𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐯𝐠.

𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐡 ❛ 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐫 ❜ 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫     ⸻     ❝ you wanna get high, man? ❞ 

     ↳ intro | pins | countenance | dossier | wc’s

𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐠𝐚𝐝𝐨     ⸻     ❝ just don’t be a dumbass about it. ❞

     ↳ intro | pins | countenance | dossier | wc’s

𝐭𝐚𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭     ⸻     ❝ i’m a davenport. i’m dead weight. ❞

WHERE: star theater    STATUS: closed to tadge davenport ( @dirtbvg​​ )

the smirk on indigo’s lips has not disappeared for quite some time, leaning over the counter. up until recently, they’d been stuck battling a slow shift, doing any and everything to keep their mind from going static. something changed the course of what would be a boring evening, however. 

quite simply, it’s entertaining to see tadge standing around, seemingly making it his mission to claim the dead center of the theatre’s entrance as if begging for people to watch him look like a deer in headlights. 

“let me guess,” indigo starts, loud enough for him to hear them, looking up from their magazine quizz for a heartbeat, “did your date realise their mistake and stand you up?” 

     ❝  yeah,  that’d  be  entertaining  for  you,  huh  ?  ❞  tadge  expected  indy  would  have  something  to  say  just  by  him  being  in  their  presence,  and  maybe  that’s  exactly  what  he  was  anticipating.  

it’s incredible how some places in such a familiar town can feel both like home and completely unwanted, at the same time. thankfully, the theatre is no such place — and indigo believes a big part of it is the company she gets to keep when they’re lucky enough to have a shift with laser. this time, though, it’s just the want for his company that gets them to their place of work on their day off. an easy chuckle escapes them, head shaking in amusement at laser’s greeting. “i mean, it’s definitely the most well kept secret alley in all of deadwood,” indigo remarks as they walk towards laser, playfulness dripping from their words, a teasing smile on their lips, “but i guess workin’ here kinda lets me in on a few secrets. i won’t tell anyone, i promise.” 

     alone  time  was  always  nice,  especially  when  it  came  to  busy  nights  while  on  shift.  laser  always  happened  to  work  the  days  of  new  movie  releases  which  he  never  understood  considering  he  didn’t  give  himself  much  credit  towards  his  work  ethic.  but,  indigo  made  it  all  seem  better.  any  shift  he  could  have  with  them  made  him  reminisce  —  thinking  back  to  all  the  memories  they  had  as  a  couple  and  how  even  now  they  would  never  be  tainted,  even  though  they  weren’t  together  in  that  way  anymore.  ❝  no,  it’s  yours  too,  you  know.  the  alley  that  is.  ❞  laser  shook  his  head  as  he  moved  over,  giving  indy  some  room  to  lean  on  the  brick  with  him.  ❝  although  i  did  once  walk  out  here  to  some  couple  making  out.  it  was  so  dark  though  that  i  couldn’t  see  where  their  hands  were  so  i  kind  of  just  threw  some  popcorn  at  them.  ❞  he  screwed  his  eyes  shut  as  he  thought  back  to  that  moment  and  how  horrifyingly  awkward  it  was.  

     the  click  of  the  lock  behind  the  very  last  patron  of  the  night  was  like  music  to  tadge’s  ears.  he  loved  working  the  late  nights  the  job  mandated,  but  it  had  been  a  slow  one  and  he  sure  as  fuck  was  ready  for  something  else  to  do  than  stare  at  the  same  lonely  people  across  the  bar  and  continuously  refill  the  peanuts.  tadge  cracked  his  neck  from  side  to  side  as  he  threw  the  rag  in  his  hand  across  his  shoulder,  walking  back  to  where  violet  stood.

open to: mark delgado | @dirtbvg​ location: blue moon diner

There was a particular dynamic between Mark and Aylin, an arrangement that came from one secret to another in the name of unraveling a different one. Deadwood was suppose to be a fresh start, and yet all Aylin could find was the same loom that she tried to escape from home. Damned be the grass that wasn’t greener, or wherever she went and there she would be. It was different— and it was Deadwood, not her. Aylin could feel a weigh on everyone who ventured into the town, but particularly those born into it. They stood straighter than the rest, maybe from a lifetime of carrying it, but she could see where it took its toll elsewhere. She just couldn’t figure out what had caused it.

“I’ve done three memorial tattoos this week,” She told them, cup of black tea screeching against the counter as she slid it her way. The ceramic was hot between her fingers and Aylin pretended she could burn away the dread of those who had sat in her chair earlier that day. “And not a single one of them were dead, Mark. Not really. They’re all missing, and two of them think it’s got something to do with that forrest. Everyone in the shop knew about it, too. They talked about the person who was missing. It’s normal here. How many empty caskets do you think are in this town?”

     ❝  i’m  too  afraid  to  even  know  the  answer  to  that  question.  ❞  but  it  was  an  answer  that  mark  was  there  to  find.  the  frequent  disappearances  in  town  had  to  be  related  in  one  fashion  or  another,  they  were  sure  of  it.  none  of  the  talk  in  town  deterred  them  from  this  thought.  in  fairness,  mark  didn’t  believe  the  make  believe  the  locals  wanted  to  shove  down  peoples  throats.  it  was  all  a  capitalistic  ploy  to  keep  tourists  in  town.  and  the  stupid  thing  was,  it  always  worked.

WHERE: mark’s place STATUS: closed to mark delgado ( @dirtbvg​ )

time and time again, indigo tells themself it’s not supposed to be like this — home isn’t supposed to feel like a pit where good feelings go to fall into a void, family isn’t supposed to be something indigo wishes she didn’t have just to save her the pain of dealing with them. 

yet, no amount of wishing it away will actually make it so. 

which is why indigo finds themself knocking on mark’s door, bag hanging off their shoulder. his place is far enough away that it makes it feel like the distance put between her and her sister actually helps. she gulps when mark opens the door, a beat passing before she speaks, still unsure if the imposition is worth it. “got room for one more?” 

     thankfully  mark  had  just  made  it  home  before  hearing  a  knock  at  the  front  door.  they  had  just  gone  out  to  pick  up  some  pizza  for  dinner  —  their  usual  half  cheese,  half  meat  lovers.  he  was  never  going  to  finish  it  all  in  one  night,  especially  not  by  himself,  but  thats  what  the  microwave  was  for.  then,  the  knock  at  their  door  changed  those  plans.

open to: tadge davenport | @dirtbvg​ ​ location: callaway trailer, outskirts of deadwood

Twelve strikes from the clock on the wall, and Pope knew that he had to pull every blind closed. A rattle marked the completion of every moment, a ticking conducted by him as dark engulfed the trailer. The blinds smacked the window sill, the curtains screeched against their rusted rods, and the towel he shoved under the crack of each door was tucked away with a clank against the metal barriers.

Pope had been taught that once the midnight came, right and wrong battled. Good and bad had the chance to fight and decide who would take over the witching hour and he was to be weary. The Deadwood lights with their looming legend that beckoned the worst of creatures— and according to Orla Callaway, quite possible Pope himself— and he’d hide in the dark from it. The shadows, however, never lasted long. Once he fell asleep, as he always did no matter how hard he tried not to, hues returned behind his eyes. Twisted tales whether he liked it or not still reached him, and Pope always woke up outside of the trailer without a clue as to when he climbed out.

There was a rustling outside, and Pope stopped in his routine. There was a tug on every hair on his body, heart the only movement as it raced in his chest. Was he late? There was no way. He started at the first click, and he was done before the cuckoo’s song was done. He could make it to the back of the trailer and under another veil into the dark in just a few steps. Never had he heard a single sound, not even after Orla moved out. It was only now that she was gone that things seemed out of place, even if he didn’t want to admit.

Instead of submitting to the stillness of the trailer, Pope reached into a drawer and pulled free a flare buried between trinkets for emergencies. The door protested against his push, and he hurled himself into the night.

“What’s out there?” His voice was steady, cutting through the air farther than he thought it would. Pope knew better than to ask who. “Come out!”

     ❝  jesus  fucking  christ,  man  !  ❞  

     it  was  the  middle  of  the  night  as  tadge  walked  home  from  the  bar.  he  left  his  car  there  because  he  stayed  and  had  a  few  drinks  after  his  shift  and,  frankly,  he  was  the  guy  who  stole  keys  from  overly  drunk  customers.  tadge  led  an  example  without  following  in  the  ones  left  by  his  grandfather.  plus,  his  car  was  his  baby.

     now  for  the  reason  for  all  the  noise  ?  a  simple  untied  shoe  was  the  cause.  tadge  wasn’t  drunk  enough  to  be  falling  all  over  himself,  but  the  darkness  had  gotten  the  better  of  him,  as  well  as  the  rouge  shoelace  of  his  blue  chucks.  he  had  actually  bent  down  to  re-tie  his  shoe  when  his  crazy  ass  neighbor  burst  out  of  his  door.

“A few, but more people trying to piss on graves than anything else,” He admitted. “Most of the graves here are empty, but that doesn’t stop people from trying. I’ve been told there’s a few that in place of the body, it’s their prized possessions. Apparently one of ‘em is just a bunch of comic books, but the others…”

He trailed off, a habit that Pope was notorious for. His thoughts seemed to lose air and tuck themselves back into his head as his attention was always fleeting. He walked around each grave where six foot perimeters were perfected at this point. To step on a grave was to damn the dead, and he had learned how to avoid a single inch of trespassing. 

“As long as you don’t do anything stupid, I’ll open the gate once you’re done so you don’t have to climb it.”

     laser  winced  at  the  possibility  of  him  sitting  in  a  puddle  of  piss,  but  he  didn’t  think  anyone  could  ever  have  hated  kirsty  enough  to  do  that.  not  when  the  soil  was  still  too  fresh.  ❝  nothing  quite  like  going  down  with  a  bunch  of  enemies  still  roaming  enough  to  piss  on  your  grave.  isn’t  there  a  term,  or  something  ?  dancing  on  ones  grave  ?  now  that  would  be  a  fucking  sight  to  see  in  the  middle  of  the  night.  ❞  

she was used to it by now, waiting for a call that would come at god knows what hour and yasmina always came running. she looks over briefly at her dad just to make sure that he’s still breathing before pushing it aside, he could wait, where the hell else was he going to go anyway? she smiled at tadge rocking on her heels. “disadvantage? i don’t think so, i’d say you’d win either way if we’re putting some stakes on this.” she says holding the darts up and throwing another one. “if you win i will gladly work a shift with you,” she agrees, her body slowly swaying to the music in the background. “but if i win, you have to….” she thought for a moment, standing farther back from the line that you could barely see anymore on the ground throwing the third dart. “you get to hang out with me. i’m thinking a spa r&r day, oh and a guest on my show.” she gives him a pat on the shoulder leaning against one of the tables waiting for his turn. “i’m already making the plans in my head as we talk, i’m feeling very confident in this spa day.”

open to: tadge davenport | @dirtbvg​ location: tattoo shop in central deadwood

Aylin’s chuckle was cut by a hiss she pressed through her teeth. A shudder ran through her that she wound tight against the pain of the tattoo machine over bone, trying her best to stay still for the sake of the work at play.

“Careful or the ink is gonna blow out,” She warned him, hand clasped over his. The gloves over both their hands, used for more than just the spill of ink, was the only reason she let him get so close. If there was anyone she was weary about getting any sense of, Tadge was one of the few that walked that line. Boundaries was what she told herself, but there was a permanent smirk that took place of the usual scoff she awarded him. “And try and trace the stencil, alright?”

     tadge  had  no  fuckin  idea  what  that  meant,  so  he  ignored  aylin’s  warning.  he  was  simply  there  for  the  gratification  that  came  with  tattooing  his  very  own  tattoo  artist.  granted,  he  always  chose  the  design  and  the  location  of  his  tattoos  so  he  was  certainly  the  one  to  blame  for  the  sheer  amount  of  pain  that  came  with  them,  but  he’d  still  find  a  way  to  blame  aylin  anyway.  

cami let out an exasperated sigh and ( perhaps a little too forcefully ) pressed her new cell phone onto the counter. how had technology moved on so much in ten years? how had it been ten years? and what were all these sites now to ‘connect’ with people? landlines had been enough when she was…young? was that right? she was still young, after all. nine different doctors had stared at her with no explanation and just a professional curiosity, when she’d returned no older than the day she’d gone missing.

raphael had gotten her a cell phone, which apparently wasn’t super common anyway, and that had been mostly to have her reachable at all times. but it was turning out to be as much of a pain for her, than exisiting currently was. she looked at the glass of cold soda that sat on a coaster in front of her, barely touched. it was sweeter now. that sounded ridiculous, but it was. enough that she had to pace herself because it was a bit sickening. she cast her gaze to the person closest to her.

“do you know anything about these things?” she asked, a final attempt to set it up. “i didn’t even know they weren’t attached to the wall anymore,”

location: blue moon diner time: late afternoon

Perched on a low wall outside the Blue Moon, Miranda is practising her kanji, carefully printing the characters in her notebook with her left hand while her right moves absently back and forth along the weathered stone beneath her. Her black-painted fingernails catch periodically in the familiar grooves of a crescent moon, one she’d carved there way back in high school. It’s grounding.

A noise from nearby draws her attention, and she looks up from her page, eyebrows drawn together. “Are you alright?” She calls hesitantly, unsure if her concern will be welcome.

@dirtbvg​​

the roadhouse was somewhere his father used to go to when he had a shit day, there was the guarantee that at least one of his old buddies would be there no matter what day of the week. lennon hadn’t exactly grown up there like some people, but he was familiar enough with it to be somewhat comfortable in it’s establishment. he finds himself there tonight, camera around his neck, taking photos of a couple of people playing pool before he finds himself saddling up to the bar, placing the camera next to him and leaning in, he looks for tadge behind the bar, a small smile when he meets his eye. “can i just get a roy rogers?” he taps his fingers against the wood of the counter, his mouth moving before his brain can catch up. “aside from the pretty sad excuse for a brawl earlier, how’s your night been?”