𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖆𝖘 🛠️

"Okay." She said, quietly, as she fell in step beside him on the sidewalk. Freyja wrapped her arms around herself, as if trying to comfort herself as they walked next to one another. Her cheeks flared with heat, not meaning to. But it had been so long since she'd been near him. And being this close to him... well, it brought up memories of when they were closer, once.

"I... I don't know where to start." She admitted to him, her eyes shifting to look towards him. "What would you like to know or... to ask?"

They walked in silence for a few paces. The kind of silence that didn’t press for words but wrapped around them like fog — thick and hard to see through. Matthias stared ahead, jaw tight, hands deep in his jacket pockets, like maybe if he clenched them hard enough he could keep from saying what he knew was coming. “I think I already know,” he said, voice low but steady. His steps slowed, then stopped altogether. The sidewalk stretched out quiet around them, the night cold and still. He turned toward her, the woman he thought he’d never see again. The woman he once planned to build a future with. The woman he’d mourned. The woman he still hadn’t let go of. “The second I found out it was you... something in me just knew.” He let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t want to believe it, but I didn’t have to ask either. I know you. Or at least — I did. And the woman I knew wouldn’t have done something like that out of malice. Not without a reason. A real one.” He paused there, tension flickering at the edges of his expression. “I know my family too,” he added, softer now. “I know what they could be like when they were afraid. What they were willing to do if they thought they were protecting something. Or just keeping control.” His gaze dropped, then lifted again slowly. “If it had gone the other way — if you were the one who died and they were the reason — I don’t think I could’ve forgiven them. I really don’t. But with you…” His throat worked as if he might say more, but the words didn’t come right away. “With you, I think I can. Not yet. But... in time, I hope.” A beat passed. “I keep wondering if I could’ve stopped it. If I’d told them about you from the start — been honest with them, the way I was with you — maybe I could’ve convinced them to accept it. To accept you. Or maybe not. Maybe I’m just trying to convince myself of the impossible.” His jaw clenched again, something bitter pressing against the edge of his voice. “Not that it matters anymore. They’re gone.” He looked back at her then — his gaze sharp, but not cruel. Just clear. Honest. “So no, I’m not asking why you did it. I just… need to hear it from you. I need to know what happened, in your own words.”

open: to all

There's a clap when the cueball strikes the stack, splitting the colored balls up and sending them all scattering across the green felt of the table. She misses her first shot. Third. Sixth. Tenth. She loses.

She's almost as short as the pool cue, and cuts a pretty pathetic figure as she leans on the thing like an old wizened man leaning on his staff as she watches her opponent rack the balls. With the speed of a whip-crack she reaches into her pocket, pulls out another fold of paper money and slaps it on top of the rail. "Double? C'mon man give me a shot to win my money back, rent's due."

Hook line sinker when they nod.

She watches the balls break apart, studies where they land. Her head does the math - always good at math, she's been.

Her go; she misses her first shot - it almost looks like her arms are too short. When her turn comes around again, though, there's another round of chuckles from the peanut gallery because it looks a little pitiful, the way she has to clamber onto the table like a damn tree-frog to line up a shot. But then she pulls the trigger. One ball in. Two on the next shot. Third, Fourth, Fifth. The cue ball hits seven in and it spins backwards, tipping six just over the edge.

The eight-ball is easy. Direct hit, side pocket.

Game set match.

After she bails on the table, she sidles into a booth with a plate of bar food financed by her ill-gotten gains - its a lot of food, and it looks comical in front of her as she starts wolfing it all down.

Matthias had been nursing a whiskey at the bar, half-watching the game unfold with mild amusement. At first, it was almost painful to watch— miss after miss, like she’d never held a damn cue in her life. He wasn’t the only one cringing, the peanut gallery surrounding him were murmuring bets under their breath. And then she flipped the script. Shot after shot, clearing the table like she’d done it a hundred times before. He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. Classic hustle. Now, as she sat with a mountain of bar food in front of her, tearing into it like a starved wolf, Matthias couldn’t help himself. He slid into the booth across from her, smirking as he rested his forearms on the table. “You know,” he mused, “I’ve seen some solid cons in my time, but that was art.” He nodded toward her plate. “What’s the going rate for a lesson? Or is it just the poor suckers who pay up?” His tone was light, teasing— more entertained than anything else. Though, judging by the way she was inhaling that food, he made a mental note to keep his hands well out of reach.

When he said her name, her stomach flipped; heat pressing against her cheeks and she was suddenly glad that they were standing in the dark with only small amounts of light so that he couldn't see the way she reacted to it.

"I... I mean, I think we should talk but do you even want to, Matthias?" Freyja asked, her voice cracking slightly. She didn't want to force him. She didn't want him to feel like he had to because they'd run into each other again. "I want to talk to you. So bad. But I don't want you to feel like you have to if you're not ready."

Matthias exhaled slowly, his breath visible in the cold night air. Did he want to? That was a loaded question— but talking was the only way to get answers, to stop carrying the weight of what happened like an open wound. At least he hoped. But the part of him that still ached hesitated. He glanced away, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know if I’ll ever feel ready,” he admitted, quieter now. “But if I keep waiting for that, it’s never gonna happen.” There was honesty in his words, a rare kind he didn’t offer easily. He hadn’t planned for this conversation, but fate—or whatever cruel force ran Port Leary—had thrown them together again. His hands flexed in his pockets before he nodded, more to himself than to her. “Yeah. Let’s talk.” His voice was steady, but something uncertain lingered beneath it. He gestured down the sidewalk. “Walk with me?” It felt easier that way— to move, to not face everything head-on all at once.

Dylan O’Brien photographed by Cathlin Mccullough for The Wrap at The Wrap Studio during the Sundance Film Festival in Park City, Utah. (January 24, 2025)

Alright, first step in the road to recovery is acceptance. She was lost. Like, really lost. Olivia had just finished walking the last dog of the day and it was dark and she had absolutely no idea where she was. 'Just follow the river down to the ports', yeah, great idea, Olivia, now where the hell is the river???

Thankfully she was still a couple of weeks from the full moon so she didn't have to worry about outing herself in the middle of the street, but it was still scary. Olivia couldn't tell exactly if what she heard about vampires was real or if it was her new friends trying to mess with her, but as it turned out she was a real, living, breathing werewolf so she didn't want to bet against it.

She stood in a random corner looking at every direction, none of which looked familiar, before she decided she wasn't getting out of that without help. She tried to take a couple of whiffs to see if she recognized any other Warwick wolves in the area but to no avail. The city smells were too strong. So, there was only one option left.

Stranger danger it is.

"Hi, sorry, hi, I'm Olivia," she stopped the first person to walk by that didn't look like they were immediately threatening — though she was an extremely poor judge of character. "I know this is annoying and I'm sorry, but I'm new here and I- I'm a little lost. If you could help be get to the ports I'd be eternally grateful, and maybe get you a couple of hotdogs in return." Right, no money. "One hotdog". Right, no dinner at home. "...We can share a hotdog."

Matthias hadn’t expected to be stopped—not that he was in a rush to be anywhere. He’d been walking with no real destination, just letting the night air settle the static in his head, when suddenly: Hi, sorry, hi… He blinked, taking in the girl in front of him. Bright-eyed, a little breathless, and—judging by the way her words tumbled out in a near panic—very, very lost. His hands stayed in his jacket pockets, head tilting slightly as he listened. The offer of a hotdog—singular, possibly halved—almost made him laugh. Almost. Instead, he let out a short breath, more amused exhale than anything. “You’re really willing to put your last meal on the line for directions, huh?” Matthias glanced around, taking in their surroundings. No river in sight. If she was looking for the ports, she’d gone way off track. "Alright, Olivia," he said, shifting his weight slightly. “Lucky for you, I know where we are. And luckier still, I don’t plan on mugging you in exchange for your single, pity-offered hotdog.” He smirked, dry but not unkind. "C’mon, I’ll point you the right way." A pause, then—because something about the way she carried herself set off a quiet something in his head—he added, “You new new here? Or just bad at directions?”

Matthias let out a short, breathy laugh, more exhale than sound. "That supposed to be an invitation or a warning?" His head tilted slightly, eyes catching the subtle edge in her words. The way she’d said it—calm, casual—like she was testing the waters. Seeing what stuck. He didn't react outright, didn't shift like someone caught in the act. Just stayed where he was, weight even, hands still buried in his pockets. The whole vampire thing—that was an assumption he’d heard before, one people made when they couldn’t pin him down. And maybe in another life, with the way he moved, the way he carried himself, it would’ve fit. But he wasn’t one of them. "Not my thing," he said after a pause, his voice as even as his stance. "But I’ll keep that in mind, in case I run into someone who’s looking." He didn't mean it as a threat, but he didn't go out of his way to soften it, either. His gaze flicked to the cameras she’d pointed out, then back to her, considering. The way she carried herself—poised, deliberate—she wasn’t just some intern burning the midnight oil. Not just a student pulling long hours. People like that didn’t make offers with double meanings, didn’t stand in alleyways seeing how deep they could dig. "So what’s your thing, then?" He nodded slightly toward the building. "This? The endless work, the late nights? Sounds like a hell of a way to spend your time." He wasn't prying, not exactly. Just mirroring the energy, seeing what she’d give back.

"When you're build out of pixels, you're surprisingly durable," Morgan chuckles. Once it seems Matthias' tension was diffused, she nods again, glad to have rescued another cabinet from an all too common fate.

Normally, he's right, she wouldn't step out like this. But things are going well (all things considered) and she trusts her team like Kevin and Mylo to keep an eye on the arcade. Hell, the more she thinks about it, all the trouble that happens to her happens in the arcade -- maybe if she leaves for a bit, the trouble will go looking for her elsewhere (or leave her alone entirely). Besides, a friendly beer couldn't hurt anyone -- so long as that's all it was.

"Don't worry about it, Matthias. We all have those days. Good to know your limits," she says, offering him a smile. Morgan takes just a moment to put away the project she was working on and give her assistant manager a quick heads up before stepping out the front of the arcade onto Baliol Street. It's a cool, crisp afternoon, verging on evening, and she knows a place not far from here. In fact, it's the bar she usually directs folks to when they're disappointed to find out that Retrocity is an entirely sober sort of place.

"It's a seven minute walk, quiet little dive. C'mon."

Matthias fell into step beside her, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket as they walked. The cool air helped shake off some of the lingering tension in his chest, the quiet stretch of street a welcome contrast to the noise still buzzing in his head. “Seven minutes, huh? You timing us?” he quipped, side-eyeing her with the ghost of a smirk. He wasn’t in the mood for heavy conversation, and thankfully, Morgan wasn’t the type to push. His gaze flicked toward her briefly, considering something before speaking again. “Retrocity’s got a good thing going,” he admitted. “Not a lot of places like that—feels… solid, you know? Like you actually give a shit about it.” It wasn’t something he said lightly. Most people he knew either ran from things or burned them down, metaphorically or otherwise. But Morgan had built something worth holding onto. Maybe that was why it was so easy to trust her, why he didn’t mind following her lead tonight. He exhaled, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off whatever thought had just crossed his mind. “Anyway,” he said, nodding ahead. “Lead the way. I’ll try not to get us lost.”

There is plenty of energy here to go around -- especially for those who ae a little more on the quiet side of the celebration. Dani is here for myriad reasons. Community support is her biggest, as it directly relates not only to her values at work, but her personal ones as well. Institutions like Infamy are essential to the vibrant diversity of Port Leiry, no matter the species. But there's an element of keeping face here as well -- given the stresses of the coven and Jac's current... predicament. Though she doubts her sister would fare much better in this environment if she were awake right now.

Thankfully, her cousin Jen has been effective at redirecting the advances and eventual disappointment of the several lesbians who have approached Dani, each apologized to profusely. At some point, she dismisses herself for another drink and is somewhat... comforted in seeing another young man who is content to stay back while the performers and partiers bring the literal and proverbial heat to the energetic club. Dani catches the bartender's attention and asks for a cherry Coke and rum, then turns to the stranger sitting nearby.

"Gotta pace myself, you know? They pour really strong here and I have a sneaking suspicion they're hoping to make an extra dancer or two out of someone drunk enough," she says with a laugh. "Do you know someone performing tonight?"

Matthias hadn’t planned on being here tonight. Infamy was the kind of place he usually steered clear of—not because he had anything against it, but because the noise, the lights, the sheer energy of the place tended to wear on him faster than he liked. But someone had talked him into it, something about “touching grass” and “being a functional member of society,” and, well… here he was. Perched at the bar, he nursed a whiskey neat, watching the spectacle unfold from a comfortable distance. The performances were impressive, the crowd lively, and the cause was solid. He could appreciate all of that without needing to be in the thick of it. When the woman beside him spoke, he glanced her way, taking in the easy humor in her voice. His lips twitched in something that wasn’t quite a smile, but close enough. “Sounds like a solid theory,” he said, his voice carrying its usual dry edge. “Can’t say I’d blame them. Crowd like this, someone’s bound to get a little too into it.” He took a slow sip of his drink before answering her question. “Nah, don’t know anyone performing. Just here for… moral support, I guess.” He shrugged, a little amused at how out of place he must seem. “You?”

The music scene here compared to the East coast, though -- wildly different.

Her gaze flickers down to the crack she'd left, and he hopes to whatever higher being there is that he hadn't noticed and won't comment on it. She doesn't know how to explain that away, and with the recent killings, she doesn't know if she's going to run into someone who'd rather separate her head from her body.

"Uh, no. I'm fine - all good. Just crowds is all, fucks with my head sometimes."

Matthias didn’t call her out on the quick deflection, but he sure as hell noticed it. He’d done the same thing enough times himself—glossing over a mess with small talk, hoping no one would look too close. Still, he let the thread of conversation play out, nodding slightly. “Yeah? New York’s got that kind of energy. Fast, loud, everyone trying to make something of themselves.” His tone was easy, like they were just two people swapping music scene stories and not standing in the aftermath of whatever had just happened here. His eyes flicked back to her, not lingering too long. When she mentioned the crowds, he gave a slow nod. “Yeah, I get that.” And he did. There was something about too many people in one place, too much noise pressing in, that could make your own skin feel like a cage. “Good spot to step away for a bit, I guess,” he added, glancing around the dimly lit bathroom. The hint of humor in his voice was light but not dismissive. He didn’t push, didn’t pry, but there was an unspoken understanding in the way he lingered just long enough to let her decide if she wanted an out or just the space to breathe. “You wanna head back out, or you need another minute?” He kept his voice even, his stance relaxed. No pressure, no expectations—just giving her the choice.

Tugging her jacket around her, Freyja continued to walk the streets of the town. It was late at night but she wasn't necessarily worried of people bothering her. She'd tried to sleep earlier but had tossed and turned until she knew it was useless trying any longer. Ever since her run in with her ex, she was riddled with anxiety and stress. And if that wasn't already bad, the fact that her magic hadn't even woken up in her body from it made it worse.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek as she lifted her gaze, noticing him. Again. Yes, Port Leiry was a small town, but she hadn't expected to run into him again. To see him, out at night. "Hi." Freyja said quietly, although, she wasn't quite sure what else to say. "Couldn't sleep either?"