Mickey Vaughan

Shawn nodded along to what he was saying without really hearing it. Something about waiting until he is awake to give him anything which made sense. It was a fitful sleep her father was in, but it was still sleep. "Yea," she finally answered and dropped her hands to rub on the jeans she'd never actually changed out of for the night, "Yea let's just...umm...you want some tea? I'll just...make some tea..." She headed back down the stairs for the kitchen without waiting to see if he followed.

Even trusting that Mickey kept secrets, she still wasn't very comfortable with sharing hers. Since that's what this had to be. The kettle already sloshed with some water that she had used earlier to make some tea and she lit the burner under it. "Chamomile ok?"

Distract her, maybe. Maybe she'd like to see some card tricks.

The word was out of Mickey's mouth before he could even stop himself, and then inwardly he wished he could kick his own ass. If he missed this shot, he would be twenty bucks in the hole with Lane and that was never a good look.

"Yeah, yeah -- I'm plenty good at this," he claimed, brushing off the other man's shit talking. "Now scoot on back, you're in my zone." Mickey shooed Lane off further, even though there was more than enough room for the guy to toss without any interference. But he didn't trust Lane not to try and smack the bag out of the air or something, because there'd been no rules made to say they couldn't attempt that. At least, if Lane was the one about to shoot, that's how Mickey would play it, anyway. So if he would, someone else would too. Lane? Who knew!

"Anyway, there's nothing up my ass. I just maybe haven't had my medically prescribed cup of caffeine just yet. Which makes me a danger to everyone if we're being completely honest." She smirked at him before leaning back on her palms and staring up at him from the floor. "Mmm." She nodded yes when he asked about her stock. "Is today not Monday?"

Was this an exaggeration? Absolutely! Xila was nothing more than annoyed, at best. But Mickey liked to mess with her.

This was the side of her father's illness that she didn't want people to see. That her father didn't want people to see. He still had his pride and, while Shawn didn't agree with his reasoning, he wanted to keep people as in the dark as possible. At least about what they could. It was obvious he was dealing with something and they couldn't hide it completely. But he did prefer to hide how extreme it really was. While Shawn called Lizzie for some of the symptoms, she always called Mickey with it got this bad. He knew discretion. He kept secrets. More than even she knew.

"Hi," Shawn whispered as she dropped her hand from where she'd been chewing on her thumb nail to fold her arms across her chest. The slight curls in her hair far more prominent now where they stuck up at odd angles around her face. Dark circles under her eyes from the lack of sleep lately. "He's asleep again, sort of. I think he mostly just passed out from exhaustion at this point...but the swelling in his legs is getting really painful and his meds aren't helping for some reason."

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒

Name: Michael "Mickey" Vaughn

Age: 36

Occupation: Horticulturist

Affiliation: Grower for the Cowboy Mafia

Gender & Pronouns: Man (he/him)

Faceclaim: Michael Vlamis

𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘

tw parental death, gambling mention, drug involvement

Life for Mickey has always been a horse race, or perhaps that was the 'middle child' syndrome in play. Closer to his mother, yet yearning to be the apple of his father's eye. They loved their children, but - the way he tells it - they always had their favorites, of which he was not. Much of his youth was spent in desperate grabs of attention.

Boy scouts? Hiking? Camping? ATVs and motorbikes? Track? Baseball? It seemed he had a hand in just about anything the old man prized or enjoyed, even if its interest didn't linger long. As soon as his eyes turned away, Mickey was on to the next.

Cooking? Music? Dance? Painting? Pottery? All things mother clapped and cheered over. Mickey fostered an eclectic background involved in plenty of things, to the point nobody quite understood anything about him. It was strange, this need to be stick out and be important. His peers weren't sure how to read him or what he was truly about.

One could say, a jack of all trades and yet an expert in none.

Until, that is, Mickey discovered a talent with the earth and sheer curiosity. And, maybe, a certain lack of ethics.

Funnily enough, this all started from pumpkin seeds. It escalated to experiments, to see the influence of what could grow, to what size, how quickly, and for what purpose. This, finally, was something Mickey liked. A bit off the beaten path of where his family thought he'd pursue some typical life they'd approve of, but not outrageous? Just... different. This difference was everything he'd searched for.

The more learned, the more invested. Mickey's entire career altered its course to nourish this green thumb. When his father got sick, it became an opportunity; surely, the secret to health was in the plants somewhere. To this day, he's convinced he's the reason the old man made it another two years longer than doctors figured.

His father's long suffering battle is what got Mickey wrapped up in this world. He started growing things that weren't exactly legal, at first to aid the man's pain and health. Then, it became an quick and lucrative way to make a few bucks. Mickey didn't have to hold a 9 to 5 to get him places anymore.

Once his father passed, he moved on. Found himself in Paxton almost ten years ago now, where the land was cheap yet ripe with fertile soil. Mickey made himself useful with the farmers and ways to make their crops grow fast and big and plentiful. And it wasn't long before his other green thumb talents caught wind and the community sought more.

If it wasn't for an unhealthy interest in gambles, Mickey might not have gotten as caught up as he has. But right now, it's easy to enjoy having a hand in the pot, like people around here really need and notice him. There might even be some pride in it... Or is that cockiness? Hard to say anymore. All Mickey knows is, it may not all be right and maybe he's gotten a little in over his head, but the money is flowing and they let him grow.

𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐓 𝐀𝐑𝐂

Where: Outlaw Ink

When: Present

The thing about Jasper was he controlled his schedule. After spending years on and off the road, he liked the freedom of being able to come and go as he pleased in his personal and professional life. Now, he was back and it would take a few weeks for people to realize he was open for appointments again. This gave him time to putter around the shop and reacquaint himself with the town for the first week. While he found out later than most about Oceanview and Randall Kastings, it seemed everywhere he went, even the line at the grocery store, wanted an opinion. Everyone seemed required to have one at least. When the bell tolled an arrival, Jasper came out from the backroom to meet them halfway. "If you're here for a statement about what's going on in town, no comment. If you need the restroom, the owner's out and I'll act like I didn't see you if you're quick," Jasper said with a faint smile at the end. "If you're actually here for a tattoo -- I don't do anchors."

Where: Paxton Oracle

When: Morning

Xila liked to stick to her morning routine. She was very methodical that way. Truth be told, she was a bit miserable without it. Her mornings usually consisted of two eggs sunny side up on a piece of toast. Hot coffee. Sweet but with very little cream. Simple enough. But when she did her groggy morning shuffle to the kitchen, she found there were no eggs. No coffee. What was the point of even trying to have a good day at this rate? So she decided to forego breakfast altogether. Obviously, there was very little salvaging this morning so she decided to head down to the shop early and squeeze some solo yoga in before she could be tempted to crawl back into bed and give up on today.

Paxton Oracle appeared to be your typical metaphysical shop. It was eclectic and gimmicky all at once, the smell of incense sticking to every surface. But it was spacious with wide windows and plenty of natural light. One of the perks that came with living above her own business was that Xila could use the space however she pleased. Unfortunately, this meant she had left the front door unlocked when she had gone to fetch the mail earlier. When she heard the bell over the door jingle open, she nearly groaned. Surely, someone wasn't looking for a tarot reading first thing in the morning? "What part of me in the downward dog position suggests that we are open?"

location: prairie pies

The day at work had seemed never-ending; it was one of the relatively quiet days in the Santiago mansion, Hector off on some business trip for the past couple of days. The house staff always seemed more relaxed on such occasions, talking a little longer and laughing a little louder without fearing the dominating glare of their boss. His mother, though, was the opposite. Crankier than ever, she had to be begged to take her medicine, and every attempt of conversation ended with her snapping, usually something in unintelligible Spanish. Lizzie didn't blame her- with Alicia gone, it only made sense that she would rather keep her family close. The Halls seemed to be doing exactly the same.

Said Halls were more pleasant on her phonecall to let them know she was coming home and their request was much easier to satisfy than that of her elderly employer- pizza. She happily obliged, her own stomach protesting, dropping by their favorite spot and one of the very few open ones this late.

"Excuse me, are you waiting to order?" she asked the only person standing in front of her in line, trying not to sound too impatient.