BRUTAL!

—THE DAREDEVIL ( 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐉𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 ), 𝕃𝔼𝕆 𝕐𝕆𝕆ℕ

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“You don’t forget the really tragic ones as much, I guess. Or the ones that have some sort of commentary on the persistence of men when women clearly aren’t interested, even if it’s due to godly interference. Not the same, but a girl can only take so many “u up?” texts after a breakup before she starts to relate a little too much.”

If she hadn’t blocked Johnnie Dyer, maybe she would’ve wished she could turn into a tree.

So maybe she remembered the tale more than she’d let on. But what had been most interesting to her was Leo’s take on it. Mari didn’t know a lot about the other girl, but the information she’d just been presented had been a valuable part of the puzzle.

Was Leo afraid of being forgotten? Did she feel like a pawn in someone else’s story? Somehow, the Leo in front of her did not feel like the same one she’d known of in high school.

Apparently people in Gravewood did have the capacity for change. Maybe most just decided not to.

Having expected the question to be tossed right back at her, Mari wished she had a better summary of all that Athena was and why she was interesting. But truthfully? Mari had picked her because it felt obvious. People knew who she was, knew that Athena was smart. She could say the name and hide behind the costume without anyone reading too much into it. Because there wasn’t a whole lot to read into, really.

“Athena? Goddess of wisdom and warcraft. Patron goddess of heroic endeavor. Born from the forehead of Zeus - at least, in some tellings. A virgin goddess. She could be a little messy - Arachne, for example - but she was smart. Strategic. Heroes asked her for help and advice and she gave it, but she was very much in control of her own story. Many admirable qualities.”

* ∗ ⁎ ⟶ 

Leonora has to laugh then, the reaction stemming from both parts shock and awe. With all she’d known of Marianne ( which wasn’t much, really ), she hadn’t expected the words; hadn’t expected much of the conversation at all, but here she stood, more intrigued than she’d been some minutes before, “I take it there was a pesky little Apollo in your life?”

If she’d been better at paying attention to the smaller details then perhaps she would’ve known just who the redhead was referring to, but she’d been too self-centered then. Odd for someone so desperate to be seen by others. Perhaps it had been fitting instead? She’d wanted to burn so bright that she’d disregarded all the kerosene in her peripheral.

These bouts of introspection truly came at the worst of times, and they’d always left her deeper in the melancholy than they’d found her. It was one more thing she’d learn to navigate with these new interpersonal exchanges. 

For a moment, she’s even wondering how she was perceived by Marianne— waiting for the other shoe to fall; for her to realize her mistake and find some other party-goer to entertain. High School had left her unprepared for genuine connection; Leo had penned her own folly, misunderstanding the end of her own story. 

She’d truly caught herself in a vicious little cycle. 

Waving away those thoughts as best she could, Leonora focused on the red-head’s information dump, something that made sense with what little she knew of her. As did her choice of the Patron goddess. It was weird to think that a choice like that aligned with the underdeveloped image she’d made of Marianne in her head. Leonora decides that the costume just fits Mari’s vibe...whatever that is.

“It’s a very good costume,” she compliments, words honest and true, “I can see the little details that really say wisdom, warfare, girl boss.” The latter is more teasing, but no less true. “Any particular reason you chose Athena? Short bursts of messiness, or admirable qualities, and everything in between?”

So far the night had been a mix of going well, and going poorly. Charlotte had run into two people she had rather not run into, and yet she was yet to see a familiar face. However, it was as if her praises had been heard by god and she spotted a familiar one through the crowd. 

A smile lighting up her face, Charlotte pushed through the crowd to the familiar two-toned hair, that belonged to Leo. “Leo!” Charlie called through the din, before managing to pull herself up beside the other. Easily she was now next to the other and looking relieved. 

“I am so glad to have found you, I literally have not seen anyone who I’m excited to talk to… except you of course.” One of the strangest re-kindled friendships in her grand return to Gravewood, she had not suspected an unlikely friendship with Leo.. however, it seemed that they had both grown up in more ways than one. 

Sighing happily, she settled in next to Leo, all the more brighter for it. “Please tell me your night has been going better than mine, I swear parties used to be more fun than this.” 

@leoyoons

* ∗ ⁎ ⟶ 

Of all the things that could have happened to Leonora post- fall from grace, this friendship with Charlie wasn’t one she would have added to the list. Not that there’d ever been any actual animosity between the two of them, but they just hadn’t run in the same circles, and when they had, Leonora had been far too preoccupied with the allure of infamy. 

Still, she thinks she’s grateful for the camaraderie; for the chance at a friendship without much of High School hanging over them— she’d never gone and jilted Charlotte in the way she may have done the others, so this one was a war easier to fight. By now she’d gauged that Charlotte liked her well enough, and Leo’s sure she can say the same. 

“You know how it is, kiss a thousand frogs before you find your frog princess,” she teases, glad to have some conversation that didn’t feel like she was wading through no-man’s land, scared she’d step on a land mine at any moment’s notice. “You look really pretty, by the way, I love this...if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were fighting Isadora for the position of Queen of the Underworld.”

The extravagance of this Halloween party was blowing Austin’s mind. Theoretically, he knew about the rich, he’d even studied some sociology, he knew they lived on a different plain to most humans. He’d never experienced it himself, the child of a single mother that had struggled to make ends meet. So this was blowing his mind a little.

Okay, a lot.

The person he approached seemed a little closer to what he was used to from the less than a handful of college parties he had been to.

“Can I guess your costume?” He asked, politely, doing his best to seem chill and cool, standing tall in his birkenstocks, “I’m getting some earth imagery from this get up..”

@leoyoons·

* ∗ ⁎ ⟶ 

People watching was a boring endeavor for someone who’d felt the need to be a part of the theatrics— the task only became more unbearable when the crowd you were observing was so...haughty? Up their own asses? She hadn’t found the most eloquent term for the lot of them, but it really felt like she’d been watching paint dry for the last fifteen minutes.

Leonora’s on her fifth tall tale, observing one of the party-goers and assigning whatever wild, lascivious story she can concoct, when a voice interrupts her inner-monologue. 

Following the voice to its source, she’s greeted with someone that looks as out of places as she feels. It’s a refreshing sight, really, birkenstocks and all. 

“Oh you’re welcome to try, though I gotta say,” she allows a pause in between her words, raising her brows and gesturing towards the twigs in her hair, “many have tried and many have failed.” None had tried really— save Marianne, but she’d just asked outright. Still, she wasn’t gonna parade her loserdom around to all who gave her five minutes of their time.

“I guess yours in exchange?”

Jamie scowled as she dropped down next to him, about to interject that it wasn’t an invitation until he saw how deflated she was. It was sad, really. Leo, while annoying, had always been harmless. Much like Alec, her two braincells seemed to thrive on appeasing others and he couldn’t blame such base instincts forever. 

He heaved a long suffering sigh, averting his eyes from her in case she thought a glance without barbs could be construed as forgiveness. 

“You’re pathetic,” he said without heat, shoving his plate at her and sending the M&Ms scattering across her lap. “It’s like kicking a puppy while it’s begging at your feet.”

Jamie let the music bleed into the silence between them, simmering in the thought of whether he could open himself up to being trampled over like dirt again. He’d suffered a plethora of betrayal lately, his nerves hypersensitive to the risk of more. But the sweet smell of her perfume and forced cheer brought him a kind of nostalgia that was hard to ignore. Jamie wouldn’t have called many people his friends, but Leonora had been one of them.

“For the record, me talking to you doesn’t mean anything,” he said, sounding stubborn about relenting. “You’ve yet to prove to me that you’ve learned something from your endeavors.”

* ∗ ⁎ ⟶ 

“Always have been,” she says, the words tinged in nonchalance though they paint an extremely depressing picture. Leonora’s always been lonely, and that was pathetic as is, but it was made worse by the fact that she’d pulled a Brutus on the very people that lessened the feeling. The emptiness seemed to have wholly entwined itself with the greed, but she’d been a willing participate all the same. “Also, didn’t think I was begging, but okay.”

But maybe she had been— subconsciously, at least. There’s something to be said about running after Jamie despite the venom he’d so freely thrown her way, and even more to be said about how much she missed his company. 

With most of the chocolate candy decorating the expanse of her skirts, Leonora busied herself with retrieving the pieces, dropping the orange ones the plate and keeping the greens and purples for herself. The action, while no less rough around the edges as Jamie was, felt like an olive branch of sorts one she felt undeserving of; then again, she wasn’t gonna question this chance to close some of that leviathan distance sitting between them.

Then he’d gone and dumped a bucket of cold water on that little sliver of hope. Serves her right for inflating this little moment, “brutal as ever,” a sentiment that’s as distressing as it is familiar. “What do you suggest I do then? To prove myself to you?” Not everyone else, just him.

Jamie could feel Leo trotting after him like a baby duck, his obstinate refusal to acknowledge her doing little to curb her enthusiasm. He dropped onto the couch and began stuffing his face in hopes that a crostini would put him out of his misery first. Leo had a knack for being obnoxious, he could give her that. It had once been cute when it was directed at anyone else but him, but her incessant nattering about her father made his jaw tense with annoyance. 

After his third mouthful, he choked down the rest of his drink and slammed the empty cup onto the glass table.

“What do you want, Leo? Do you want me to say it’s fine that you ditched me? That I’m not mad you did the stupid thing I told you not to do and that you’re absolved of your sins?” he asked, mouth tightening into thin line as he cocked his head at her.

“You didn’t listen to me once before, why the hell does it matter what I say now? If you’re looking at me as a last ditch effort for friendship, that boat as sailed, pal. Should’ve thought about that before you sold me out for that.”

He gestured across the party just as a minotaur crashed into Xena on the dance floor, causing it to erupt into raucous laughter to the beat of Michael Jackson’s thriller.

* ∗ ⁎ ⟶

Well, that was to be expected. Leonora knew who she was dealing with and decided to go and push those buttons all the same. It was one of those caveats of friendship, knowing one another to the point of ruin— but those things worked both ways. Jamie was free to take all those things she’d told him in confidence and use them against her. Maybe that’s what she was hoping for; maybe that would feel like some kind of repentance. 

It was better than the alternatives, though she’d humored the list. You could say the festivities had her feeling sentimental; Leo wanted to pick apart all those things she’d hated about the gaudy decorations and everything else because she needed something else to focus on, something besides the vacuousness consuming her. 

Anything would be better. “I didn’t think I had to put it into words but,” she drags on the last syllable as she drops down on the empty space beside him, “I really was craving that mummy.” And she knows it’s a poor joke but she’s never been good at this part. Actions had consequences and all that shit, but the aftermath didn’t come with a navigation manual. 

But he was right anyways, there was nothing left to salvage of their friendship— she’d made sure of it. Leonora just figures she can’t let it go so easily.

“I was kind of hoping we could work through that on the basis that people change?” Yeah, that doesn’t sound right. “Or maybe I’m not looking for you to tell me about myself, Jamie. And I’m not looking for a friendship I know you’re not gonna give me...and I don’t know, I have no fucking idea what I’m looking to gain from talking to you. Just give me an M&M.”

Jamie rolled his eyes and mumbled something disparaging about how little he wanted to mention anything to Morgan after being grilled about the origins of mythos and lycan syntax at the door. The pacing was all too familiar, reminiscent of lunches behind the bleachers and swapping notes on which of the cool kids was going to get knocked up first and sent to the city for a ‘vacation’. They had been the losers, the nobodies; and it had been fun while it lasted.

Reminder of how it all fell apart put a wrinkle in his brow, deepening his scowl as he fought the sentiment creeping up past his whittled guard. Jamie threw back the rest of his drink, refilled it and took another sip before turning to Leo with a new mask of apathy. 

“Well, find a new fucking flame,” he told her. “These people aren’t worth shit. Look at that chump over there who thinks satyrs are godly. Or that hideous corporate interpretation of Thor. One must wonder what they’re elite at other than being massive idiots.”

Jamie waved a hand at the parade of half-baked costumes that barely fit the theme, much less the primed and proper etiquette Morgan was striving for with all the gold leaf. The party was but another example of how little things changed in Gravewood. 

He scoffed and busied himself with a new plate of snacks before he sunk back into his role as the voice of reason. Jamie threw a handful of M&Ms on top of his monstrous pile of hors d’oeuvres and backed away from the table, skulking towards the couches with a spiteful mutter, “Whatever. We’re on the outs, don’t talk to me. And don’t eat my fucking sausages.”

* ∗ ⁎ ⟶ 

Humming in agreement of...whatever it was he’d said, she starts weighing the consequences of throwing some of the slime popcorn with candy eyeballs at his face— all the while she’s trying to figure out who even invented these things, and what they’d been smoking at the time. It’d stick to her hands in the process, but it could also stick to his face if she went and flung the concoction hard enough.

Something to get a bigger reaction out of him, anyhow; and who knew, it could be that new flame he’d been suggesting. It could also get her into a huge amount of trouble with her father if and when this conversation devolved into some barbaric food fight that had Isadora losing her mind. 

“Of course, of course,” she drawls, waving his words away like she did their friendship, “we’re above the piles of shit in the room, the satyrs, the Thors and the—” Leonora stops because she has to think about that one, “Disney’s rendition of Hades? How did that one even get past the immovable one?” The same way that Jamie and his attitude must have, but that was a penny for another day.

And so was the charitable act of leaving the bear to roam in peace. No surprise then when she tossed the empty plate in her hands onto the table behind her, and followed Jamie’s retreating figure. Just this once she’d make it his problem; any complaints would fall on deaf ears because she’d left him with all alone and more during their matching shifts at the ice rink. 

“Now you sound even more like my father, you guys been hanging out or something?” Ew, so soon as she said it she wanted to take it back. It sounded like she’d had daddy issues, considering she was following the guy around after making comparisons. “Don’t be so fucking lame, and don’t be so stingy either, you literally took the last weird little pig in a blanket.”

Marianne wasn’t sure if she believed the compliment she received in return for hers, even with the clarification that Leo gave, but she decided to accept it all the same. After all, she had tried to look nice that evening. Even if she was taking a major risk by wearing white to what was apparently partially a pool party where red wine and various other staining juices were served.

“Thanks,” she acknowledged. She even offered a quick smile before her expression shifted, her mind working to recall the tale of Daphne. She was, of course, familiar with Metamorphoses, but that was just one interpretation of the tale. And from what she could tell, the figures that most people had chosen to dress up as that evening said more about them than most words they’d traded with her.

Why would Leo Yoon select Daphne?

No time like the present to find out.

“You know, I vaguely remember. But I’d appreciate a refresher, if you’re willing to give one.”

It was odd, for Marianne to try to extend a conversation with someone she’d previously avoided that she had such an easy out with. But if she was looking for inspiration, what could be better than someone who had dressed up as a tragic figure, complete with the tears to really make the look?

Plus, she thought that trading myths might be easier than regular conversation. Somehow. After trying to make genuine, more than surface level friendships in college, she’d lost a little of her skill with innocent, friendly-yet-distant small talk.

* ∗ ⁎ ⟶ 

With pleasantries and the like, the next step is one ‘you’re welcome,’ but the words felt like another stale part of those exchanges had between two people that didn’t really know each other. Leonora offers a smile instead and it’s more genuine than the words would have had any right to be— she didn’t know what else she could inject into the conversation, thus it would surely run it’s course soon.

She wasn’t a very subtle entertainer ( nor was she a very subtle person ), nurture having added these louder idiosyncrasies to her psyche. Strip those things away and she didn’t really know how to make herself interesting. 

“I’m relieved you know her at all,” she says, words light though they may be perceived as something else, something as pernicious as she had been. “I don’t remember who her parents are but these myths are so convoluted; there’s too many variations you know?” Actually, Leonora did recall that her father was Peneus, some minor river god that demanded far too much of his daughter; she really didn’t remember anything about the nymphs mother though that was another parallel between them. 

The similarities are all too self-pitying, though she thinks she wears them well. 

“As far as everything else, it’s not even her story, truly...at the least it doesn’t feel like it. She was part of some grand spectacle, was turned into a laurel, and forgotten. Now those things symbolize achievements, but I can’t see the connection between one thing and the other.” The words are punctuated with a shrug of her shoulders, before she returns the question Marianne had asked before, “what of your costume?”

Mackenzie Thomas had swayed the opinions of several of her little friends already.

Isa had known it to be true the moment that Marianne girl avoided eye contact with her in high school, and it had been equally apparent in the conversations Isa’d had over the years with Leonora Yoon.

But parties were always a great opportunity for a fresh start. It had been why she’d decided to host the town’s major Halloween bash for under-35′s. She hadn’t been as good at hiding her intentions in high school. She was better now. And people didn’t just come to a costume party for the free booze and opportunity to watch people embarrass the fuck out of themselves, right?

Speaking of embarrassing, Isa couldn’t help her eyes from being drawn to Leo from across the room. But not for the reasons why they would have been, once upon a time.

No, the other girl’s costume truly was a work of art, and Isa had always had a notable interest in fashion. After all, what else could you comment on when you didn’t have any other niceties to exchange?

“Leonora,” she greeted once she was close enough to be heard over the roaring party. “Beautiful dress. The details? Stunning.”

@leoyoons·

* ∗ ⁎ ⟶ 

On nights like these it was always harder to be on her best behavior— even with the one or two glasses of moscato she’s had, Leonora felt like the sober friend, fighting the urge to let loose in all those ways she was used to. She’d kept to herself because most of these interactions would require some apologizing on her part, and she’d avoided their gracious host because of the other obvious reasons.

It was an odd thing that she’d been so desperate for everyone’s attention save Isadora’s, but she could be loyal when she wanted to be. There were some people in this world you could dislike for a million reasons, those that you’d dislike for none, and then those unfortunate souls that fell into the ‘dislike by association’ category.

Besides all of that, their previous conversations had painted a clear enough picture.

So she’s understandably shocked when one Isadora Morgan wanders into her own personal ground zero— even more so with the words that follow. 

Leonora doesn’t have a horde of things she’s proud of ( tangible or otherwise ), but these garments were her art, to ask was to open Pandora’s box though she didn’t really want Isadora to know of it’s contents. “Thank you?” The words fill the space and she doesn’t mean to sound confused, but she can’t be blamed, considering the people they are. “I made it myself, actually,” and then after a beat, “yours as well, but I’m sure you knew that.”

“Considering how anal Morgan is, yes. In fact, she probably fingerprinted all who lives outside of her cul-de-sac,” Jamie retorted dryly, drawing no humor from Leo’s sarcasm. Their banter had once been enjoyable, but Jamie refused to let it soften him these days. One could only be gutted so many times until they reconsidered their alliances and Leo had been a hurricane of knives since day one. He just didn’t expect to be part of the casualties. 

He rolled his eyes and turned back to the refreshments, determined to pour his attention to something that wouldn’t betray him for clout. Admittedly, he enjoyed a part of her downfall, if only because it made him right. Still, vindication felt like nothing if he had no one’s face to rub it into. Not that he cared to miss her or anything. 

“You know, it’s awfully bold of you to come to such an acclaimed party. There are eyes everywhere,” he started while picking off cocktail wieners cut into octopi. “Unless this is another one of your silly little dares. Still trying to get back into the good graces of folk who left you for dead at sea?”

Jamie shot her a bald look. “Bold, most people learn their lesson the first time. Some even the second. What is this, your third time?” He scoffed. “Leonora, Leonora, what would your father say?”

* ∗ ⁎ ⟶ 

Ever one for the dramatics, Leonora reacts to this information with an exaggerated gasp, feigned disbelief tainting her features, “anal and naive, that Morgan. You should go and tell her that the wolf is usually the next-door neighbor.” Falling into this familiar rhythm is easy, animosity and all. If she’s happy for it, she won’t voice that— she won’t expect any pleasantries either ( this is more than she would have hoped for, anyways ). 

She thinks that they should have dressed as Judas and his Catholic holiness for the symbolism of it all. It would’ve been a near impossible feat for two individuals who hadn’t coordinated amongst each other in years, but a girl could dream. 

“Oh, don’t I know it. And Jamie, you better than anyone else should remember: I’m like a moth to a flame.” Well, not so much these days because the flame in question had singed her fingertips, but that was a conversation to be had on another day, with anyone else. With wounds that still needed nursing, and her social standing at rock bottom, Leonora had resisted the allure of a dare; she doesn’t even think that any of these people would humor her if she’d requested one. “What would the dare even be?” 

This conversation of theirs was derailed so soon as it had begun— each one of them had been after their bridge was reduced to cinders. She’d consider herself mad if she were expecting a different outcome, but she’s been content to collected whatever fragmented pieces were left between them. Though she was a pretender, she’d own up to her misgivings.

“He’d say you sound just like him,” she throws back in retaliation, “might give him a heart attack if you keep taking the same sense as that man.”

Marianne Byrne had always kept Gravewood at an arm’s length. Since she’d first moved to town in high school, she’d held off on making too many friendships that could turn into lifelong connections, flitting from group to group like a social butterfly that never rested its wings.

She’d somehow been everywhere, known everyone. But almost no one had really known her.

And since her re-arrival to Gravewood just a few months prior, that had made for some interesting re-introductions.

The Gods and Monsters Party that evening was already turning out to be no exception. She’d spoken to a smattering of acquaintances from back in the day, some who had boomeranged back into town after college graduation, some who’d never left at all. And though Mari had attempted to keep her speaking to a minimum in favor of peoplewatching (you never knew when literary inspiration might strike), certain settings had lent themselves to required conversation.

Like… the present. When there were only two people near the large display of food.

How awkward would it have been to say nothing?

Mari hesitated to speak up at first, the memory of a girl who back in high school had done almost anything to keep others entertained not yet stamped out by the fact that most people changed after high school.

Still, back then Mari had, unsurprisingly, avoided association.

With just she and Leo standing in decently close proximity, the universe had decided that it was well past time to make up for past avoidance. But what topic of conversation was safest?

“Hey, I like your costume,” she decided to say after a beat of awkward (on Mari’s part, at least) silence, the sentiment legitimate. “I’ll be honest, I don’t 100% know who it is, but I’m sure if you say it, it’ll click immediately.”

@leoyoons·

* ∗ ⁎ ⟶ 

When you were in the business of being as reckless and cavalier as she, it was all too important to remember faces. Leonora had jilted one too many people in her adolescence, and it was easier to navigate the social spaces of Gravewood knowing who held her in their good graces, and who didn’t. Few sat in the grey area, but she thinks they’d sooner align themselves with the negatives before looking at her in any extremely positive light. And truly, she’s earned it.

Her repentance in so deeply entwined with her fall from grace that one must wonder if she’s really sorry— and if Leo humors the thought then she knows she isn’t. All those years before, she’d felt some semblance of wholeness with the attention, pitiful as it was.

But it stands that certain events were necessary in keeping her from more dangerous extremes. Had her father not placed her in cuffs, then she may have been blessing the patrons of the Astoria with one more ridiculous act of mischief.

She’d be elsewhere, giving up parts of herself to grasp that feeling of wholeness again— though the familiar face of the redhead in her orbit might be a safer option than the alternative, better even. Marianne was her name, if Leonora remembered it correctly; the two had been around one another before but they’d never really exchanged words. Nothing outside of the necessary pleasantries.

This was different, though not unwelcome, and the words provided by the redhead thus far bring a smile to her face— dare she say, it was nice. “I like yours as well, and that’s not just a ‘you complimented me, so here’s one back,’ you look very pretty.” Taking her own skirts into account, she traces one of the flowers sewn into the fabric, “understandable, she’s a minor figure in the Pantheon. Are you familiar with Daphne?” 

From the looks of Marianne’s own dress, Leo had a few guesses— the tiny owl she wore was an elegant giveaway. 

halloween event ⮕ open starter

Griffin had a toxic relationship to partying. On the one hand, he hated it. The penthouse suite of the Astoria was decked to the nines, but the extravagant bordered on the tacky. Fake Grecian columns crawled with ivy as a pay-per-hour DJ blared a David Guetta club remix. Anachronisms and lazy costumes abounded. Men Griffin had never liked even in the light of day fancied themselves the Zeuses of the evening, displaying their beer guts in full glory while double fisting Bud Lights and grinding on women who had aged past the sexy nymph costume long ago.

On the other hand, he had always yearned for an invitation. Not specifically to Isadora’s soirees - they weren’t exactly exclusive affairs; to receive an invitation one need only have a Gravewood address. But to those secret parties hosted by the ones who considered themselves the town elite. The cool kids, to put it in grotesque words. Sometimes a party need not be involved at all. The invitation was metaphorical. An acceptance. A nod of approval. A look in someone’s eye that confirmed: yes, you are one of us.

Even now, he couldn’t escape that feeling, and he resented both himself and everyone around him for it. It was particularly painful to stew in that bitterness while covered in shiny gold glitter.

Of course you have to attend, his grandfather had told him. An endless fountain of booze makes for an endless fountain of Banshee material.

The disguise was helping, at least. Griffin’s own genius idea. Not just to participate in the masquerade, but the anonymity it afforded him was perfect for happening upon moments he otherwise wouldn’t. Whenever Griffin was around, people usually left the room. Or stopped talking. Or grimaced. So that night, let him not be Griffin. Let him be nobody.

Nobody was casually tracing the wall of the penthouse, drink in hand, watching others drunkenly carry on. When the music became too much, he quietly slipped into a back room to escape the noise and crowd. That’s when he saw it. The moment. Something newsworthy. 

With his free hand, Griffin slipped his trusty DSLR out from underneath his costume, quickly snapping a photograph before anyone could notice or protest.

“You seem to be enjoying the party,” he commented, leaning against the wall to look down at his camera screen. “Indulgence does fit the theme, though I don’t know if your particular mythos would approve of… all this.” 

෴

* ∗ ⁎ ⟶

An hour amongst the tall folk was all Leonora needed to come to the realization that Gravewood’s celebration of the polytheistic pantheons was fucking boring. For all the hedonism woven into the fabric of mythology, the upper echelon of their small town did not know how to relieve themselves of society’s scrutiny. It’s all sorts of Homeric irony, considering the consequences of her own disregard, but the rich and affluent were above those ramifications, weren’t they?

She’d thought so, and yet, there wasn’t a single person she’d asked ( that had entertained her presence ) with a lighter, let alone a match. And in moments like these, weed was the answer to Leo’s boredom, but it was one that required fire. 

For all the time she’d taken to prepare for the festivities, Leo had forgotten the most important thing. The more pragmatic part of her brain had suggested she distract herself with something less delinquent, though she’d tried and failed for the latter half of an hour— one could only feign interest for so long as someone’s grandfather went on a tirade about the proper tackle for ice fishing. Once the man got into the more logistical details, Leonora slowly walked away from the semi-circle and drifted towards some of the rooms on the other end of the venue.

It took three attempts to find a door that wasn’t locked and when the third knob turned in her hand she had to keep from celebrating then and there. While it felt like the entrance could lead her to some hidden sanctuary, time would prove that these things always led her to some form of perdition. She’d never had the best sense of foresight anyhow. 

Closing the door behind her, she’d busied herself with looking through whichever parts of the room could hold the things she was looking for. 

Tragically, a scan of half the room had been unsuccessful. There was nothing to be found on the bookshelves, or any of the smaller tables scattered around the room. A box of cigars was sitting on a bar cart, but, aside from all those other cigar accessories there was no lighter in sight. Even though she should have counter her losses and jointed the partygoers again, Leonora was a fool’s fool, making her way to the larger desk in the center of the room and rifling through its cabinets. 

Gleaming plastic catches her attention mere seconds before a voice breaks through the silence of the room— whoever it is nearly gives her a heart attack, and it’s a miracle she doesn’t scream into the aether. Health complications aside, the town pariah having her hand in some desk drawer at the Astoria was sure to kill what was left of her reputation. So, Leonora wraps her fingers around the piece of red plastic and raises it in the air, “just looking for a light, I’m sure the gods would understand.”

Her divulging would have to end there— weed was still illegal in West Virginia. 

The glitz and gold of the Astoria was far from what Jamie would’ve considered a party for the citizens of Gravewood. It was more of a retreat from reality. A small moment in time where anyone could pretend to be in another tax bracket. Jamie wasn’t so deluded to get comfortable in luxury when he’d learned an early lesson from Cinderella that the clock always struck twelve. 

Still, free was free and he was too far shameless to not capitalize on contraband. The refreshments table became his home as he picked through the offerings like a fancy connoisseur of fine party junkfood. Deviled eggs, pumpkin crostinis, sugar cookies, he crunched through a full-sized chocolate bar in one hand while sipping jungle juice in a wine glass. 

Reaching for what looked like the last sausage roll dressed up like a mummy, he brushed knuckles with another party-goer who looked to have the same idea as he. 

“Fuck off,” he said, swatting their hand aside and snatching the lone mummydog. Years of fighting with his siblings had taught him the rules of sniping food and he quickly shoved it into his mouth.

He glared at the other, cheeks pillowed with pastry before he realized who it was and swallowed the mouthful whole.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said, eyeing the elaborate garb donning Leo’s body. If he could’ve been more scorned, he would’ve, but the girl had Brutus outnumbered with how many knives she’d stuck into his back lately. “Don’t parties violate your terms of parole? Or have you licked Daddy’s boots enough to be granted pardon?”

@leoyoons·

* ∗ ⁎ ⟶

The wise proverbs of old had written some very poignant stuff before wasting away. If memory serves her well, one such man had philosophized that you could take the girl out of her little garbage bin, but you couldn’t take all the garbage out of the girl. And boy, had he been right; there was nothing about her that belonged beside the gilded glamour of the Astoria. 

At best she was a puzzle piece taken from another jigsaw, forced into a slot that was too tight, too sharp on her rounded edges. Or perhaps it was the opposite, perhaps her sharpened edges would scratch at the refinery of the hotel’s bubble. She could feign growth as much as she was able, but these people would never forget her misgivings..all the same, Leonora could still wrap herself in prepossessing things and pretend— she could make the most of her forced exile. 

If the fabric was courtesy of one discounted rack, and everything else was from a department store, it didn’t matter. If she’d gone and burned bridges with half or more of the people in attendance, it didn’t matter either. Little details like those should have had as much importance as the paint on the walls and it wasn’t like anyone would ask. Most of these people weren’t even speaking to her. 

Fuck it though, Leonora was desperate for a night away from her overbearing father. She was desperate for a change of pace; a captive audience; some better food. The hotel’s spread was enough to make up for all its other insufficiencies— and she’d been eyeing those little mummified pigs in their blankets for as long as she’d been loitering around the table. 

Since she’d collected the last bits of food on her plate, all but one piggy was left. She’s moving her dominant hand towards the meat stuffed pastry, without a shred regard of the person in her peripheral— the sting of skin on skin shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise then, indulgence tends to breed such consequence wherever she’s concerned. 

Regardless of it, the shock is there, verbalized all too dramatically as she pulls her hand away, eyebrows knit together in indignation, as she eyed Jamie, “fuck me, how could I forget about the probation? I’m not even wearing my ankle bracelet,” the words are drenched in sarcasm but no real venom, she’d never had any to throw at him. “You think they vetted my extensive, horrible, no good criminal record before letting me in? To mingle with the innocents like you, no less?”

daphne [ daphnaie ]

like the other dryads, they are the spirits of the trees and spend most of their time sleeping behind the bark. they only come out to dance when the coast is clear. they are named after daphne ( laurel ), one of the naiads who was plagued with unwanted advances until she cried to gaia for help. the earth mother took pity on her and turned daphne into a laurel tree.