talking deadly sin

BASICS.

full name: Marissa Reyes nickname(s): Mari, Mar-Mar, Risa d.o.b. / age: May 26, 1994 | 27 years old zodiac: Gemini ( ☼ ), Scorpio ( ☽ ), Sagittarius ( ↗ ) gender: Cis-Female pronouns: She / Her nationality: American ethnicity: ½ Caucasian and ½ Puerto Rican sexuality: Pansexual relationship status: Single hometown: Miami, Florida occupation: Licensed Professional Counselor children: None pets: Bowser (French Bull Dog) 

Though her everyday style was nothing short of comfortable and casual, consistently opting for hoodies, Nike’s and the like — when it came to events such as this, Sanem needed no instructions to do it up right. The dress code may have been semi-formal but she loved the gown she’d opted for, and glancing around the room, she wasn’t alone in that respect. Especially scoring one as beautiful for as far along as she was. Taking a sip of her sparkling water, dark hues peer over at Marissa with a smile. ❝ Not a bad one to have, though don’t worry too much, I mean technically the masks were a suggestion right and it goes without saying you still look incredible. ❞ Motioning to her overall attire. ❝ Also thank you, I was actually kinda surprised to find one that matched the dress pretty perfectly. ❞

If there was any one in town who never failed to hype her up when she least expected it, she knew she could always count on Sanem Reid. “I’m not surprised, just look at you, and not to be cliche’ but you really are absolutely glowing.” Marissa beamed in delight as she erred on the side of caution and chose not to place her hand on Sanem’s protruding belly. After the fiasco at her office with the dancer’s brother, Marissa knew better than to cause any type of suspicion. “Landon’s not here tonight is he?” The woman asked a bit nervously. “I don’t need him ripping apart my gift to you and the baby even though it’s sensible and you can never be without too many bibs and pacifiers.” 

Ivy felt like a fish out of water. She hadn’t willingly attended an event where she needed to wear a dress in years. Quite the contrary, she had worked endless magic to get out of them by any means necessary. But it was New Years Eve, and her little sister had plans, so she needed to have plans, too. So, the little ball it was. “Yeah, well, nothing like a little extra anonymity in a town where almost everyone knows each other,” Ivy joked. “Thank you, though.”

The therapist knew that Ivy had a point. For a town as small as Kings Head was, it wasn’t hard to learn people’s names or be on a first name basis with them unless you avoided them like the plague. But after her chance encounter with the blonde as they tried to decipher art, the rapport between the two was certainly amicable. Ivy was always good for a thrilling conversation. “You almost look like you’d rather have your teeth drilled in,” Marissa began with a giggle. “Drink? We can toast to new beginnings.” 

Though the invitation had said masks were encouraged, it appeared the residents of Kings Head Harbor jumped at any opportunity to follow dress code down to the very last detail. Unfortunately for Marissa she had dressed well enough, but had chosen to keep her identity out in the open rather than covered by an intricate mask. She reveled in the creativity until she found herself feeling out of place without one of her own. Stopping by the open bar, she ordered a cocktail, glancing over at the person beside her. “I’ll make my new years resolution to triple check dress codes on invitations better. Your mask is delightful though.” 

Ivy couldn’t help but snort at the woman’s comment. She couldn’t blame her, really. Ivy loved art, but those who consumed it could be a bit… much. To say the least. The painting in front of her was childlike, but not in a negative connotation. It held a care free feeling that left Ivy yearning for something similar. Ivy glanced over at the other woman, brow raised. “You seem pretty interested in the patrons over the art. Here to write a Buzzfeed article or something,” She teased. She had a point, though. The interpretations of all art were open for a reason. People found what they needed in pieces of art, and part of that happened to be Ivy looking for some youth that she felt she had missed out on. But, she wasn’t going to trauma dump on a perfect stranger. “Well, come on, something in this studio has to make you feel something. I’ll make an art appreciator out of you before you leave.”

Cataleya let out a laugh at the blonde’s comment about her interest in the patrons rather than the portraits that surrounded them. “You caught me red-handed.” She replied with a shrug. “I could by no means ever be a journalist. My calling is therapy and I think I’m pretty decent at it.” If there was anything she could do for herself it was serving herself a slice of humble pie. Though she had been in the thick of it even through a masters program, there was still plenty Cataleya had to learn when it came to human emotion, how one dealt with certain topics, it gave her a sense of duty. “Art therapy was an option but I never understood this half of it,” She continued, gesturing to their surroundings. “I’ll take your bait though, teach me your ways.” 

“If there isn’t at least three pool tables, a dart board, and no college football playing on the TV at any given moment, then fuck no it’s not a sports bar,” Skylar replied easily, having fun with the banter. Meeting someone that had a competitive streak that fed into her own was always a treat. And Cataleya was certainly a treat and a half. One she could shoot the breeze with any given night without expectation for more. The MLB lockout had her bored, leaving her with less work to do so she needed to entertain herself. “Sometimes it’s the ones you least expect,” she said while raising her glass to clink with the other woman’s own. My ex was like that, she almost revealed. But she knew to be careful now. “Meet you back here in fifteen.”

Fifteen minutes was the proposed time and Cataleya had no issue with utilizing it to her advantage. It was easy slipping into the role of someone with interest, putting into her intuition into play was what gave her the edge. The first two minutes she’d learned the brunette’s name, why she was alone, suddenly she was caught in her professional realm and losing the footing it would get to seal any type of deals, but her empathetic heart listened with vigor until she realized her time was up. She paid the brunette’s tab, wished her a good night with a smile and flowed back to Skylar at one of the standing tables. “Heartbreak City,” She said without missing a beat. “Did Poison Ivy budge?” She asked curiously. 

He goes to answer; his mouth agape as he contorts it into a grin. Lips stretching outwards as if attached by marionette strings. Joel would suppose both would do the best job. It would be over quickly. Even still, the response dissipates across his tongue, palms raising submissively in response. Silence felt easier - water over smooth rock. His humour was dark and twisted in the way that vines take root and grow overtime. It was born from a learned experience. If you wouldn’t laugh, you’d surely cry. It was an element that devised opinion; where one could love it, another could just as surely hate. Concern etching itself into the furrowed brows of those who knew him deeply.            “Then you’d think back fondly,” he muses, a hint of teeth peeking out between his lips. Her words held enough weight to him that he pondered each one individually. Something existed within him that lit up like a warning. But Joel never was one to heed them. Instead, he distorts his proposition, opts to allow her to consider another angle. The one that reared its head in the moments he truly believed his old life was barely out of reach. “You’re right. There’s also the fact that losing my therapist means I might also lose out on getting my job back. Doesn’t really look too good on record.” His rough hands clasp together; his fingers toying with a plain ring he’d had since his father. “Answer me this, Doc. Honestly. No bullshit. Let’s say you’re in a position where you could be facing serious jail time. I’m talking upwards fifteen years. You need a lawyer. Would you bet your future on the drunk?” He knew his past would haunt him. It was much less a scratch and more of a scar. “I know what I’d answer. And, if your answer’s also a no, then we might as well just crack the bottle open right ‘ere.”

His grin nearly matched the energy of her own, and it became apparent to Cataleya that while she thought this was going to be an open and shut case, it was proving to be far from that. The silence fell over them and she sits in it patiently, willing the time and the air to change, but instead of unease, she found herself looking over at Joel with equal curiosity, some form of understanding. As much as he would have loved to call it quits and seek out his vice, there were stipulations. Hers just happened to be on a different tier then his own. “So that’s what the court order is for isn’t it? Getting straight and narrow with a slap on the wrist, while they threaten you with something you could stand to lose.” The rest of her statement comes off not in a questioning manner but rather in a careful way where she hoped to have sank her teeth into at least one of the bare plush layers of it all. Joel himself seemed like he had valleys that would need extra prodding to bring to surface and for that, she was delighted. It’s why his question intrigued her even more, she gently draped one leg over her other leg to reposition her seat as she thought of how to respond. “Something can stain someone’s foundation but it doesn’t take away from the overall purpose, don’t you agree?” Cataleya began. “If I’m in danger of that much jail time and my lawyer was a drunkard by night but --” She snapped her fingers in this moment. “Turned it on when I needed them, and was damn good at it, then surely I would choose them over a collared colleague who looks great on paper, but would sooner throw me under the bus rather than help my cause. It’s circumstantial, our intentions may not always align with the moral code or what society would make us choose to believe, but if the compass aligns with your greener area rather than the gray, wouldn’t you beat your future on that?” 

A morbid curiosity always sent Ivy to Evergreen Brush. The people out front didn’t know her, and the the people who displayed her work knew better than to say anything to her with anyone else present. She had made it clear that she didn’t want anyone to know who she was or what she did. It was easier for everyone that way, but Ivy still found herself visiting to see if she could gauge what people thought of her work. Sometimes it did wonders for her confidence, most of the time, her artistic spirit felt crushed seeing no one offering her work a second glance. But, at least it gave her some sense of clarity on the fact that she couldn’t do this for a living. A passing hobby was better for her. She sat adjacent to her latest work, staring at a painting she was still trying to decipher, when the benched creaked under the weight of a second body. “Confusion is always okay,” Ivy confirmed, “There’s a lot of feelings that can come with art, confusion being one of them.” Another sniffle and sob from the woman in question. “Emotional breakdowns being another. You just have to find what speaks to you.”

Cataleya eyed the visceral reaction from the other woman that stood just beyond where the two women were sitting. Of all the times she’d studied people whether they knew it or not, this particular situation was certainly jarring. “Huh, I wonder if that’s why I trusted my gut not to get into art therapy?” The therapist found herself asking softly, just loud enough so the blonde could hear in. “Either which way,” Her eyes were drawn back to the canvas in question, there were certainly questions that brewed in her mind, but it was more so to know what the artist was thinking at the time they were making the painting. “It’s funny how works of art have so much to say without saying a word, and yet depictions may just be whatever the recipient in question needs to hear or know at the moment. “ What spoke to her presently? She needed time to kill, and this was an interesting case study in itself. 

“It’s no cyanide,” he responds. The corner of his lips ascending momentarily. Amusement dispersing almost as quickly as it arrives. He observes her as she speaks, dissects the angles of her face, the plumpness of her lips. What a cruel fate to be subjected to. Joel wonders if irony would not be too hard to find.            “A little while. I guess a few years would make it permanent. Don’t really have plans on changing that either. Well, unless he kills me in my sleep. There’s always the chance.” One would suppose his closest friends had considered it at least once. He knew strangers had on more than one occasion. His ability to find himself amongst an irate rabble was almost impressive. “Occasionally. I’m not some moron though. He thinks I don’t notice those pathetic observations. Means I just keep most of my drinking in bars. The more gigs I do, the more giving they are with the liquor. Keeps the both of us happy.”           His feet descend towards the floorboard as he leans inwards, elbows supported across his thighs. “Listen, Sweet, no one wants to sit here and hear me drone on about how my mother never loved me or how I’ll likely never make it to my forties. So, how about we just skip this part? There’s a bar down the street and I like to think I’m not completely shit company.”

There it was. Each word that fell from his mouth, strewn with the accent of his mother tongue, one that Cataleya had to keep herself at bay at, mainly because she was a sucker for accents. His, though strong, was still discernable, or maybe he was just speaking eloquently enough for her to follow. “Which one kills you faster?” She found herself asking, before she picked her pen up once more. “Trick question, Joel, you don’t have to answer that.” She laughed softly then, as her eyes drew back to view him. She listened as he explained that he’d been crashing on this friends couch for years, that he had gigs that he attended to that let him stay in partnership with his vice which was clearly alcohol. This meeting was court-mandated and yet he still had the urgency to seek out said vice and take her along with him. Ethics be damned, she had half the mind to agree, but with a saccharine smile, she politely said, “Then what would I do if something happened if I said yes?” She let the question sit in the air between them for a couple of moments. “Besides, I’m equipped to deal with the droning, in fact, I’m more than interested to hear your side of it. And if we were to meet outside of here, well, you’d stand the shot of losing out on one on one time with me like this.” 

The room is textbook - exactly as he’d imagined it. He’d suppose creativity wasn’t commonplace within a world such as this. Brimming with neutral tones, nothing too easily thrown for the more animated clients. Her greeting lures his attentions away from four corners, the softness to her features prompting him to exhale. An exasperated sigh.        “Call me Joel. Derby sounds too professional for my liking, sweet.” His response doesn’t miss a beat, as if he’s recited that same statement countlessly over the years. Her words are warm - adds purpose to her profession - though he opts for the former; perching comfortably on a small couch, his feet supported on the coffee table between them. “Trust me, Doc, this wasn’t my choice. If this was my choice, I’d be two bottles deep.” Joel wonders if alcoholism exists within his file in bold - or if it’s an aspect she’ll uncover soon enough. “I’m also positive this might be some sort of sick joke. When I was told I had to talk to someone, I expected a balding man in his fifties.” The encouragement was unnecessary. He grows curious to know how often she’d mimicked those same words. He wonders about the complexities of her clients. “Start with my day…” there’s a swelling pause, a moment to ponder. Joel isn’t one to wear his heart on his sleeve; he holds it far too tightly, constricting it like a serpent’s tail. “I start each day on my mate’s fuckin’ couch. That’s pretty shit.” 

“Joel,” She repeats without missing a beat, writing down his preference for the next session, if there is a next time. Cataleya then went down the lines of the paperwork seeing something underlined that said this was court-ordered, things were always messy when it came to legality, but Joel was a hard book to judge as of now. Usually she could get a decent first impression, but from how he was now, she deduced there was a brashness to him, his accent held a background that she felt delighted to go into whenever he was ready, but his eyes that drifted to the neutral wall tones behind her, it was heavy. “Two bottles deep, that’s your poison then?” She replied without missing yet another beat. It’s a simple question and one that does not warrant judgement. 

She offered him a giggle as her eyes raise up slightly. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I come from a long line of women who have luscious hair, my youth I’ll cling onto for as long as I can.” And that was enough about her. Attention turned back to what Joel was willing to share at first, starting his day on his friend’s couch it seemed. “How long have you been boarding with him? Is this a temporary situation?” She asked as she placed her pen down to give Joel her full attention. “Do you drink while you’re there?” 

“Mr. Derby, is it?” Cataleya said freely as the man entered her office. “Take a seat anywhere, or stand if you’d like, whatever you feel comfortable with. His intake form had bit a little out of sorts, a bunch of scribbles or illegible words that she couldn’t quite make out, but mostly everyone who made it through the threshold of her door had a story to tell and she was sure that this man would get to it when he felt ready to. She took a steady breath in and exhaled out calmly as she pressed the top of her pen to her bottom lip. “I was only able to make out that this is a first time thing for you, so I’ll start off by saying that this is a major step, not an easy one in the least.” She looked over at him once more, eyes locked onto his own. “You don’t have to start from the beginning, you can even just start with your day, any grievances as of late?” 

“Woman, it was a sports bar,” Skylar retorted, raising an eyebrow in judgment. Big time judgment. “Well, no shit. I knew right away just ‘cos he was bragging.” Shivers went down her spine at what she heard that night. “People that are all tell do not show, in my experience.” Deft fingers held on the straw, stirring around her drink. She never did well staying still, preferring to be on the go. “Mm, sure did. That’s why they call it… a surprise. Just so you wait and see. And don’t think you’re getting it out of me because you’re not.”  Her attention turned to a redhead feigning interest on the football game playing on a nearby television screen, eyes filling with mischievous glee. “She looks shy.”

“Any bar that has a bunch of hanging televisions and rowdy yelling is a sports bar to me I don’t know what you mean!” Cataleya continued. Mainly to save herself once again from the hindsight judgement, she hadn’t caught wind about the bragging until after she had to admit defeat for her wrong pick via text to the woman beside her. Either which way, no matter how the night ended they always considered it a win. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before she eyed up the redhead that Skylar had clearly set her visual claws into. Something about the woman screamed innocent, but Cataleya was on the side of weary, perhaps that was all for appearances. “You spotted her so you get the first pull,” She said with a chuckle. “I’ll make my way over to that brunette over there,” She pointed out on the other side of the bar.

The days she could simply sit around on park benches or outdoor cafe tables were long gone now that summer had been properly buried. Now, in between clients, and if she had a supremely big allotted amount of time where appointments were either cancelled or rescheduled to a different date, Cataleya wanted to keep her mind sharp, and to let her eyes gaze on the walks of life that made it through the art gallery doors. There seemed to be some type of exhibit, one that was supposed to illicit feelings but what kind she wasn’t sure? She carefully walked through the space seeing a myriad of people who went from sobbing to laughing hysterically, to looking completely confused (which was right about where the therapist stood with it all), to some looking out of place and forlorn. She chose the nearest bench she could sit upon in front of a painting that was plastered with an array of colors, the shadow and possible outline of figures or maybe animals were on the canvas. She sighed thoughtfully as her gaze fell to the person beside her. “The pamphlet doesn’t say what to feel but is confusion still fine because I’m not sure why that lady over there is crying for dear life.” 

a short and sweet starter for @cataleya-zarrin​

—

“I swear to God, if you lay your eyes on another beige Chris looking motherfucker, I will shank you,” Skylar grumbled out toward the other woman, drinking her old Manhattan from a tiny black straw. Studious eyes scanned the crowd, pondering possibilities, seeking challenges. “We should up the ante tonight. I’ve already booked a room nearby and put in a few delightful surprises in the nightstand…”

“The lighting in that bar you dragged us too made the guy look like Chris Evans,” Cataleya pleaded with a feigned sort of annoyance. “If that was the justice he could do for America though, we’re doomed.” She concluded, recalling that while she did go home with her allotted target the poor sap not only did not deliver but ended up sobbing halfway through the romp. It was poor judgment call on Cataleya’s end, beer goggles and all. She sipped on her martini then, eye brow raising at Skylar’s proposition. “You went without me kitten?” She pouted slightly. “I only ask that I get first look.” 

“You telling me you don’t down the bag in less than fifteen seconds?” Caleb questioned with a teasing tilt to his tone, unsure if he even used the right word as it felt out of place. But he was having fun with the conversation so he wasn’t pressed to care… much. Wiping the rest of the Pepsi on his neck with a final swoosh, he jogged to a nearby trash can to throw them away before rushing back. “God, me too,” he said with a wistful sigh, “I’m tired of sleeping all day.” His voice was low, quiet, and he quickly realized it after the fact, so he quickly straightened out his shoulders to appear jolly and alert. “Oh no no no no…  God no. It’s not my only slice of happiness. I’m meeting a mad cool kickass woman who humours me for some reason,  so… I got that going for me and that’s nice.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever downed anything in fifteen seconds,” Cataleya said a bit apprehensive. “Wait, no, that’s a lie. Definitely shots, but if that ever takes more than five seconds I would assume they’re jello.” By his tone she could tell he was teasing, so she opted to return the same sentiment while laughing softly. When it seemed he’d gotten it together enough, Cataleya looked at her watch and saw she still had ample time to get back to the office. “Where are you headed? Do you wanna escort this kickass woman who’s humoring you back to my building?” She said, “And maybe once we’re not strangers, that’ll level us up a bit wouldn’t it? I’m Cataleya.”