HEY, i think i just saw HEATHER LIN walking down the strip. stop by to catch up and you’ll learn the THIRTY TWO YEAR OLD is working as a CO-OWNER OF PUGGY’S CAKES + MEMBER OF CACTUS CATS and lives in OUTER LIMITS, MT. WILSON RANCH. given they are ATTENTIVE but CANTANKEROUS, it’s likely that they ARE NOT a vampire. on the flipside, rumor has it that SHE COVERED UP EVIDENCE THAT MIGHT HAVE PROVEN HER HALF-BROTHER TO BE A VAMPIRE IN HIS AUTOPSY and it keeps them looking over their shoulder. i bet you can find them tearing up the dance floor to RUBIK’S CUBE by ATHLETE and you’ll know why they’re called THE LIONHEART. ☾ .⭒˚ chloe bennet. genderfluid + she/they/any. homosexual, homoromantic + gemini.
crimson dampened and tears concealed beneath cracked fists, those perhaps, would perfectly construe heather’s upbringing. a family that involved one constantly-ill mother and for the lack of better word, a hostile step father, she had to grow up in the ceaseless state of alarm — needing often to fight for herself and her mother’s lives and having to lick her own wounds afterward. the routine earned heather a rough-hewn demeanor although she was also demanded to remain reticent of the issues and instead ultimately adapting a chaotic lifestyle in order to shroud what was happening to her and her family.
when heather’s younger sister, samantha, came along — there was a sense of tenderness that grew within her and she made sure that she’d be shielded at all times. the two developed a trusting bond, as well as a mutually supporting relationship with heather aiding samantha’s physical struggles, and samantha ensuring that heather could be taught the things she had missed out when dealing with her troubles in secret.
however, the short-lived bursts of peace did not last long as a particularly violent fight between heather and her step-father reached its most turbulent state — samantha was caught in the crossfire, and she then suffered injuries of her own, resulting in heather to be flooded with guilt. unable to further cope with the situation, she eventually left home when she was old enough to do so.
heather’s life then depended on her survival instinct alone. she lived on the streets, and took several odd jobs. later on, she joined street boxing and underground fight rings to earn quick cash — until the point where she suffered a rather mortal injury that left her one-eye blind, as well unable to fight any further and certainly not professionally. despite the warnings, she went on, continuing to wreck her body inside out.
at one point in her life, heather was reunited with an old classmate of hers, anka, the two developed friendship and even lived closeby for a while. when heather’s mental state continued to plummet, she eventually decided to seek proper help, and people which could assist her mentally. it was a gruelling state, but after specifically working with environments surrounded by children, much like her younger sister back then, she discovered a nurturing side that had never been exposed before. for a while, it gave her peace, and she started teaching those children how to protect themselves, even going so far as becoming their trainer.
heather eventually made it to las vegas, where she also discovered her step-brother, cyrek. though she wasn’t highly capable as she had been before, she offered the skills she mastered throughout the years and joined the cactus cats as one of its members.
when she returned to anka, the two reconciled and as their relationship flourished, they became romantically attached and married later. the pair had children of their own and for quite a long while, it seemed as if things would last this time around.
that was, however, until one day out of nowhere, she came home to her wife missing. panic immediately grew and when days passed without any news, heather began to frantically look for her spouse while also tending her wife. there was no sign, nothing at all. distraught but not yet succumbing, heather to this day, still continues her search to find out anka’s whereabouts.
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Andrea had no idea how long she had been at the casino, her watch had broken before she left and she had made a mental note to get a new battery the next day. It didn't feel long to her, but knowing her, it could have been a couple of hours. Betting really wasn't her thing, but she needed to get out more since most of her time had been work related. Sighing softly, she made her way over to the bar to get herself a drink, letting a small yawn escape her lips just after she ordered it. Maybe she had been there longer than she had and it was starting to hit her. "Hey, sorry to bother you, but you wouldn't happen to know the time, my watch decided to crap out on me before I got here."
Old habits died hard, and the same could be said of such meagre fractions which dangled upon the brunette’s disposition — almost ludicrously flaunted with the sauntering evidence that no matter the many years had been sacrificed to ensure she could attend an event well-dressed, there would be always be a wrinkle or two too adamant to be folded for precision. ( Oh, how she could at times still tune to the scolding. That suit was just not appropriate for these events! ) Alas, she doubted many would bother to act much beyond an inquisitive glance and there were many more spectacles to be gawked at than an unruly-tressed rascal. Hands in pocket, a straw hung and chewed between lips, her attention was mostly unfocused until a voice chimed to halt the twiddling she had shrouded. “Ergh, wait. Eight, nine in the evening? Mine’s a little fucked up, too, sorry,” much better than to confess that she had tweaked it backwards to recall a specific pattern. A much comfortable one. “Just… Getting pretty late, I think.”
puggy cakes — 3:45 pm. cap 0/4. @anchoragestarters
unruly and irascible she might have been, a commitment to her duties had been instilled within the rancher over recent years with the past few months witnessing a surge in fervor. not only did diligence maintain order but distractions provided a bulwark against mental tumult when her offspring were not clinging to her arms. busyness proved a double-edged sword - though it offered scant solace during nocturnes, it allowed her to cling to focus, to avoid shattering beneath the weight of her thoughts. ( perhaps more accurately, she endeavored to persuade herself of resilience against the vulnerabilities her mind insisted upon revealing. but how could it resist the re-emergence of tension, when the moschetti’s news broke, and vanishing - bodies, alive and dead, propelled another stack of newspapers on her desk? ) yet even the most indomitable amongst many falter, wounded and lacerated - and it was not until the query posed to her was reiterated that she became aware of how profoundly her attention had strayed. “sorry - fuckin’ - sorry.” partial-functioning gaze landed upward to the customer, and she should let someone else take over, really, but of course in lieu push was dragged into a shove. “yes - we’ll have valentine’s specials over the week. sweetheart swirl - raspberry and white chocolate swirl on a cheesecake. there’s more but - wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise, yeah?” she wasn’t certain if that had been the question in the first place.
@anchoragestarters
knives + ??? : february 4, late evening @ down the rabbit hole underground mall
cap 0/4
Knives needed a vacation. Which was strange, considering Anchorage was meant to serve as a vacation from the hellish scorched earth she left behind in New York and Prague. She wasn't really certain how she wound up the object of a poltergeist's undying devotion, alas, she was also quite convinced that she'd never truly know. Perhaps it was karma that'd been long forgotten by the young chemist; perhaps it was simple misfortune, something that couldn't be thwarted no matter how valiant her attempts. So, she resigned from the world, hoping that she wouldn't somehow pass on that spirit to another unwitting soul. She was cored, left empty for the apparition to consume every waking thought she encountered. It's why she was often seen wandering around aimlessly, like when she stumbled deep underground and discovered a mall she'd only heard of in secret whispers. There was an unlit cigarette dangling from her lips as she idled outside a grungy clothing boutique, admiring the mannequins in the window. She hadn't a penchant for them before the onslaught of murders and hauntings had engulfed their snowy coastal city. As she stared vacantly and remained eerily still, she felt something brush up against her. "Sorry," she murmured on instinct, glistening brown eyes drifting up to the figure. "... Are you shopping, or you are trying to escape it all too?
time lost all meaning in endless hours devoted to nurturing tender shoots – existence dwindled to a mere husk of indulgence cast adrift, as if corporeal form had never been intended to breathe. heather’s comprehension of living had narrowed to ensuring her tiny sprouts thrived, dawn breaking only to isolate her further within the confines of her ranchstead. vacuous platitudes (“gettin’ y’all some new wheelies”) served as a salve for festering wounds, her every waking moment consumed by a desperate quest for signs of the beloved – poring over yellowed newsprint, tuning crackling radio broadcasts into a static-filled void. children remained blissfully ignorant, siblings occasionally assumed guardianship, freed heather to wander aimlessly beneath the star-studded sky. tonight, it seemed, had been ordained to be one such night. “kind of both, you can say. my son’s — gettin’ into a little bit of a phase,” there was the void again. the slap on her shoulder, the chide, the reprimand for being so unruly. she was more practiced in delivering a smile instead. “i assume it’s the latter for you. shit’s all messy, huh?”
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( @anchoragestarters ) — OPEN !
CAPPED: 0/4
DATE & LOCATION: MARCH 15ᵀᴴ ↯ THE FLOWER BASKET
It was early — it was more like 11 o’clock in the morning, actually. She had no means of transportation, so she walked for fresh air. It was needed as they were starting to look like a ghost. Their sleeping schedule was more than screwed up, and they stood inside The Flower Basket. Random, surely, but she had a need to decorate her place with some plants, flowers... or whatever.
“There are way too many to choose from. I think I might go haywire,” Alizka mumbled to herself, and they hoped they wouldn’t become too impatient. They probably should’ve dragged someone along... but they didn’t want to give them the burden of having to come with. “Um. Excuse me, sorry to bother you, but I forgot my glasses at home like the old lady I am - but do you happen to see any hydrangeas around the store?”
Enduring a childhood chiseled by austerity, there were components within Haerin that became woefully out of practice when she found herself in refined environments such as this. Despite the nurturing care from her spouse encouraging her growth towards gentleness, her refinement left room for improvement—especially apparent during instances when she was without their aid. And today, with her plan to refurbish their homestead cloistered securely inside her mind, was one such instance. Nonetheless, she staunchly trudged forward still—striving vehemently to not resemble an errant runt.
Yet naturally someone had to ask her. The rarity of flustered blushes bloomed on her cheeks- a sight quite contrary to her usual stiff demeanor. She rubbed at her nose with an index finger in contemplation—retracing steps inside a mind as cluttered as hers was never an easy feat. "Um… I reckon there could be a few." She mumbled uncertainly—it was more like guessing at this point—before offering directions devoid of confidence. “Third row, left from the entrance.” Even though she ended it with a disclaimer stating their potential fallacy—“I might be wrong though.”
Their voice a blade to dispel evil and arcanely situated in sacred grounds as if Mother Nature were to call to their hearth, and the coltish baker found themselves adhering to the soothing bell that it emanated. Haerin may have been a titular being to most — namesake shrouded in the ruinous abandon of the physical for their name on a title card of a fight, and to them, another means of security on the cusp of endangerment. "I don't think so... but I couldn't really see," they confessed, their thumbs stroking along the fibers of the cape borrowed, and tilting their head aside to rest against the crest of their love's shoulder as they crossed the parking lot. For once, they made peace with the aversion of an abiding citizen, the crawling sensation of something awaiting to set a trap for them and the rest of the victims to the dining hall a stark reminder of the eve they'd set foot in Peppy's Pizzeria. Those empty walls and the eerie silence, the din kowtowed by the glare of reddened and inhuman eyes to tear their soul asunder, it reminded them of that. Succoring was their other half's attempts to assuage a frenzied mind, fingers procuring bunches of the other's dress then, clinging for an extra beat before sliding into the passenger seat, a hand cupped over their nose as they searched for the box of travel tissues. "I know, but..." Selfishly, the mind boggled, and maundered to far-away places. "I'm worried 'bout whether the kids are okay, we — we should get home." Releasing the pin of their bedraggled hair, the wig long discarded and banished to the inside of the mansion, they reached for their wife's hand as she situated herself in the driver's seat. "Ya don't think... it was meant for me, do ya?"
Perhaps to some it could echo as a farcical notion — any denouement attributing that someone as seemingly poised as the pair would be a circled scope for any imbibed hands out there, but there was a history written in blood that spoke differently and had left both of their flesh scarred. Haerin would be a gigantic ignoramus to diminish such concerns. “I don’t think so. Could most likely be the wrong place, wrong time situation, but I won’t be rulin’ anything out.” It wasn’t the most practiced reassurance, though while Haerin made it clear they would not permit even another scratch to smear their spouse, or God forbid their children, it was an acknowledgment that they would not desert the abnormalities in the dust; to engrave them and live in a rose-tainted path scantily worked when one was tangled in this dumpster fire of a place. It was worth looking into when their family’s safety might be on the line.
Distress rippled through them — although in fragments yet still a ghostly remnant that haunted the recesses of their mind. Teetered on the brink still was grating friction pounding the former fighter’s head, how ludicrously appealing it would be to blacken teeth and tongue and spit at the continuous horrors which so effortlessly, languidly tailed the two’s endeavors to fucking breathe. Instead, she drew their joined hands and pressed a kiss on the belle’s wrist. “We’ll check on the kids first. Make sure they’re safe, then find out what the bloody hell’s going on.” Rueful gravel padding into tenderness at the promise, and she began to drive outside. Skirting away from the calamity as much as they could. They’d check on Cyrek later. Pause stretched for a while, shoulders loosening bit by bit. “Talk to me. How are you feeling?”
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"Everything happened so quickly... I don't even know what else happened, Karam was telling me t' hide an' he got us out, and..." The police sirens resonant in the distance were propelling them away instinctually, rather than paddling toward the desire to remain in one place. Shivering, they drew the cape from Haerin's costume closer to their middle, the bowed frown on their face as they ducked their head. The ache throbbing in their nose felt inescapable, and they trusted the former boxer to drive than their frazzled nerves. "I think he snapped it back where it's supposed to be... It just kind'a hurts." They were trying for optimism that the freak accident was caused by some faulty wiring, instead of a caper. And they hoped Karam, too, had slunk away to a safe place. Whatever would come of the news tomorrow, the baker was grateful for the florist's valiant effort to ensure they would be okay... Fingertips danced over the rims of the velvety fabric, seeking comfort in their spouse's lingering scent ingrained into its fibers. "Take me home? Please."
“I know, love, I know.” The raven-haired’s accented words were as succinct as they were, one would hope, comforting, though the olden resonance in their voice hinted at a disturbance. No explanations were required in the midst of the establishment now engulfed in an atmosphere of alarm and chaos. Should their spouse emerge entirely smeared with grime and ashes, there would be no inquisition until a haven of safety was reached - their well-being, among other things, being of utmost importance. A poise Haerin had longed to emulate after epochs of knowing only fragile cries and hurried, wounded blows. Their own facade was marred with dirt — but personal ordeals seemed trivial amidst the broader desolation surrounding them. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” A subtle grind of crooked jawline and one arm curled around the other’s shoulders, she attempted to create friction and warmth by rubbing her palm along their skin, both mantled and exposed. Wrath made a home behind fortitude of molars — but what was the point of questioning now when calamity seemed to tail the place whenever they went? Guided to their car, they opened the door for their spouse before glissading themselves. “Oh, fuckin’ tits,” a mumble unrestrained as the panic only seemed to brew. “Sure hope everyone made it okay.”
as the sun rises over the rugged alaskan landscape and a sense of anachronism continues to fill the air, the condescending and circuitous shadow of colson kim appears. the sky above his head is a brilliant blue canvas, adorned with scattered cotton-like clouds that add jubilation to the otherwise depressing scene. with the thermometer hovering around 60 degrees fahrenheit, the temperature is mild yet transient. a gentle breeze rustles through the trees, carrying with it the sweet scent of blooming wildflowers and sprouting vegetation. the landscape that is slowly transitioning from its winter slumber to vibrant life is sweet despite how sour he feels. the snow that once blanketed the ground has given way to patches of green, and the rivers and streams are alive with the melodic sounds of rushing water. the mountains that surround the town still retain some remnants of snow, adding a majestic touch to the panorama. as he takes his steps outside, he feels the warmth of the sun on his skin, a welcome contrast to the chillier days he’s experienced. truth be told, it’s a perfect day out. colson doubts that his decision to step into the light could lead to a meaningful exchange, and perhaps even a newfound connection, and yet he engages. clearing his throat, he mustered the courage to speak, breaking the silence that surrounded him. “Do me a favor? “ Colson’s words hung in the air, and he took no time to await the stranger’s response. “Just… gag me and kill me now.”
Laboring as a roughhewn steward of the land entailed a unique set of inevitable certainties — an unending dance with shit-tinted soil that welcomed each dawn, and a relentless beckoning to plow through despite the predicament. Haerin had the distinct fortune of acclimating herself to these auroral customs, not as though her significant other would leave her resting tresses untouched if the call of the morning rooster failed to stir her from slumber. And so, awakened by the chill embrace of the morning gusts, her eyes were pried open in sudden alertness. The day’s tasks called to her from a mental scroll — a collection of daily essentials, a selection of ingredients destined to transform into sweet, crumbly confections, and, to round off the day’s requisition with a touch of whimsy, she was entrusted with securing a parcel of blueberry-tinged sweets ( in which, yes, she would lap on later. ) Looking down at the note given to her, the loitering words caught her attention, its delivery enticed her more than the absurdity of the statement itself. “Sorry, I don’t do that anymore,” and it was a partial jest too enshrouded by an all-too-crooked simper, Australian twinge flapping through her tongue. “Not a mornin’ person, are ya?”
“Got someone to kiss during the ball drop? Ain’t no mistletoe, but we can make it work.” Their lithe smile was reserved for Haerin alone, a reprieve from the gossiping around the rumor mill they’d partook in all evening after running into a couple curious sights — if it weren’t for the fact that one of them was Josette Leighton, Haerin’s former therapist, they might have gabbed to their wife about it, too. Their digits ruffled their black bob, their grey undertones hidden with the downcast of their hair that lightly dusted their shoulders, and they reached out to their spouse’s dress. Adjusting an accessory upon her bosom adoringly, they teased, “I should finance an enhancement to your chest, ya’know.” They smirked, hoping that the other would take it in stride. “How are ya liking the party? It’s kinda-sorta your in-laws’ an’ all.” Micah was a sister figure to them, after all, and they couldn’t be more ecstatic to have learned that they had now been related by marriage. Brushing their hands over her shoulders, they interlocked their fingers when they twined them around Haerin’s neck, humming delightedly. “What’s your New Year’s resolution gonna be, huh? I know it’s all hogwash to a lot’a people, but ya come real far, an’ I’m awful proud’a you.” The rims of their smile widened, their thumb caressing her cheek with the amour of a fawning teenager. When they ruminated over their five years together, they longed solely for their love to discover tranquility in the quietude of their life, baking pastries and shoveling shit on the ranch — perhaps, it wasn’t as bonified and crackling as their previous conquests. For Anka, it was the perfect life. “I already got what I been wishing for.”
“I don’t know, that server over there is pretty cute, think I should shoot my shot?”
Laced with the teasing dispel was a thin smile, the main excuse for its lack of jocosity was a rustic intimation of the former boxer’s inept dispositions. Pay no mind to the orientation that had been established for the past five years with the belle’s enduring digits, even a sleek satin could still display wrinkles of daunting yore. Still, they much encouraged themself to not be a downer. There were a handful of fragments they could indulge, the exquisite decorations snuffed their artistic niche—the chandeliers did not sparkle as did the silverware and crystal—but there was little room for error on such a delicate matter. A few seconds longer than a blink. The most fleeting moments of time. Some said even the most infuriating chagrin could be mended with nectar when one stood closeby to a loved one or two and in olden cases Haerin would not have been a believer, but now in the presence of their in-laws and wife, their palm had grown tepid and they found it easier to maintain the composure—they had learned from the first that appearances were everything for these eyes—even if they could not quite make out how the guests were viewing each other, vultures, or a balmy-seated opprobrium. Their other-half, however, seemed to symphonize right in—a reminder that they had once been a grain of this imperious pit before. It was not something that Haerin necessarily envied.
Coarse digits twined along Anka’s, and in spite of the puckish splendor, their touch was gentler—something that had increased gradually over the years, battle-marred knuckles becoming ones learning to adapt to suppleness. “And here I thought you were warming up to my near-nonexistent tits, love. Apparently according to some research that I found, eating oysters would enlarge them naturally—should we start stacking up our seafood supply?” Upon the query for their resolution, they propelled a slight chuckle, the palm which they were holding was brought up to their lips in a habitual, subtle display of affection. “Dunno. World domination? Bigger chesticles for you to grab and enjoy?” They grinned, and then with a more contented sigh, they plucked the clownery aside for a moment to allow a few seconds of cushy silence. “I’m more then content where I am—got you and the half-pints, my siblings are all in one piece, mostly. Maybe I wouldn’t mind a few more years of peace, if it that isn’t too boring.”
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DESPITE BEING HEAVILY AWARE OF HOW SHE was perceived at any given moment by the people around her, Fahima actually felt quite comfortable at large events. It was a common occurrence at the Warhol Estate, where she easily fell into the role of taking care of all guests, and unlike pageants or movie sets, all of the attention wasn’t placed on her alone. In fact, there seemed to be so much going on that she could fall under the radar, pretend to be wallflower, as she observed others enjoying the event. It was unusual the duchess could attend an event where she wasn’t constantly checking if people needed refills or any other type of refreshment. Finding one of the trays of wine, she decided she would allow herself a second, and most likely last for the night, glass, not intending to bump hands with someone else who was reaching for the same one. “Oh, pardon me! Please, you can have it. You may be saving me from the embarrassing behavior after too much wine,” she joked, polite smile crossing her features. She wasn’t a big drinker, so her tolerance was pretty low. Besides, she found it risky to her appearance to get too intoxicated. “I enjoy your mask. Did one of the deadly sins play into selecting it?”
----
It wouldn’t take a genius to conclude that Haerin was, artlessly, out of their element. To consider them as far as a social recluse would be too expansile — if anything the former pugilist was just horrendously inept at social events, even blanketed in the grandiose fabrics, a nod to what their wife had fussed over merely a few hours ago in order to ensure those unkempt edges would not prod out of their attire. They are trying, nevertheless, and pondered if they emerged similarly to a cemented statue in the midst of everyone’s paths, too tall to be blending well with some of their miniature siblings, and not tall enough to bare any sort of intimidation. Their lips were concealed behind continuous sips of their beverages — posture not at all dignified and their honey brown hues seemingly couldn’t land to rest until someone spoke up to them. “Oh, it’s okay, you can go ahead. I wasn’t actually — I’m not supposed to drink alcohol so I’m not sure why I just did that.” In reality, the Australian discovered comfort in touching things that they were not supposed to, it was an ode to their olden rebellious streaks, and it was a habit that warranted them a swat to their head by their other-half. Cheeks flushed, Haerin’s awkwardness betrayed the vicious mask that they were sporting, as well as their rugged poise. “It’s a lion,” they muttered, stretching the back of their neck. And here they were, often calling themself an artist. “I suppose that represents many of those sins all at once—wrath, gluttony, dunno. Though it does look a little more wrathful, yeah?”
