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"oh don't even get me started on that. i love the kid, truly, and i'm a true crime buff myself but at least give it a few months. this whole situation is publicized enough and now adding the blog on top of it all, none of us need that right now." the girl sighed, having the whole internal battle to support jasper already raging in her head. she was so close to the case that it felt morally wrong to encourage the further monetization on this tragedy. " i would literally do all of the planning, pre and post. i'm not really a supporter of the drink to forget trope but i think it would beneficial to everyone, at lesat those of us on the list."
"A few months?" He laughed, but it was in good humour. "You're all crazy, give it at least a decade! I want to be rich and succesful with five ground breaking start-ups under my belt before I have to ignore a podcast interview invitation!" He narrowed his eyes slightly, pushing his arms closer to his body as he considered the party-planning offer. "I'm a huge supporter of the drink to forget trope, okay party-planner, what are your plans? What time frame are we thinking?" He said 'we' as if he had decided himself in on the thing.
the prism was loud in all the ways lila needed it to be. bass heavy enough to rattle her thoughts loose, lights strobing fast enough to blur the edges of memory. she didn't come her often anymore – too many ghosts lurking between the barstools and booths – but something about tonight had pulled her in. she wasn't dressed to impress. black cropped tank, her old docs, a silver chain tangled twice around her throat. just enough to belong. not enough to be looked at. she'd perfected that balance ages ago. her palms were still a little clammy from the cold outside, fingers wrapped around a sweating glass she hadn't touched in ten minutes. she hadn't planned on seeing anyone. definitely not him. “tahj?” her voice rose above the music as she stepped into his line of sight, more uncertain than she'd like to admit. she didn't expect him to smile. maybe didn't deserve one. they hadn't spoken since that night. the one where she'd texted him be there soon and then never showed. no warning, no explanation. just silence. “i wasn't stalking you, if that's what you're thinking,” she said, offering a crooked half-smile. “i just… ended up here.” a beat passed. “i should've texted. after. i just didn't know what to say that wouldn't make things worse.” she took a shallow breath, tugging her sleeve down over the heel of her hand. “i know i ghosted. i know i probably messed that night up for you. but i didn't plan on blowing you off. something came up. and i should've said that. you didn't deserve the radio silence.” her eyes lifted to meet his, open and steady. “you were my friend. still are, if you want to be. that's why i'm saying this now.” she glanced towards the bar, then back at him. “you want a drink? my treat. consider it a very, very late apology.”
Tahjun was almost always at the Prism if time allowed it, something about letting go to the music, to the hum of the crowd, the smell of alcohol, sweat, and perfume. It felt as if only a filled club like this could truly embracr all his senses and make him for a moment forget people and places and things. It silenced the mind, enough that he didn’t think about how to shake his own spirit. But his content smile soon faltered when the bodies around him parted and Lila appeared.
He considered Lila a friend, not just a friend by association - as most people were - but someone he'd actually make plans with, someone he wouldn't so quickly try to trick of his own amusement - unless it was so easy, then it would be a flaw to let the opportunity pass. Being ghosted was painful, and he would've hated it no matter the party, but being ghosted at the party, the one that was the last place he'd seen Lizzie. That was more than just bad taste, and no amount of liquids could wash it away.
He made a face as Lila spoke, trying to find it in his heart not to forgive her. He wanted to stay mad at her.
He crossed his arms. "You should've." Narrowing his eyes slightly, he found he'd rather speak with her than continue being mad, too much had happened. "One drink? Four at least to stop my bleeding heart!"
lore liked the library because it was quiet, and reliably so. there were several spots on campus where she could study in peace, but nestled amidst the stacks with the whispers of her fellow students providing a calming backing track, none had ever quite compared to langley.
which was why it was a shock to her system when there were a series of crashes nearby, each more concerning than the last. she'd been deep in thought, trying to find just the right word to conclude her paper, when she let her more curious instincts take over and lead her in what seemed to be the right direction.
there weren't any additional crashes to guide her, but it didn't take her long to track down the person on the ground. from there, it wasn't difficult to deduce what must have happened.
"i can't do that, unfortunately," lore frowned, her expression soon shifting given the amusing picture before her. "are you okay? you have to at least let me help you up." an outstretched hand accompanied her words.
Walid placed an arm over their eyes, closing them and shutting out all the light that came in through the windows and shone down from the over hanging lights. He didn’t feel that ashamed, just mildy embarrassed for making such a noise in the library, the epidemy of silence, and hitting himself on the way out of his hiding spot not once, but twice.
This whole situation made them awefully clumsy.
Still, they managed a smile up at the person offering to help them up. Walid recognised her but couldn’t place her at the moment, theh were also way too busy doing a body scan to check for any injuries.
“Only a bruised ego,” they said, accepting the hand. “And maybe a future lump on my head. How likely is a concussion from bumping into a table?” It was, of course, a serious question.
ophelia was beginning to think that the energy on campus may never properly restore to what it once was. yes, it hadn't been long since the party but with the weight that lizzie's murder was adding to everyones shoulders, especially with whatever loser weirdo is trying to blackmail everyone online, everyone is on edge. "can i say something lowkey morbid? and one a little less so but may be seen as insensitive? not that i mean to be insensitive but it might fix the vibes?" the brunette asked aloud, not really paying attention to who was within earshot to potentially answer. though it didn't quite matter who heard as she wasn't planning on waiting for a reply, "do you think some, like, true crime influencer is gonna leech onto this for content? like any day now we could be scrolling on tik tok and some chick just goes 'let's dive in to the lizzie harrington case'. and with that list the blog posted would we all be mentioned?" the words tumbled from her mouth at the speed of light. it was an unnerving thought when lizzie's body hadn't even been cold a month now but a totally possible situation given the serious media attention it's gotten. "oh also we should have another bye lizzie party, i feel like helped distract everyone from the storm cloud that is our lives right now." finally turning her attention to the person beside her she hummed a light "what do you think?"
Tahjun was all for the morbid if it could fix the vibes. He did not think anything could really do that, but it was a welcome change to have people say things out loud. After all, he had no clue what to do with his own feelings regarding all of this, and he hadn’t even been tight - or as tight - with Lizzie. He missed her, everything she represented. Though perhaps mostly he missed how the university was before the murder. “Insensitive but also the truth. Though last I heard, we have our own little true crime podcaster here on campus, barely took for Lizzie’s body to be released to her parents before that oaf started to make a scene of it.” Tahjun could not be considered the most considerate person, but for Lizzie’s sake, he wanted to choke Jasper - and not in a sexy way. “Oh, I am all for parties, but I don’t suppose it would have to be Lizzie themed. That might just so the opposite of what you’re aiming for. Maybe an early summer party, or celebrating the end of spring.” He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “As long as I don’t have to lift a finger.”
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Walid sighed as they put their silly little tv show on pause, cutting off everything by slamming - silently - their laptop closed and setting it on the desk above their head. With everything going on lately, they couldn't focus on catching up on their UK television. Seated in their spot under one of the tables on the top floor of the library - surrounded by stuffy autobiographies nobody cared enough for - had always been the best way to simply leave the world behind and pretend they were in rainy England.
Only they were certain the British wouldn't think to haunt a school as a prank with secret messages on blogs and flyers. Or perhaps they watched the wrong tv shows.
They heard footsteps a few rows of books off, and scrambled out from under the table, hitting their head in the process, which toppled over the stack of books laying there, which collided with the cups they'd smuggled into the library, and all of that combined made a pretty banging rukkus. "Oh bloody hell!" Walid yelled when their foot caught on the leg of a chair and they sprawled out of their hiding spot, laying face-down among the bookcases.
"Please ignore me and my shame, as I wallow in self-pity."
“ Fuck, this blows, ” Brody complains, crumpling a plastic cup in his fist before throwing it in the garbage bag held in his other hand. Somewhere in the back of his mind he can hear Lila lecturing him about separating paper from plastics, but she also wasn’t exactly volunteering to help with the clean up. All rubbish was equal this morning. “ Next time, you’re hosting. Don’t even try to talk me into it. ”
Tahjun pushed his sunglasses down his nose and frowned at Brody, the plastic bag thrown over his shoulder, half-filled with whatever had not been on the floor and easy to get to. His brain was ninety-nine percent fog, if he got too close to the ground, he'd end up crashing into it. "Hosting? Little old me? I don't even do half as good a job as you, we both know that. And even if I were to draw the same crowds, you'd still be in the same situation, only I'd be thank you for your help with fresh baked cinamon buns and a matcha latte with two espresso shots." He plopped the bag on the ground, and sat down in one of the lawn chairs. "I'd be such an amazing friend. Wink wink nudge nudge."
the last time they've thrown something, her sister ended up dead in the middle of the night. maybe this is why she's opted to keep the activities out in the great lawn of the sorority house, why it's bright out, why she's meticulously looking over every couple of people instead. if you want it done well, you do it yourself, right? the two instructors she's gotten are giving a lecture, so she takes opportunity of the moment of leasure to approach someone. "welcome," her voice is succarine, well-befitting of the great host she's always embodied herself to be. "have you ever done something like this before?"
Tahjun couldn't help it, the slight narrowing of his eyes, the thin line of his mouth, the guarded stance he took on when Katherine approached. He'd never been tight with any of his siblings, but still, he guessed that if any of them ended up dead at a party he'd thrown, followed by secretive messages on some rando's blog and on flyers throughout campus-- he'd certainly be drinking himself into a coma, or something else equally dramatic. Not hosting a self-defense class.
Fitting?? Maybe, if anyone were to say exactly how Lizzie had passed, who had done it, and if there was a particular need to learn how to throw a punch.
He decided to roll with it, the guard lowering instantly as he threw both hands up in some uninspired karate stance. "I watched all the Karate Kid movies," he lied. "Even the reboot! I was born to do this."
who? open, capped at 0/3.
where? the montclair quad.
the anonymous campus menace must think they're real clever, and as a woman who much prefers to keep her own life personal, november finds their larking particularly irritating. her already barely-concealed rage simmers every time she walks past those goddamn flyers. they're everywhere, and she's already seen a few this morning. day ruined. the next one she spots quickly becomes the target of her fury—it's taped to a lamp post, and she tears it down without breaking her stride, crumples it in her fist without bothering to read past the first line. the quad itself is deceptively peaceful, and the brunette marches straight through it, a storm cloud veering towards the nearest trash can, the paper remains still clutched in hand. hand winds up like she's about to throw it hard; nova narrows her gaze like she's lining up the shot. the balled-up flyer arcs wide, hits the pavement, rolls for one, two, three seconds . . . and hits someone's foot. "fuck," she hisses under her breath before stalking a few paces closer, voice louder this time. "sorry. bad aim." a tilt of her head at the paper, then: "well? you gonna toss it out, or hand it over so i can?"
Walid almost jumped when the very non-dangerous piece of paper ball flew through the air like an uncontrollable projectile and landed against the side of their once white - now incredibly stained - half-eaten converse. Instead, they only went ridgid as - five seconds away from falling over like a possum playing dead - and stared wide-eyed at the former flyer. They knew what it was, probably knew by heart the words that it contained. Mysteries, secrets, scary messages presumably from the dead really weren't their thing. They felt like locking themself up in their room if it wasn't for the fact that Nico might storm in and force them out one way or another.
Staring back at November, who now appeared, flawless as always, Walid swallowed. They felt incredibly certain that if they bend over to pick up the flyer, they'd fall over. Or simply sick into the ground. "Oh yeah, ha!" They hunched down, almost missed, then held the paper in their hand - almost absent-mindedly - as they stood back up. "Are you trying to get rid of all of them? Or just this one in particular?" they asked.
welcome back to montclair university, walid farsakh ! according to your student file you're a TWENTY THREE year old FRESHMAN, studying ENGINEERING, and funny enough you were voted worst dressed your senior year of high school back home in MANCHESTER, UK. i can totally see it with your curious, eccentric and stubborn personality ! but enough about that — i heard you were lizzie harrington's SUMMER LOVE. makes sense when you take into consideration your status as an exchange student… and the fact that you're hiding [redacted]. you're often seen at the sinclair reading room, and you kind of embody forgotten coffee cups, late night ramblings about the most random subjects, and clothes that never seem to fit well or match… not to mention people always seem to hum viva la vida by coldplay when you're around, but you'll always be known on campus as THE ODD ONE OUT who enjoys gaming and has 12 instagram followers… good luck this semester !
// 001 // history
[ parental death mention tw ] WALID was born a second generation immigrant, their father, though technically born in Jordan, became the first of the family to go to university, the first to set up his own business, and the first to travel back to his home country on vacation. He also was the first of his six siblings to die, even as the youngest. Walid, as the youngest of four, never really got to know their father, but his dream lived on in his children. And like their father, Walid would go to university one way or another.
As the odd one out, Walid didn't really care for the big expectations, even if they were smart enough. They flunked several classes because of lack of interest -- why would they need to know French? -- and that university dream felt all but impossible.
So they were presented with a choice: get your grades up or come work in your father's shop. Walid's choice was easy, there was no way they wanted to work in the carpetting business. They managed to make it through university in Manchester, and then decided to continue their studies abroad, securing a place in an exchange program, landing themself at Montclair.
// 002 // wanted connections
ROOMMATE -- Walid is a freshman, a bit of an odd little guy, and definitely a weird roommate.
ENGINEERING BUDDIES -- fellow students of engineering.
THE WEIRDOS -- dressing odd, saying weird things, eating those leftover fries, Walid certainly doesn't come off as a dashing english fellow. They like to be around the other odd balls.
ANTI-FRIENDS -- a lot of snide comments pass between the two of them, keeping each other on their toes, anyone from the outside would say they're the least likely friends ever to graced the halls.
// 003 // wanted plots
tba
// 004 // connection to Lizzie
A good number of years ago, Walid and Lizzie happened to be vacationing in the same spot. It wasn't exactly sparks that flew, but they had something special, perhaps because they knew they'd never see each other again anyway. It was nice and it was sweet, and it was supposed to be a closed chapter.
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welcome back to montclair university, tahjun dayal ! according to your student file you're a TWENTY FOUR year old SENIOR, studying BUSINESS, and funny enough you were voted most likely to end up in jail your senior year of high school back home in ANCHORAGE, ALASKA. i can totally see it with your quick-witted, observant and greedy personality ! but enough about that — i heard you were lizzie harrington's BAD INFLUENCE. makes sense when you take into consideration your status as a scholarship student… and the fact that you're hiding [redacted]. you're often seen at the prism, and you kind of embody bad suggestions whispered at impulsive times, pills and joints magically produced between ringed fingers, and bleached hair that keeps changing colour… not to mention people always seem to hum warcry by king when you're around, but you'll always be known on campus as THE TRICKSTER who enjoys partying and has 1K of instagram followers… good luck this semester !
// 001 // history
What do you give someone who has always gotten everything he could've ever wanted?
Tahjun figured he was born lucky, his father owned a deli chain of forty stores in Alaska and Canada, his mother was a renowed surgeon who was flown all over the country to preform her surgeries, and he and his siblings grew up not rich -- but certainly well off. He didn't feel the need to do much, even if that expectation was always there. Most of the time he didn't even have to use his parent's money, he used his charms, his wit, the wish for others to be friends with him, and he got what he wanted. The good stuff and the bad stuff. Even growing up, even with the knowledge people had that Tahjun made whispered suggestions a reality, very few stepped up to stop him.
His parents did not let go of the dream they had for him, so they offered him a challenge. They tricked the trickster. Spoke about him behind his back one evening, voicing their belief that of all their children, Tahjun was the one who wouldn't make anything of himself.
And despite all his wit and his cunning, he didn't realise their trick. He only heard his parents, the people whose respect he most wanted to earn, having lost faith in him.
Challenge accepted.
He didn't loose his ways, of course, but he did intend to get that piece of paper, start his own business, show his parents.
// 002 // wanted connections
PARTYING BUDDIES -- getting mostly passing grades, Tahjun spends most of his time clubbing, drinking, taking pills, and enjoying life.
GOOD INFLUENCE -- he might be a trickster, but he can still get tricked. How he ended up befriending someone who might actually be a good influence on him is anyone's guess.
BAD + BAD = CHAOS -- the two of them together are dangerous.
THE TRICKED -- people Tahjun has tricked into doing things for him, either things that have gotten them in trouble (underage drinking, cheating, etc.) or things that were gotten with false promises (promised friendships, stolen kisses, etc.)
// 003 // wanted plots
tba
// 004 // connection to Lizzie
Tahjun enjoyed setting Lizzie on the path of destruction, coaxing her to drink, take drugs, or skip classes.
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