MARLEY CALLAHAN ✰ 33 ✰ DINER WAITRESS & ASENAS HEIST SPECIALIST

…

“The accent,” he smiled back at her with a nod. Of course she wanted to be famous, Dominic thought to himself. There was no reason to move to Vegas unless there was some goal they wanted to achieve. It was a hell hole that only locals chose to live and die in, “well I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for out here,” he gave her the encouragement she’d need to do something in show business, it was a stupid one though. Nodding, “I think you’ll do great here,” she had the looks that people would love, the small town country back story that others would swoon for. If she could dance then he couldn’t see why she wouldn’t be able to make it.

Nodding, “it’s really nothing, I swear,” it was just the labor he could comp for her, parts he would have to order and find in the back if they had them. It wouldn’t be too complicated for him, “you just might have to wait. I gotta do it in my spare time, if that’s okay?” Cyrus always did tell Dom that he had a soft spot for a sob story and a pretty face. “It’s okay,” he grabbed the cloth tucked in his work shirt, “no need to cry. Hopefully this will make it all a little better.” Dominic shook his head, unable to take anything she offered, “it’s really fine, I promise.” Dominic really was a fucking sucker.

—

“Oh, that must be it.” Marley laughed, head nodding in agreement. She could practically see the gears turning in his head, see the invisible roll of his eyes, and she realized that he’d taken her words at face value rather than noting her teasing. This only added to Marley’s amusement, head quick to shake as more laughter bubbled past her lips. “You’re very kind,” her eyes lowered to locate the name stitched onto his shirt, “Dominic.” A nice name. It suited him. “But I was only jokin’, I promise. Not much of a dancer, and you really don’t wanna hear my singin’.” Her nose scrunched, an exaggerated shudder rattling her shoulders. 

It wasn’t nothing. This definitely had the makings to be something, Marley could feel it. “That’s more than okay.” She assured, reaching to wipe away another faux tear. “Thank you.” A hiccuped laugh as she reached for the cloth handed her way. A gentleman. She liked that. “Really, I’m gonna find a way to make this up to you, Dominic...you’ve got a last name, Dominic?” Marley shook her head with another laugh. “You’ve got no idea how much this means.”

…

Glaring back at his ex, he shook his head, “do you enjoy fucking with me, Marley?” Dominic couldn’t understand why she continued to be this relentless with him. She had gotten as much as she could out of him, but still demanded more, “haven’t you taken enough from me?” There was no way to get her off his back, not when she continued this shit. Taking the coffee from her, he sipped the warm liquid, grasping for calm that it might offer him. Dominic didn’t want to acknowledge her, but in a public place like this, he didn’t want to lose his cool. “You know I can’t sleep,” he reminded her, “or have you forgotten already?” It was a habit of his to wake up when the nightmares tormented him and for the last six months, she had been there, soothing his terrified mind when nothing else worked. When she left, they came back and he’s been dealing with it since.

—

“Why, of course I do.” Marley replied easily back, eyes wide and innocent, as if she could not believe he did not know the answer to such a simple question. Wasn’t it obvious, the joy she received from doing this with him? From re-entering his field of vision right when maybe, just maybe, he’d begun to forget her very existence in it to begin with? She couldn’t allow that, couldn’t stand the thought of him erasing her completely, of not leaving little reminders that she’d been here, she’d existed, and some part of him, perhaps a part long gone and buried, had once been grateful for that. “You just make it so easy, baby. But don’t worry. It’s all harmless fun.” Harmless for her, at least, but truthfully, the only thing left that Marley wanted to take from him was just a sliver of his time.

After doctoring her own coffee up, Marley reached to do the same in Dominic’s, meticulously pouring sugar packet after sugar packet into the steaming mug. “Mhm, like I could forget a single thing ‘bout you.” She smiled, raising her attention from the coffee to his face, head tilting to the side. “You remember, that first night you had me over at your place? How you tried to kick me out after?” Marley laughed. “There I was thinkin’ that you just didn’t like me that much.” But that hadn’t been the case at all, clearly. 

“And you’re a pain in my ass.” Liv teased as she walked by Marley, reaching out to nudge the female’s shoulder gently before continuing her path towards the closet. Upon hearing Marley’s choice, she nodded once and put the other options back into the closet before tossing the sweatshirt towards the other. She’d returned to the bed, finding herself crawling onto the free side of it and sitting with her back against the headboard now as she glanced Marley’s way. “You’re lucky you’re you, Marley. If it were anyone else, I’d tell them to get lost.” That wasn’t true, of course. Liv might have been a bit sour in attitude at times, might have dug herself into a hole of being too sarcastic for her own good, but that didn’t mean her heart wasn’t still made of gold. She had her father to thank for that. “– Need anything else?”

—

“Mhm, you like it.” Like might have been too strong of a word, tolerate might have been better suited, but Marley had a way of twisting the truth to her own desires, to inflate her own sense of self, and Liv just happened to be the current victim of it. The sweatshirt missed Marley’s hand and landed at her side, and though her head swam as she sat up to reach for it, her dress was shimmied out of in favor of slipping on the warm fabric, a content sight leaving her lips before sinking back to the comfort of Liv’s pillows. Right now, she was feeling pretty lucky that she was her. Marley, just Marley. Not Sophie or Ana or Emily...just Marley. “You know just how to make a girl feel special.” She laughed, turning on her side to face the other woman. “Like what? Gonna tell me a bedtime story?” Teasing, she nudged her knee with her own.

killer cupcakes / open to all 

The entirety of what has been happening for the Foxes, for one Nadia James - it wasn’t good news. The explosion that happened, the many mistakes that followed - Nadia was enraged and so much of it was pent up. She always acted like the put together, conceited woman, but at the heart of it all - she was a psychopath and a psychopath could only take so much before they snapped. Walking into her own bakery that morning, Nadia thought of all the things that went wrong - and suddenly, a rage overtook her. She began to throw everything, baking sheets, dough she had set aside, muffin and cupcake tins - anything she could find and when she saw someone come in, she growled. 

“Get the fuck out or watch the bloody show! Would you like a sodding cupcake or a fucking rip to the neck?! Pick one, darling, I’m not very picky this morning!” Nadia screamed, throwing a premade croissant at the patron’s head, only to get quiet with wild eyes. “Today, I swear, someone will learn why this bloody bakery is called Killer Cupcakes, I swear to fucking God.” 

—

It was quite a show. Not one that Marley expected to have when she’d popped in for her coffee and doughnut that morning, but a show nonetheless. She sat back while the entertainer that was Nadia James gave her all into her performance--the croissant to the unsuspecting customer’s head? A nice touch, if Marley did say so herself. Though she was interested to see just how far this little...fit would continue, in Nadia’s best interest to avoid any assault via puffed pastry charges, the blonde forced herself from her comfortable viewing position and made her way between the patron and the wild (-ly beautiful) bakery owner.

She crouched down to retrieve the slightly squished pastry, rising to face the startled man with the baked good outstretched in his direction. “A new promotion. You were supposed to catch it, but it’s own the house anyways. Enjoy! Tell your friends.” Nudging him in the direction of the door, Marley flipped the open sign to closed and locked the door before turning her attention back to the other woman behind the counter.

“Now, what did those poor muffins ever do to you, hm?” Her eyebrow raised, an amused smirk unable to be hidden.

open to: marley callahan | @crrisptrepidation​ location: toddy leash’s ice box

“You’re talking shit for the hell of it,” Ilya scoffs, taking the shot glasses set before them and sliding one to the blonde in front of him. Hesitation is burned off his tongue as he tilts it back. He’s been told a few things over and over again to the point that it’s made him spin— avoid the press, stay on Fox territory, and don’t answer a single question. What they failed to mention was what happened when a threat wasn’t assessed at the door of some Fox haven, and that was where Marley Callahan entered. 

“What’s your theory, then?” He asks. “You lookin’ for someone to do your dirty work if my family’s twisted, or a job, Marley?”

—

“Me?” Marley played at hurt, chipped polished hand coming to rest gently at her chest, as if to clutch her heart in despair of the accusation shot her way. He wasn’t actually wrong, of course--as far as Marley was concerned, talking shit was a favorite pastime of hers, the very gossip she’d been the center of her entire childhood now being what entertained her most days. She was aware of the hypocrisy; or she would be, if she ever allowed herself a spared thought towards home, just two hundred and some odd miles and a state border away. Some days, it felt both too close and too far, breathing down her neck or nothing but a blip in her memory. “I’m hurt, baby. M’just tryin’ to make conversation. Somethin’ wrong with that?” Her hand dropped to claim the shot slid her way, taking it just seconds behind his own. “Besides,” the act drops, a smirk pulling at her lips as she leaned in closer, as if to share a secret, “I don’t need nobody to do my dirty work. That’s the best part.”

@heldfate​

“If the business is trying to devour about ten hamburgers on account of the fact that I haven’t had anything since yesterday, then yes. I’m purely here for business. Please tell me you’re not out of fries… I went to the diner across the city and they were completely dried out.”

—

“Outta fries? That’s just blasphemy.” Marley shook her head, eyes widened in faux surprise at the information. “What’s a burger...or ten,” she teased, “without any damn french fries?” She laughed, leaning against the booth opposite of the woman. “I’m sure ours are better than there’s, anyways.”

open to: @crrisptrepidation​ (dealer’s choice) location: ambrosia cafe

“What do you think goes into making an apple pie frappuccino?” Kat thought allowed before looking over at the person sitting beside her. “Actual pieces of pie? chunks of apple slices? — I’d like to know what I’m signing up for.” She shook her head, letting out a laugh before her lips curled into a smile. “Why don’t you order it and we can figure it out from there?”

—

“A shit ton of sugar and artificial flavorin’, I’m sure,” but the grin on Marley’s lips confirmed that she was more than okay with that. “I think that’s a fair deal...but I’m also gettin’ the pumpkin pie one.” She was sure it was the same, no actual pumpkin pie pieces in sight, but when the best part was the whipped cream anyways, she didn’t mind too much. “Maybe one of those muffins, too--everythin’ looks just too good.”

…

Dom’s bed was too soft, cursing Cyrus for even recommending it to him in the first place. Dominic was used to sleeping on rocky ground and shitty cots and his bed was a marshmallow, enveloping him and smothering him to death. The moments he shared it with someone made it easier, until he realized the ill intentions that person had towards him. Sleeping came at a great difficulty, even the floor proved to be fruitless. Instead of pretending to sleep, he walked to the diner and took a booth for his own personal hell.

He was tired, no matter how many hours he slept, no matter how much medicine he took. His mind was damaged and irreparable and he was sure it would be that way always. The familiar voice crept into his head and he regretted ever coming here. “Can I not get any peace? He mumbled, frustrated at the way life threw this shit at him.

—

“Not on the menu, I’m afraid.” Marley’s nose scrunched, as if truly sorry, but her smile did not falter, cheek balanced on the palm of her hand as she took him in. He looked like shit. Handsome as ever, of course, but she could practically see the demons floating around his head, keeping him torturously awake--for how long now? When was the last time he’d shut those pretty little eyes of his? Now, Marley was no angel, far from it, but her presence seemed to exhaust him these days. Maybe her own tormenting could drown out whatever it was else keeping him from the peace he longed for...at least for a little while. Dominic Murphy was a broken, broken man, long before Marley had had anything to do with him...and maybe a twinge of guilt pulled in her stomach at the idea that she’d deepened the cracks threatening to break him completely.

“Do have coffee, though.” Lifting the pot she’d carried over with her, she filled the empty mug set before him, filling her own as well before setting it back down at the end of the table. “What’re we doin’ awake at this hour, hm?” Her fingers danced over the sugar packets, plucking an ungodly amount from the container, and beginning the work of ripping them open to sweeten her drink.

“Marley –” Liv wasn’t sure she had time for this, head tilting a bit as the other made herself right at home. Not that she could be blamed, though, because Liv honestly would have been the same way – had been the same way many times before when it came to needing a place to crash for the night. “Again? You do know I have to pay to get new ones made, right?” It wasn’t a problem, not even close, but Liv just rolled her eyes and shut the door as she turned towards Marley with raised brows. “You don’t even have to ask, you know that.” As if it were routine, she made her way towards the closet and pulled out a few different options before turning towards Marley again. “Which one do you want? Sweatshirt or a t-shirt? Air’s cranked, so you might want the sweatshirt, but that’s just my opinion.”

—

She knew Liv wasn’t going to turn her away. At least, she’d severely hoped, or else she’d be curled up on the doorstep of her room until morning hoping the other would be generous enough to make her a new key first thing. This was definitely the better option, arms wrapping around the other woman’s pillow in delight, holding it close as her heavy eyes already threatened to send her off into slip. “Mhm...you’re a doll.” She grinned, forcing one eye open to address Liv properly, before it gently shut. It was kind of chilly....so when the pajama choices were offered to her, Marley managed to mumble out, “sweatshirt, please,” and raise a hand in the general direction of where she thought Liv might toss it to her.

“No, but maybe you’re so good at it, that I just never noticed,” he pointed out, okay, now he was just pulling her leg, he couldn’t help himself. His love language was teasing, or at least, one of them anyway.

—

He had no idea just how on the nose he was. Marley couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her, the sound making it appear that what he’d said had been far funnier than it should’ve been, hand on his shoulder to keep herself steady. “Believe me when I say that I am a terrible liar.” 

“What’re we thinking this fine mornin’, hm, handsome? Breakfast? Lunch? A little of both?”  Her body slid into the booth opposite of him, wide grin on her lips, even as the expression of his own face tugged at her heartstrings (if she had any to begin with).

Her foot had moved a step back in anticipation of no answer, fingers toying with frayed edges of her sweatshirt’s sleeves as she prayed for night to fall quicker than not. Being with someone else in that freezer might have made things a little better, made her seem a little less crazy because… how the hell did she allow herself to get locked in there in the first place? It was embarrassing. Suddenly, the thought of having to explain that to somebody else made her stomach turn to knots and Laurel could feel herself starting to turn away from the door. It opened just in time to stop her, causing a flinch in return for a gesture she beckoned in the first place.

She realized how insane she must have looked – wrapped in a sweatshirt on the hottest day of the year, both sweating and feeling like she was frozen all at the same time. How was she supposed to explain that she’d stupidly gotten locked in the one place people were probably begging to be in throughout the day? It was bittersweet, almost laughable to even think about, but her silence in return showed just how unprepared she was for this moment. “I’m…” The femme started, brows pulling together as she shook her head. Still, she didn’t turn and run. In fact, Laurel was grateful as soon as the door opened more and she allowed herself in. The expectance of instant warmth came, but not in the way that she needed it to. The change in temperature was nice, don’t get her wrong, but she didn’t think it was enough. “No, I’m… I feel like I’m going crazy, I think. I can’t…” Finish a sentence? Get warm? it’s obvious she’s trying to find the right words as she turns towards Rafael again with shoulders lifting and hands curling more beneath her arms. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here, Raf. I just… I didn’t know where else to go and… I can’t fucking feel my feet, I didn’t wanna walk anymore.”

—

He’d never seen her like this before. Fidgety, skittish...not that he thought he knew her well, but he didn’t think he needed to in order to recognize that this behavior was abnormal. Something like concern tugged at his stomach, an unfamiliar feeling lately, almost serving as a reminder to the man that he was able to feel more than just the anger (and fear) that’d been guiding him lately. The door is shut behind them, regardless of the lack of explanation, and his hand hovers over the small of her back to lead her further into the space. Part of him is tempted to touch her, to gauge whether she was cold or absolutely boiling beneath the sweatshirt, but the moment passes when she turns to face him.

It takes a second for the gears to turn in his head, but the ability to comfort comes back to him, and whatever it was he’d been feeling before she showed up was placed on the back burner. Rafael could be a sorry son of a bitch later. “Hey,” his voice is a soft murmur, meeting her eyes in the dark. “You’re okay. It’s okay.” Still not touching her, he leads her to his bedroom (if it could be called that, only a few feet from his front door) and gestures for her to sit on the edge of the bed. Slowly, he kneels before her, hands hovering over her shoes. “On or off?” If she was truly cold, she’d want the warmth, but he couldn’t tell if the inability to feel her feet was due to the chill or the distance she’d walked.