𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝.

“Blind! Yes, yes, yes! You! You are blinding my eyes, I see nothing but you! My new sun!” He was unfazed, as he always was, just taking whatever was thrown at him and twisting it around to some beautiful lie. He stretched up against the trolley as she began to walk away, only for her to turn around. His head tilted at her curiously, smile shifting to a mischievous glimmer. “Secret, secret!” he teased with a finger hovering over his curved lips. “Room service confident! No, no not confident. The word, my sun! Tell me the word with the secret keeping! I don’t know! It is that! No telling, I can’t! You will have to find a way to make me talk!”

In the total thirty seconds that they’d spent together Evelyn came to the conclusion that this guy was fucking weird, and that was her being nice. For a second, she was caught off guard, trying to decipher what he was talking about until a word came to mind. “Confidant.” She guessed, his lack of proper english the least of her concerns. “What do you want a tip or something?” Evelyn scoffed under her breath, directing her eyes to the silver dome on the trolley. There was no second thought to whether she should lift the dome or not; she just did it, and when faced with her sworn enemy, she regretted instantly. It was served in a literal fucking silver platter for her, which resonated the moment Lynn shut the dome forcibly. She felt nauseous, swallowed it down before talking again. “Now you’re gonna have to tell me before I kick your ass.” It wasn’t very convincing considering she’d taken a step back, but totally doable. “Who the fuck are you?”

“No, I don’t,” Nicholas retorted, thinking that humoring Evelyn with an offended response would do absolutely nothing. “But,” he tapped at a spot on his cheekbone right before his ear, “I can feel the vibrations. I-can-feel-the-vibrations.”

He went on to describe his theory (to misuse the term and anger his more scientifically-inclined friends, if they were here) on the recent deaths of two otherwise uninteresting contracts. He could tell she was somewhat interested by the way she waved her hands forward, as if willing him to speak further on the subject. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have bothered to ask a question. 

“Not a master plan. Though, I have heard of a rumor about them making a suicide pact, even though the deaths weren’t ultimately the result of it. The running theme was that it was a private plan between them. I can’t say whether it’s worked.”

And I can feel a headache coming on. Evelyn kept her thoughts to herself for the mere reason of advancing the conversation to the real interesting topic at hand, which was apparently a rumor going around pertaining to the recent deaths of some contracts. She had no idea what was really going on and hadn’t paid close attention until recently, but she was at least aware that the general population was starting to worry. 

“A suicide pact.” Lynn repeated him as a way to process the theory, thinking back to the recent events: dead girl in a bathtub, dude burning in flames, a guy jumping to his death, etc. Given the evidence, it didn’t make sense. These were accidental deaths, or so that’s what everybody believed. “Don’t you think that if these people were trying to kill themselves they’d do it in a faster, painless way?” It was a genuine question to counteract his argument. “I mean, what would be the point? Escape the system? They can do that without a tragic accident. Bullet to the head would be far more easier.” 

“i sure try to be.” she put her hand on her hip, giving an extra pop of fun to the title. if it had trickled down to general conversation, well then didn’t it just have to be true. she was proud of herself, for carrying it this far. and america’s sweetheart didn’t have enemies, all that may rise before her would be struck down. so long as she continued to be careful about what she said to those that kept lines blurred between on and off the record. “they couldn’t live up to the anticipation.” that much was easy to say. she couldn’t justify being this bored for anyone. there had to be something to do. “carbs i can’t believe you reminded me. they’ve got a mixologist here, i don’t think there’s anything real. what i wouldn’t give for a stack of pancakes.”

"well,” lynn sighed and gave her a once over. “you play the role really well. congratulations.” she had to give her props for keeping the status quo, and she did so by giving her a quick silent clap, up until a better thought came to mind. “though if you decide to go all lohan or cyrus on us i’d personally be thrilled.” it was only a joke, of course, but kid star turned hot mess was a tale as old as time. an entertaining one too. much more entertaining than the rest of the night would be if it went going the way it did. “oh wow! a bartender! how extravagant of them.” lynn feigned excitement at the news, sharing the sentiment. “i’m more of a waffle girl myself but,” evelyn paused to take a look around the room, faces of many old white men staring back. “if that’s an invitation to bail i’m game.” 

Miguel had already become friends with the staff of the complex, wriggling into their hearts or anywhere else he was allowed to fit into, in exchange for taking over certain room service orders. No questions came to him, no orders looked too closely at, nothing that screamed out at them when a certain word was dropped in to be his cue that something other than food was needed.

The trolley wheels ran down the hall with Miguel balanced on the bar connecting the two back ones, skidding to a stop only when the door to one of the rooms opened up. It nearly knocked into them, but Miguel had a face lit up as though he was free of all fault. Whether they were the ones that ordered the drugs that were under the silver dome or not was unknown; losing track of the numbers on the doors. Did they look like a Yaneth? Only time would tell.

“There is special food for you! All for you! Say the special word and it is yours!”

She was nervous, senses not as sharp and thoughts all jumbled up. In spite of having had prepared herself for whatever the stay had to offer her, she was still on edge, and the longer she stayed in her room alone the worse it got. It was something like eagerness; the patience she originally started off with slowly drifting away. She had to step out that room for a moment, but of course the second she did, she was almost ran over by a man and his trolley.

“Dude!” Lynn raised her voice, agitated as she motioned between the troller and herself, no qualms in accusing him of being at fault here. “Are you blind?” She gave him a pointed look, which eventually turned into a confused one. “I didn’t order anything.” She was ready to dismiss him, turning away from him as she shut the door, when again one of those jumbled thoughts made her overthink the situation. “Unless someone else did.” Lynn mused aloud before turning towards him again, assuming he would have answers to her questions since he obviously worked there. “Someone order that up here? Have they checked in already?” 

There was a phase in their life where Sloane didn’t get sarcasm. Then there was a phase where Sloane tried their best to use it (and, of course, failed). There was a phase where Sloane finally. thought they were getting it.

And now Sloane was in a phase where even the slightest hint of it sent them in an internal rage.

Sloane had to control it. Their rage unintentionally slipped into their remarks on being absolutely puzzled at others’ reaction to death, leading Sloane to think that they were just getting increasingly frustrated about certain aspects of their job. Which they were; there was only so much Sloane could take about towing the party line. If Ms. Samson wanted Sloane to do that in public-facing interactions, fine. But Sloane didn’t face the public most of the time. What was Ms. Samson worried about, contracts wondering why Sloane wasn’t scared of them? Sloane was safe while contracts dropped like flies.

“I’ll send those dumbasses to our complaint department,” Sloane spat. Fuck. They were nearly out of soda now. “Sorry fate killed them before we could. Life is really mundane like that, huh?” As far as Sloane was concerned, their own life really was mundane. They were perfectly fine with that. “When do you need to get your story in?”

"Good idea, ‘cause I’m surely not dealing with their shit.” Now that she had said everything that needed to be said, Lynn relaxed; slouching back in her seat again and going in for another Twizzler. More often than not her emotions (anger, mostly) got the best of her, and getting stressed out over simple things didn’t help. It all just felt stupid. All of it.

She stood by what she said, though. The only reason people were concerned about the whole situation was because they weren’t in on the loop. They didn’t know who was murdering who or who put out the hit, etc. At the end of the day, they had it coming, right? Seemed about right anyway. She hummed when asked about her deadline, swinging her piece of the candy in the air trying to remember when she was supposed to be done with the article. “End of the week.” It was stated as a question more than answer, “before someone else kicks the bucket at least.” She grinned to herself at what was a poor joke before deciding it was her time to pry. “Any word from the upper ups? Any celestial revelation or, I don’t know, rocks speaking or something? Whatever she’s into?” 

“oh no—no one comes to mind!” she added a wink, if only for the fact that the sentence already sounded so staged fake, she couldn’t imagine anything to save it. only a jest, for the reporter alone. “everything’s peachy at the top. i’d be so bitter to complain.” there’s a hint of question in her voice, as if she’s asking for the leeway to do so. not that she would now. she always preferred those conversations in a clean off the record setting. “except for this band. i mean come on! what’s your clock say? i’ll positively starve to death before anything happens.”

bullshit. everyone had a list. no one was mother fucking teresa. “right.” she nodded with a smile on her face, totally unconvinced with the blonde’s answer. lynn took a moment to finish the rest of her drink before continuing, needing to be just a little more intoxicated if she planned on surviving the rest of the night. “you’re just like the papers say aren’t you? america’s sweetheart and all the bullcrap?” it could have been a mask for all lynn knew, but the face matched the description and that was that. haven had forgotten about the band for a moment there, she looked towards the stage when reminded of it and shrugged. “they’re probably shit anyway.” she came to the conclusion quickly. “you think they got anything here with gluten? or carbs?”

“No, no,” Nicholas shook his head, rubbing his left temple with two fingers. “Of course not. Since when did you care for all my ramblings? That,” he gestured with his hands, his eyes finally on Evelyn specifically, “was just a classic taste of Nicholas the Impassioned.”

“No, it’s something better.” Nicholas folded his hands in his lap. “Do you remember the deaths of Akira Sera and Natalie Wells? Little birdie on the street told me that those two deaths may be connected. Not in a conspiratorial way, but….” Nicholas’s head nodded to the side as he pursed his lips, as if to say not a bad thought, “…as if a string of influences brought them to the same fate.”

"Good question.” She had to give it to him. Half the time he spoke she instantly dazed off into dreamland, hitting him with a ‘that’s crazy!’ or ‘yeah, sure, whatever’. Every now and then she’d listen, though, and more often than not she regretted it. Like that moment, where he described himself as Nicholas the Impassioned. How could she make sure she erased the last six seconds? “Do you hear yourself when you talk? Serious question.” 

Her very serious, life or death question was overshadowed by his words, and again Lynn took the chance and listened. The deaths he was referring to felt like a lifetime away but she could remember them. “Sure.” Lynn shrugged, unsure of where the conversation was going, his timing not helping in that department. She waited, eyebrow arched, motioning him to spit out his words by wafting her hands forward. He either had word vomit or word constipation, there was just no in between. “What does that mean, exactly?” She was intrigued, “are you suggesting there’s a master plan?”

Sloane shrugged. “I didn’t go to school for journalism,” Sloane said, spinning the Twizzler in their soda glass with one finger. “But I’m pretty sure you start with how they died.” Three cheers for sarcasm! I finally get it! “You talk about how unexpected it was. You can talk about all the other deaths and how close they were in occurrence. Then you can talk about their lives before their stardom.”

Though Sloane’s duties were everywhere, they thought they got a taste in the PR kind of thing. Which was useful, in a way. Sloane had come into this internship with the goal of eventually becoming a filmmaker, but for some reason, they started to get the impression that Cora had other plans. “I don’t call it anything,” Sloane shot back, thinking that Evelyn had meant them. “I just see people repeatedly framing it as it’s not their time. It’s like they think the concept of Death itself was cheated. I hate it.” 

Joke’s on them, Evelyn didn’t even graduate high school, much less go to college. “Oh, shit!” Sarcasm however, she could do without any sort of schooling. “Why didn’t I think of that before?” The thought of throwing the bag of candy towards their face crossed her mind but , ultimately, she decided against it. Just in case she changed her mind though, she let her free hand squeeze the bag. Instead, she finished the rest of her Twizzler and listened to what the other had to say. Not that it didn’t end up going in one ear and out the other. 

It was so boring. Bland. Exactly what these people wanted. "That’s so lame though.” Lynn groaned, knowing they were right. She’d have it done in no time at least. “Fine, whatever. I’ll type up the sugarcoated version of this story and call it a day. Move on with my life and not think about it ever again until the next one drops dead.” She smiled sarcastically then, rolling her eyes at their reaction. “Are you that surprised?” It was a genuine question. “Half of the fun in being a celebrity is waiting to see what grand cancellation you’re going to have, isn’t it? These people want a show, and they’re not happy they’re not getting it.”

“The price of fame, I guess,” Sloane said, giving a disinterested shrug. They knew that when they went back to school (or worse, home) they would be inundated with questions like ‘did you know the star that died?’ and ‘can you believe it happened?’ and ‘isn’t it sad?’, to which Sloane would be expected to respond with a bunch of lies.

“Sure.” Sloane plucked one out of the bitten bag and put it in their soda. Straws were more fun when they could be eaten. “Are you going to have to report on this one soon?” Sloane asked. “I can only guess how willing his family is to talk. The families of contracts are really unpredictable sometimes.”

"Yup.” Evelyn answered their question rather unenthusiastically, taking a bite of her Twizzler while the bag of candy laid on her lap. More often than not, Lynn spent time and effort researching her assigned topic only to completely disregard it as soon it was finished. Maybe it was her short attention span or lack of ability to care, but as soon as her work was done so was she. “I don’t even know where to begin, though. Like, okay-” She sat up again, “what am I supposed to write? I’m not even like, allowed, to say everything I want to avoid people going batshit crazy over bodies dropping left and right.” Lynn scoffed in disbelief, taking a frustrated bite from her candy.

“It’s like, newsflash people, they were going to die anyway! You’re just upset you didn’t get to see it.” She had a point somewhere in there, just lacked the ability to properly word it all, but it was there. “These people have no sympathy from me. They knew what they got themselves into. They weren’t mislead or tricked into it, whatever you wanna call it.”

she looked at the media pass that was presented to her, with a sinking feeling in her stomach. she had decided early on that all journalists were secretly just looking for gossip. even those nice ones from vogue with the lavish photoshoots and prescreened questions—it was what kept people reading. too bad, she’d been so game to have a little bit of fun with the the first person who seemed like they could take a joke. all for not. “just one n. i will be sure to spread the news.” she laughed all the same, didn’t show a flicker of the her change in heart. “i can’t think of anyone yet, but that kind of debt is serious. i’ve got a lot of thinking to do—not to presume the worst.”

"my corpse thanks you.” lynn played along with the first entertaining conversation she’d gotten for the night, drawing back her pass and rewrapping the lanyard around it. nodding, she placed her credentials back to where they were safely stashed; smushed between her breasts. “long list?” she teased the other, lifting an eyebrow. “don’t worry. i’m not gonna judge. i’ve got a long list of people i’d want to have beat up myself.” starting with the father of her kid, but that was a grudge for another day. “who could possibly have done eloise bardot wrong enough to warrant a spot on that list?” lynn would have to reward herself for remembering the name with a second drink later on for sure. 

“Could you believe the lack of historical accuracy in some of these productions?” Nicholas asked. “Imhotep lived in late 27th century B.C., not the 13th! You don’t have to be a scholar in Egyptian history to know this. It just takes the simplest of fact checking, and yet, they can’t seem to do it.”

He opened his mouth. She rolled his eyes. Nothing good would come out of it, she felt it in her gut. “Here we go.” Evelyn muttered the comment under her breath, sigh and forced smile following suit. “Is this what you called me in here for?” She only asked after a moment of silence. A moment she took in order to process the time she’d just wasted listening to him. “I don’t know man, something tells me ‘Lazy writers: can’t tell time’ isn’t going to sell.”  There was mockery in her tone as she shut her notepad and put her pen behind her ear. “I need something that’ll buy my next months rent not dig a bigger hole for me.” 

“Ugh, that’s gruesome,” Sloane said, watching the latest news report of yet another contract’s unexpected death. Sloane had been at this internship long enough to learn that bonding with any of the contracts was pointless. Bonding with them is pointless, they thought, and yet all of their fame rests on the importance of parasocial relationships. This place was full of contradictions.

“How many deaths is that now?” Sloane asked, their tone betraying their boredom. “It’s not even sad anymore at this rate. It’s just gross.”

"I lost count.” Lynn answered the question preoccupied with a bag of Twizzlers currently at hand, cursing under her breath at the unnecessary difficulty she was having opening the stupid bag. The two had been there for at least ten minutes watching the coverage; Lynn because it was part of her job and Sloane because... they liked the morbid shit or something. Lynn didn’t really know and hadn’t cared to ask. Maybe it was a part of being an intern, who knew.

 “Fuck it.” She gave up and sat up straight from her slouched position to rip open the bag with her teeth, spitting out the piece of plastic that stripped off. Finally. She slouched back. “People die all the time, you know.” Now focused on the conversation, she could give her input. “These people just get to be on the news ‘cause they kissed ass ‘till the day they died.” Reaching in the bag of candy, she pulled out two strips. “Twizzler?” 

she eyed the unfamiliar face next to her, sorting through categories of ally & enemy, unable to place where this woman might be. she so hated to have to keep up sugar sweet when she was bored out of her mind, but there was still a guard to keep up. “who would have thought all these parties would start to get so lame.” she’d signed up for glitz and glamour, and now here she was in her designer dress and it felt like prom all over again. waiting for enough minutes to tick by before she could make her exit. “you’re really going to die and leave me with all these dead heads, aren’t you.” with no signs of anyone even going near the stage, they clearly had some time to go. still, a conversation could kill a few minutes. “what name should i tell the first responder?”

"shocker, i know.” lynn didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm in her words, sharing in the sentiment. as far as she could tell (from the few parties she’d attended), these type of parties were far too eloquent and formal for her liking. then again, she was far from eloquent and formal. it was all about networking and bragging rights, and her job was to report on them. who impressed who, who got shitfaced, who won what, etc. yellow journalism at its finest. the least she could do was try and not have a totally bad time surrounded by those who in spite of knowing their names, were complete strangers. the other blonde’s question only proved her point. “lynn.” evelyn introduced herself by reaching inside the bust of her dress (thank you very much to the target clearance rack), and pulling out a media pass with its lanyard wrapped around it. “evelyn.” she clarified with a quick eye roll, unwrapping her pass and presenting it. “you make sure they spell it right and i promise to jump anyone from your choice in the afterlife.”

these kinds of parties had become so achingly dull since henri had abandoned her for his family emergency. talking business with all sorts of men in suits that were just sheep in wolves clothing—never able to back up their words or threats. she held her little glass, pink liquid swirling. a shirley temple, with maybe a splash or two of vodka. she sighed heavily, hoping to catch the attention of the nearest sympathetic ear. “tell me when the band starts! i don’t know how much longer i’ll last.”

once again lynn found herself in the middle of a party, drink in hand, tired of small talk and overall niceties. it was a part of her job and all but over time she’d grown to hate it, just as much as the party themselves. every day was a test to see if she’d call it quits and leave la, but given her financial situation, that wasn’t an option for the meantime. so she’d drink and mingle and write her stupid little articles as fast as she could, not forgetting her real motivation for being in that place in the first place. in the middle of all her thinking, she thought she’d started thinking out loud when in reality it was the girl next to her, who seemed to share at least one of her thoughts. “not fast enough.” lynn offered a response, bringing her own glass up to her lips for a sip at it. she sighed, looked at the stage where said band was supposed to come on, and then turned towards the blonde. “i don’t know about you but i think there’s a better chance that i’m going to fucking die of boredom before any of these old men croak.” 

The smoke of Sebastian’s cigarette swirls from between his fingers before it sinks into his lungs from the opposite end. Samson has blown off their meeting. How inconsiderate. He tips the ashes into the glass of water intended for her while sharpened eyes are trained on another walking forward. He doesn’t know them, but he knows of them from the research he’s done. Why would anyone be interested in a company when they don’t know the mechanics behind it? From what he overhears, they’re trying to get in, but there’s no room. Only the empty seat at his table. “This must be the fate I’ve heard about from your illustrious leader,” he chips in. “You can join me or you can find another restaurant. Indulge in a rare taste of free-will, will you?”

It hadn’t been until Lynn walked side by side the building, looking through the windows and at the guests, that she realized that not only was the restaurant of a higher grade than expected but also at its full capacity. It was enough to make her curse under her breath and shoot a quick text message to the co-worker she was supposed to be meeting up with for drinks, ready to leave the premises and forget about the whole thing until a voice stopped her. Not because of the tone or the volume, but because of the word choice. Illustrious leader? Was Los Angeles really that overpopulated with pretentious douchebags? At first, Lynn ignored the man and sent another text asking for an ETA, convinced he couldn’t possibly be speaking to her. Then when he went on and proved her wrong, she stared before (hesitantly) taking the seat. “Your girl stood you up or something?” She had nothing better to ask, “shit luck, buddy. Don’t worry. Plenty of fish in the sea. Yada yada.”