my name is [ FORD MERRITT ] … and i am from [ HELLTOWN, OHIO ] and i’m an [ ANTIQUE SHOP OWNER IN THE HELLTOWN MALL ]. i lived in helltown for [ 22 YEARS BUT HAVE BEEN BACK FOR A YEAR ] because [ SOMEONE NEEDED TO KEEP THE FAMILY BUSINESS AFLOAT ]. i am [ 33 ] my pronouns are [ HE/HIM ] and i am [ DUTIFUL, TENACIOUS, CULTIVATED ] though some may say i’m [ STUCK, HARD-HEADED, LONELY ]. i also hear i look a lot like [ ALFRED ENOCH ] but, i don’t know if i see it. i’m here because [ I COULDN’T DISAPPOINT MY MOM ] but, maybe there’s more to it than that. you never know with helltown.
tw: death, parental death, parental abandonment
full name: ford benjamin merritt
date of birth: january 3rd
star sign: capricorn
place of birth: helltown, ohio
family: william merritt (father), luara fortes (mother) †
sexual orientation: unlabeled
religion: atheist
tattoos: n/a
style: a distressed denim jacket saved from his father's closet, a collection of flannels, solid basic tees, battered pairs of converse, a pristine pair of air forces, khaki slacks, a corduroy shacket, baseball hats from teams he barely knows, no shorts in sight until extreme heat, an interesting pair of socks to elevate the look, old levi's, and layers upon layers.
a stomach sinking at the ring of a phone, keys too familiar in a hand, a master bedroom unclaimed, the ding of a shop door swung open, a coffee ordered at the end of the day, an antique clock who's second-hand is the only one that ticks, the clench of a jaw come sight of the town sign, forearms leant across a counter, driving head-on towards the sunrise, shouldering another's dreams, mourning two parents at only one's grave, ink smudged on the side of a hand, eyes scrunched tight, a look cast over the shoulder at what could have been.
william and luara were college "sweethearts", with that terms used so very loosely. they were sweethearts in the sense of being together early on and sticking it through. they weren't sweethearts in how they fought, in the on-and-off nature of it all, in the path things would have taken had it not been for ford. expecting ford had the couple staying tied together longer. expectations as they were. of course, a baby never fixes things, it only adds to the pressure.
the pressure proved itself as luara stepping up, while william stepped back. it wasn't that he disengaged or that he left, he just... didn't have the same natural tendencies. luara loved full out while william loved financially. he worked and he provided fiscally, but emotionally, he was absent. how many birthdays had ford had where william hadn't a clue about one detail (aside from being asked to take the day off)?
come college, his parents had finally split. ford had been ready for it, given the arguing past bedtime, the worn in couch, the lack of affection at all in their house. william took the time to dive deeper into work, while luara invested in her dream business, an antique store.
ford, in the meantime, had finally been one of the few that had broke free from helltown. he'd gotten out of the state and into a college up north— tufts. there he got to experience the new. the buzz of the city. a difference in the air. a sense of freedom. a feeling that had lingered on as he graduated and took on a job locally as civil engineer.
then came the call. his mother was sick, she needed someone around. and, sure, ford could have paid for the help but fuck if he hadn't witnessed his father spend his whole life throwing money at problems instead of tackling them head on. that had cost them all so much. no. ford was going to be there. and so he was: by her side, keeping the doors to the business open, tending to the house. and he's there still... even when she's not.
it was the antique shop specifically that did it. between how his mother talked about it and how many of her customers would find him in the shop or outside of it and heap on nothing but praise. perhaps the wound is still too new but closing the doors just feels like a betrayal. so mr. engineer now spends his days behind the counter of a shop full of knick-knacks and dead people's things.
ever since middle school, thanks to a specific english teacher, ford had taken to using a journal. he's not religious about using it, but every so often, come the urge or need, he reaches for it to release his feelings.
he practically requires coffee to survive. not unusual to see him get a cup twice a day (not even factoring in what he makes at home).
practically no contact with his dad. they just exist separately. one grieves the time spent, while one spends it grieving time wasted.
wanted connection ideas: best friend(s), friends, old friends, drinking buddies, exes, fwd, one-night stand, the one that got away, someone he doesn't get along with, old co-workers, regular customers, family friends, coffee buddies, running buddy, neighbors, etc...
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coming home, your muse finds this taped to their front door. there is nothing else with it, just a card. something about it feels familiar, but you can’t pinpoint exactly what it is…
LOCATION: atlas tap house
FOR: everyone @helltownhqstarters
it was a thursday night, diwata knew they've got things to take care of tomorrow but they aren't needed until the early evening. so she was by the bar, nursing her....third? fourth? mug of bavarian lager. she would do the drinking at home but she couldn't stand how quiet it gets sometimes, given she had been living by herself for the past couple of years now. she downs the rest of her drink and gestures the bartender for another when a familiar someone from distance catching their attention. “are you just gonna stand there for the whole time or are you going to join me?" diwata says without looking up, as she takes a sip of her drink.
sure, it was thursday, but ford hadn't necessarily expected it the tap house to be as crowded as it was. still, it seemed, the population of and around helltown still sought the dulling to their edges. a few drinks was likely not what any doctor prescribed but it was what so many of them had likely sought. how else was one expected to last all that was helltown?
and then, still, it tested him. diwata.
he might have laughed more at the circumstance had it not been for the start to his morning, his spirits maybe a tinge more lifted. but that joining comment locked in tight, specific in how it hurt despite perhaps it's meaning to be nonchalant. words unallowed to be waved off. his brows raised almost in spite of it all. stubborn given any history with the girl beside him. "just trying to figure out where was open," he blinked, the gesture a tad dramatic, his eyelids reading heavy as they crashed and lifted, staring back with a similar intensity. "or did you not clock your jacket swiss-army-knifing everyone's sense?"
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location: eggs and a biscuit /solstice event - few days after
stater for: everyone / @helltownhqstarters
coming back home was supposed to feel...well, welcoming. she'd only been back a few months but amara was starting to wonder if she was looking back at her memories of home with rose tinted glasses. or perhaps she was too young to care, either way there was a notable heaviness in the air. maybe that was expected from a town that was frozen in time. amara spent the past few days cooped up in her apartment or working at the atlas tap house. that's probably why a little box tv placed promptly in the corner of the wall behind the counter caught her attention before she made her way out with to go bag in hand. an innocent event turned gruesome when people began sacrificing themselves to the fire. amara couldn't tear her vision from the screen, feet planted firmly into the ground like stone. she didn't know what she was expecting but her stomach was already churning in anticipation. that's when she saw the face of her friend from eleven years ago appear. kayla mcneil. they were chanting her name...? along with others? amara's mouth went agape and found herself slipping from reality. the iced coffee falling from her hands and came crashing down at her feet. being released from her trance amara cursed and looked at the stranger behind her. "fuck--sorry. I hope none of that got on you."
Despite certain qualms, to say the least, about this town, Ford had actual good memories about the diner, one of which being his sixteenth birthday. His dad had been away on a conference, because of course he had, but his mom had still wanted to make it special. So come midnight, she'd tossed him her keys— drivers permit be damned— and let him take them to EBS where they both ate far too many stacks of pancakes. Ford felt comatose the next day but in a way that always made him smile upon reflection. And so despite the arguable quality of the coffee, he came often. Sometimes or a meal, sometimes just to sit with that mug and just exist.
It'd been one of the just-existing nights when there came a sudden splash on his shin, down to his foot.
"Shit," had been the immediate response out of his mouth, complementary to the own curse she'd given. He shook his foot before he shoot his head. "No, you hit the target. Just, thanks for having the forethought of ordering iced." He shook his head as his body leaned over the booth to grab some napkins. One, four, six, however many scrunched up into his hand as he bent over to tend to the wet spots. After a few taps, he looked up, scoffing lightly as he added, "Look, it's just my shitty chucks so don't sweat."
LOCATION: Helltown Mall
STATUS: Open ( @helltownhqstarters )
Asa stands like a corpse reanimated just slightly wrong - a tattooed man in an oversized collared shirt with eyes as dark as brackish water. Some fictional scientist's necromantic mistake that fits in just a bit too well in Helltown, Ohio. Despite the Irish lilt to his voice, the eyes that jitter as if he's waiting for someone to tell him he doesn't belong here, what's he doing here, he shouldn't BE here... he is here. In the skeleton of an old mall. And somehow, it feels like home.
The food court is empty, but there's tables, and he's decided to sit for a moment. "How many people d'you think actually... come in here in a typical day? Think you an' I are the only ones I've seen. Well, besides that Nepalese shop's lovely cashier who said I smelled nice."
Most of Ford's lunchbreaks could be placed in one of two categories, the first being caught in the riptide of a doom scroll. Fuck if this town and its... everything wasn't enough, there were the pictures and the life updates and the happies of hours shared by the people in the life he'd left behind in Boston. Ford hadn't fallen into that category today; no, instead it'd been the other— staring off into the distance as his mind clocked out. It was easy to do given how desolate the mall tended to be, especially now given his later lunch.
Despite being lonely, he wasn't alone, his detachment interjected by the voice of someone just a table over. With a few blinks, Ford pulled himself back from the hypnotic flicker of one of the food court's signs and tilted his head and his gaze, settling it now on the other man.
It took a few seconds, a good pause before words actually managed to leave his lips, save them both from just sharing an odd stare. "Kasmetha," he nodded slow, then more knowingly, "she's a charmer. Straightshooter though so..." his shoulders shrugged, a kind of fill-in-the-blank that said 'good for you.' "You're late for the crowd." That single word came out sardonically. Ford even gave a half laugh. "The senior marathoners never come out this late. They're damn punctual. In at open, do their steps, lunch at 11, and, fuck knows what they do after. Nap?" He shrugs again. "I figure that or play gin. Real riveting stuff."
