definitely wasn’t going to be in an abandoned mansion with one too many ghosts already.” 

Delilah stood in front of a Hastings student’s art installation with one hand limply tugged over, cupping the jut of her elbow, other toting her white Sobranie a few inches south of her lips. It was a party. She shouldn’t have been smoking inside. Several television screens, old models – a dozen, perhaps, even verging on twenty – were set up in mismatched piles, on top of one another, all depicting the same thing from small, hidden cameras. Delilah’s face. Whoever stepped into the right spot became the subject. One was her eye, uninterested, hardly blinking. Another, a distorted quarter of brow and cheek like she’d slipped inside a fish tank. With the arrival of a fresh kind of comedown, one she hadn’t experienced in a while, she could feel her emotions skittering inside her chest like an insect trapped beneath a glass, antenna probing for exit. She ignored it, opening her mouth to expel her usual, flat tone when Becca sidled up besides her, no indicators of anything happening under the surface. “Shit or a hit?” she referred to the temporary exhibit, not bothering to slide her eyes sideways to catch her friend’s face – they lingered on a corner screen, investigating the even line of her mouth. “I’m veering towards shit, personally. We get it. Social media encourages unhealthy introspection and hyper analysis of the self. Incredibly deep, I’m shaking. This person’s third eye is probably a googly stick on.” @byebecca​

becca liked art, professional art anyways. though because that wasn’t a commodity in preaker, getting high usually made her hate student’s art slightly less. sure she’d turned a few heads with the smell of sativa wafting off of her as she made her way through the art exhibit. it was all apart of the experience, really. she was sure majority of the hastings students were high when they based their artwork off of philosophical questions lingering in their head after a few pot brownies. wasn’t it only fair that she view the art in the same atmosphere it was created? it was really all in the name of science. “they’re all shit if we’re being objective.” of course, becca’s statement couldn’t be more subjective, not that she really gave a shit. she still took the moment to check herself out in the edge of the camera, because why the fuck not? “the losers who go off about the ‘harms’ of social media are the same people that basically have an orgasm when their selfie gets more than 500 likes, if they didn’t already shit their pants from drinking too much flat tummy tea. we’re all self-obsessed assholes, some of us just don’t care enough to not be transparent about it. definition of being fake-deep.” 

sunday is coming up soon but selene has been avoiding becca on the basis of sheer embarrassment. she is not one for blushing or stuttering, and somehow the other woman had gotten her to do both within the span of five minutes, and all in front of a large crowd, too. and in front of will. not that she cares. she definitely doesn’t. (she definitely does). just her luck, then, when she is in searching the dining hall for something edible to eat and runs smack straight into the woman in question. the green apple in selene’s hand nearly falls to floor, or she nearly throws it, she doesn’t know. instead, though, she just grips it harder. her head twists side to side like a snake, as if there was something around her that could save her from facing becca, but there was nothing. “hi,” she says, then, out of politeness, and almost regrets it. bringing the apple up to her mouth, she takes a loud bite, trying to occupy herself. @byebecca​

becca could practically feel her reputation slipping into the mud. some freshie had smiled at her today. she’d very much hoped that people wouldn’t remember her screaming at the top of her lungs for help, and that all of the heroism would’ve just fallen on will. and if she were a slightly more dramatic person she would’ve thought someone along the lines of: oh, the papers will tell of how wonderful of a person i’ve become, how will i ever recover? but it more just pissed her off that she’d have to put effort into her future conversations, becoming more of an asshole than usual, just to save face. selene might’ve just been one of the few people left that would treat her normally, well as normal as selene could act around her. “hi.” her tone is full of amusing, she can practically feel the awkwardness radiating off of selene. if she were any better of a person, she would’ve ignored the elephant in the room, but it was becca. the girl that had absolutely no filter. “so are we still on for sunday or are you and will on a sex schedule every five hours now? just trying to plan out my week.”

“Do you think that half of these people have even seen a noir film?” Felix questioned, turning his face to the person near him. “I mean, I’m not saying I have. Unless Gone Girl counts as noir. I just think like, they didn’t get the memo,” he said, waving his hand over at a girl dressed as what appeared to be a…. bloody cheerleader? Was she going for Jennifer Check? She looked good, but definitely not on theme. “Did you know that Agatha Christie faked her own death once? She was the original Gone Girl,” he stated, flashing them a grin, taking a sip of his drink, something sweet from a punch bowl. Briefly he worried that it might be spiked with something. His cream colored shirt was stained red with fake blood on his stomach, like he had been shot in the gut. “and meanwhile the other half of the student body is taking this theme too seriously. Wanna place a bet on whether someone will actually get murdered tonight? My money’s on a classics major. They’ve all read The Secret History too many times.” @yatesstarters

“half is pretty generous.” it was so undeniably like becca to enjoy the film genre who’s biggest plot almost entirely involved murder. her black veil had done a great job of disguising her eyes, which made it entirely too easy to silently judge anyone without being seen. her head cocked at the sight of someone clearly off theme, taking it that the costume requirement was more of a suggestion than enforcement. “gone girl is definitely not a film noir.” she’d already had plenty to drink, which was probably why she’d even show’d up. because enduring the dreadful college experience was somehow worth it if there were free, shitty drinks involved, right? “betting on someone’s potential death? how very un-golden-retriever-like of you.” a classics major sounded about right, though. you can only get away with being that pretentious for so long. “so what are you? clueless detective who got shot on the job?”

“mafia, i guess. i wouldn’t wanna be a fuckin’ detective.” though will tends toward trying not to, he thinks of sean. of where the bastard must be in the world. he knows that sean is probably talking to their mother more than he is, and this joins the scotch he’s drinking and the cigarette he just smoked in contributing to the bitter taste in his mouth. sean always wanted to play the detective in their childhood games, or maybe will and jamie made sean do it on account of not wanting to play the part themselves. the memories blur together now. the suit he’s wearing now is from his cousin’s wedding, which sean, of course, didn’t attend. fuckin’ cowardly prick. “i just dug this outta my closet.” he shrugs. “what were you going for? you look kinda dangerous. i like it. maybe we should wear this shit to 7/11.”

“oh right, acab.” she guessed that being apart of the mafia was at least somewhat better than being apart of the police. at least the mafia made it pretty clear they were trigger happy. ] “husband killer, more oftenly known as the black widow. i decided i would go as my biggest aspiration in life.” of course, she was joking. but if it were anyone else, the lack of sarcastic drawl to her voice would’ve made it seem that she actually wanted to grow up and become a serial killer. but becca tended to come off as a little darker than she actually was, seeing as she had absolutely no filter, and a dependency on lying to ward off attention. “i think the workers would really appreciate it. shows our dedication towards transforming the joint into hell after 2 am. well, hell plus slurpies.”

Colours were brighter, noises were louder, an almost overwhelming amount. The walls were practically vibrating, phone screen somewhat warped, light projecting off it like viewing a streetlamp through a foggy window. And yet, Leo still found himself scuttling into a corner to shuffle through his pockets, attempt to fish out the pills he’d brought with him to enhance the party. Any sane person would figure they didn’t need anything else, would try to enjoy the gathering around them as much as they could in their state, but Leo was never someone to limit himself, even when it was what was best for him, “Uh, if this is your corner, then why was she calling me at 2 AM last night?” Joke falling flat, Leo didn’t even bother to turn to Becca when he pulled out the baggy from his pocket, only doing so after the fact, grin appearing on his features as he waved the bag in her face, “You want one? Maybe it’ll, like, chill you out, make you tolerable,” The same way he’d just done to her, Becca’s drink was suddenly right in Leo’s vision, the request for another going in one ear and out the other. Instead, without much thought, Leo’s initial reaction was to reach forward, so that he could swat the cup out of her grasp. It was almost dramatic, the way the liquid inside splattered across the floor by their feet, but Leo only shrugged after with a simple, “Oops,” before moving on like it’d never happened, plucking out a pill and holding it out towards her, “Ever done this shit before? You’re always so high strung, can’t imagine you being, like, actually fun. Once in a lifetime offer, take it or leave it,” he goaded, beginning to hum the Jeopardy theme song as he waited to see what Becca would do.

She wasn’t quite wasted yet, which is likely why Becca still found it entirely possible to get annoyed at Leo within the span of 15 seconds. There were already so few people she tolerated, and someone that was as different from her as Leo was was bound to get on her nerves. They had absolutely nothing in common, both sober and slightly-drunk Becca couldn’t stand him. “Hilarious.” Pulling back as he waved the small baggie in front of her face, her lips pursed. She wasn’t exactly following in Darby or Romeo’s footsteps anytime soon, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know when to let loose. Even Becca knew she was always uptight. mostly hoping that the negative characteristic of her’s would cause her to be left alone, not that she’d ever admit any of her faults aloud. She hadn’t even noticed him swiping her drink on the ground till after the fact, “What is wrong with you? How many times were you dropped as a child?” Becca rolled her eyes. Was it possible for a buzz to wear off this fast? She would’ve said no, but considering she felt like she was on the brink of being sober and there were about a dozen other characters like Leo at the party, it couldn’t hurt. “I’m not high strung, you’re just an intolerable piece of shit. But who knows, maybe being high off my mind will make me not want to shove a knife into my cornea at the sight of you.” Taking the pill from his hand, she set it on her tongue before swallowing, looking back down at the ground, she glanced at what was previously her drink before looking back up at him. “And you still owe me a drink. Chop, chop, cowboy.”

“it’s, like, fifty percent health and fifty percent fun. fucking awesome, right?” someone is yelling into her ear. right now selene’s in a long line by the bar, arms crossed tight across her chest, and all she wants is a fucking lemonade. there’s a very drunk kincaid student behind her and every couple of minutes he tries to strike a conversation, leaning forward and yelling something almost incomprehensible into her ear. she nudges him off each time, but now he is yelling something about a spiked protein shake he’s “totally sure is the best invention of all time” and his hand grazes the small of her back. she doesn’t know how to tell him that it does not, in fact, sound awesome, or like the greatest invention of all time, and that the thought of it definitely makes her want to puke. instead, she claws her way forward to the front of the line, where she sees becca. she’s not really used to seeing her outside of their scheduled sunday encounters, but there’s no way that talking to her can be any worse than the hell she has just narrowly escaped. “do you think if i ask for a lemonade it’ll be spiked?” @byebecca​ 

getting more than one drink at this place has proven to be a strategic game, especially judging by the length of this atrocious line. but becca, per usual, had a plan to get herself completely plastered without the annoyance of going twenty minutes in a line empty handed. parties are definitely for getting wasted and making terrible decisions, and totally not for making more social interaction than necessary, right? whatever, she’s decided she already hates about seventy-nine percent of people here, acquaintance or not. though she doesn’t completely mind when selene approaches.“definitely. i’m pretty sure they gave vodka to a guy that asked for water. not a drinker?” becca poses the question with the raise of an eyebrow, simultaneously bringing her nearly empty drink to her lips. truthfully, she didn’t really care if the other drank, if she could get through an entire night of this chaos without being shitfaced, more power to her.

@beccastevens: @darby_albright idk what's in it for me

this is the first time he’s seen becca outside a liminal space – though to will, there’s often no differentiating between spaces, as the problem often isn’t so much the inhuman unlivable quality of an all night diner or the clinical white light of a corner store at three am as it is his own perception of those places – and it’s shocking. he almost doesn’t recognize her as a fellow haunter of the 7/11 they both frequent at night. “fancy meeting you here,” he says, because it seems to fit the mood, and it doesn’t matter if will is here in his suit because he lost a bet – he’s starting to get kinda into this. he doesn’t bother with the transatlantic accent – he’s just not that dedicated. @byebecca​

becca had never liked formal wear, it reminded her of social events she was forced into as a child, putting on a shining fake smile for her parents. she stuck to a simpler style, which consisted of black all too often. the only reason becca had tried at all with her costume, a black, floor-length dress matched with a veil, was because she was positive that she’d be voted most likely to kill her husband. it was funny seeing will decked out in non gas station attire, though she was sure that he’d only ever seen her wearing sweatpants and throwing a rage fit in the chips aisle of a 7/11. “and what are you supposed to be? detective or mafia? i never really can tell the difference.” to be fair, all the boys had to do was put on a suit and buy a cigar to qualify as any male film noir character.