star child

ANNAKI HAD ENOUGH OF AN UPHILL BATTLE with the family friend missing than also adding on top of that fighting with a copier, especially when the blonde had never been the best with technology to begin with. (Regularly, they were ruining the fragile inner workings of cassette tapes when merely trying to rewind to relisten to favorite segments of songs, and it wasn't an uncommon practice for them to be pestering their brother and roommate to present him with another one to try and fix, were it even possible.) Heejin had always been more of an elusive party, even though Annaki could frequently be considered someone who pried into each and every one of her relatives' lives and shoved their way into topics that may have been considered forward by anyone with a better understanding of social concepts, they didn't know much about her life. Still, that wouldn't stop them from having high hopes that once their flyers were out on streets, plenty of tips would come pouring in that would lead them back to her whereabouts. Smiling at the kindness offered in the form of aid, their expression changed to one of anticipation at her words. "At the station? Are you a police officer? Because I could use your help in another way, too! Although every time I go there, they keep telling me to stop coming..." Surely law enforcement couldn't be upset that they were just...attentive. Their voice lowered as if letting the other in on a secret the copier couldn't be allowed in on, grey eyes practically giving it an offensive glance. "Honestly, I think the thing has a lot of quirks, that or it just doesn't like me very much." Once it had whirred back to life, or at least working condition, their hands clapped together, almost reaching for one of the freshly printed copies but stopping themselves as to not mess up the process now that it was finally in motion. "Oh, I do! My family is so worried about. I mean, it isn't really so unlike her to kind of go off on her own sometimes, but usually we can at least contact her. I mean, maybe sometimes my calls go ignored-" As there wasn't a single person in the family who answer every single one of Annaki's many rings on the phone. "-but not everyone's."

Aside from the brunette's natural curiosity about the world around her (to know how and why things worked they way they did), Willa was self-aware enough to know that her desire to help others might have stemmed from the untimely loss of both of her parents at such a young age. No warning signs, no time to prepare for the grief, just an unthinkable tragedy before she was old enough to make sense of it. It was no wonder that seeing people in Vegas worry over the well-being of their missing family members made something deep in the reporter's chest ache. It wasn't just her integrity as a journalist that drove her to finding answers for these tortured souls, as untethered and lost as she had been as a child. It was the still gentle heart beating behind her ribs. If anything, she was grateful for the phantom pain of that old wound, left behind three decades later. It was a reminder that she still cared: about the work she did, about strangers around her that had yet to become friends. After Eric, Willa was worried it might have dulled her ability to love and care for the people in her midst that she'd yet to forge connections with. She was happy to be proved wrong on a near daily basis.

"Oh, I'm not a police officer! I meant the news stations. I'm a newscaster," the former acrobat hurried to correct the blonde, her ever-present grin still open and inviting. "I can still help, though! I might be able to get the word out on our next broadcast, if you'd like," she offered, though her brow furrowed in reaction that the police had turned them away. "Well, that's not very helpful of them, given the circumstances. Have you tried filing a complaint with the city?" Willa made note of the police's unwillingness to help, keen on bringing that detail up to her producers at the station. Leaning in conspiratorially when they lowered their voice, playing right along with their distrust of the machine, the brunette narrowed her eyes in the direction of the copier. "Really? Well then, we'll just have to outsmart the old thing, won't we?" Her grin turning triumphant at the sound of the copier working exactly the way it should, Willa quirked a dark brow at her companion. "See? We just had to put our heads together." Wide brown eyes softening at their admission, the reporter allowed it to tug at her heartstrings: the noblest call to action for someone in the business of helping others. "You're doing the best you can right now... getting the word out. There's bound to be someone out there that knows something. How long has it been since anyone in your family's heard from her?"

The hot chocolate the girl made was phenomenal. Willa had a talent for steamed milk. She was the kind of comfortable friend who made small talk easy. Maria had missed out on so many teenage experiences, sleepovers and gossip included. She imagined, though, that it felt a lot like this.

"Clueless. I hear it is a staple? I still have many movies to catch up on. Oh! and Ghost. The boy at Blockbuster said it was a good choice but I don't know how true that is."

Maria pulled her knees up to her chest at the first question. Things had been...interesting. Franco had dropped a bomb the size of Chornobyl just a few weeks ago. His crime involvement, the danger she was now in, moving her out of the apartment she had just gotten comfortable in and into a home full of other people she barely knew. She hadn't been able to talk to anyone about it. She wasn't sure she ever would be able to. Her loyalty to her brother was stronger now than ever, protective almost. She was grateful when the question had a follow-up.

Eyes rolled at the implication. "I have plans, but I do not know what they are. Atticus told me to take off work that day." She had explained to Willa before that she and Atticus were just friends. While others say there were clear signs of there being more, Maria wasn't so sure. She couldn't imagine being in a relationship, didn't know what it would entail. Besides, Atticus was just kind. There was nothing more to look into.

While an upbringing in a travelling circus trope was certainly more colorful and eventful than the average childhood of her contemporaries, there was still a lot that Willa had missed out on by way of her more unconventional background. Though the trope had a home base in West Virginia, when the carneys were travelling, they rarely stayed in one town long enough to really call it home, trading each new city for the next as they dazzled the locals and swiftly moved on. It was no wonder that the Graves children clung to each other so fiercely, developing a deep love and comradery that might have seemed like co-dependency to the more distant families in town. Still, the brunette had always longed for a group of friends to call her own, a merry band of like-minded dreamers that she could go to for advice and comradery. After all, as much as she adored her sisters, there were still pieces of Willa that she kept all to herself, concerned over worrying her siblings unnecessarily. It was how she'd remained trapped in that situation with Eric for so long. It made her even more grateful for friends like Maria: kind, nonjudgmental, and all-around wonderful company.

Brown eyes wide with excitement, the reporter nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, Ghost is an excellent choice! But only if you're ready to shed a few tears. If not, Clueless is a waaay better choice," she informed her companion seriously, as if she were imparting sage wisdom (and not merely relaying information). "My votes are for Clueless or While You Were Sleeping. What do you think?"

A giddy grin overtaking her soft features at the mere idea of engaging in girl talk, Willa was practically beaming as she sat forward, thrilled at the chance to revel in the kind of sleepover hijinks that had only ever existed in fiction to the all-around odd brunette. "Ooh, that sounds so mysterious! Surprises are super fun," she gushed, gently nudging her friend with her knee. Though Maria insisted that she and Atticus were just good friends, the reporter couldn't help but notice the way they danced around each other, wondering distantly if there was anything more brewing between the two. Willa had a tendency to miss when people showed any romantic interest in her, her head too stuck up in the clouds to take notice until she was directly told. But her powers of perception operated at a different frequency when it concerned the people she cared about (a side effect of growing up among so many sisters, looking after them all in turn). "Aren't you at least a little bit excited, though, just to spend some quality time together? It doesn't have to mean anything more than that, if you're not ready for it to," she added, her tone softer, the excitable and lightly teasing lilt in her voice melting away.

THEIR EYEBROWS SCRUNCHED AS GREY EYES stared at the copier in puzzlement in why there was no noise coming from it, lifting the heavy top of it once more then lowering it, slowly, as if the machinery was a living being that required niceties to work as they desired. The directions posted on the wall had already once been followed step by step with as much attention to detail that Annaki could provide, but when that first try seemingly didn't work nor did her offering of kindness, the next plan of action was a random assortment of buttons and some hopefulness that something would suddenly make it begin to whir to life. All they had wanted to do was be able to help in the search for the mother they had never known to be such until after she had already gone missing, weeks passing with no word of information on her whereabouts. There wasn't much they thought they could do besides continue to hang up flyers asking for any information, though, the chances of even that were beginning to seem slim if technology didn't begin to work with her. "Hey, hi!" They called sweetly to the closest person, unintentionally breaking the peaceful quiet of the library. "Do you know how this thing works? I need as many copies as possible. Maybe ten thousand....or two hundred if that's all it can do. But I can't get even one."

The recent breaking news of more bodies turning up in Sin City left the novice reporter with a bustling newsroom and frantic calls from a terrified public to contend with. As one of the few front-facing journalists at the station, a part of the on-air news team, it wasn't uncommon for concerned citizens to stop Willa around town with whispers of the different theories floating around, desperate to catch the killer (or killers) on the loose. Though some of the more seasoned reporters in her midst might turn their noses up at the idea of fielding these potentially false leads, the brunette didn't mind lending a listening ear whenever she could, even if the information didn't lead anywhere. After all, any and all knowledge concerning the most recent deaths could mean a break in the case. At the end of the day, she just wanted justice for the families left behind in the wake of these tragedies. So, when she spotted a young woman struggling with the copy machine, a missing persons flyer in hand, she couldn't help herself.

"Oh, I can help you with that!" Willa assured the blonde, a bright smile lighting up her features. "We have a few of these older machines down at the station. Once you get into the rhythm of working around all their little quirks, it's not too hard to get it going, I promise." As she talked, her hands moved expertly from the flyer to the buttons on the machine, barely stopping as she went through the steps of getting copies started with the swiftness of a seasoned professional, a Xerox whisperer. "I don't know about printing thousands, but this baby can definitely handle a few hundred at a time." Pressing a final button and watching on as the machine spat out the first copy, Willa presented the warm flyer to them with a triumphant flourish. "Ta-da! Now all you have to do is wait." Leaning back against a nearby table, the reporter questioned gently, "So... do you know the woman that's missing? Or are you just lending a hand?"

He could afford a better apartment, he knew that. He just couldn't quite justify it. To no one's knowledge, he was kinda of a penny pincher. He made plenty over the years working for the Vitelli's, both through weekly pay and hazard bonuses. Still, he didn't own anything flashy; no nice cars, no expensive watches or pants, and no presentable living quarters. Part of the appeal was that if you kept your nose to yourself, everyone else did the same. Well, almost everyone.

Willa was an exception to that rule.

It started with small encounters in the mail room. Despite his obvious disdain for the general human population, she had somehow considered him warm enough to try and conversate with. He ignored her, just as he would anyone, but it seemed to go completely unnoticed. Somehow, their run-ins became more abundant. Passings on the sidewalk, in the hall and then she found out where he lived, something that would be good enough cause for a shattered jaw in anyone else, but she was harmless; he couldn't ignore that. She would show up with plates of food and baked goods.

At first, it was incredibly irritating. He turned them away, but then they'd just be on his doorstep in the morning so eventually, he began accepting them and slamming the door. He wasn't sure when he started letting her in the house. She was like a rodent, in that way.

So when he opened the door to find her now, he just rolled his eyes and retreated back to his sofa, the door left ajar.

His apartment wasn't much. A simple couch, a small box TV that sat on an old army trunk near an almost always open window, and a practically bare kitchen. He had some clean paper plates and plastic silverware that came with takeout. His fridge most likely had something expired sitting next to several beers and nothing else.

"I can feed myself, you know." The words huffed out of him with his breath as he allowed himself to cave into the worn cushions.

You would think that losing years of her life to a wolf in sheep's clothing would've made Willa a little more cautious about befriending strangers. On the contrary, if there was one thing that her last relationship had instilled in her, it was a refusal to not let one catastrophic experience with a certified narcissist spoil her chances of forging new and meaningful connections with people that had yet to wrong her. Even despite the hellish time with her ex, she didn't want to see the people around her purely for all their worst qualities, stubbornly clinging to her optimistic worldview. So, she wasted no time after the relocation to Vegas to rebuild the sense of community she'd once been deprived of. As soon as she and Ivy found an apartment they could afford, Willa got to work on making their basement digs a home worthy of both herself and her roommate. That attitude didn't stop with the decor, though. The plucky reporter was determined to forge friendships with as many neighbors as she could.

Enter Dominic Reid, in all his surly and monosyllabic glory.

His lack of enthusiasm towards her borderline incessant displays of neighborly hospitality didn't deter her in the slightest. Willa actually found his frank demeanor a refreshing change of pace. She never had to guess if he was putting on airs around her. No, Dominic seemed incapable of feigning a smile if his life depended on it, and that suited Willa just fine. She preferred the company of people that spoke their minds (even if Dom seemed to "speak his mind" primarily through grunts and cutting looks). And once he started to accept her offerings in the form of leftovers and baked treats, she knew she was in. There was a crack in his armor after all, which meant that he was now, unfortunately, stuck with her.

I can feed myself, you know. "Can you really?" the brunette fired back upon entering the threadbare apartment, swinging open his fridge like she owned the place and standing back with a flourish, presenting the predictably empty appliance with a delighted grin. "Because the sad contents of your kitchen would disagree. Besides, I don't mind. I always cook way too much for just Ivy and me anyways, so I figure, why not share? It's gonna go bad either way." Well accustomed to her rambling pontifications being met with silence on his end, she forged on, gesturing to the covered plate she'd carried in with her, now sitting on his kitchen counter. "I brought lasagna this time. Which was a first for me, so you're not allowed to judge it too harshly. The station hasn't really left me with much time lately to experiment when it comes to new recipes. I'm starting to feel like an on-call doctor, with all the breaking news reports," she mused with a good humored chuckle, plopping down on a nearby kitchen chair and peering over at the television. "Is this how you like to spend your time off?" she wondered, her tone sincere, without a hint of judgment. "I have a hard time sitting still for too long, so I never really know what to do with myself when I have days off. I like keeping busy."

WREN'S LEAST FAVORITE, YET MOST CRUCIAL, PART OF BEING A SLAYER IS TRACKING DOWN VAMPIRES. Although he had weapons on hand in case he encountered one, he always felt like a lamb walking into a den of wolves whenever he went out by himself. He'd feel more comfortable with a teammate, but he knew part of being a slayer meant tackling assignments solo. After all, there were only so many slayers to spare and such a large city to cover.

And a situation like this is precisely why he longed for a partner. He had spotted a vampire feeding on a patron outside of a club, and after checking to confirm the human was alive, he ran after the creature in an attempt to slay it. But, with his luck, the vampire slipped away in the crowd.

And that wasn't the only thing to slip away. Wren had turned to move, but ended up slipping on an untied shoelace. He fell to the ground, watching as his stake rolled out of his bag and ended in front of a passing bystander. His face flushed red as he stuttered, "I can explain."

Despite the advanced degree collecting dust in storage somewhere in the depths of her older brother's radio station, Willa had a penchant for making decisions that could very well be described by the average onlooker as... well, stupid. For instance, wandering around the city alone at night, with nothing but a hunch, her keen skills of observation, and the dainty pistol in her purse (thanks to a childhood spent in the Appalachian wilderness and at the insistence of her hypervigilant eldest brother). After all, the reporter had a tendency to see the best in the people and situations unfolding around her, even when she shouldn't. Oddly, it was exactly this rose-colored optimism that served her well in her profession. Most people tended to raise their hackles around reporters that asked too many questions. Willa was more unassuming to people that didn't know her well, her curiosity often mistaken for something more harmless. Distantly, it bothered her to be constantly underestimated, but she tried not to dwell on it, instead choosing to use the way people perceived her as an advantage.

Brown eyes blown impossibly wide as she tracked the rogue stake rolling across the ground, landing neatly at the toes of her white kitten heels, the brunette worked to contain her budding intrigue (though her facial features struggled to fully cooperate and tamp down the excitement building in her gut). Since she'd first arrived to Vegas, she'd heard whispers around town of supernatural forces lurking in the shadows. Any chance to learn more about these rumors was a happy coincidence, as far as she was concerned.

It's okay. Be cool. Be cool.

Meeting the fallen stranger's eyes, she bent down primly, tucking the hem of her checkered baby doll dress snuggly underneath her. "Whoa, are you okay? You didn't hurt yourself, did you? You've gotta be careful out here. Wouldn't want to get trampled." Scooping up the stake and extending it for him to take, Willa tried not to seem too eager to know its purpose or what he might know. "Explain? You mean... about this?" Doing her best to appear unassuming, the reporter offered him a bright grin.

He frowned slightly at the question, the bright smile remained, and he shook his head at the question. “I’m completely fine,” he ensured her. “Just a bit tired, I stayed out too late, and this is what I get. I am hoping the coffee will help me survive the rest of the day.” He took a whiff of the stuff. “Even if it’s not that good.”

"Sure thing, it's no trouble!" Meeting his bright smile with one of her own, Willa sat up straighter on her stool, delighted that she'd stumbled across another friendly face in town. Though the former acrobat liked to think that she'd been adjusting well to her new life in Sin City, she found that the locals weren't always the inviting sort (at least, not when compared to her impossibly close-knit Appalachian family), so it was lovely to meet someone that appeared to be a kindred spirit.

"Just double checking. You can never be too sure, with people putting on a stiff upper lip about stuff." The brunette should know. In the deepest darkness inflicted by her last relationship, she still managed to muster up enough of her trademark positivity over the phone to throw her siblings off the scent of how bad things with Eric had gotten. In the end, it hadn't been enough to convince her eldest brother that things were fine. He knew her too well to buy what she was trying to sell him. "Ooh, staying out late?" Willa echoed, brown eyes bright with intrigue. "Sounds like fun, at least—makes the sleepiness worthwhile. I can't really stay up late anymore, working down at the news station, so I like to take advantage on my nights off," she rambled, accepting a refill from the disgruntled looking waitress, her own demeanor unchanged. "Hopefully the coffee gives you the jolt you need, then! Not that I really need it, but I'll take it all the same," the reporter laughed, allowing her feet to swing joyfully below her.

Sunny was leaning his head on the counter at the old-school cafe, a judebox playing music from the sixties in the back, a lady walking around with long legs refilling coffee mugs, and the smell of freshly baked apple pie wafting from the kitchen.

He tried not to notice all those things, he was beat, exhausted. He'd followed Doctor Eric's orders and not worked for six weeks until the caste could come off. And now he was doing extra work to make up for it. Just a few more nights, he promised himself. Until he felt stable enough.

He opened his eyes, and noticed a pair of legs on the seat beside him. He quickly straightened, ran a hand through his hair, and slapped his own cheeks. He'd grown up on the Mehra mantra, never to be caught looking anything but picture perfect. Luckily, he had the face for it.

"Did you see if someone already came by to refill the mugs?" he asked, smiling brightly. He could see his mug was empty, no steam coming off it.

Humming softly along to the sixties doo-wop song that was playing as she flipped through the selections on the jukebox, a pair of black Mary Janes tapping in time against the linoleum of the diner as they searched for the right tune to queue up, Willa idly twirled a lock of raven hair around her finger as her eyes scanned the options. Finally spotting the perfect choice, a small gasp escaped their lips, quickly replaced by a beaming smile as she locked in her selection with a decisive tap of her finger: Prince's Raspberry Beret. Flitting across the restaurant back to her seat, the reporter hopped up onto the barstool she'd spent the last half hour occupying as she waited for her patty melt and fries, crossing her ankles beneath her.

Turning to the patron at her side, Willa met his bright expression with one of her own (not an especially difficult task for a Graves-Seong). "Nope, can't say that I have. I might have just missed them, though. I could flag down a waiter for you, if you're in the market for a refill," she offered helpfully. Despite her best efforts, the brunette felt compelled to help the people around her, even when they hadn't asked for her assistance in the first place. She wondered distantly if that was a bad habit that she should be working harder to kick, but what was the harm in being friendly to her neighbors? "You alright?" she asked earnestly, curious if he needed the extra caffeine to get through the day.

I can make you feel alive