— i've gone to hell and back again.

HER GAZE WAS LOCKED ON THE CAKE in front of her, trying to change its sad-looking appearance into something more appealing with little hope that her attempts would result in much luck, or even anything somewhat resembling what the cake bought just for their family to share at the wedding looked like a full year ago. Stella hadn’t believed it would look exactly the same when pulling it out from under frozen soy nuggets and blocks of homemade soup that had been prepared in advance were any of the girls to come down with a sick day, but she had possibly thought on it with more rose-colored glasses than what she was looking at now. Her eyes glanced over at him when he walked through the door, quickly returning to her less than impressive project that sat disappointingly on the counter in front of her, biting her bottom lip a bit. “Our cake may be in trouble,” she announced, a glob of freezer burnt icing that must’ve been too close to the vent when items shifted around in their refrigerator dropping entirely off the side of the cake unceremoniously and only further proving her point. At the mention of his attire, her gaze was fully pulled from the desert, standing at her full height to give it its full moment of appreciation, especially that of which it earned in being involved in what would first get a real laugh out of her when she was at one of her lowest moments in the past. “How’d y’know when I planning out our cake eating that it included that shirt?” She joked, though the smile that was on her face dropped with what he pointed out about the cake, a wince taking its place when she was forced to look at it again. A quirk of an eyebrow and curious expression later, though, and she was finally noticing the box in his hands, the grin taking form questionable of what he had up his sleeve. 

All it took was the bakery’s name on the box, and it hadn’t mattered exactly what baked good was within its confines as the sentiment was all the same when it came to warming her heart. “What’s that?” She asked, excitement evident in her voice, though one could argue it had been present ever since she awoke that morning and giddily took his shoulders in her hands to announce with bravado that it was their first ever wedding anniversary before planting an impassioned kiss on his lips. “Don’t think I could love you more, but gettin’ to love being married to you mighta made that possible,” she answered, an air of confidence regarding that one that was previously unknown to her life, as she always fell to the pessimistic side by default. Until it came to the two of them and the light of positivity he introduced regarding all they could accomplish, whether he was aware of it or not. Another kiss on his cheek was deposited, unable to even vocalize her thoughts on their love without tagging another physical display along with it. “Happy anniversary. You really picked up bein’ the best husband quick, but I didn’t have any doubts,” she complimented with jest, hand coming to curve around the side of his exposed waist, always drawn to any skin of his she could get her hands on. The other was already inching towards the popping the cardboard top on the box in his hands, interested in knowing what goodies were hidden inside when he spoke again, the hand immediately abandoning its mission to instead cup the side of his face, unable to deny just how adorable she found the request. “You can have as much sugar you want today.” As if there was ever a day she would deny him of such on any day of the year, their consent physicality undeniable to anyone who was near for more than fifteen minutes. “In fact….I think I’ve now have the go ahead to give you as much sugar as I want in every way I want, finally.” Fingers sliding down his jaw and landing at his chin, they gave it a worthy pedestal to sit upon when she kissed him with appreciation, though a full year’s worth couldn’t fit in one single act of it. Luckily, she planned on giving him plenty throughout the night to possibly reach closer to that amount, even if she wasn’t sure any amount of affection could truly prove just how lucky she felt in being bound to him for life and how the first year proved that true with confidence. 

“You gonna show me what you got, now? Or you need another kiss before I earned its reveal?” Her jokes would continue flowing effortlessly, just as they did on their wedding day, as she was simply overjoyed by the date that they came naturally as she spoke. There was a tiny pang regarding her daughters being farther than she was used to, but she had been looking forward to a night spent with just the two of them that wasn’t interrupted by feedings and diaper changes for some time. “You gonna hate me if I say yes? ‘Cause it only feels right curling up on the floor with it.” Excitedly, she moved to grab two forks from the silverware drawer, faithfully returning back to him and lifting from her heels from the tiled floor. “You still gotta try just one bite from our OG cake, for tradition. Then we can try the what you have.” One fork dug into the previously frozen dessert, taking an adventurous bite herself before she stuck the fork in a much smaller bite, holding the fork up to feed it to him herself. “It’s….it’s not horrible.” But it wasn’t good, either. 

Ever were they the auspicious pair, inarguably turning a new leaf since their reacclimating of a romantic dalliance, and then a subsequent marital bed — or perhaps, it was all to thank for a perspective change that came as necessity once they weren't cuffed to their addictions anymore. Nevertheless, there was gaiety that was indescribable to another human being that wasn't his lawfully wedded wife, as she had been submerged in her idle joys about it for the better part of two weeks now. Once the month had overturned following their anniversary, there was practically no other topic that existed in the entire world. Thus, it honestly shouldn't have incurred too immense of a surprise to find her staring pensively at the cake boxed up from their wedding day, the aluminum foil preventing a thin layer of frost from forming, and unappealing at first glance nonetheless, thanks to the saturnine glistening of moisture as it sagged further onto the counter. "I think we're a lil' past trouble and kinda along flatline," Cyrek said as he crossed the kitchen, "It's not gonna kill us to eat it, innit?" Perhaps it was too little, too late for that query, as in retrospect, the biker was erring on certainty that food poisoning wouldn't be ample enough to deliver a swift and decisive end to a pair of vampires as it were a substantial stomachache. Laying one hand on his hip and eyeing it suspiciously as she fussed over its dilapidated state, he couldn't help nor smother down a pinch of amusement that tickled the back of his throat when a dollop of icing took a landslide off the side of the cake. Her attentions effortlessly redirected by lamentations when she gawked over his attire, he playfully rolled his eyes at her, smacking her on the rear and shrugging slightly, retorting, "Just a hunch. Or you've been kinda talkin' about it in your sleep. Y'know, runnin' over the whole daydream in your head, so it kinda filled me in on what you were after." Their eyes dropped to the cake at the same time. "...I'm sure the cake's sad lookin' state wasn't how you dreamed. I'm sorry, hon."

Naturally, sweets were the remedy to everything where Stella was involved, these days. "What, this? How d'you know I didn't just pick up a bakery box and hide somethin' else in it that's your gift? I'd be a bad husband if I gave away all the cards up my sleeve a year into the marriage." Mirth was rich in his voice, shuffling the cardboard in his hands and running his thumbs across the packaging, a smile slowly growing across his features. Trust, the second full sentence that she formed from her mouth was easily the corniest line he had ever heard favored to him, and he cocked a brow as if he were looking for a facetious remark to issue in response. Before he could, Stella had beaten him to the punch with another anniversary wish, and another puff of hot gas that was gratified with cachinnation not half as melodic as the full-fledged musical demos that were currently put aside in the recording room, following a leave of absence from their drummer. "Best husband, huh? I dunno, I think I've got room for improvement. Not ready to settle for that one just yet," he answered her, pressing his lips against her forehead fleetingly. As he had always been of the philosophy that once the efforts faded, so too did the romance, the vocalist couldn't confidently attest that he was prepared to let his guard down where his own actions were concerned — instead, striving to accomplish bringing a smile unto her face and more gave him a friendly push to continue pursuing her and challenge himself with impressing her as if every date or anniversary was the first all over again. ( In true irony, the anniversary was their first, as a wedded coupling. ) "Should we do somethin' like this every year? Get together 'round a cake. You and me..." Trailing off as if they were of schooling age and he couldn't finish a sentence worthy of asking her on another date, teeth peeked from between his lips as a grin took hold. "Y'know I want as many anniversaries and special days with you as I can get my hands on." Lingering in place when her hand grasped at his waist, he tilted his head to the side, tickled by her enthusiasm that they were, for once, well and truly alone without a gaggle of children running circles around their ankles. "Uh huh. I'm hearin' a lot of talkin' and I'm not gettin' enough kissin' right now," he implored, impatiently setting the box down so that his hands might vie for her own hips, bringing her in as close as he could without squashing them together.

While she understood why Cy was so irritated, she didn't have time to worry about that right now. She'd gladly deal with Stella bitching at her for waking her and the kids up if it meant that somehow, some way, Heejin could still be saved, though honestly, she felt it in her bones that it was too late. She was praying to whoever the fuck was up there that she was wrong. Stepping back and gently pushing his hand away, her voice softer now, she said "Look, I'm sorry but it's important and it couldn't wait." As the two put some distance between them and the trailer, she was trying to find a way to deliver this information as succinctly as she could. She knew that Cy was unsure about all the 'woo woo' shit she dealt with on a regular basis but she knew all too well that her dreams (and her premonitions of death) were to be taken very seriously. She'd realized it too late to save Hyacinth but she'd be damned if she was going to let them happen again.

Whether he believed her or not, she wasn't going to waste her time trying to convince him. They had trust in one another and she knew that if she urged him to take her vision seriously, he'd try his best to. When he asked how, she took a moment to find the words to explain what she'd seen in her dream. Shaking her head, she said "I don't know for sure. A gunshot, maybe. But... In my dream, she had a brick in her mouth." It was a grisly image and one that she wouldn't soon forget. Where? She let out a sigh, knowing her answer wouldn't be helpful. "I don't know. She was under a tree. But if I were to guess, I'd say on the outskirts of town, maybe even farther out into the desert. It's remote."

There was an urgency that pulsated around them like a thread of energy through the universe itself. An intensity that Aurelia carried like no other biker that Cyrek had ever met, so assured in themselves and equanimous at once. Most bikers possessed a foul temperament that had a hairtrigger to be set off like a match to wheatgrass. "Is there anythin' we can even do about it?" he asked when they were further away from the trailer, incertitude milling into his raspy voice — Stella wouldn't be keen on any plan that erred on the risqué side, especially so close to laboring their girl into the world. Vampires weren't an end-all-be-all, even if the psychic medium was arguably more vulnerable to the concept of mortality.

A brick in her mouth. "What?" he parroted their disbelief, but after a beat, he gripped on their arm and stopped them in their tracks. "You don't think that means...?" The unspoken hypothesis dangled over their heads, a free-for-all for them to digest. Cyrek was reluctant to say it aloud, should anyone be on the stoop of their trailer and privy to eavesdropping in the dead of night. "Maybe we're not safe in the city no more. Vegas has been gettin' real dicey with the Night Stalker. Doesn't look good for the rest of us." The scoreboard had been compounding against them for years. Sure, they were vampires who were bloodthirsty and did not pick and choose their victims to a careful criterion of whether the world itself would be better without them ( and that was a slippery slope, as it stood. ) But the reputation that it reflected on the whole only pushed the envelope of what horrors Dracula inspired in the dark ages.

"Rooting for someone?" She tapped a hand to her heart. "You have mistaken me for someone who wants to see people succeed. I want to see as many people fly off it as the night allows. The quicker the better, the further the better." She leaned her head on her hand and studied the guy with the green hair. "I hope he lands so hard he breaks something," she said with cheer. "Are you planning on attempting the bull?" Please say yes.

"Rootin' for? No. Dyin' to see my brother get kicks in the 'nads by a hog? Fuck yeah." Anyone who had a brother knew that that was, in a nutshell, what it was like to have a brother — the imminent laugh of witnessing the paranormal investigator take one to the southern dome was as funny now as it would've been when he was a teenager, and in some facets, he wasn't going to mature, or planning on it anytime soon. "Guess that means we're in the same boat." I hope he lands so hard he breaks something. "He once threw himself off the swings when they were real high in junior high and broke his arm, I don't doubt it."

She's beaming by the time she bounces off the make shift stage, giggling and letting her friends know she'd be back after getting a drink, stopping at the karaoke sign up list again to see if there were any other songs that stood out. Eyes dart to the side, her body shuffling over a bit so the person next to her could read teh book.

"Please, if you know what you wanna sing go ahead, I'm not sure I'm gonna go again." She smiles, handing the pen over to her new counterpart. Were they here for karaoke? Who knows, she can't hear much, but she does know one of the bands is going to go on soon, and the host would probably be wrapping up. But if they wanted to be brave beforehand, she wasn't going to stop anyone.

The karaoke was welcome reprieve from the constant humdrum of country music that accompanied the rodeo days, which was decidedly not his thing, nor had it ever been; honestly, he didn't think it would be, had he hailed from the States to begin with. Sophia's performance was a welcome change, and the two songs he managed to drag Stella onto the dance floor for. Whilst she was accosted to accompany her friends for a moment, he had stood off to the side, mismatched eyes darting across the list in the open book to scour for anyone else he knew — especially family members worth annoying. Nothing stuck out to him, and it looked like there would be a country act coming on for the late evening. Of fucking course.

"Huh? Oh, I dunno. I mean, I do this shit every weekend, but my shit's not really what anyone lookin' for a rodeo is after. Sex Pistols and The Damned might get me run out of this place with torches and pitchforks." Humor steeped into his raspy voice, dropping the pen on top of the open pages, as he complimented genuinely, "Your shit was great, you won 'em over without singin' a Loretta Lynn. I'm kinda fuckin' impressed." At the lounge, putting on any kind of music was something one could reasonably get away with during their sets, as long as they knew how to work it and make money at it. ( Alternative wasn't really the look the normal clientele came in for when he was working there, either, so he had to work twice as hard to build up regulars, it felt like. )

no one would see him escaping the building with a pile of sweets that was probably too much for him to handle, right? right? well there wasn't anyone really paying attention to stop him, so he takes off from the sweets table and heads to a lone table near the back. he had worked up an appetite after doing mud wrestling. he wasn't at the warehouse, so he can't take out his rage and energy on other fighters like he normally does. being in the mud wrestling was the next best thing and he actually won quite a few times. but now he was exhausted and needed energy if he was going to go again. he did sneak outside for a few minutes and managed to take a few puffs of his maryjane. and dakota was well on his way of being higher than he has ever been.

"hey cyrek. cyrek, right? you wanna go eat a bunch of sweets with me and get high?" he asks the first person he walks by, who happens to be wearing assless chaps. all he can do is chuckle at the sight. he does immediately recognize cy from seeing him around town and with the cactus cats. maybe he shouldn't approach him, but dakota didn't care. he needed someone to get drunk and high with. no matter what side you're on, getting high is always a past time that puts the strongest rivalries on hold. then again, he doesn't really have a rivalry with cy. or at least he doesn't think they do. no one knows his secret and who he's really here with. as far as everyone should be concerned, he's a simple fighter at the warehouse looking to make good money. "come on man, say yes. i promise this is some good shit. we can grub on all the sweets in my hands too." he smiles cy, motioning with his hand towards the table. "what do you say, hmm?"

Cyrek had zero interest in doing anything except booking it from Glitter Gulch the moment he had the chance, and that meant waiting outside for his wife instead of venturing into the lion's den. The small hand towel swiped from the Cupid's Arrow wasn't doing a whole lot to mop up the water when he'd been dropped from the dunk tank a few times over, though he was doing his damnedest to dry the split-dyed hair that had been successfully tousled from spikes into curls again — a rudimentary touch that he figured Stella could appreciate for their anniversary, regardless of preferring against his natural hair when it was cut short. Fingers bunching in the damp locks as he walked by to round the corner and take a peek at the festivities outside the lounge, he stopped short in his tracks when someone called out the kingpin's name, tilting his head over his shoulder.

It was one of the fighters from the warehouse, that much he recognized. As the pairing frequented the hotspot for violence, it was natural that the shuffling of mob territories were leaning them into consideration for acquiring it for the Cactus Cats. It was right up their alley of business, and if they could recruit a few fighters out of it to be on their side, it sounded advantageous, even if they opted against driving steel-bodied horses. "Yeah... What's it to you?" Mismatched eyes narrowed, listening to his proposal and a brow lifting. The spliff he'd smoked ( while Stella partook in secondhand more than smoking it herself ) had loosened up his appetite, but it didn't lean him further into the side of the food chain he was decidedly less interested in than the queenpin. "I'm not really a sweets kinda guy," he said, then paused before snarking, "This is some good shit sounds a lil' bit like you're tryin' to sell me drugs, y'know."

ellie + cyrek : june 1, mid - afternoon @ glitter gulch lounge @nxnbinarydracvla

The universe is testing him. When isn’t the universe testing him is arguably the better question at this point, but Cyrek, even at the best of times, is not someone Edward has the patience to deal with. This entire evening already feels like being trapped on some nightmarish carousel he can’t get off; every time the horrors seem like they might finally end, the carousel lurches forward again, throwing another fever dream into the mix.

He offers Cyrek his most withering, stay-the-fuck-away-from-me stare, as though it might actually work. As though it has ever once served as an effective deterrent before. As though he shouldn’t just surrender to whatever fresh nonsense is now heading his way. He should probably (definitely) make more of an effort to be civil, should be trying to find a way for their existences to benefit each other, but he's oddly offended by audacity in other people for someone who practices it so enthusiastically himself. His entire empire is built on audacity, technically - the belief that he could simply arrive in Vegas and win the game. When he's the one causing problems, he'd call it innovative; when it's the Cactus Cats, he'd call it indecorous, but he's too fond of his hypocrisies to bother scrutinising them.

"What the fuck do you want, Cyrek?" Charming as ever. His gaze drifts over Cyrek's outfit before immediately regretting it; he literally has to close his fucking eyes for a moment and sigh audibly, praying to a God he doesn't even believe in for patience he knows he'll never possess. First Sophia. Now this.

"And what the hell are you wearing?"

The Cactus Cat kingpin had retired his throne of skulls and crossbones for the evening, but the leather hadn't gone anywhere except further south — and he was officially leaving the imprint of his arse like an autograph to the seat of every cushioned chair in the Dollhouse from the sweat accumulated thanks to bodies crammed into a space that could only hold so many. He couldn't think of another time that the burlesque had been packed to the nines, and he attended semi-regularly to pay his sister a visit. Since being stuck indefinitely in the line for the lemonades and the club had run out of employees to send scurrying around, he had zoned out with a resting bitch face that didn't quite compete with his wife's. The thousand yard stare was broken by the sound of Edward Weiss's voice addressing him by name, and he grinned devilishly without missing a beat, as if he had intended to approach the entire time, making it up as he went. Actually, it was auspicious opportunity to poke fun at the don for losing another daughter out of his grasp, even if that was objectively unwise with the plan that he and the queenpin had been discussing since she caught wind of the fallout from Romi herself.

He walked with purpose, coltish legs making a path through dancing bodies with the prowl of the hunter that he had been forged by fire into, a glint of mischief ever in his chocolate eye and the angelic denial that he was thinking of anything uncouth in the paired green. "What happened to 'ello mate, how are things?" The Mancunian accent loosened free with ease, perhaps furthered by someone who had an inkling of the grounds he had haunted too young to be hyperindependent — if only he knew how close the worlds collided, in a real fucked up way. Youths that demanded to put survival above all else and damn the rest. This time, he was all teeth, sharp edges that were ill-confined to the pungency of Edward's embitterment; he wasn't any empath, by any means, but the vampiric state he'd been so redefined with certainly permeated the air with certain emotions that rolled off like the stench of roadkill. So delicious, one could almost taste it.

When Cyrek had called to ask if they could borrow a car seat because they'd lost theirs, she'd happily dug it out of the storage in her garage, put Rhea in the car, and driven off to the hospital with anxious excitement. Before they'd walked into the room, she'd reminded her four-year-old that she was to not touch the baby and to keep her voice down, since the baby might be sleeping. The little girl was so ecstatic about having another cousin that she eagerly agreed to the stipulations. When they walked into the room, Alice held out the car seat, a big grin on her face, and nodded when her brother motioned for her to be quiet. He looked so damn happy and it made her smile even wider in return. I was so flustered when we found out... For a moment, her dark brows furrowed--that was, until he stepped aside and she saw not one but two little precious newborns laying in the basinet. Her jaw dropped in shock and sheer joy. 'Shut the fuck up! she mouthed, her smile practically taking up her whole face by now.

There was something heartfelt about Rhea getting a first gander at the twins before his own trio of older daughters could. They had decided they didn't want to disturb them when school was the next day; it wouldn't bode well to have a bunch of cranky kids and parents after the exhaustive labor. Stella's mother could handle them until they were discharged and ready to go home, and to be honest, the punk was dead on his feet, and he had to guess that the momentum that was keeping him going was the sheer delight that the precious bundles were now awaiting everyone else to meet them. The fermenting dread that went hand in hand with anticipation was virtually inconsequential to that feeling of overwhelming happiness that was so ill-contained, his heart threatened to burst right out of his chest altogether. "Hey, I didn't hide it from you lot, I didn't know until she was comin' down the chute. Neither did Stella." What a fucking shellshock that was, in the moment. Thankfully, his wife was long since asleep.

Smiling wearily when she laid a hand on his arm, he placed one hand over hers and ran his thumb across it appreciatively. "You can pick one of 'em up if you want. Or both, if you feel like doin' the balancin' act. Bloody interestin' to watch Stella try and wrangle hot cakes in the dead of night, by the way," he simpered, poking gentle fun at her failed attempts to juggle the Denny's breakfast and two newborns at once, then he lifted his shoulders in a lazy shrug, "A and B, right now. No names until the namin' ceremony. I mean, that'll mostly be for their Hebrew names, but we figured we wouldn't name our kid until after she was born, y'know..." He refrained from saying miscarriage around Rhea, as much as he avoided watering down concepts for his own children. Frankly, he didn't have the mental capacity to try to explain it in layman's terms. Or at all. The cadence of his voice was a hushed whisper, preserving the quietude of the room for the slumbering occupant... or three, in this case. "Guess we got double the workload for that one, too. Carseat's not gonna be completely useless, that's for damn sure."