a sculpture of water & unsettled dust

time: 20:09 location: fear knot status: closed to @charlottewrenn​

He’s waltzing around in a room filled with smoke and the weight of it sits in his lungs. There’s a snooker cue tucked under his right arm and a glass of whiskey in his free hand; it’s half-empty, the taste of cinnamon on his tongue. Joel is no less amused than the onlookers  —  their participation an accumulation of idle chatter, roaring laughter and the occasional quips. The Cheshire-cat grin stitched across his rugged features extends furthermore as his companion misses the next shot. Their disappointment surging like an oncoming tide.            “Whiskey again,” his question is rhetorical and Joel doesn’t answer. Spend a minute with him and it’s all too obvious. The man was made from the stuff. He didn’t drink much else.             Joel rests the cue on a rack on the nearest wall, situated behind a huddle of elderly men. They nod out a silent greeting and presume their muttering. It seems amicable enough between slurred words and hunched shoulders. When his companion returns, he gestures towards the bartender who places a single filled glass on the counter. Joel dips his gaze, doesn’t offer much of a thanks and throws the rest of his own contents down his throat. He grimaces as it burns its way down, the warmth pooling in the depth of his stomach. It’s a comfort. No different than taking NyQuil to sleep. He toys with the empty glass in his hand as he eyes those who huddle around the bar. A single stool stands out between flocks of college students, lonesome men and then her. A rose amongst rambunctious thorns.             “Make that two,” he gestures towards his newly poured whiskey, placing his empty glass alongside it. His words were more of a greeting as opposed to a statement. Opting to making his presence known in a more informal manner. When he sits, he stretches his arms out across the bar table, his eyes taking her in for only a mere moment. “Hope you can still handle your liquor, L.”

.

When choosing to be in a bar at all, this would not her be her go-to. She often wonders if the people around here can sense that. Her fingers tap a rhythm on the bar, a song she’s been listening to perhaps, or something she’s heard in a shop. The song itself is unimportant; the repetitive movement is steadying her. This is when the challenge is the most necessary, the times in which she has to start her night by telling the bartender not to give her anything alcoholic. She trusts herself, but not to the extent that she’ll risk it.          This should have been something she predicted; not her usual part of town, but undoubtedly his. If she were more aware, she’d wonder if this is why she chose Fear Knot tonight. Subconsciously, anyway. His voice stands out from the rest of the murmur like hers does. Accented, rich. But where hers sits in its own corner, not quite matching, but cohabitating with the rest of it all, British but smoothed over, soft, his is thick and rough and seems to battle the rest of them. It seems to win.          She’s known of his presence all night, but as soon as he’s there, beside her and immediately taking up space, she can feel her heart-rate speed up. The itch that scratches at her constantly is amplified because somehow he smells the same. It’s been months since she saw him last, and even longer since they had a conversation. Lotta carefully doesn’t look at him. Her hands move from the bar to her lap, knowing how easy it would be to grab the shot the bartender puts down. It isn’t the same girl as before.          “I’m not drinking.” Finally mustering up the courage to look at him, she regrets it instantly when she finds he isn’t looking at her. She swallows. “You can have it yourself.”

The tension sat between them, thick and rough as an unpolished stone. He didn’t expect an apology to fix anything– not that there was anything to fix– but her reaction to it frustrated him. He was used to masks. Hell, he lived in them. He wasn’t even sure at this point if he knew what remained underneath them. Her words and easy acceptance of his was exactly that. A mask. A façade. They boiled down to simple facts: he was her boss’s son and she didn’t want to lose her job. 

His jaw worked as he fought to calm the sudden rush of hot irritation. It burned in his chest, had him coughing out a dark chuckle as his eyes fell from her face to the papers in her hand. It was childish, maybe, that he found he was even a little hurt. He was trying to apologize. He was trying to be sincere. He’d spent his entire life building up walls that he had to demolish and replace brick by brick. And she was lying right to his face. “Don’t–” he said harshly, finally plucking the papers from her outstretched hands with a little force, “fucking do that. You aren’t sorry.” 

His eyes dropped to them, though he saw nothing. He didn’t fucking care what they had to say. It was bullshit. It was all just bullshit. The heat worked its way through his chest until it found the tips of his ears and he wished he hadn’t stabbed out his cigarette. He considered going for the bottle half-buried in the sand beside him, but what he knew of Charlotte now and her past, had his hands curling into fists instead. “I’m not–” He gritted his teeth, petulantly turning his head to the ocean. “I’m not fucking him. Apologize or openly hate me to my face, but be fucking honest about it.”

.

There was something in his expression, the tightness that threatened to stretch so far that it would snap, that reminded her of something. She couldn’t place it, but this slow anger before an explosion, a simmering heat of an unwatched pot, it settled itself in the air and unsettled her. Still, she met his eye, unwilling to let him win what wasn’t even a battle. It was something she would always have to back down from if she wanted to keep her job.

As the papers were torn from her hands, she withdrew her arms instantly. They crossed across her chest, protective in a way she didn’t intend. Biting down on her tongue, she let him speak, intending to say nothing, intending to keep her fucking job security. But he was encouraging her, wasn’t he?

One deep breath, as if she tightening the spring before releasing it, she waited for him to finish, building off the venom in his voice. “No, I’m not.” Her words began tame, but they were honest. “I don’t hate you, Nathaniel. I hate what you did, absolutely. If anything like that ever happens again-” she didn’t know what she’d do, it certainly wasn’t as if she could use quitting as leverage. He’d be heavily in favour of that. “-But that is why I don’t hate you, because I don’t think it ever will. Whatever you did, whyever you did it, it’s because you were intending to distract me.” 

She paused, trying to keep eye contact. “This is me being honest, Nate. I don’t like you, and you know that. But I’m also not going to ask you anything about why you did it, because it isn’t my business, and I don’t care.” 

Of course it was Charlotte. His careful maneuvering could only last so long before his father sent the dogs on his trail. Nate’s free hand sunk into the sand beside him, fist clenching around the loose grains in an effort to stay grounded. He was a lot of things– and all of them kept him from looking Charlotte in the eye. Mainly? He was ashamed. 

His eyes fixed onto the papers she held out instead. What they could be, he didn’t know. What he did know? They were not so important that they couldn’t wait for tomorrow, or have been sent through the email. No, this was a message from his father and Nate heard it loud and clear. 

He made no move to take the papers from her. Instead, his eyes trailed to the waves. He was silent for several moments– and honestly, he expected her to toss the papers at him and leave– but when she didn’t, he took a deep breath, stabbing his cigarette out into the sand, and finally met her eyes. “I’m sorry. For what happened at the gala. I shouldn’t have done it and there’s no excuse for it. I’ve been… trying to stay out of your way, but–” his eyes fell to the papers in her hand and back again, “–I guess my father decided to put an end to that.” He held her gaze despite how badly he wanted to drop it. He didn’t like this– apologizing. The vulnerability of it. It felt too much like relinquishing power. And power was all he had. “It won’t happen again.”

.

This was precisely why she didn’t want to see him. It felt odd to hear an apology from someone who so clearly hated her, it unsettled her. Lotta had made an art out of fake politeness, but that also meant she knew how to spot it, and this didn’t feel fake at all. It felt like it was killing him to admit it, and she should’ve enjoyed that. Instead, it left a pit in her stomach. No matter how he’d tried to distract her, there had been a glimpse of something more than the asshole she worked for. 

Making eye contact with him made her uncomfortable, if she was to be completely honest. She felt small. Even as he was apologising, she felt uneasy. For the past two months, she had been so worried about the repercussions of the gala, of what she’d done and how easily it could’ve cost her her job. Still, she nodded, willing to accept it if it meant they could forget about the whole ordeal altogether. “Please don’t let it.” ‘Please’ hadn’t meant to play a part in that sentence. The words were said with the smile of a professional, her grip on the papers tightening. She held them out still, waiting for him to just bloody take them. 

“For what it’s worth-” she began, sighing, “- I am sorry I hit you.” No, she wasn’t. “It was unprofessional and I should have contained my anger better.” Fuck’s sake. 

Lotta is easy company.  That’s the simplest way Laurie can think to put it.  She’s mindful, orders well, and has yet to cause a scene in this bar he’s worked so hard for. Part of him, the smallest part, even respected her. He was piss poor at resisting temptation and that she could sit and sip on juice and soda with Lagavulin 16 sat on the shelf was something amenable.  “Order up,” he joked, sliding her a glass fading from pink to a blood red bottom, muddled raspberries dotting the drink with color.  “Taste it and imagine how purely delightful it would be with a splash of gin.” 

.

Once upon a time, she wouldn’t have been able to think about a drink being alcoholic without losing her nerve, but she feels oddly settled now. She likes the atmosphere of this place, always has. It’s soft, somehow, but excitable, energised. “Christ, the very idea.” She says, sipping from the glass. She lets out a hum. “This is- delightful, Laurie. What’s in it?”

Walking Downtown, or more like uptown to Max who came from the docks, it was a perfect route to pass by Lotta’s place before continuing off to his mother whom he had promised to walk the dogs for in a little less than an hour. Of course, he rarely went inside Lotta’s, considering who she lived with, but he figured they could get coffee on the way, so he sent a way a text and gladly met up with her on the street, a big smile on his lips. His eyes darted to the door for a moment before he realized she meant the dogs, not Cora. Of course. ❛ Oh yeah. Mama lives just a few blocks away. We could pass by Brews Brothers on the way, ❜ he suggested as he came up next to her and then continued walking slowly so she could follow with. ❛ What’s up? ❜

.

She could almost see the cogs turning in his brain. She was trying very hard not to laugh at him, considering how the situation wasn’t really all that funny. “Lovely,” she said, jogging ever so slightly in order to catch up. Being short had its downfalls, sometimes. Often. “I’m dying for a latte, actually. I’ve only had two coffees today and I’m starting to lag.” This was said with complete sincerity. “Do you really want me to bore you with the details of my work-day?”

She slips onto the barstool with little fanfare. It’s been a while since she’s been here, actually, with work and everything that came with it keeping her so busy. The stress of her life had been test enough, but now- she needs to measure up her strength against quite a real threat. It isn’t that she ever meant to memorise Laurie’s schedule, but she’s always had a mind for details. And so, she’s unsurprised to see him here. It makes her relax slightly, knowing he won’t serve her anything she’s not supposed to have. “Good evening,” she smiles, arms resting on the bar. “I would like your absolute finest mocktail.” Her being here isn’t a good thing, it means she’s almost overwhelmed, and it’s very possible he knows that, but the atmosphere is nice, and she’s safer here than anywhere else.

closed starter for: @charlottewrenn​ location: Library located in Downtown

The drive over from Crescent Harbor Prep wasn’t long but Rose couldn’t help but speed over to the welcome chaos of the afternoon rush that was laden in Downtown. The mundane orientation and training she had to endure brought her close to tears out of sheer boredom and while she knew it was a very necessary passage into the new job, she couldn’t help but buzz with the excitement of knowing she’d put her brain to use in research she cared about. It wasn’t long before she was fighting for a spot to park in that was nowhere near the meters that she didn’t carry quarters around for as is. She pounced on the closest spot she could get for her destination and rushed forward to the doors she’d been waiting to burst through all day: the library. 

She could have exclaimed in delight but remembered the quiet etiquette that was due in the establishment, and simply sighed with relief as she made her way to the history section. There were many relics and archives to be explored and she couldn’t wait to dive into it, that was until she remembered she was supposed to be meeting someone. Checking her phone, the last time Charlotte had texted her was well into the morning. She sent a text, “Have you been murdered? Send a winky face for maybe or a skull for yes. If the answer is a resounding no, don’t forget we have a date! We can’t let these archives wither in dust!” Once she sent the text, she made her way to a shelf to grab a book or two before opting to go into one of the isolated quiet rooms, waiting along for her fellow history buff to arrive.  

. 

Fleetwood Mac’s ‘The Chain’ tinkled over the speakers of her car as she pulled into the the library carpark. Her passenger seat was stacked with papers of things that were far less interesting than anything she was about to do. She’d been in two meetings today, both of which could have easily been an email. She parked relatively well in a space near the back, and shoved the files carefully into her laptop bag that sat on the floor of the car. As she did so, she retrieved the laptop itself and slid it into her satchel. Lotta hated being late, but it had unfortunately been unavoidable. As the song was coming to an end, an alert blared over the car’s speakers. She chuckled as she read it, and began to gather her relevant things more quickly. 

With one hand, she texted back, “Just outside! Very sorry!” and locked her car. There was something about being at the library that made her feel excited in a way she hadn’t in quite a while. It was the same fluttery feeling she felt at the bookstore, or whenever she listened to a podcast on literature. Wonderful. She’s smiling, almost stupidly, as the walks into the library. On her way to the room they usually frequent, she plucks a couple of books off the shelves. It’s a little sad that going to the library is the highlight of her day, but she doesn’t mind much. “Rose!” She says happily as she sits down opposite the other woman. “How was your day?” It isn’t small talk, with how interesting she finds the other’s job, she genuinely wants to know. 

WHO: open. [ @crescentstarters​ ] WHERE: sunstone. the stretch of beach behind nate’s house.

As the frigid weather began to recede, leaving behind promises of spring, Nate found himself out here more and more often. He’d always been drawn to the sea, to the brutality of it. The predictability of it. His pants legs were rolled up, feet buried in the sand, his favorite bottle of whiskey half gone and laying beside him. Smoke rose from the burning down cigarette between his fingers and his elbows rested against his knees. For one single moment, there was peace. 

It was the unmistakable sound of feet sinking into sand behind him and growing closer that shattered that illusion and found him groaning– a rumble in his chest– as he tossed a quick sidelong glance at the figure, shrouded in shadow and highlighted by what little moonlight peeked through the clouds. “This is a private beach,” he called, though it was halfhearted. It wasn’t the first wayward soul to stumble through and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last. They never stopped to chat.

At least, Nate thought with a long-suffering sigh as the person grew closer still, they didn’t usually. Finally, slowly, he looked up again. “You lost?”

.

This was not where she wanted to be. But there was only so long she could avoid having to speak to Nate in person, and the two months of freedom she’d had had almost seemed unrealistic. With Anna having returned to the Blackwood house, the family seemed to have contained itself in its own bubble. Her work had become largely meeting up with clients, rather than the very person she was usually assigned to. Part of her wondered if it was due to the fact Raymond Sr. had absolutely been at the gala, but she gave herself much fewer headaches if she didn’t try to psychoanalyse any of that family. 

“I’m aware of that, Mr. Blackwood. Unfortunately, I’m not here of my own accord.” She holds out papers in front of her, held carefully but firmly. “Your father asked me to give you these.” Why he was using Lotta as his errand girl was a whole other problem. Having to see Nate was the most pressing one. The last time she’d seen him- it had not ended well. For any party involved. “I’m not sure what they are, but he needed them delivered as soon as possible.”

It’s almost 2PM by the time she’s stood outside Max’s door. For once, she’s out of her business-casual attire, dressed far more casually, going so far as to wear a cardigan she can shove her hands into the pockets of, rather than the neat over-the-head jumper she’d usually plump for. She pulls one hand out of one pocket to wave at the figure stood on the pavement. “Afternoon, Max.” Lotta glances around for a few seconds, before looking back at her friend. “Are we missing someone? Or- someones?”

Ash ignored everything pent up inside of him for so long. He had reservations about taking on his niece, taking on a father role, but he never allowed himself to express them or truly feel them out of fear of being selfish. He never had a chance to plan out life. He went to college, got his degree and then Rain died. He picked up those pieces and then had to stay because Daisy got pregnant. Then Daisy died. What was suppose to be a month home turned into the rest of his life. Did he even want kids? Marriage felt like it was out of the question, now.

“She deserves better.” He mumbled slightly. “She deserves the world, you know?” He shook his head. “How are you though?” Maybe it was best to change the topic.

.

“I don’t disagree with that.” She said, slowly. She wasn’t uncertain of it, certainly. If there was anything she could be sure of, it was just how much Cora deserved, but she also didn’t want to contribute to any self-hatred Ash was currently feeling. “But I also think you have to give her credit that she knows that. And the choices she’ll make are what is best for herself.” 

It was easy to tell when someone wanted to change the topic, and she laughed quietly to herself for a moment. “I’m- well. I’m well. My life has been incredibly boring as of late.” That, at least, was not a lie.

It was only as she sat down in the coffee shop, latte balancing precariously in one hand, that she realised how long it had been since she had seen Luca. They were never quite friends, really, always more content to talk in the company of- she took a sharp breath as her name entered her head. While Ariella hadn’t been her closest friend in the world, she had loved her, and loss was- well, there was no time limit on grief. Still, she cursed herself internally at her reaction. It was no time to be getting upset, now. She looked up at the jingle of the bed, her coffee half-raised to her lips. 

Scoffing as the bouncer finally left his side, albeit with a glare in his direction as he went back to his spot in the corner, Bash took another sip of his beer, fingers itching to keep playing with the lighter but he let it sit in his pocket as he drank the alcoholic beverage. He’d just finish it, then go out and smoke. Fuck this place. Fear Knot let him smoke inside. They weren’t really good with rules and that’s why it was his second home. However, he hadn’t really felt like walking down to Hemlock tonight. He just wanted a drink. Drinks. A lot of them, and he’d run out of beers at home. Clenching his jaw his thoughts were interrupted by a stranger’s voice, hazel hues turning to look at her in silence, eyebrows knitted together slightly. Then he exhaled, clearly bothered. Who was she, even? No, he was not alright, but that was none of her fucking business, was it? ❛ What do you want? ❜

.

She recognised that look in his eye, the need for everyone to leave her alone when she had probably needed the most help. It had only been after Edward had called her that she’d even started to get out of the spiral she had thrown herself down. Now, she didn’t know this man from Adam, and it was entirely possible he was just having a terrible night, but the look felt wrong. “I don’t want anything.” She responded, voice clipped. “Except, perhaps, for you to stop treating the bouncers like they’re punching bags. There are rules for a reason.” One eyebrow raised, her coat clutched in front of her somewhat protectively. 

“And to know if you’re alright- I suppose. I recognise a bad night. Do you have someone to take you home?” This was absolutely none of her business, and she was sure he would tell her as such, but if someone had called her out on her bullshit before Seattle, she would have been much better off. 

The last thing he wanted was to put Lotta in the middle. He didn’t expect her to be on his side, nor did he want her to be. If sides needed to be made, he didn’t want anyone on his. His own mother wasn’t.  “A drink would be nice.” A small nod matched the deep sigh. His eyes watched Lotta as she walked, listening to her as she spoke.  “I broke the trust of someone who doesn’t give trust out easily. Maybe it’s not unfix-able, but it’s never going to be the same.” He knew this, no matter what kind of hope he tried to hold onto. He knew his friendship with Cora had changed.

.

She nodded in response, pulling the fridge open and looking at its contents. “What can I get you?” As she said it, she pulled her own drink of choice out. His words struck a chord with her, and she sighed deeply. She shut the fridge, unhappy to leave it open even for a moment, and turned back to Ash. “I’m not going to speak for her, ever, but- I’ve been where you are. Kind of. Very different situation but the same outcome,” Lotta paused, leaning on the counter. “And they forgave me. I’m not saying people should give out a million chances, but if someone loves you, they’re more inclined to give you one.”

Time: Wednesday, March 31st, literally any time Location: On the Rocks  Triggers: Possibly all of them, he is not well<3 @crescentstarters (0/3)

    ❛ Fuck you. ❜ Words press past a cigarette held tightly between his lips, one that he had just a moment ago attempted to light up inside the bar when the bartender quickly told him off. Of course he knew smoking inside was illegal but it didn’t stop him from fucking trying. After taking a sip of his sixth– seventh? – beer he’d had at the bar, Bash put the stick back between his lips and flicked the lighter again. The bartender jerked his head at the sound to glare at him and Bash mocked the expression BEFORE rolling his eyes. Then suddenly; a hand on his shoulder. A fucking bouncer. Life was ironic, wasn’t it? Not that he had previously worked at On the Rocks but still, he’d done exactly what this guy was trying to do to him. 

    ❛ What, you wanna fight about it? ❜ he snapped, letting out a snort while pushing the guy’s hand off him. Sure, he was in the mood, absolutely, but it was not a good idea. It was never a good idea, no matter how messed up his mind got in the spring, making him do stupid shit and act out like a child. Did it help that Lily had brought him to New Orleans over his birthday? Sure, absolutely; more closure. Had it also, possibly, made it worse? Still unknown. He was still the same amount of asshole full of anxiety he usually turned into. ❛ I won’t fucking light it. Chill out. ❜ Lighting a cigarette inside a bar wouldn’t bring his mom back to life but it sure as hell would taste good with his damn beer.

.

This was routine, now. She sat at a barstool, sipping some type of non-alcoholic cocktail. Being surrounded by people drinking respectfully was oddly helpful, usually. It made her all the more aware of how her own relationship with the substance was unhealthy. Hearing commotion from the other side of the room, she turned her head slightly. The man seemed vaguely familiar in feature, but entirely familiar in motions. Though she hadn’t been violent; she’d certainly been something. 

Every instinct in her was telling her not to get involved, but the bouncer across the room knew her, knew she’d be completely sober. And she felt bad for him. Maybe it was time to leave, anyway. Lotta finished the last dregs of orange juice, and pushed herself off the stool. Though she tried to avoid the kerfuffle as she passed, perhaps it was the tiniest remaining part of her that remembered being- that way. “Are you alright?” The words slipped out before she could stop them, with a touch perhaps too much sympathy in her voice.