grit your teeth.

❝Yeah? I'm pretty shit at finding anything,❞ Call it bad memory or negligence or what have you. ❝I mean, if I was desperate enough, I could let myself in,❞ They certainly weren't opposed to breaking locks or windows to get in somewhere, but that didn't mean they were ready to go that extra step just yet. ❝But I'd still like to have my keys. Not having them is an inconvenience more than anything,❞ The key to her job's safe was on there, for instance. Strangers passing by wouldn't know that, but if her boss found out, she could only imagine she'd be fired. Again.

If Daisy had heard something about her lately, she was pretty good at playing it off, which Briar was all the more thankful for. The last thing she needed was questions or accusations. Here, at the Doll House, she was just a showgirl and nothing more. "Thank you so much!" she said with a wide smile, always happy to receive compliments. When she started talking about the cook, she knitted her eyebrows together and put on her best listening face, as if she were truly bothered by the lack of service at this place. Honestly, she wasn't quite sure what the other was expecting. At the end of the day, this was a night club, not a fine dining restaurant.

But they were good at reading energies.

It sometimes took a little while for her to pick up on anything useful, but the more their conversation with Briar continued, the more Daisy realized she was missing a puzzle piece. Was there some kind of memo that she didn't get? Something about Briar's smile - too wide, or her eyes, too bright. Daisy's lips purse, deciding to not confront anything. Not just yet. She didn't like getting herself involved if she didn't have to.

❝Damn, I think last time I was here the food was good. It's a shame when a place can't keep good cooks. I wonder where they transferred to? Or maybe it's the supplier, and the cooks are equally pissed off...❞ She'd spent a summer working at a mom-and-pop diner and had seen the head chef go in on their supplier contact when brands had changed without authorization. ❝McDonalds is always a lifesaver for something quick to eat after the bar,❞ She agreed. ❝Ugh, I hate being asked that. How are you? How's the family? Still no kids or boyfriend?❞ It reminded her of the small talk some of her foster families tried to push - the ones who'd attempted to stay in touch. ❝The highlight of my day would be if I got dinner for free,❞ They admitted. ❝Whatever's got you so twitchy is much more interesting, I'm sure.❞

MAKING A QUICK TRIP DOWN TO THE FUNERAL HOME on her day off wasn't at the top of Farah's list of things she exactly wanted to do that day, but when a family was asking for more makeup on their dearly departed grandmother, she wasn't about to throw one of the other workers under the bus—especially not when she trusted her own hand with the pencil eyeliner over anyone else's. Grabbing a quick coffee and greasy sandwich on her walk back, platform boots came to a halt a few feet away from the front doors of the apartment complex, taking in the scene before her. "Have ya tried just going down the entire list of apartments and buzzing every single one? Can't believe no one hasn't let ya in if ya lied 'bout having a pizza delivery. Although I might'a used that one too many times so now no one believes it anymore 'less they placed the order themself. I have a pretty bad habit of forgetting my keys." Taking an egregious bite of the egg sandwich in her hand, she dug through the large cheetah-print tote hanging from her shoulder, saying around crumbs, "Good thing it wasn't this time or we'd both be kinda shit out of luck, huh? What's with the barefeet? You know you're gonna get athlete's foot that way, or like, something even worse like some kinda fungus or warts. Ringworm's a bitch. I've seen some of the nastiest feet come into the morgue lately." Finally finding the key fob amongst all else that was shoved in a mess in her bag, she held it up to the door when it finally unlatched with a click, unfazed by her own constant, mindless chatter.

At least she wasn't stuck out there for long this time.

❝I think I lost them while I was out at Dead Man's Fingers,❞ They realized. ❝I remember why I never fucking wear heels,❞ They had gone with her outfit, but within ten minutes of being at the venue, the balls of their feet had begun to ache. ❝I've probably walked through worse,❞ She shrugged. Daisy did like being barefoot - who needed shoes, anyway? A more rational mind would understand the dangers of broken glass, though Daisy did not consider herself to be a rational being. ❝Well...foot ringworm does sound...nasty...you don't think I actually have that, do you?❞ Not that she was a health nut, but the thought of her feet itching and peeling didn't sound like fun. ❝How do I fix that?❞

While it was pretty rare for Celeste and Soleil to not be on the same shift, it happened every once in a while and tonight was one of those nights. She'd gotten off late, having been put on a closing shift. Honestly, she wasn't even sure why her boss bothered making her close anyways. She didn't mind it, really, though she didn't feel like she was very good at it. Usually, closers were meticulous and organized and in to be quite frank, she just didn't care that much--not in a bad way, of course, but it just wasn't the most important thing to her. She'd rather get home quick so she could cuddle up with Maehwa, their snow leopard (don't tell their landlord), instead of double checking to make sure everything was in tip-top shape for tomorrow's shift. The world would continue to revolve whether or not the salt and pepper shakers were all emptied and washed.

Celeste is still kind enough to open the door, unlike some of their other neighbors - Daisy means you Mr. Johansson, aka the older gentleman who had complained too much to the front desk about Daisy's disruptive behaviors. The air conditioning was a welcomed relief. ❝Yes, I lost my keys,❞ They sighed. ❝You didn't find any in the parking lot, did you?❞ Maybe they'd dropped out of her hands when she was getting out of the taxi. She hoped they hadn't been dropped while in the taxi. ❝I don't have any pockets.❞ Well, they had their oversized leather jacket, but in their scrambling to get in and out of the car, they'd forgotten.

structure was necessary. prediction allowed control, the upper hand. in las vegas systems did not fail loudly. they degraded through unaccounted variables. he remained aware of them, or he didn’t remain at all. 

he doesn’t contest nor correct her optimism, rather listens. allowing her words to exist in his proximity. 

a sigh leaves him in a mixture of mirth and fatigue  “i hardly ever swear on pinkies.” no. his business thrived more in contracts and enforceable agreements, backed or otherwise. he knew better than to take someone at their word, nevertheless a pinky. yet he concedes, “i’ll do what i can to inform you of future leather acquisitions.” pinky lifts, not quite trust, since it is not immediately met with hers. it lingers, and awaits licit binding.

“and now you’re attributing responsibility to cosmic intent” his gaze lifts to the stars above him, as if confirming the absence of logic, but he only tracks the absence of anything useful. light pollution erases what otherwise could have been useful reference points.

if this is what the universe planned for him, a break from his schemes, a night of improvisation, reckless abandon… it was poorly shaped.

a small exhale through his nose. then—unexpected. a breach from the respiratory system of which he’s seemingly lost control. the laughter is almost disowned the moment it left him.

her imitation, apparently, qualifies as something worth reacting to, something amusing. “that sounds like you plan to watch closely.”

he is unsure if he’s welcoming of her gaze fixed on him, but when his own settles on her, it holds. he doesn’t respond to the internal misfire when their eyes meet. logs it as irregularity, along with the pressure he feels and the complete lack of resistance he is capable of applying. he ignores its relevance. 

“one loop, okay. if i fall, we fall because i’m taking you down with me, and then i’m leaving before you resort to something else that is legally inconvenient, debauched in nature or morally compromising .” 

Not that they imagined Sid would actually do that.

Just like they don't picture Sid returning her pinky-promise. Their brows raise with his pinky, but when he lingers, her anticipation turns into a profound huff. ❝Don't be such a square, Siddy.❞

She was beginning to grow restless with his word games. ❝Cosmic intent, blah blah blah,❞ Eyes roll again. Smoke drags, then exhales through her nose. The cigarette is dying between her fingers, which means its nearly time to head back in. ❝I won't be falling,❞ They corrected. ❝I'm already starting to get bored. If you won't come in with me soon, then I'll make you swindle the prize counter into giving me the biggest stuffed bear they have. You know, lighting a fire in the bathroom is a great way to empty a building if you want to nab something with no one looking,❞ They wink. ❝Now, what size shoe do you wear?❞

Though she'd only been working at Waffle Cottage for about a month, Romi really felt like she'd found her groove and even though it was far more down and dirty than she was used to, she couldn't help but feel at least a little proud of herself for making it this far on her own. At least this progress was hers and hers alone, no matter how unglamorous it may be. And while she didn't love working the night shift, she found herself sleepless many nights anyways so she figured it couldn't hurt. The only way she could really fall asleep was if she was dog-tired so it all worked out.

She gave a small smile when she saw one of her regulars, Daisy, walk in. Funnily enough, Daisy worked for the Vitellis--the brunette had recognized her the moment they'd first met. Had she recognized her as Romi Weiss, youngest daughter of mob boss, William Peter Weiss, essentially a former enemy, in return? If she had, she hadn't said anything and Romi was grateful for that. It would seemed they'd struck up a sort of friendship between one another. Daisy's words stroked her ego--damn right she was their favorite cook.

Plausible deniability was one of their strongest defenses.

They knew that Romi, her favorite Waffle Cottage cook, was someone important. Had a past. They didn't dig any further beyond that. What line cook didn't? It wasn't any of her business, so Daisy didn't care, not until it interfered with the stack of pancakes on her plate.

❝I guess I'll have to keep the jack daniels for myself then, unless you want to treat any of the other cooks with it,❞ They shrugged. She knew the benefit in tipping her server well and wouldn't forget about any of the cooks in the back. She takes a seat in the booth, then props her chin against her fists. ❝Tell me,❞ She smiles, ❝What's the craziest customer you've had in here today?❞

kansas + ??? : may 4, early morning @ jeff's joe @boneyardstarters

After spending her college years in the local coffee shop from the moment it opened to closing time, however, Opal had gotten herself hooked on the stuff. Coffee had become part of her morning routine - which had been disrupted that particular morning when her coffeepot at home wouldn't turn on.

She had made her way to Jeff's Joe ( and chuckled at the silly name ), but hadn't thought she'd be accosted on her way to the counter. ❝What is it with people in this city and just yelling at other people?❞ The question was posed as a joke, but a small part of Opal meant it. This was, what, the second time within a week that someone had screamed near her? ❝I'll sit, but I can order my own, thanks,❞ She flagged down the waitress and ordered standard drip coffee. ❝Was it a...good email or a bad one? If you don't mind me asking. I feel like all I get are those chain mail ones. If you don't forward this to ten people, my ghost will break in and skin you alive. You know, those ones that try to scare you. What's even the point of those?❞

“well… not as often as i probably should,” he admits, a small, careful smile flickering in. “it usually helps. just… not when there’s people around.” he hesitates, then adds, a little quieter—trying to soften it rather than joke: “i mean… i don’t really mind looking like a weirdo if it’s just me by myself. i really am sorry i frightened you.”

a beat passes. his nerves settling a little more now that he’s seemingly forgiven. he agrees to her comment about the heat too with a slight nod. then, after a pause, like he’s deciding whether to offer it at all:  “i brought snacks,” he adds. “if you want some. just pretzels and green apple slices… and a fruitopia. i’ve got an extra.”

he opens his pack a little slower than necessary—giving her time to opt in or out without pressure.

❝You know, there's a lot of trails that people don't frequent. You just have to know how to find them. And...be prepared to hike a little,❞ She said. Still getting her footing in Vegas herself, Opal hadn't yet embarked on such an adventure, though it was only a matter of time before she wanted to really disconnect from the world and needed to disappear into the landscape for a few days.

❝Are you more into hiking, or just the screaming part?❞ She asked. Maybe the shouting from the cliffs was just an added bonus for him.

Taking an interest in his offer, Opal's gaze drifts towards his pack. ❝No Fruitopia, just a little too sugary for my tastes,❞ She explained. ❝I guess I'll take some apple slices...I have a few carrots and celery sticks, if you'd like, too?❞

She always made sure to lock her trailer door, since coming to Las Vegas.

❝I'll take reliable over this scam,❞ She sighed. ❝I'm pretty good at directions, but I wouldn't mind the company, either. You can totally say no...but I could use the help with carrying one of my laundry bags?❞ She asked. ❝The last thing I want would be to tear a hole and lose one of my favorite shirts because the bag got a little too heavy...❞

❝I'm looking for something, anything, better than the muzak that's playing in my store right now,❞ They complained. ❝Something with more of a beat to it. Preferably louder than four dryers running at once. What do you recommend?❞

date: late april

@moonlessmines

Briar was falling back into her normal routine--or at least, she was trying her best to. Knowing that Francisco was allegedly alive and well and 'resting' in the privacy of his own home certainly made her feel on edge. Would the Vitellis come after her for what she'd done? Would her father be enough to protect her? And if they did come for her, would the Weisses actually protect her like they'd promised? Per usual, her mind was spinning but she kept it all behind her smile. The past few months now, she'd tried to get the hell out of dodge as soon as her show ended but this time, she figured it couldn't hurt to get a drink at the bar before she left, like the used to. After all, she hadn't had any run-ins lately. As she made her way out of the dressing room, her mind continued to wander. Did the Vitellis know it was her that had tried to take out Francisco? She was pretty certain they did. But maybe enough time had passed where they'd just...forget about it and move on. Right?...

So they don't question Briar when she freezes. She doesn't need to know, it's not her business. ❝That was you up there, wasn't it!❞ They remark. ❝It's been a little while since I've stopped by here, so I thought I'd come around to catch whatever new acts. You do have a good voice. My bone to pick is with the cook. Or whoever is running food. It was cold by the time it got to my table,❞ They sighed. ❝And I couldn't even find anyone to make a complaint to,❞ They'd been hoping to get their meal comped for it. ❝You wouldn't happen to have an in for me, would you?❞

she remained a puzzle he had not yet come to understand.

“unsure if you’ve finally admitted to your stubbornness.” he shifted—not away, but closer in range. “or if you default to contradiction when presented with structure.” —spoken as though it were not an accusation at all, only something he had become all too aware of.

the second cigarette drew his attention next—not the object itself, but the implication it carried. something about her tone did not sit well with him, “i don’t have any more vintage leather to offer up—if that’s what you’re asking.”

fluid in his motions, the lighter she'd handed over sparked. he leaned just enough to meet her where she stood, lighting it without hesitation. eyes fixated at that spot on her lips until the cigarette caught. ember budded in a color resembling overripe persimmons. he watched it take as if he were one of those gnats...

“irrelevant,” he added, giving her space back. “even if i did.”

then, without asking, he took the cigarette from her—directly from her lips—drew once, long and steady. inhaled. then let the smoke settle, before exhaling slowly. he takes his time before holding it back out to her, as though it had always been part of the exchange.

the second cigarette remained unaddressed. line of sight follows hers, "you're not seriously suggesting..."

They understood the appeal of something tangible, of knowing what you were going to do every day, but Daisy took joy in rejecting all of that. They allowed themself to be influenced by their own whims over any designated truth. ❝The world is a walking contradiction. We’re all just animals at the end of the day. I’m not trying to sort out the intricacies of animal instinct. But you will let me know of anymore genuine leather that drops by, right? Pinky swear?❞

She holds up her pinky in the midst of their smoke that intermingled in the space between the pair. They were glad that Sid had crossed their path that night, even if he was only there on whatever business of his. He didn’t offer and she didn’t ask. They’d learned long ago that, more often than not, it was better that way. ❝I never kid about roller skating, and I don’t believe in coincidence. The universe wanted you to come skate with me here tonight. Just one loop around the rink. I can’t promise I won’t laugh if you fall on your arse.❞

“It was Elvis impersonation night at the Rivera.” Lacey tells the little old lady watching him after he placed his order for pizza. He gives her a gentle nod before grabbing his drink and heading towards an open table. He could feel the woman's eyes still on him as he takes a seat at table.

But he ignores it and forces himself to not stare at her back. Lacey didn't like being spotted with his hair still styled as Elvis. He wasn't sure if he was doing it right. He was having fun though pretending to be "human" for a second despite wanting to rip everyone's throats out. He controlled himself and was a good vampire who worked hard to be normal like the ones around him. He must have been doing it right since he got many compliments from other Elvis impersonators. Which was fine because as far as he knew, they weren't cats and his secret was safe with Lacey. It's kind of funny how a vampire is scared of getting caught performing as Elvis rather than drink blood from someone.

He sighs as he finally looks around the rest of the restaurant, taking a look at who's about. It's then that he finally sees that he sat at a table already occupied by another person. "Please ignore how I look. I can only take one person staring at me 'cause of how I'm dressed." He's pretty sure the person has more important things to worry about. But yet he still finds himself wanting to strike up a conversation. "Do you like pineapple on pizza?"

But there was no denying its cheapness, quickness, or the occasional craving for nothing else but bread and dripping, oozing golden cheese. She'd elected to sit in one of the booths of Pizza Overlord than bringing the pie back to her RV - better to avoid the pizza smell lingering for the days that followed. A book borrowed from the library keeps a careful distance away to avoid grease stains; the librarians wouldn't let Opal hear the end of it if she'd damaged a book.

The voice catches her attention - her nose had been shoved between the pages and her shoulders hunched down, she was surprised that anyone had even seen her sitting there. ❝Oh. Uh...I won't ask, then?❞ Though she couldn't help that her eyes still lingered over the pompadour hair style. She knew there were stranger things that existed in Las Vegas, but how often did Elvis walk into a pizza place? A better comedian would have been able to find a clever joke in there somewhere.

❝Pineapple on pizza? I don't think I've ever tried it before,❞ She admitted. Her head nods toward the pizza tray on her booth. ❝I'm more of a cheese, basil, and fresh sliced tomatoes myself,❞ She sticks her bookmark in place. ❝Are you, like, looking for recommendations or something?❞

date: late april, noon

@moonlessmines

Having worked the night shift at Waffle Cottage the night before, Sleeping Beauty hadn't gotten her ass up until about noon. To be frank, this 'new life' of hers was kicking her ass and if she could have it her way, she would be back in her lux apartment--still sleeping in until noon, to be clear--but instead of an old couch, she'd be in her king-size bed, buried amongst the pillows and the soft comforter. But instead she was here, in the Shady Dell RV Park, lighting up outside in the front 'yard.' It certainly wasn't the life she'd pictured for herself, that was for sure. But at least it was hers.

If this were the future, Opal may have been labeled as one of those van-lifers who made Youtube content and blogged about their experience of renovating and then living in their van, but this was 1997 and not yet the twenty-first century.

She liked making nice with her neighbors - they maybe didn't share walls the way neighbors in an apartment complex might, but they were all so tightly packed in the trailer park that it was impossible to not overhear and overlap with those nearby. She waves back at her cigarette smoking neighbor - Opal hates the smell but doesn't look for a fight in asking the other to snuff it out. Instead, she calls, ❝Hey, do you happen to know if you've gotten any of my mail recently? I've got some test results I've been waiting for, but I haven't gotten anything back yet.❞

he glanced toward the crate she’d indicated, then back to her with a faint, whimsical tilt to his expression.

“still… it doesn’t belong in here, does it? poor thing’s probably more confused than we are.” they shifted their weight, silver rings catching the light as they adjusted the stack of records under their arm. “would you like me to take a look? i’m pretty good at coaxing strange things out of places they shouldn’t be.”

Although after spending time in caves and mines had worn off any shock of coming across bugs and insects, it didn't mean that Opal didn't know how dangerous they could be. She didn't want to get close to anything that stung or bit or hiss if she had to. ❝I just don't want it to get frightened and hurt anyone,❞ She insisted. ❝Would you mind taking a look? Do you need like, a plastic cup or something to scoop it out?❞